Vacu nación

I've been told by family that in the U.S. they're giving away vaccines like candy right now, and few people are taking them. You can even choose what vaccine you want – and you might win a bunch of money. Here in Mexico, things are different, and the vaccines are still being rolled out to different age groups.

For the most part, though, things are moving ahead steadily and efficiently. Mexico has public health care, but it isn't exactly the kind of public health care you get in the UK or Canada. Still, for basic stuff, its fine and free. If you get a serious disease (like you need a respirator because you have COVID serious), and you aren't wealthy, you probably have a much better chance of dying than if you lived in many "advanced" countries. Perhaps that's why so many Mexicans want the vaccine, and there is far less reluctance here than up north.

There is a system to register online, and the vaccines have been made available throughout the country. In Guanajuato, they started vaccinating people age 40-49 this month. We finally got our first shot this week, and here's how it went down ...

People were encouraged to download their vaccination form from the registration site. The three locations in the capital were publicized in the days before vaccines would be made available. We opted for the Centro Acuático location – a facility with indoor swimming pools, as well as a few outdoor playing fields. It is a bit above the dense part of the City, and we thought it would be difficult for a lot of Guanajuatenses to get there, since a lot of folks don't have cars here. That may have been true, but we didn't drive by the other locations to check. 

There were plenty of people at the Centro Acuático anyway, including a number of folks arriving by bus and taxi. A line outside formed a long, compressed "s" in front of the gate. There were maybe 150 people waiting. We walked up to the end and looked around, wondering how long it would take, and comparing our appearance to the other 40-somethings standing around. Or at least, that's what I was doing: Do they have more or fewer wrinkles, more or fewer grey hairs; are their clothes equally wrinkled?

The line moved quickly. They took 72 at a time, for some reason. 

A camouflage hummer arrived with Mexican military dudes. The military is helping with the distribution of the vaccine here. I'm really not sure how. These guys just kind of stood around. But their presence was oddly reassuring – this was the real deal, they weren't going to just be giving out expired vaccines and asking for bribes.

Within about 40 minutes we were through the front gate. We walked through a parking lot, and passed a woman giving out numbers – she probably had only as many numbers as available vaccines – they didn't seem to determine any order to receiving the shot. We continued beyond a rock-climbing wall, to sit in some bleachers facing a playing field. Then our group of 72 was moved to a second set of bleachers at an adjacent field. Finally, we were directed to the big show.

It was simple and well organized. A young woman at a folding table, set out on a tennis court, took my form and filled out the brand – "Pfizer" – and some other information. She struggled to tear it in half – kept one part and handed me the other (I would need that when I returned for my second shot, I was told). She then directed me to a different table, where a different young woman stabbed me with a needle about 20 seconds later. Holding a cotton ball against my wound, I was then directed to an area where we were told to sit for fifteen minutes. There appeared to be some medical personnel around, and an ambulance was parked outside, so I think they were ready for any medical emergencies. But I felt fine; and we were done.

I almost enjoyed it, or at least felt compelled to write down what I remembered. I felt a sense of community as we walked out of the Centro Acuático, among hundreds of people I did not know, most of whom grew up in a different country, with a different culture. Women, men, people with disabilities, and most, I judged, with more wrinkles and grey hair than I – we were all at risk, and all willing to wait our turn, and then line up together to do something about it. A year-and-a-half on lockdown, and most people hadn't lost hope. Indeed, many of us had gained something: an appreciation of our loved ones, yes, but an appreciation even beyond our immediate friends and family. Those of us who hadn't doubled down on our individualism and distrust had learned, or had this reinforced: We are all in this together.

Covid Contemplation

Twenty-twenty was basically fine until March. Hell, we even had hopes for a Bernie Sanders presidency that first quarter. Then the virus hit and we started searching around for masks. My first was made by my husband, and looks pretty silly in retrospect. I can't believe I wore it out of the house. We've come so far in that respect. But we didn't think we'd have to at that point. We thought, maybe we'll have a summer, then maybe we'd visit family for Thanksgiving, and now, in 2021, again, maybe we'll have a summer. Time is ticking, and although people are getting vaccinated, a lot of people are still dying.

We also transitioned, awkwardly, from President Trump to President Biden. That is a positive development, even if Trump's horribleness was overstated by liberals and Biden's horribleness understated. For me, the idea was never that we could push Biden to the left, as much as it was that Trump was courting and empowering the right in ways a Biden administration never would. We shouldn't have any illusions about Biden; but even if his victory was not a victory for the left, Trump's loss was clearly a loss for the right.

Post Trump is weird. Liberals can relax again, instead of suffering in (what they imagined was) Trump's totalitarian hellscape. Biden is doing plenty of bad stuff, but he doesn't tweet stupid stuff, or mock anyone. He appears competent, like a CEO of a large corporation, or the author of a book about cars who's independently wealthy. The right turned their bigotry into a festival of rage for a few weeks, then they refused to wear masks in supermarkets, then they disappeared into parlour or something. 

Leftists are all over the place. Some have balanced their righteous anti-imperialism and working-class fervor with  outrage over "cancel culture" and "wokeness." Mostly, I think, we're all hyper-online; maybe some of us are unemployed. Anyway, that certainly makes it easy to complain. If enough people complain, some companies might decide not to publish something, or may even pressure someone to resign. That is cancel culture. Really nothing new, just amplified by social media and more accessible to ordinary people. Wokeness seems to be, caring about identity-based justice, beyond, simply, condemning obvious bigotry. The problem with the leftists complaining about these concepts is they tend to equate corporations, establishment politicians, prominent universities, and the like, wielding these tools, with ordinary people, poor people, working people, oppressed people, doing the same.

Other leftists are rightly focused on violence inflicted on poor people and people of color by police, the border patrol, and employers like Amazon.com; also growing calls to waive patent rules for vaccines, among other things.

Speaking of vaccines, I realized I've spent more time in Mexico under quarantine than not. My country-specific, quarantine observations are that Americans are more resistant to masks, social distancing, and vaccines than Mexicans. But there was plenty of that here as well, though a lot of Mexicans had no choice but to leave their homes and try to survive. As a much poorer country, Mexico had very high death rates, even when people went to the hospital (some never did). Still, outside of the hospital system, which I've yet to have any experience with, I saw a lot of positives: mask wearing, even outside; schools closed; restaurants, stores, and places of public accommodation imposed limits and requirements; and testing became widely available. Vaccines are being rolled out slower than in the U.S., but more rapidly than in many parts of the world. I'm hoping I'll get my first shot sometime in May.

We were lucky. We brought our car, which is not necessary here as you can get everything you need walking into town, or for certain items, by having them delivered. Our house here also has a decent-sized garden, unlike most homes here. Unlike many similarly sized cities in the U.S., Guanajuato is fairly dense, so for epidemiological purposes, it felt riskier to just take a walk here than it might in the suburban sprawl of many cities up north. But we could always get outside in our garden, or drive to some open space for a hike.

Just before the pandemic, in February of last year, we visited our first archaeological site in Guanajuato: Peralta. Throughout the pandemic, then, we've visited three more. For the most part, you can't get to these places by bus. You might be able to take a taxi or Uber, though it would likely be expensive. If you don't have a car, the best thing might be to hire a guide who could drive you, or find a friend with a car who also wants to go. But with the pandemic, those options also expose you to hours in a car (likely closed in, as it was often warm/hot outside). JC and I could go on a whim.

Most people think of Mayan ruins in the Yucatan, Teotihuacan outside of Mexico City, or possibly Monte Alban in Oaxaca, when they think about archaeological sites in Mexico. However, there are five sites excavated and open to the public within the state of Guanajuato. Incredible to me, because there isn't much of this in the U.S. - maybe they were destroyed, or yet to be uncovered. I visited cliff dwellings as a boy and I've read about the various mounds in the U.S., but pyramids, playing courts, and temples? One of the things I like about Mexico is its celebration of, and close connection to, its indigenous past. Even its flag has its origins in Aztec legend. The U.S., on the other hand, feels much more identified with whiteness. The U.S. is actually a much more diverse country, but institutionally, anything other than white, protestant, ideals register. I think a lot about how brainwashed I was growing up in Texas. The simple truth - that Texas independence was largely, though not entirely, motivated by the desire to own slaves - was never talked about in grade school, and considered almost sacrilegious in college.

Of course, I still feel more American than Mexican (not ethnically, but it still feels more like home up there); and I miss California and Texas. But at the moment, I'm enjoying my time here. Maybe I'll stay forever.