Amidst the deterioration of civil discourse in the United States; animosities about the elections, the tumult and turmoil over the Supreme Court, confrontations over Black Lives Matter, facemasks, and conspiracy theories about politics and the pandemic, Mexico once again, has shown us a better way forward.
There is a movement here that seeks to transmit a message of strength, unity, and hope to every corner of Mexico in the face of the coronavirus crisis. Its objective is to encourage all of us to provide what help we are able to local businesses, and people who need it most; to give hope to those who struggle daily to support their families and are faced each day with the increasingly difficult prospect of simply trying to survive.
¡Aquí Nadie Truena!
The word "truena" translates literally as "to thunder", or "to burst", but colloquially it also means “to fail” - Here, No One Thunders! I’ve seen it in multiple places here in Ajijic, on a poster at a bus stop, scrawled on a sign behind a store service counter, and hastily written in various colors on sheets of paper taped to restaurant windows. In Guadalajara it’s everywhere.
Mexico is a place of limited financial resources and opportunities and for many, a precarious health system. As restaurants and businesses close, jobs are lost, and people fall ill, this is about giving certainty to that person who gets up every day in this crisis and does not know if he is going to be able to bring sustenance to his home and family and, worse still, does not know when this crisis is going to end.
Some 12 million Mexicans dropped out of the labor force in April according to Mexico’s national statistics agency and another million jobs disappeared in the formal sector of the economy in May alone. While countries across the globe have developed multi-billion-dollar stimulus packages, tax cuts, incentives to businesses, and stimulus checks to families, Mexico has largely left the economic burden of pandemic recovery to its citizens. The people here have come to not expect help from their government, instead they rely on each other. The need and the urgency has created a sense of resilience and community support across Mexico.
About 60% of Mexicans work in the informal economy as street vendors, selling their wares at the local weekly tianguis, or otherwise working day-to-day running their own business. The streets of Mexico are usually a cacophony of voices and activity. Here in Ajijic, loudspeakers mounted on the roof of a battered pick-up truck announce the late afternoon arrival of ‘Lupe, her sing-song voice reverberating down the cobblestone streets selling her homemade tamales, roasted corn, fruits and vegetables; “Tamales! Chayote! Cacajuates! Elotes! Flores de Calabaza!” A high pitched whistle heralds the arrival of the knife sharpener. The woman sitting on the curb sings to the child in her lap as she sells her pan dulces, pies and breads. Rows of handwoven rugs hanging overhead on ropes strung from tree to tree flap noisily in the wind as the woman below engages in an animated discussion of the price of brooms she has also made from tree branches and corn stalks. A riot of sounds, smells, voices, and tastes fill the air. Mingle-fruits and vegetables grown at home are sold next to stands of eggs, mushrooms, avocados, and hand crafted goat cheeses. There's a cobbler repairing shoes, a colorful line of refrescos in every flavor imaginable, the deep rich aroma of roasted coffees from Oaxaca, and quesadillas, empanadas, and tacos de pastor sizzling on a hot comal. But all that has gone quiet now, halted by government mandate in an attempt to limit the spread of the pandemic.
This is the life that these people have always lived. This is how they have always fed their families. Maria has sold empanadas on this same street corner for 27 years. Damián has been weaving the cane seating on chairs since his father taught him to do it when he was twelve years old. Jesús has been selling coffee from the mountains in Veracruz from the back of his pickup truck for longer than anyone here can remember.
In recent months a remarkable network of messaging services, social networks, and neighborhood chat groups have sprung up, all focused on neighbor helping neighbor, and they have all been flooded with requests for help - or offering help. If you’re looking for a carpenter or painter or messenger, one user has a growing list of people now willing to assist or barter. Many of these people had other jobs that have since disappeared. Some groups support individuals, others put a spotlight on established businesses because they already have employees, rent, and services to keep up with.
“We have people making cakes or food in their home, selling cleaning supplies, jewelry, whatever. We are all motivated, we don’t want to go hungry or let our neighbors fail – we want to help each other,” one user posts on Twitter, “It’s a collective fabric of support, and everyone helps in any way that they can."
An expat named Lianne Dorscheidt, a Dutch national who moved to Mexico last year launched HéroesLocales.mx, (Local Heroes) an Instagram page that connects street vendors with clients. Once a week or so she and a friend will find a new vendor to interview and photograph, providing a little bit of his or her story and contact information so people can put in orders over the phone. Vendors profiled sell everything from lottery tickets to woven baskets, fresh fruit to plants.
In the first several months of the pandemic, Carla Fernández, a fashion designer, pivoted her business to produce face masks that honor Mexican culture and keep scores of employees on the payroll.
Alejandro, who lost his job washing dishes and tidying up at a small food stand in March, has started picking up odd jobs, many of which come to him via strangers on WhatsApp. He thinks his number has been shared by word-of-mouth, initially handed out by his former employer. Almost every day someone writes to ask if he’s free for small errands: picking up a spare tire, dropping off dirty laundry, delivering takeout food.
#AquíNadieTruena is a movement that belongs to everyone. It has no owner and is nonpartisan. It does not identify with any political party. There is no government help. It started here in Jalisco by restauranteur and activist Álvaro Aguilar and has since spread seemingly everywhere, dentist offices, hardware stores, pharmacies, bakeries, and beauty shops, and the hashtag #aquínadietruena has now been trending as far away as Mexico City, Cancun, Monterrey, Spain and Canada. People have even posted it on their doors. The message is simple; We are all here to help each other, and we will all get through this crisis together. It does not matter the city in which you live, the profession you practice, the business you have or the ideals that you follow. It does not matter whether you wear a mask or not, whether the sign in your window is red or blue. Anyone can join. Everyone is needed. Here, no one thunders!
¡Aquí Nadie Truena!
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Bill Sheehan - Ajijic, Mexico - October, 2020