MARCH 1997
A Japanese American in Mexico
Letter from San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
by Holly Yasui
I
came to Mexico four years ago to house-sit
my cousin Chrissy's house in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico.
Before that, my acquaintance with Mexico consisted of day-trips to Tijuana.
I had no expectations, except to spend two months learning Spanish and writing.
"Why do you like
Mexico?" I asked Chrissy.
"Well, I like my
work, I like the Mexican people . . . and they like me," she said.
"It's the first place I've ever been where people like me because
I'm Japanese."
Of course, Mexico didn't
go to war against Japan in the 40s, didn't live through an epoch of virulent
anti-Japanese propaganda, and didn't put Japanese Mexicans into concentration
camps. But Chrissy wasn't talking about a mere lack of negative attitudes.
Many Mexicans admire the Japanese, as a people with ancient traditions,
who rebuilt a destroyed economy into one of the strongest in the world.
And perhaps they feel kinship with Japanese Americans and Canadians who
were "bullied" by a society that continues to dominate Mexico.
My two-month house-sitting
sojourn in San Miguel was one of the most enjoyable, recreational periods
of my usually workaholic life. Enough to induce me to sell my furniture,
put my computer and my cats into boxes, and drive two thousand miles to
the middle of the Mexican altiplano. But recreation wasn't the only nor
the primary reason I decided to live here. Over the years, I've realized
that I feel more comfortable here than anywhere else I've lived. Partly
because of the wonderful climate, rarely too hot or too cold. I also like
the casual atmosphere in which matrons as well as boys wear pink T-shirts
emblazoned with catchy, sometimes obscene sayings. And what a relief that
I can smoke here without harassment. But most important, I think, is that
in Mexico I am a foreigner.
In the U.S. I sometimes
feel like a foreigner and that chafes. In the U.S. I am not
a foreigner. That feeling of foreign-ness is a type of alienation: self-consciousness
when I enter a room and everyone else is white; over-reactions by people
intent on proving they're not xenophobic; gushing Japanophiles who insist
on telling me how much they adore Japanese culture. In Mexico, on the other
hand, my foreigness is real, openly acknowledged and enjoyed . . . by Mexicans
and by me. When I first arrived, I didn't speak Spanish. Now I do, with
the gaps and flaws of a second language. Every step of progress I have made
has been encouraged and applauded by my Mexican friends. Every experience
that teaches me to look at my own cultural assumptions as a person born
and raised in the U.S.helps me to understand more deeply and personally
the meaning of multiculturalism.
An example. The other
day, I met a friend in a cafe. We drank a couple cups of coffee and ate
a dozen cookies. He started to pay the bill, but I protested. He said men
always pay in Mexico. I said I was American, and we always go dutch. He
said he had never met any Dutch people and he thought I was Japanese. I
tried to explain "going dutch" and "Japanese American,"
but I mistakenly used the word alemán (German) for dutch.
Then we discussed the misnomer "American" to refer to the U.S.,
since the entire Western Hemisphere is "America." The owner of
the cafe joined us and put in her two-cents worththat America
was named after an Italian cartographer, Amerigo Vespucci, and so we were
all really Vespuccians. When we left, she insisted that breakfast was on
the house. So, was that dutch, or Mexican, or what?
© The Raven Chronicles 1997