Mexico City braces for COVID-19 →
For the past three weeks, I’ve awoken to birdsong.
This is a far better way to greet the day than being slapped awake by the usual cacophony of my neighborhood. Before, my morning soundtrack was honking cars and shouting street vendors—¡pásale, pásale!—and the chuf chuf chuf of police helicopters rattling the windowpanes. Now, there is quiet. I rouse myself from the sheets and amble over to my rowing machine’s new spot in the middle of the living room. I use it daily and besides, no one’s coming over anytime soon, so there’s no reason to drag it to the back bedroom once I finish. I stretch for a couple of minutes, then sit down on the hard plastic seat before I can change my mind. Then I begin. The flywheel whirs as I pull the chain toward my torso, my body whooshes back—pause—and then I pull myself forward with a swoosh. Repeat. My thighs push me back with a whoosh, I fully extend my legs, then I scoot forward with a swoosh. Repeat. I continue my back and forth—whoosh, swoosh, whoosh, swoosh, whoosh, swoosh—creating a mechanical rhythm that relaxes my mind. The birds continue their morning concert, their songs reaching my ears through the open window. Sweat trickles down my temple.
This is my mindfulness practice.
The world is in the midst of a pandemic, which is why so many of us are doing some form of meditation these days—anything to tame the anxiety. We’ve all learned so much about pandemics recently, such as the fact that they come in stages. Mexico, by the way, is now in Stage 2 (which means that the virus is being transmitted locally). Compared to countries in Asia, Europe and North America, we’re late to the coronavirus party, which should come as no surprise since in Mexico, arriving late is part of our national character. In fact, it wasn’t until the very end of February that three men returned to Mexico from Italy and tested positive for Covid-19. On this same day, cases of Covid-19 were already approaching 84,000 worldwide.
During the month of March, we knew that a slow-moving hurricane was headed toward Mexico City. This stood in dramatic contrast from the previous month, when we were still enjoying the explosion of new memes and dancing to the “Coronavirus Cumbia”—our collective sense of humor still very much intact. And while China seemed far away indeed, we felt the threat coming closer. As we tried to digest the flood of online news from the front lines, the horrors of Wuhan gave way to new horrors reported in Milan, Madrid, London and New York.
Still, life in Mexico City continued. We had yet to learn the concept of social distancing. We went to work, packing ourselves into crowded buses and trains or maneuvering our vehicles onto gridlocked streets. We continued to go to the shops to buy stuff we didn’t really need, we ate tacos on the street, we got drunk and stoned with our friends, and we went to concerts. In fact, on the weekend of March 14-15, more than 115,000 attended the Vive Latino music festival. And why not? Our president, Andrés Manuel López Obrador (better known as “AMLO”), hadn’t raised any alarm and he was busy hitting the streets, still hugging supporters and kissing babies. AMLO even contradicted Mexican health officials, saying, “There are those who say we should stop hugging because of coronavirus. But we should hug. Nothing will happen.” Thanks for the reassurance, Mr. President. Now tell that to the families of the nearly 200 people in Mexico who have already died from COVID-19.
I noticed a change in the air after the music festival. Many of us were dumbfounded that such an event was allowed to proceed. Why would the authorities permit a gathering of thousands of people in close quarters? Many of us knew that the number of COVID-19 cases was rising in Mexico, yet the nature of the virus, whose carriers could transmit it without showing any symptoms for two weeks or more, meant that it was impossible to know the true extent of the pandemic in Mexico. Testing was scant nationwide and travel remained largely unrestricted, which allowed infected individuals to continue to arrive in the country—including waves of vacationing spring breakers from the United States and Canada. Party on kids and damn the consequences!
Instagram has become a fascinating repository of cultural expression in the Covid-19 era.
Even in normal times, living in Mexico can be hazardous to your health. The government’s war on drugs—now in its 14th year—continues its absurd trajectory. Thus far, it has left 150,000 dead and more than 60,000 disappeared. Mexico also has one of the highest rates of femicide in the world, with nearly a thousand women killed last year alone; this ongoing epidemic of gender violence that affects us all has seen the number of Mexican women killed annually double in just five years. If that wasn’t enough already, we’re also in the midst of a homegrown measles outbreak—the first such episode in Mexico in 20 years—with more than 100 cases reported in and around Mexico City. Measles, the most contagious virus known to mankind, has returned to Mexico thanks to anti-vaxxers. Moreover, with more than 40% of Mexicans living in poverty, and susceptible to medical conditions such as diabetes, hypertension, respiratory tract infections and pulmonary disease—and without guaranteed access to clean water—Mexico is all but guaranteed to see a brutal toll in infections and deaths once the number of COVID-19 cases skyrockets with the arrival of Phase 3 of the epidemic later this month. Nobody knows what will happen for sure, but we’ve been told that our fate will likely mirror that of Italy. Funny memes and songs will not save us.
For now, at least the streets are quiet. This provides introverted me with some consolation and peace of mind while I wait for the full horrors of the COVID-19 apocalypse to arrive. Normally, the sheer roar produced by this city of 22 million is soul crushing. For 12 hours a day, the urban racket outside my downtown apartment makes it difficult to work from home and impossible to concentrate on a book while kicking back on the sofa. Finally, in this city that never shuts up, there is silence—perhaps the only silver lining to this situation.
Time to check my privilege. I work for a company that has taken action to protect its employees irrespective of official mandates. With a dearth of meaningful guidance from the Mexican authorities, my employer approved working from home beginning March 17th—a full nine days before the government essentially made work from home mandatory for those who could. This was the day I posted a dumb photo of a burrito on Instagram, urging my followers to “make like this burrito and socially isolate yourselves starting NOW.” Since this time, I’ve ventured outside on only five separate occasions and all but once to buy food at the nearby public market. (The other trip was to take my cat to the veterinarian, because what better time to get an eye infection than during a pandemic? Meow.) I’m extremely lucky to live within a 10-minute walk of everything I could possibly need during this weird time: fresh food, at least a dozen pharmacies and (of course) the vet. My first trip outside, the outdoor city looked and felt much like it always had. Then, with each subsequent outing, I saw lighter traffic, more shuttered shops and fewer people on the streets.
Then the looting began. As we neared the end of March, news reports began to circulate that the criminally minded were using WhatsApp and Facebook groups to organize mass looting events targeting retail stores in mostly poorer neighborhoods and suburbs of Mexico City. Their pretext? To counter possible shortages of essential goods in the face of the COVID-19 pandemic. As alarmist as these reports sounded, they proved to be true. To date, there have been more than 50 episodes of organized robbery and looting of grocery stores and department stores around the country—mostly in and around Mexico City. Did the criminals clean the shelves of toilet paper, bleach and hand sanitizer? Nope. Mostly they stole electronics, mobile phones and alcoholic beverages.
Nowadays, Mexico City is a shadow of its former self. Back in February, no one could’ve predicted the empty streets and surging economic fallout with which we now must contend. On March 23, the federal government declared a “National Day of Safe Distance,” a campaign to underscore the importance of social distancing and to announce the temporary closure of schools and large-scale public events. The campaign introduced Mexico to Susana Distancia, a superhero who teaches the importance of maintaining a minimum distance of 1.5m between people. Her name is Spanish wordplay that translates to “Your Safe Distance” and it’s one of the more accessible public health education campaigns I’ve seen. The municipal government of nearby Metepec even produced a live-action video of Susana Distancia, who is portrayed by the town’s very own mayor. The video has, predictably, gone viral.
Wait, are we still describing videos as viral?
A Susana Distancia poster hangs over an empty Plaza de las Vizcaínas in central Mexico City. The public health campaign features a superhero designed to teach citizens how to socially distance and stay safe during the COVID-19 pandemic.
In the Centro Histórico—the city’s ancient heart—additional preventive measures have been introduced. This dense network of narrow streets has been my home for nearly a decade and it teems with humanity, drawing up to two million visitors on a typical weekday. Given the heightened risk for coronavirus contagion in such densely inhabited places, the local government has begun power-washing and disinfecting public spaces in the neighborhood on a daily basis.
And though there are orders to stay at home, you can still observe people walking about and working in the Centro, but please don’t shout at them from your apartment window to stay at home. Despite a decade of rapid gentrification, this isn’t a wealthy enclave like Polanco, Condesa or Santa Fe; it is a district still largely defined by the poverty of its residents, who cannot eat if they do not work. Most of my neighbors do not share my good fortune and can’t do their jobs from home. For this reason, the focus has been on discouraging non-residents from visiting the area. Last week, the Zócalo—the city’s large central plaza—was cordoned off along with Francisco I. Madero street—the busiest pedestrian corridor in Latin America, which draws 350,000 visitors on an average day. Today, an incredible 80% of the businesses in the Centro Histórico have closed.
When the “Day of Safe Distance” was declared, it seemed that all of Mexico headed straight to the shops for fear they would shut down. Some of the products that saw the highest rise in demand were rice, pasta, bleach and canned vegetables. Strangely, whiskey and tequila saw significant drops in sales, which makes no sense to me because when the caca hits the fan, I’m not gonna want to be sober. As an ambitious home cook, my cupboards are usually fully stocked with various types of dried beans, chiles, rice, corn, nuts and flour. My weekly shopping trips are primarily to replenish fresh produce. There is so much in season in Mexico in April—cauliflower, beets, mamey, chayote, pineapple, spinach, nopal, mango, potatoes, carrots and strawberries—and these healthy foods provide us the nutrients our bodies need during stressful times like the present. The family who has supplied me with fruits and vegetables for nearly a decade has pledged to remain open for business and now offers home delivery. This, along with frequent hand washing and staying indoors, is the closest I have to an insurance policy to stay healthy. I try to avoid the news and focus on cooking instead because unlike gloomy media reports, cooking brings me joy.
Though it appears that the world is falling apart around me, I feel quite calm—like the dog surrounded by flames in the This is Fine meme. This is not what I would characterize as an appropriate reaction, though my therapist assures me that there is no “appropriate” reaction to current times. And while I certainly understand that this moment we’re living through is ushering in tremendous pain and disruption for people everywhere, I can’t help but feel a tiny bit hopeful.
For more than two years, I’ve been living with profound depression and anxiety that has pushed me to isolate myself as a form of self-preservation. These feelings of hopelessness and dread that you’re now experiencing? They have been my constant companions for too long now. And yet, here I am. I’m still breathing. I’m still alive. Nowadays, I no longer have to explain to others that I feel emotionally fragile—that things are difficult. I don’t need to explain my choice to coop myself up at home and avoid social gatherings. These days, everyone can empathize with me because we all feel the same way.
This is my fourth pandemic. I came out of the closet in the 1980s, back when AIDS was still a mysterious death sentence and HIV was infecting queer communities far and wide. (At that time, most people could care less and were content to let us die.) Then, in 2003, the SARS virus came to Toronto while I was in the city to complete a professional certification course. There was tension and fear in the air, but mostly, urban life remained hectic and continued without interruption. Next, H1N1 arose in Mexico in 2009; I was working as a teacher in the northern city of Monterrey and while schools were closed temporarily, the turmoil was short lived.
I don’t claim to be an expert, but it’s hard to refrain from drawing conclusions about the current pandemic based upon my past experiences. It seems certain that things will grow worse—perhaps unbearably so, leaving me with dozens of dead friends all over again—but then, slowly, the pandemic will begin to fade away. Then, it will flare up again before once again waning into the background. When humanity emerges from the other side of the COVID-19 pandemic, we will be different, but we will still be human. The world will change in ways that we cannot predict, but I doubt that it will change very much. We’ll still have inequality, we’ll still have hunger, we’ll still have hate, we’ll still have violence.
But maybe, just maybe, we’ll also have more empathy for our fellow human beings.
#StaySafe #StayHealthy #WereInThisTogether
The best poster I’ve seen to encourage citizens to stay at home comes from the municipal government of Guadalupe, Nuevo León (a suburb of Monterrey). It states simply, “We’re not asking you to go to war” and is followed by a hashtag that translates to #StayAtHome.