Eiffel 65, Living in a Bubble

I refuse to talk about The Chapo incident. So many great writers and really talented ones, have written about it ad nauseam. I don't care if Kate del Castillo is stressed or Sean Penn disappointed because of his failed expectations of how his article was supposed to be perceived. When a circus comes to town, you just buy the ticket if you want to have some fun. But then it's over. It was a circus, you go home and make dinner, go to work the next day.

There are so many things happening here and abroad that, to this point, El Chapo is a bump on the road, unless other improbable things fell in place. 

So Moreira, unsolved Tlatlaya, unsolved Casa Blanca, unsolved Ayotzinapa and Guerrero bursting with more deaths, cries of satiety towards violence and levantamientos (people taken, sometimes found either dead or alive but tortured, not sequestered just taken).

Lagunilla was an important day trip yesterday because it is a way of getting close to what we think we already know of our Mexican selves. Tepito (the fierce quarter) has been regarded as a dangerous place, not for tepiteños but for outsiders. Illicit buys can be found here, as in most of black markets but Tepito, offers certain "goods" that can't be found elsewhere: hitmen, guns, drugs.

As I was walking yesterday through this place, it seemed like a regular flea market, but I never felt quite comfortable. Not even with complete squads of tranquil policemen walking lazily after having lunch in one of the market's loncherías.

After I took some pictures, I was trying to figure out the sense of dignity found here and not elsewhere. This barrio or quarter is governed by itself. Police are just mere coworkers, walking around, allowing the illicit to occur. Some famous boxers come from this fisty and hustling place. According to certain writings, some vendors have gone so far as stating: "In Tepito we sell everything, but our dignity".

Tepito I, think, may just be a microcosm of Mexico. The bravos (not brave but fierce) are running this country, the police or military forces are winking eyes and playing the part that is needed when someone gets something sold or stolen, but in the deep corridors of this intricate vecindad and maze, a small part goes to the thieves as the other sums of money and fees get distributed in a hierarchical ladder, all the waaaaay to the top: paying the capo or the government, to each it's part in two.

With no demand, there's no supply. Now what does that say of us, poor, little Mexicans? Buying t-shirts from stolen trucks, dressing in cheap Chinese imitations of big brands, looking for the lifestyle but not willing to pay the price? If there is a war, is not against drugs, it's still against wicked problems, against the ignorance of our cozy bubble.