rigidity is death.

On December 16th, 2009, twenty-one year old Rigo Padilla is set to be deported to a country that he hasn't set foot in since the age of six. According to current United States immigration law, children brought to this country, without consent, can be deported to countries they haven't resided in since an early age . Rigo has spent the last fifteen years of his life in the United States, being influenced by United States culture, attending public schools, living in Chicago and its communities. From an early age, the idea of being "foreign" was as foreign as the idea of Mexico. Not having seen Mexico in fifteen years, it is safe to infer that Rigo's idea of Mexico is mostly based on stories and images imparted by others. Most recently, Rigo has stated that he became aware of his existence after applying to Universities and realizing that he needed a Social Security number to receive financial aid. At this moment, Rigo understood the fact that he was neither from the United States or Mexico, effectively placing him outside the margins. The realm of ambiguity. Yes, Rigo is a Mexican national, by birth and law, but what does that matter if his formidable years have been spent in the United States? Rigo is about as Mexican as any other Chicano; ethnically Mexican with cultural semblances inherited from ancestors, interlaced with United States experiences. Outside of the margins in Mexico and in the United States. It is this realm, this ambiguity that draws my attention. For it is in this area, this realm of ambiguity, of neither here nor there, where individuals can begin to question mores, values and laws that are meant to define, but only serve to exclude. The rigidity of current immigration laws is begging to be reformed, by demonstrating how individuals exist outside of the notion of who "belongs." I do not wish to make a case for Rigo to remain in the United States, for that point is very obvious and clear: Chicago is his home. What I'm interested in is the ambiguity of his story, an existence that exemplifies the need for mutability. An existence that demonstrates how that which is rigid is dead.

Mexico 2009

I embarked on another trip to Mexico this year and I'm happy to say that I faired a lot better than the last. This year's trip was only a month long but involved a lot more traveling than last year's, with the last part of the trip spent in Chiapas. I also had a traveling partner this time; Veronica. The first part part of the trip was spent in the states of Queretaro, Guanajuato and Michoacan. With a couple of days spent with my grandparents in Guanajuato. Veronica and I spent most of our time talking to my grandparents and taking photographs of their town. As always, it was great to see my grandparents and listen to them recite stories of growing up in rural Mexico. This is the part of me that I feel is most at risk of being lost, as my family and I slowly become more and more rooted in the United States. It would be tragic to feel like I never took the initiative to nurture this aspect of my existence. Mexican culture, specifically Mexican campesino culture, is a part of who I am. This is evident in the food that I eat, the songs that I've grown up with and the idioms that I quote: agarra tus chivas. Literally, get your goats. This idiom is used to tell someone to grab their things. Just one generation ago, my father, was working in the fields in Guanajuato, at the age of 6, waking at 5am in the morning to tend crops with my grandfather. My mother, in Michoacan, was waking up in what could hardly be called a town, as there were no roads and only a handful of houses. It's amazing listening to my grandfather impart his knowledge of crops, weather patterns and tools: los chayotes, las lluvias, el arado. My grandfather and his father worked under the ejidos. My great-great-grandfather and his father worked under a different system: las haciendas. I come from campesinos. Campesinos turned obreros. In no way are any of these stories my experience. I grew up a city slicker, in Chicago. A Chicano. Ni de aqui, ni de alla. But all of the aforementioned people have had a part in shaping who I am today. They taught me to speak. They fed me. They imparted their customs. I would hate for them to be lost.

hiatus