Scenes of everyday life and politics in Mexico past and present

 

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Our son Chris, who lives in a small town, San Vicente, Nayarit, just inland from the tourist beaches of the Pacific, remarked recently that he had been suffering from an unpleasant itch. A Neighbour suggested that he needed to have his tinaco cleaned. If you stand on the invariably flat roof of a house in any Mexican town, you cannot miss the hundreds of usually black plastic water tanks (tinacos) on every rooftop. The liquid pumped up from water mains, even in the wealthier districts of the principal cities, is not potable. Mexicans buy purified water in large plastic bottles called garrafones, delivered to their door. When we lived in Zamora, Michoacán, our apartment was on the third floor, so we paid the young man who delivered our garrafones a modest tip (20 pesos, about one US dollar) to carry the heavy bottles upstairs.

A delivery of garrafones

The man who arrived to clean Chris’ tinaco brought along his eleven-year-old son, who climbed inside the hot tank with a stiff bush and scrubbed it clean. Child labour is not legal, but nor is it uncommon in Mexico. In Zamora, for example, we would hang small plastic shopping bags of trash on a nail in a wooden telephone pole for daily collection. Young boys, of perhaps thirteen years, clinging to the back of a battered truck, would collect the bags, which would eventually end up on a gigantic pile of trash beside the road that leads to the Indigenous villages of the Tarascan meseta, high above the valley in which Zamora sits. A friend in Mexico City explained that in the capital the garbage trucks are the property of small-time entrepreneurs who make part of their profit by sifting the rubbish for anything that can be repurposed or recycled to earn a few pesos. As in Zamora, their workers are young men, often illiterate because they collect rubbish rather than going to school.

A tinaco on a roof

Our bus from Zamora to Mexico City would head north to La Piedad (‘Pity” or “Mercy”) a town, that in the 12^th century was known as Zula, or “quail territory”. In 1380 the Tarascans conquered the place and renamed it Aramutaro, or “place with caves”. An invading Spaniard, Antonio de Villarroel, renamed it San Sebastián de Aramutarillo (“Saint Sebastian of the little place with caves”). The town’s name changed yet again in 1692 in response to a miraculous phenomenon. A branch of a local tree bore a striking resemblance to the image of Christ on the cross, which led to the construction of the Templo del Señor de la Piedad (the “Church of our Lord of Mercy”), reputed to have the largest dome in all Mexico.

 

Templo del Señor de la Piedad, La Piedad, Michoacán, aerial view

Nowadays, as the bus makes its way from La Piedad across the great plain of the Bajío region, the traveller is not likely to see any quails, but rather large trucks packed full of hot, smelly pigs destined for the markets of the Valleys of Mexico and Toluca. This is possibly, the least picturesque road in all Mexico. Viewed from the bus, each town along the highway seems to consist of nothing but factories and great numbers of identical small cube-shaped houses.

Cube-shaped houses of the type seen on the road across the Bajío

Mexico was once famous for its innovative housing for working-class families. In Mexico City in the 1960s the architect Mario Pani designed the Conjunto Urbano Nonoalco Tlatelolco, a huge complex of 102 apartment buildings, schools, hospitals, shops and so on. In the 1970s two friends lived in a Tlatelolco apartment, which provided well-designed modern housing. The standardize cubes of the Bajío display not a trace of such innovative design.

The Conjunto Urbano Nonoalco Tlateloloco from the roof of the Chihuahua building

I had not understood why the good design standards of Pani had given way to standardized white cubes, constructed en masse, often with no community facilities, until Chris suggested the answer. A week or so ago he and his colleagues were summoned to a meeting at their workplace. The gathering was about the Fondo Nacional de la Vivienda para los Trabajadores (National Housing Fund for Workers) or INFONAVIT, established in 1972 to implement the right to housing granted to workers by Mexico’s 1917 constitution. In the second half of the 20^th century Mexico’s population increased rapidly and at the same time large numbers of people moved from rural towns and villages to cities. Many settled in Mexico City, which soon became the megalopolis that dominates the country’s economy and politics. Infonavit was an attempt to answer the question, how to provide decent housing for a rapidly increasing low-income population with no access to credit?

 

The meeting that Chris attended was addressed, not by an official from Infonavit, but by a representative of a construction company. He explained to Chris and his colleagues that all employers in Mexico must deduct 5% of staff salaries, which is paid into an INFONAVIT fund for each worker. The fund can be used as part payment of an INFONAVIT house. Workers who buy a house pay an annual interest rate of 12% on the loan, and a further 13% for insurance. At these rates, many workers pay for their home two or three times over, but can never pay off the debt, which is eventually written off by INFONAVIT after 35 years. If the fund is not used to buy a home, INFONAVIT deducts 60% before converting it to a pension. You do not need to be a financial genius to work out that workers’ housing in Mexico is a big business. In 2019 Infonavit issued 351,461 mortgages for new and existing homes and 170,500 for improvements. The value of these loans was 157,046 million pesos (roughly £5,235 millions or US$7,330 millions). That’s why Chris’ meeting was addressed not by an INFONAVIT official or a financial adviser, but by a man from a construction company. Several constructoras have become very large enterprises by building enormous numbers of small, identical, frequently poorly constructed homes. I commented to Chris that in this respect the INFONAVIT scheme is not unlike our Conservative government’s programmes of subsidies for the purchase of first-time buyers’ new homes. Large amounts of government subsidies were directed to large construction firms whose profits soared. The management was paid bonuses for simply accepting government cash. Plus ça change, no cambia nada, one might say.

 

INFONAVIT homes were not always identical white boxes. In 1973 work began on the Itzacalco housing development to the east of Mexico City. The plan was to combine urban housing, recreational areas and shops with the natural environment of a lake which was home to ducks and fish. Eventually, 5,200 homes were built for 22,000 residents. Photographs suggest that the design and environmental objectives of the Itzacalco complex were achieved. However, in 1979 an earthquake cracked the lake bed and drained it in less than 24 hours. The dry lake was converted into a park. Lack of maintenance, mostly caused by corrupt diversions of public funds, has given the park a rather dilapidated appearance, but it still provides a space for play, parties, aerobics classes and the like.

The Itzacalco lake and apartment buildings

Chris rents an Infonavit white cube house in a development in San Vicente, Nayarit. His landlady, a member of a family of landowners, owns a number of houses, which suggests that not all the government-funded homes are owned by low-income workers. Facilities are basic, but adequate for a single person or young family: the ground floor is a large room, with a small kitchen area, toilet and wash basin, which the plumber forgot to connect to the water supply. The upper floor has two bedrooms and a shower/toilet room. There is a small concreted yard at the back with a washing machine, water heater, and a washing line. We had seen an almost identical house when we attended the wedding of one of Chris’ friends in Atlacomulco, Mexico State, several years ago. The newlyweds proudly showed us their brand-new home. Viewing the bedrooms required strong nerves, since the concrete staircase was narrow and lacked any banister to prevent an unsteady visitor, or parent carrying an unruly child, tumbling on to the concrete floor below.

 

Chris' street in San Vicente. His house is second right

Nevertheless, an INFONAVIT home can be a route to modest prosperity. Chris’ Chilean neighbour has added a third bedroom and a garage to his house and is selling it for the equivalent of £58,000/$81,000. That’s more than seven times the salary of a middle manager. Not a lot for a wealthy Mexican, but a considerable sum for a middle-class person. So, an INFONAVIT house can be the basis of a modest fortune.

 

This kind of state-sponsored programme to benefit the less well-off sectors of Mexican society (while, not entirely coincidentally, creating business opportunities for the wealthy) was a feature of the rule of the one-party governments of Mexico’s “managed democracy” from 1920 to 2000. Essentially, the regime maintained itself in office by distributing at least some benefits to various sectors. Officeholders, from humble town mayors to the President himself, were subject to little or no scrutiny by a compliant media. A period in office was an opportunity to make money. The presidente municipal (municipal president, or mayor) of Atlacomulco, in the State of Mexico, where Chris taught English to trainee school teachers, earns his rewards from the town’s gravel quarry. Higher up the pyramid, rewards were incomparably greater. Miguel Alemán Valdés, President from 1946-1952, selected Acapulco to be developed as a major tourist destination. He just happened to have acquired beforehand large tracts of land where hotels would be built. And so did many of his friends. Trade union leaders were expected to prevent their members causing the government any serious trouble, and were richly rewarded in return. They were known as charro leaders (a charro is a horse rider, dressed in an elaborately elegant suit and large sombrero, for the Mexican equivalent of rodeo). The most notorious charro was Fidel Velázquez Sánchez, leader from 1941 until his death in 1997 of the Confederación de Trabajadores Mexicanos (Confederation of Mexican workers) or CTM. Fidel, who died a wealthy man, was reputedly consulted by presidents about the best choice to be the next man to wear the sash of office. Furthermore, businessmen could benefit from good relations with politicians and union bosses like Fidel (at a price, which represented a cost of doing business in Mexico) – or they could find their businesses adversely affected if they did not cosy up to those who held political power in government or unions.

 

Fidel Velázquez (in dark glasses) with President Adolfo López Mateos (1958-1964, speaking)

For all this corruption, the government took care, to varying degrees according to the ideology or whims of the President of the day, to make sure that some benefits reached the workers and rural small farmers for whom the Revoultion was fought, according to the official version of history. When I was a student in Mexico City in the 1970s, I would often walk past stores with the red logo of the Compañía Nacional de Subsistencias Populares (National Company of Popular Subsistence Foods), or CONASUPO. Founded in 1962, CONASUPO’s mission was to sell basic foodstuffs, especially maize, the staple of the Mexican diet at regulated prices. In fact, the range of goods was pretty much what one would find in any supermarket, including clothing. CONASUPO was closed in 1999, towards the end of the presidential term of the last President of the managed democracy era, the splendidly named Ernesto Zedillo Ponce de León.

A rural CONASUPO shop

CONASUPO advertising in the 1970s or 1980s. The goods advertised are chicken, cabbage, green pepper, chile poblano, apples, and children's clothing. Below, shopping for sardines in tomato sauce probably in the 1970s

 

A similar social programme, the Lechería Nacional, S. A. de C. V. (National Dairy Company plc) or LICONSA was founded in 1945. LICONSA, whose logo reads “abasto social de leche” (social supply of milk), sells milk fortified with iron, zinc, folic acid, vitamins A, C, D, Riboflavin and Cobalamin, at subsidized prices. The elements added to the milk are designed to combat the nutritional deficiencies most commonly suffered by the more deprived sectors of Mexican society, especially children and the elderly. Studies carried out by the Instituto Nacional de Salud Pública (National Institute of Public Health) report that children who consume LICONSA’s fortified milk present lower levels of anaemia, malnourishment in general, are taller and develop more muscle mass than children who do not consume the milk. The children’s cognitive functions are also improved.

 

LICONSA's logo: the slogan reads "social supply of milk"

A happy LICONSA customer (from a government web site)

In the 1970s government ministries ran subsidized shops for government employees. My landlord Alfonso, an economist, worked for the Secretaría de Obras Públicas (SOP, Ministry of Public Works). He explained to me that at the end of the fifth year of a presidential term he hoped that his boss would be politically acute enough to back the candidate who would be chosen to be the next President. If his boss chose wisely, Alfonso had a job for another six years, perhaps even a promotion, but the wrong choice meant unemployment. The process of consultation and manoeuvring that resulted in the selection (in the terminology of the time, el dedazo, the pointing of the incumbent’s finger towards the chosen one, followed by el destape, the unveiling of the anointed one) was opaque and, for someone at Alfonso’s level, unpredictable. A job for another six years, Alfonso explained, brought with it the benefit of two salaries, one en la nómina (on the payroll), another fuera de la nómina (off the payroll), and subsidized shopping at the SOP shop. Together, these funded most of the cost of a pleasant home in a good neighbourhood (Colonia Condesa) of leafy streets, a car, and the expenses of a family of two children. The balance was paid for by taking in two lodgers.

Alfonso and his wife took me to the ministry shop only once. My landlady had explained to me, very shamefaced, that somebody had stolen my British underpants (which presumably were highly desirable in Mexico City) from the washing line. She would pay for replacements. I also needed to buy a joint of beef because I was to cook a British Sunday roast at the weekend. Once I had selected my new underpants, Alfonso told me to be sure to notice el carnicero bizco (the cross-eyed butcher). He was hard to miss, as he held a large piece of beef, raised his right holding a great cleaver and seemed certain to amputate his left hand.

 

Sometimes, Presidents simply handed out money and favours. The man in office when I lived in Mexico was Luis Echeverría Álvarez (1970-1976). Echeverría, a rather dull grey man, excessively fond of his own rhetoric, was notorious for doling out unbudgeted favours, large and small. He was said always to travel with a suitcase full of cash. An anecdote I was told seemed to confirm this. Towards the end of his term, Echeverría commissioned a history of the Mexican Revolution from the country’s leading historians of the Colegio de México. During his ceremonial visit to launch the project the President asked each professor if there was anything they needed. The Mexican academics replied, “no, Mr. President, we have all we need”, but a French professor spoke up. The college’s film club, he explained, had to borrow a projector and screen. Echeverría turned to a splendidly uniformed general carrying a large briefcase stuffed with cash. “Take the professor to the Palacio de Hierro (the Harrods of Mexico City) and buy him anything he wants".

 

In 2000 the era of governments of the PRI (Partido de la Revolución Institucional, Party of the Institutional Revolution) whose origins lay (however remotely) in the Mexican Revolution of 1910-1920, came to an end. Two successive presidents representing the Partido Acción Nacional (PAN) had other priorities. When the old ruling party returned to power in 2012, the newly elected president was the young and glamorous, but profoundly corrupt, Enrique Peña Nieto, from Atlacomulco, the town with the gravel pit. EPN, as he was known, cared little for the poor. He focused on projecting Mexico on the international scene as a future economic superpower. He changed laws to encourage international investment. He decided that the President of Mexico deserved a jet, much like Airforce One to the north. At an embassy reception, his ambassador in London proudly announced that the national airline, Aeroméxico, would replace its entire fleet with the latest Boeing jets. EPN was set to launch Mexico into a new league on the international scene, and to secure enough wealth for a playboy retirement.

EPN (left) aboard the presidential jet, giving the President of Uruguay, José Mujica, a lift to Montevideo. Uruguay presumably could not afford a jet

EPN’s term was a car crash of hubris and untrammelled corruption. His successor, Andrés Manuel López Obrador (AMLO), obliterated the PRI and all other opposition in the 2018 elections. AMLO promised to end the corrupt rule of the conservative neoliberals and to govern for ordinary Mexicans.

 

This month has been mid-term election season. AMLO is half-way through his six-year single term, so he was not on the ballot paper. The big question has been whether his party would sustain its huge majorities in the national legislature and its control of many states. Chris’ workplace is located off a short multi-lane highway that was not completed before a state governor ended his term, so it comes to an end among fields of melons and vegetables, never, it seems, to go any further. Since the only traffic is employees of Pasitos de Luz, Chris’ charity, and the odd melon farmer, the highway is an ideal event space. As he drove home one day, Chris came across a dance on the empty highway organized by one of the parties running a candidate for state Governor, Levántate Nayarit (Stand up Nayarit). He commented that there was no evidence of political speeches, and no information about what the party stands for, just bands and plenty of people dancing and having a good time. It would be an exaggeration to state that Mexican politics lacks ideological content, but personality and personal contacts play a significant part in elections. Events such as the San Vicente dance, giveaways such as baseball caps, or perhaps a card to buy something in a supermarket, and other goodies are an indispensable part of a campaign. Walls are painted with logos and slogans; billboards are filled with smiling photos of candidates.

The candidate for governor of Levántate Nayarit

There were seven candidates to be Governor of Nayarit, four female, three male. Opinion polls predicted that MORENA and its three affiliated parties were the clear favourites to win the governorship. A distant second was the candidate of three parties that were once bitter rivals, the PRI, PAN and the Partido de la Revolución Democrática (PRD). The PAN was for decades the perpetually defeated Catholic conservative opposition to the PRI. The PRI won every presidential election from the 1920s to 2000, but allowed the PAN occasionally to win an inconsequential election for the sake of appearances. The PRD was founded by Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas, son of one of the most revered PRI presidents, Lázaro Cárdenas (1934-1940). Cuauhtémoc won the popular vote to become President in 1988, but the PRI was not yet ready to accept defeat and rigged the results. AMLO, as it happens, has been a member of the PRI and the PRD before founding his current party, the Movimiento de Renovación Nacional (MORENA). The opinion polls in Nayarit were accurate: MORENA won with 49.69% of the vote. PAN/PRI/PRD came a distant third with 16.82%. Levántate Nayarit was fourth with 4.61%. The dance events seem not to have worked too well.

 

The candidates for governor of Nayarit in the mid-term elections and the predicted results

Whether AMLO will succeed in improving the lives of poorer Mexicans is hard to judge. He has certainly done some things to benefit the most disadvantaged. He obliged employers of domestic servants to enrol them in the social security system so that they have access to state medical care (but did not increase the funding of an already under-funded system). He increased the state pension. He has instituted a. programme to provide work experience for unemployed young people (an effort to keep them from the clutches of organized crime). These are programmes that a PRI predecessor like Luis Echeverría might have sponsored. Reports of the results are mixed.

AMLO can also take positions that seem to contradict his commitment to help the underprivileged. For example, despite its corruption and hubris, EPN’s administration retained traces of the PRI’s instinct to at least do something to alleviate poverty. When we were in Michoacán in 2018, we noticed, as we were driven through Indigenous towns of the Meseta Tarasca, buildings on which signs read comedor comunitario (community dining room). These had been established as part of a programme to alleviate food poverty in 2013 by the Secretaría de Desarrollo Social (SEDESOL, Ministry of Social Development). SEDESOL equipped the rooms and supplied non-perishable foodstuffs. Diners paid a fee of between three and ten pesos (£0.10-£0.33/US$0.14-$0.46) with which volunteer cooks bought perishable foodstuffs. Alas, in 2019 the federal government eliminated the comedores from SEDESOL’s budget, so there are no more inexpensive meals in those Tarascan towns. This runs counter to efforts to assist the less fortunate, but is consistent with AMLO’s detestation of anything connected with EPN.

Serving lunch in a comedor comunitario in 2014. Below, diners in a comedor

Furthermore, like presidents of the PRI, where after all his political roots lie, AMLO has invested in pet projects. He cancelled the construction of a new airport for Mexico City initiated under his predecessor, and ordered the army to build a new one on another site. He has also put the army in charge of building the Tren Maya, a tourist railway in Yucatán. He has declared a policy of energy independence by ordering the national petroleum company PEMEX to build a new oil refinery. He shows no interest in renewable energy. He does not control the press as his PRI predecessors did for decades, but is dismissive of questions from media other than those who view him favourably.

 

AMLO may succeed in some of his aims, but power in Mexico does not grow from the vote of the poor and deprived. Mexico is a society in which wealth, personal contacts and economic and political power feed one another so that the privileged become ever more privileged. If the poor are lucky, they get subsidized milk or an INFONAVIT house.