Para a minha Tia Tótó

Querida Tia, Não sei se chegaste ao céu sem mais problemas, mas também não consigo imaginar-te em mais nenhum lugar. Mereces o céu mais que todos nós, sobretudo se pensarmos em tudo o que passaste nesta vida e como sempre lutaste por ti e pelos teus. Naquele tempo não era costume serem as mulheres a ir à universidade e quem saíu a perder foram eles e nós todos, pois inteligência nunca te faltou. Trabalhando toda uma vida tanto em casa como na farmácia, sempre mantiveste tudo e todos no sítio, arrumado e bem tratado, amando a todos por igual. Já muito velhinha continuaste a cozinhar como ninguém, a ter uma palavra sábia para cada um, a andar para cima e para baixo, sempre a primeira a saltar da cama e a última a deitar-se, numa azáfama permanente. De miúda, adorava andar atrás de ti, para cima e para baixo, ir à Praça e ao pão logo de manhãzinha, ouvir as tuas explicações acompanhadas dos gestos de quem tem muita experiência, assim se escolhe o peixe mais fresco, se prepara o caldo verde, se guarda o fiambre para não virar, se dobram os sacos plásticos para não ocuparem tanto espaço, etc. Também todos os recadinhos de amor que sempre iam com preparar as comidas no Natal, por exemplo, o Zé gosta dos bilharacos pequeninos e bem molhadinhos, o teu padrinho já um pouquinho maiores e mais fofos, o Tó precisa de um bom vinho para ir com o cabrito, e a tua mãe vai chuchar as costeletas do asado uma atrás da outra como fazia quando era pequenita. Para ti, rapariga, e era para mim o último recadinho de amor, as famosas broinhas da Tia Tótó! Estas eram para mim a maior delícia gastronómica do Natal e nunca esqueçerei o gosto que me dava ajudar a prepará-las, num alguidar de barro, com o cheiro do fermento, dos pinhões e das passas. Tenho a receita, mas aqui não há uma boa parte dos ingredientes, a começar pelo fermento de padeiro. Quem diria, querida Tia, que na terra da abundância não está disponível algo tão básico tão fundamental, e quem o tem, o usa nos seus pães artesanais que custam uma fortuna e é guardado a sete chaves como um segredo industrial. Cada uma! Prefiro recordar os teus bolos de fermento numa bolinha, o nosso milagre da multiplicação das benditas broinhas de Natal e o teu conselho pessoal para mim, repetido vezes e vezes sem conta ao longo dos anos: tu tens que ter paciência, rapariga, éo que te falta. E é verdade, passados estes anos todos, aqui estou eu no mmeu nativo Português a pedir aos céus vezes sem conta: ó paciência, desce cá abaixo, e sei agora que é um eco da tua voz também. Ou que sou eu que te mando com frequência, os meus recadinhos de amor. Felizes broinhas no céu e na terra para todos!

How much is enough?

I am currently writing about indigenous postmodern/contemporary identities. The topic is thrilling and the performance pieces I analyze do bring about a fresh take on what is indigenous and who defines it, so about the intricacies of identity politics. My concern however is on not making arguments in my analysis that might read as bias, I mean, more inclined to one side of the spectrum, as I try to portray for real all the contradictions that are present precisely on anyone's identity construction. I believe that my position is strongly political, even if anchored in solid and thoroughly researched arguments, because the primary sources with which I am working, are very cleared politically marked. I don't believe in the aseptic and "scientific" academic whose pretended impartiality agenda is so admired by his peers. We all have our motives and background. We're all product of certain influences and have our own personal journey through life. However, how much is one allowed to disclose because one cares of our political agenda? In my particular case, should I try harder not to identify with certain indigenous predicaments, and instead resort to reporting mode without any analysis or interpretation on my part? How much is enough when you are speaking for the Other even though you really don't want to. I can't get over the issue of academic authority and basically want to be fair and ethical, but I'm having a lot of mixed feelings and thoughts. What's your opinion?

Causes and consequences of globalization in Latin America

After listening yesterday to Maria Eugenia Bogozzi's presentation on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the Center of Latin American Studies here at KU, I am still debating the implications of worldwide economic interconnectedness and cultural homogeneization. Particularly in the case of LA, it seems to me that the same old "cultura de servicio" is key to understand how different regions and key players within the continent interact in this web of events of global tendencies that end up shaping their lives and defining the power struggles within each specific society. Needless to say, said 'culture of service' has systematically made LA throughout the centuries since contact and colonization by the West, a wealthy repository of any thing from raw materials to cheap and forced labor, to "ethnic" artifacts to paradisiac touristic destinations, from indigenous exoticism to exciting "new" biodiversity just waiting to be found by a "real" scientific team, etc. It also strikes me the common sense in LA of always being on call, on duty, regardless of time or space restraints, to the continuous demands from somewhere else, be it North America or Europe, tendentiously following the axis South - North. It could be something very subtle like the Guatemalan indigenous women in Antigua that put up a Mayanness performance for the turists while making a living selling their art involved in claims of "authenticity." After the tourists are gone, they finally pull their cellphones from behind the screen and text their families back about how much they sold that afternoon, or ask a neighbor if they can come by after dinner to watch the telenovela with them on the new flat screen. It can also be a problematic appeal like Peruvian chef Gastón Acursi's speech in a well publicized national event when he exhorted the youth of his country to meet the challenge of globalization by creating more opportunities for what he identifies as the "Peruvian label" of distinct cuisine. Drawing from the country's multicultural background and vast biodiversity, Acursi dreams of bringing cevicherías side by side with haute cuisine Peruvian restaurants worldwide, thus making the boom of Peruvian cuisine more widely spread and typical dishes as available as Mexican taquerías or North American hamburger houses like Macdonalds. Claiming that Peruvian cuisine can tailor to all tastes and pockets, Acursi aims at exporting his national brand in a joint effort that ideally will promote job creation and specialized technicians, thus wealth and business to Peru, while providing for the economic viability of the millions of destitute families that still rely on traditional agriculture to subsist. I am not saying that one should not dream. Actually, I' m a strong believer that without dreaming and people that take dreams to other levels, humanity wouldn't stand a chance against the elements. However, Acursi's utopia is symptomatic of this same "culture of service" that has long prevailed in LA. I am not saying neither that the contrary of this globalized trend, so economic isolationism and cultural self-absorption should be the goal either. It is such a vast and complex challenge thinking about how LA in all its diversity and uniqueness, should develop, or even if it should develop at all following a Western model, that I am afraid I don't have an answer. And probably very few people do! I just simply want to make a point that so far what has been happening is what Homi Bhabha called "colonial mimicry," LA trying to emulate the centers to which she has always been a periphery, meanwhile falling into the same "cultura de servicio" that is historically well-recorded ans still persists. Unless the master's tools are learned and used to built the new subject's home,, with Fanon, how is LA to benefit in depth from homogenizing trends like globalization? Professor Bogozzi yesterday at the fore mentioned conference made a point that in L A, "The Other is always part of the Self." In a world interconnected by real organic solidarity as global trendists claim to be, shouldn't this also be true? Shouldn't the Other of economic and cultural centers that control the world be part of an organically solidary self that unites us all by our differences and uniqueness, nit homogenizing us all? I would like to hear what others have to say about these issues, particularly since so many more relevant questions about identity, supra national cultures and indigeneity are not being addressed in this post.

A tristeza e a desesperança

Já chega de andarmos todos a arrastarmos pelo chão uma dor tão pessoal que não nos permite distinguir o que vale a pena do que definitivamente não interessa nesta vida! Na verdade, não é o país que está na bancarrota, mas o sistema. Desde o 25 de Abril que fomos pioneiros em importantes e fundamentais reformas constitucionais, sociais e políticas. Só o facto que igualámos os direitos económicos e socias aos direitos mais tradicionais de cariz liberal como o direito à vida e à liberdade, foi um passo gigante a nível mundial dado pr este país nosso tão pequenino que cabe quase numa tamanquinha. No entanto, desde que a Europa descambou, e como fomos atrás deste comboio com toda a fé no futuro que nos caracteriza, claro que também descarrilámos. Ora, o que aconteceu com a Europa? Numa só palavra, e é um mal mundial, neoliberalismo. Investiguem na rede, falem com os amigos e os eruditos, e verão como a mesma tendência capitalista esmagadora denominada globalização tout court, nos levou a um descontrole desalmado dos mercados e das políticas ditas de reestructuração social a par com as económicas. Sofremos de economismo agudo! Só se fala da cifra disto e daquilo, enquanto na rua as pessoas vão manifestando o seu descontentamento por verem tudo mal parado... Não desistam. Não desanimem. Não pensem que a culpa é nossa. Sobretudo, não deixem de preparar um futuro melhor para nós mesmos e para os nossos filhos. Não cedam à histeria da catástrofe e do salve-se quem poder. Não percam de vista os ideais de Abril que tão caros nos são como nação independente com uma cultura própria. Não pensem que é melhor o Deutch Bank que Wall Street, na verdade é tudo igual. Especulação financeira baseada na vida de pessoas reais, nós e os nossos, todos os portugueses, como todos os outros europeos e todos os outros mais pelo mundo fora, a quem o todo-poderoso mercado global vê como estatísticas e cifras. Sobretudo, não pensem que é o fim. Quantas vezes estivemos à beira do abismo? Para então alguém nos dizer em voz ominosa: "Para a frente, Portugal"? O que se passa, é que por vezes o povo tem a memória curta... Acima de tudo, não desanimen, não cedam, não pensem que não há mais nada a fazer. Não se conformem. Nunca.
Deixo-vos com as palavras de Miguel Torga porque amanhã, quer o mercado queira ou não, será outro dia:

Recomeçar


Recomeça....
Se puderes
Sem angústia
E sem pressa.
E os passos que deres,
Nesse caminho duro
Do futuro
Dá-os em liberdade.
Enquanto não alcances
Não descanses.
De nenhum fruto queiras só metade.

E, nunca saciado,
Vai colhendo ilusões sucessivas no pomar.
Sempre a sonhar e vendo
O logro da aventura.
És homem, não te esqueças!
Só é tua a loucura
Onde, com lucidez, te reconheças...

What defines local cultures? Talking about pinolillo and globalization with my friend Lucía we came to disagree on might be considered local and worth preserving. I, in my ignorance for every thing and any thing Nicaraguan, was trying to compare and relate to a similar version of Guatemalan style, to no avail, since I probably don't know enough of that either. What can be identified as a national preference these days was actually born out of the necessity of drinking what was available, roast maize with cocoa, and then became widely spread to probably collide in the preferences of a younger generation with the ready availability of wide spread coca-cola. Why each Central and South American culture reclaims a certain drink as their own, still puzzles me somewhat. In my native South Europe, we all produce wine and are well-know wine experts, even though the rivalry between a good Portuguese, Spanish, French or Italian red is there too. In Central America and in Mexico, several types of horchata and pinolillo are cherished and served regularly, although each one of the national cultures, and then inside each country's borders, and then in each home, family, or corner, have their own particular version of the drink in question. In the case of pinolillo, Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Costa Rica claim that it's theirs and it has come to symbolize these countries as their national drink, at least as one of them. The variations are a local matter in a globalized context. Of course, because Central American populations have routinely migrated to other parts, including El Norte, it is bound to happen that pinolillo makes it in here too, at least in the confines of larger immigrant enclaves like La pequeña Managua in Miami. What this means is that I too, being not Central American, can also disfrutar del pinolillo nacional nicaraguense. If following our discussion on postmodern identity, I am what I consume, am I a little Nica too by drinking pinolillo in the US? Me, already an European transplant in the US? This is where I will wait for Lucía's answer.

Nostalgia

Remembering Svetlana Bodim's book in Nostalgia, I can't help but thinking how my perception of Xmas has changed through the years. I have made peace with the fact that what I took for granted as a kid, will never be repeated, like the family's Xmas celebration at my great-aunt's with the whole clan of Costa Redondos and Quaresmas reunited under the same ancestral roof. I recall with great detail certain aspects of those days together of celebration like the food, the games, the songs, the gift exchange, the might winter cold, and other less noticeable aspects like how three generations dealt so expertly with each other, the intense feeling of belonging, how young every was, how any one, kids and grown ups alike, would spend hours around the table just talking, singing, and having fun together, the magisterial climbing to the castle, a necessary pilgrimage for us kids, the warmth of the food, the wine, the singing and laughing together, the deep shared silences when my great-grandfather recalled the war and the losses of lives, got mad at "bastards" like Salazar or Franco, and gave thanks for our good fortune as a family, the fact that no one was the spotlight, but every body mattered in equal fashion... And by rereading Bodim, I was hoping I can't do something productive with this kind, my kind of nostalgia. I often worry that my own son here in the US will never get to experience any thing similar to my cherished Xmas memories. For one thing, there aren't just enough of us on this side of Atlantic to recreate any thing similar. The food is not the same and the smells neither. The language is radical different and due to the commercial diligence of our publicity, I can't stand Bill Crosby singing about Xmas anymore! I miss the sweet plenitude if my mother tongue with its nasal sounds and easy rhymes. English is just too harsh for the same effect. So what should I do to all of my nostalgia to make it productive and to transform it into a long-lasting memory that will also be part of my child's Xmas memories? Any suggestion will be very welcome.