Ghost Town

I have arrived in San Miguel de Allende, a relatively small city in the Southern state of Guanajuato. It’s been known a Snowbird getaway and art haven, but tourism has dropped 85% in the past two years, so it’s feels like a bit of a ghost town. Restaurants have closed and the sighting of a gringo is surprisingly rare. I am the sole occupant of my hotel.

I have talked to restaurant and hotel owners about this phenomenon. A few people named the famous Mexico City outbreak of the Swine Flu as the impetus of the Gringo-flight, but most point to the violence of the drug wars. But to say that the violence of the drug wars has scared tourists off would be an over-simplification. It has much to do with the American media tradition of sensationalizing the violence of the “other” and our particular coverage of Mexico as lawless and bloody.

Dianne, the owner of the hotel where I am staying, held up her copy of the New Yorker when I asked her about the hotel’s emptiness.

“See this? This is actually a good story and it is still very bad for me.”

I knew exactly what she was referencing—William Finnegan’s piece in May 31st’s issue, Silver or Lead. I recognized the article right away because the magazine had been splayed open at my seat at the table at a dinner so that I wouldn’t miss Finnegan’s harrowing tale of the Mexican drug cartel, La Familia Michoacana.

Dianne’s right: Finnegan’s is certainly good reporting. I generally trust the New Yorker and don’t regard their reporting as sensationalist, so the violence depicted in the article hit me hard. Finnegan’s piece is also different because it’s not about border trouble: Michoacan, the state where the drug cartel appears to have taken over, is in the south of the country.

(Here’s link to the article: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/05/31/100531fa_fact_finnegan)

When speaking with locals, I feel embarrassed to tell them that I’m here to record stories of immigration and emigration. These topics are ubiquitous realities here – Guanajuato is one of the Mexican states with the highest rates of emigration –but the stories of broken families and cultural violence remain so personal.

I suppose my embarrassment comes from the inherent meaning of my presence here: I can cross borders for vacation or work or study, or whatever, really. The cost of my plane ticket only one small aspect of what it means to be mobile in our globalized world…

But sometimes I take a chance and tell why I am here. Yesterday, I was sitting at a bar watching the USA-England game (how about the sheer luck of that ‘merican goal?) and I began to speak to the guy next to me. He was in his thirties and from the northeastern state of Tamaulpias—I told him about my project and he told me that he had things to share.

He told me that his state has been overrun by the drug war and is currently in the hands of the Gulf Cartel, one of the country’s four big drug operations. He kept saying that his uncle had lost so much power to the drug lords, that his uncle had had so many people bought off by the cartel – it took me a minute to realize that his uncle has been the governor of the state.

He then told me about his own kidnapping.

Part of me didn’t actually believe him until I went back to my room and verified the names he mentioned; I believe him now. He told me he was in a room for seven days, that he was fed and that there was a small television. He told me his parents paid $100,000 for his release. I didn’t ask more details because after he outlined the story, he got quiet about the whole thing.

From this and the other conversations I’ve had in my brief time here, I’ve gathered that the violence of the drug wars is a reality that stings far below the border. After my talk with the guy at the bar, I’ve decided that I have to become more open about my project – one never knows who has a story…