What is Occupy Austin?

We've all watched as the Occupy movement has taken over not only the USA, but other parts of the world as well. Today, on October 15th, people from all over the globe marched in a solidarity movement to speak out against corruption, corporate power, and even budget cuts. People in Australia, Germany,Italy,Japan, and many other countries took to the streets to speak their minds and let the world know that they are the 99%. The Occupation, quite simply, has gone global.
Today, Austin marched in what was a surprisingly peaceful manner. Maybe it's all part of 'keeping Austin weird', but there was not a single issue with anyone acting out against police or attempting to turn the rally into something other than a peaceful protest. Organizers encouraged a 'police neutral' approach - basically whether you love them or hate them, you should remain neutral to police presence at all times. This worked well. The police chief even got up on a podium and thanked the Austin crowd for protesting in a manner that was respectful and peaceful. And protesters were grateful as well that the police did not crack down in Austin in the way they have in New York, Denver, and other cities. Though police lined the streets all the way from City Hall to the Capitol building, they seemed to be present to just ensure over all peace - not only from protesters, but also from pedestrians and people driving their cars downtown.

Slogans ranged from "You bailed them out and sold us out!" and "We are the 99%" to "Occupy this street, occupy Austin!", and these were all shouted vigorously during the march. A popular protest item has been the mask that most of us would recognize from the film "V for Vendetta" and which in this last year has come to be associated heavily with the resistance group called "Anonymous".

It's hard to say exactly what will ultimately be accomplished through these global protests. Perhaps one thing which the Occupy Austin movement should be most concerned with is the issue of straying too far from the point. It becomes redundant when speech makers break away from the original goals of the protest to also attempt to turn the rallies into anti-war movements. The last anti-war protest I went to was sparsely populated and not well organized - only partial proof of how this topic has been beaten past the point of no return in the last five years. It's not that Austin doesn't care about the war in Afghanistan and Iraq, it's more that it doesn't tie quite so neatly in with the concept of protesting corporations getting richer while average Americans get poorer.

Other than that, it is a very exciting to be able to witness these movements. History is in the making and many individuals are choosing to become active participants of this.

A Missionary Tale

There once was a man on a mission. He had been born and raised in the heartland of the American dream, but a child of whom nothing much was expected. He spent his childhood and the greater part of his adolescence getting himself into trouble and then swiftly getting out of it using his charming grin and Irish blue eyes. He spent time in the army as a young man and was stationed in Germany where he learned sufficient German in order to be able to sell army rationed cigarettes outside the base. He was kept away from Vietnam by sheer luck; he tried his hardest to enlist but his path was not meant to go that route and he eventually found himself back in the Mid-west with a new passion: Christianity. It's difficult to say at what point he felt that call- the strange yet distinct urging to do something specific as well as immeasurably difficult- but he felt it and one day knew that he was meant to go to Mexico.
It was the height of the hippie movement as well as the radical Jesus movement of the 1970s so the fact that a young man was getting ready to head South without knowing where he was going or even how to speak Spanish did not seem out of the ordinary. Fortunately, direction came in the form of a newsletter by Danny Ost (a man known as the ‘apostle to Mexico’) which somehow ended up in his mailbox. Aha! He thought. I’ll go work with Danny Ost. And so one day he, along with a young couple, packed up his Hippie Bus (a former school bus now serving the role as a type of camper), pointed its nose South and started to drive. The first stop was at Danny Ost’s headquarters in Laredo, TX. Jaws dropped at the sight of this young man who looked a rather shocking sight to these clean cut Pentecostals. In fact, he looked almost intimidating with his shaven head and unruly dark brown beard.
“Where are you going?” they asked with raised eyebrows and wide eyes.
Almost a little too enthusiastically (let’s not forget that our protagonist was still rather young and starry eyed) he replied: “I’m going to work with Danny Ost!”. It seemed inevitable that Danny Ost would, of course, be absolutely delighted to see him.
The people at headquarters overlooked their misgivings long enough to point him in the right direction – not so much because he absolutely convinced them of his calling, but rather because they had recently received a rather cumbersome donation of two massive speakers by a freshly converted rock star who wanted them delivered to Danny Ost in Monterrey, Mexico. It seemed easy enough to send them with this hippie – despite his rather uncouth appearance.
The young hippie responded with equal enthusiasm to the idea of transporting these speakers across the border – ah young gullibility can be bliss. When asked how much he would need to pay off the customs guards he responded with cheerful ignorance: “Nothing!”. The people at headquarters were hesitant to send him away empty handed so after loading the speakers onto the Hippie Bus ( a task which took two people per speaker to accomplish) they handed him a $20 dollar bill and sent him on his way.
Hence the young hippie found himself approaching the USA/Mexico border completely unaware that the items he was carrying would be impossible to get in with a $20 dollar bribe. He walked into the offices to get his paperwork filled out and then confidently walked out to have his paperwork and vehicle checked. A minute later he found himself being shouted and motioned at in a very energetic fashion by a customs official rather on the portly side. The hippie didn’t understand Spanish but he got the general idea that the speakers were a definite problem and that he wouldn’t be crossing the border with them. He had a choice: go back and leave the speakers or simply go back to stay. But a man on a mission does not let himself be deterred by the simple international rules regarding immigration, so the young hippie just simply…well…he hung out. He’d pop in cheerfully every little while to ask the customs officials if he could go into Mexico (he asked in English of course – he only knew a handful of Spanish words) and disgruntled and annoyed they’d shout back at him in Spanish to go home. Finally, irritated beyond belief and in a final play to get rid of this tenacious American, they huddled in a group and came to the joint agreement to let him through. It seems that the minute they ran up against this hippie they also had two choices: to let him through or to be consistently annoyed until they let him through. Most, I’m sure, where wishing they had avoided the hassle and just gone ahead with the first option.
But the war had not yet been won. The young hippie made it across the border but hit a second customs checkpoint in which the reaction was pretty much the same: a customs official started shouting and waving his arms about indicating that there was no way they could take the speakers through. The hippie decided to try a different approach.
“Iglesia!” he started yelling back in his painfully thick American accent. Iglesia means church and this was, rather fortunately (as you shall see), one of the handful of Spanish words that he knew. Then he pulled out his $20 dollar bill which had safely made it through the first customs check and tried to give it to the official. It’s difficult to say why the official felt moved by this obviously oblivious American’s shouting of this single word, but he pushed the money back at the young man and waved him through. As the hippie breathed a sigh of relief and made his way deeper into Mexico he couldn’t have imagined that this would be the smallest of the big adventures that awaited him.

3,000 Miles and a Brother Like No Other

After traveling through three countries, over 3,000 miles, and through around 20 states in the USA alone (we stopped counting after awhile), it feels good to have a place to finally settle - even if it's only temporarily. I realized that over the last five weeks I only slept in a bed once. Every other night was either spent lying on the ground somewhere or sitting in our car by the side of the road as the headlights of other travelers passed gently over us. It's difficult to find a way to explain the events of this last summer except to say that they will be hard to surpass and quite possibly impossible.
It wasn't so much the concerts that made the summer memorable (although they were all truly epic!), but other moments that will be difficult to forget. Such as being woken up at 2am by a police officer in Massachusetts who instead of telling us to move on (we were asleep in our car) merely told us he was checking to make sure we were okay and that we were welcome to stay. There was the conversation in Pittsburgh we had with a married couple in their 40s who talked about music with more passion than anyone I have ever met and showed us that kindred spirits come in all shapes and sizes. There was a young Canadian couple that camped next to us in Moncton who discussed how at ease they felt behind the wheel of a car and how traveling 15 hours a day was not out of the ordinary. There was breathtaking scenery in Canada which rivaled anything I have every seen and reminded me of how small we truly are. We watched Niagara falls dump her fury into her river and lay on the beach of Lake Michigan. We got lost in New York (twice) and had trouble starting our car at 2am an hour outside of Chicago. It rained practically every time we camped out and for every single concert except for one. But even that was wonderful. We stood in the rain for ten hours and made friends because we were all in the same wet boat. I watched the moon trickle over the lakes in Minnesota by night as they lay like so many yards of dark velvet by the roadside. And finally we saw hues of green, orange, yellow, and blue streak across the sky and collide like comets over the Texas horizon as sunset filled the desert and we made our final journey home.
I learned things too, like how to let go of a grudge, to avoid fighting with the person you will be in the car with for 8 hours, how to cook over a fire, and how to let go of fear. What struck me the most in the end was the unique relationship I have with my brother. Not a single person we met on this long journey assumed we were brother and sister; we were always asked first if we were either married or a couple. Then when we said we were siblings people couldn't believe that we got along so well that we would actually be able to take that kind of trip together (although I can't imagine attempting that trip with a significant other - I think I would go insane). So I learned how lucky I am. I'm lucky to have a brother who is also my best friend, someone who proved throughout our trip that he would stick with me through thick and thin and most of the time just laugh at our predicaments. Someone who will work for 30 minutes to start a fire in the rain and who gamely goes to an Eminem concert just so I can sing to at least one song. Therefore, the most poignant part of the trip for me was the end; when I had to take Eric to the airport to catch a flight back to Minnesota and I realized that it was really over. He had hung around for three months - and now the end was in sight. And I cried all the way home from the airport. :)

Eric is my Poodle and Other Stories

I informed Eric several days ago that on this road trip through the USA he would play the part of my poodle. The reference I was making was to Steinbeck's novel "Travels with Charley" in which Steinbeck treks across the USA with his aristocratic and sophisticated French poodle. Eric was not amused; regardless of how sophisticated said poodle was. It took one night of camping out for me to realize that I who was in fact the poodle. The only thing necessary to convince me that I was more of a companion in the situation was Eric sending me to fetch a pile of wood and then proceeding to start a fire in a very rapid and Boy Scout-esk fashion (keep in mind that this was after he also erected our tent). Suffice to say I did manage to reap the joys of Smores which were cooked on that campfire. :)
I am also apparently not very adept at choosing good campgrounds. This was proved so when we drove into Clarksville, Indiana yesterday afternoon. I was at the wheel as Eric squinted at a Googlemap printout with directions to our supposed campsite. We soon found ourselves wandering around the most decrepit and run down area of Clarksville - the kind of area of town that makes you nervous if you hang out there past 7pm. There was nothing resembling a beautiful, natural campsite in sight. Almost by accident we stumbled upon a sign directing us to the camp area. We drove past "Derbey's Dinner Playhouse" with its flashing pink neon sign and dubiously entered the parking lot.
" There's some old dude looking at you." Eric said as we pulled up to the building (which featured a window through which this man was apparently having a good look). I went in to fix our reservation and was greeted by Earl. Pale blue eyes, bleached blonde hair, a diamond stud in his left ear, ranging in age from 55-65, and exuding an air of creepy self confidence.I will simply refer to the other character as "Mumbly" as the only thing I understood was an occasional "Bathroom...mumble, mumble, key, mumble, deposit, mumble." Then the fatal words "Earl...mumble,mumble, smoking, mumble." Apparently Earl was going on a smoke break and would be available to conveniently show us our campsite. He proceeded to lead us to a patch of grass surrounded as far as the eye can see by concrete on every side. Keeping in mind the rather shady neighborhood we had just driven through, I couldn't help but ask Earl an important question: "How safe is it around here?" I didn't expect him to say it wasn't, but also didn't expect him to launch into a descriptive analogy with some vague reference to Andy Griffith. He flicked the ashes from his cigarette looked me up and down AGAIN and then said: "Don't worry, we patrol this area at night all the time." I didn't have the heart to tell Earl that the idea of him creeping around my tent in the middle of the night 'patrolling' was scarier than the idea of some delinquent from the outside coming to murder me in my sleep.
Ah, but the night turned out to be uneventful (although not very resting) and what glorious sight should greet Eric and me when we stepped out of our tent early the next morning? None other than Earl on a 'patrol' on his bright yellow go cart, staring intensely at us as he puttered by with a half smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. We hightailed it out of there.

You Know You're in Mexico When...

1. The immigration officer tries to get you to bribe him in order to get your visa 'taken care of'.
2. The military is waiting with their LAVs to do drug checks on the Mexican side - they make the American border patrol look about as fierce as a crate of puppies.
3. Driving anywhere at anytime becomes a near death experience.
4. You find 'Stop' signs hanging out in irrational places such as in front of stoplights and beside 'Yield' signs - and that's ok.
5. You find cheaper and much better food.
6. You don't have to fill up your own gas tank.
7. Suited up and masked super cop types patrolling the streets with semi-automatic weapons is normal.
8. Acknowledging people on the street (whether strangers or not) is not weird - and people don't look at you like you're an alien when you say hello.
9. People are afraid of your dog because she is larger than a chihuahua.
10. You don't need your ID for anything. :)

Fear

I admit I bought into the whole fear aspect. For less than and hour, for the first time in my life, I was afraid to go back to the town I grew up in. It wasn't the mass e-mails sent out by my university warning students not to go to Mexico that caused this fear, it wasn't even the wide-eyed classmate who in hushed tones questioned my sanity at going to such a 'dangerous' place, it was the words written in bold and splashed accross the front of a newspaper page that ultimately marked my momentary hesitation. "18 killed in Culiacan!" it read. I panicked.
Fortunately I knew exactly who to call. And once he was able to pause for a breath of air after laughing hysterically at my question of "Is it safe?" my dad managed to gasp out "Of course it's safe!". My face burned with shame.
When I landed in Mazatlan a few days later, what I encountered was not at all what I expected. Apparently the newspapers had not even voiced the worst of it. People told me about the night club shooting where 4 died and 21 were wounded, the 4 men who were shot and then hung off an overpass, the restaurant that was shot up twice because the owner either couldn't or wouldn't pay safety / blackmail fees to the cartel, the 2 cartel members shot in broad daylight in the middle of the day in front of a big hotel on the main strip, and so on. But this was not at all what surprised me, I was astonished to hear the same people who expressed these terrible situations saying in almost the same breath "We are not afraid to be here.". And I was awed. Because at the end of the day the truth of the matter is that it is EXTREMELY unlikely that anyone I know could possibly get hurt because of this cartel situation. People killed are those who are involved in the cartel or are simply hanging out with the wrong crowd at the wrong time.
On my second day I had the privelage of going to see not only the 12th feeding center that has been sponsored by the Vineyard, but I was privelaged enough to stand on the ground that is destined to someday hold the 13th feeding center. And I realized that life has to go on. People continue living with the same issues, working for a living, and in general etching out a life. I nearly burst with pride at how lucky I was to be surrounded by so many fearless people who put aside their own worries and anxieties in order to continue to do great work.And most importantly, I find Mazatlan greatly unchanged. There are fewer tourists, but it is the same town that I loved in my younger years and that I now miss for whenever I am away;the same people who are loving and helpful and warm; the same laid back and relaxed approach to any issue that life brings our way. In essence, in my opinion the absolutely best place to be right now is defnitely Mazatlan. :)

Snow Day in Texas

I always wondered what would happen if it snowed in South Texas. Despite having already lived through quite a few winters here, I thought the universe would never deign to answer this question for me....until today.
I woke up early in the morning and was groggily wandering about when I happened to look out my window. My jaw dropped. Everything was covered in a layer of white and although I had heard that it was going to snow I didn't know it would be so much! So I decided that I would brave the cold and go down to the university to see what people were out doing on a snow day.I slogged out to my car to try and brush the snow off of the windows. Apparently that takes a lot more skill than I possess, because the snow was sticking obstinately. So I slogged back to my apartment, filled a bucket with hot water, slogged back to the car, and half-heartedly poured it over the front windshield. Voila! It did manage to melt the snow despite leaving a crust of ice on the lower half. Good enough for me, I thought. Until I climbed in my car and realized that what I was left with was literally two holes to look through in the front, not to mention the back window and side windows were still crusted in stubborn snow - making visibility impossible. Northerners will mock me but I am a tropical girl at heart and really thought of this as a true dilemma.
OK, no driving then. I could walk. It was cold but not windy so I assumed I would survive just fine (and I figured that classes and work were cancelled for a reason - South Texans have no clue how to drive in the snow). I bundled up as if the Arctic north were awaiting me outside and set off. Then I noticed South Texans do not know how to walk in the snow - and also do not have shoes with proper traction for walking in the snow. People were slipping and sliding across the street, inching little by little in order not to fall. Of course, students were out early gathering the snow for snow fights, building tiny snowmen (not enough snow for normal sized snowmen), and generally in awe at the sight of Austin covered in snow. Having already gotten my fill of snow angels in Utah and Minnesota - as well as having been shoved into a 3 foot snow drift by my impish brother (where I proceeded to sink like a stone and flounder about until a friend kindly fished me out)- I wasn't up for playing in the snow.
I have thoroughly enjoyed seeing Austin in a different light. Being as this is possibly my last year here, I feel so fortunate to be able to have a winter that differs from previous ones. I finally got to see it snow in Texas :)!

The Wild South

In my travels this Christmas season, I have to admit I was more worried about the TSA than about the drug cartel problems in Mexico. Would I get searched? Be forced to choose between the backscatter or being patted down? Apparently neither. I flew on eight different flights during the busiest time of the year and not a single time did I even so much as witness anyone being subjected to the backscatter or a search....and I'm not even sure if I should be relieved or worried about this (given that last year the 'underwear bomber' tried to blow up a plane during the Christmas season). What was the most extensive search I had to go through? It was actually in Mazatlan!
I flew in on a tiny 60 person jet to the place that I consider my hometown. As my dad tore through crazy traffic - refusing to yield or even stop at the stop signs (ahhhh I miss that Mexican way of driving :) )- he casually mentioned that 11 people had been shot in the outskirts of Mazatlan just the week before. This is nothing new, especially to a girl like myself who grew up hearing about shootouts at restaurants, watched the feds clean up after gun fights from the night before, and was told to never even look at the expensive cars we sometimes encountered as they were driving around downtown with windows so tinted it was impossible to see in anyways. But it was a bit different this time. That first day I walked to the beach and saw military helicopters flying overhead (this actually happened more than once during that week), on one walk later that week I came upon the feds standing on the beach holding their automatic weapons and instinct caused me to head in the other direction as fast as possible (no one wants to be in the wrong place at the wrong time), I even saw them downtown staking out a small taco stand IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY, and a friend of mine mentioned that she had heard gunshots in her neighborhood at 3 in the afternoon. I'm accustomed to witnessing the aftermath of these things the next morning but although I have seen the feds hanging around most of the time, I can't really remember a time when gun fights would happen in the daytime.This is a new Mazatlan to me but I understand why people stay and why my dad goes back again and again; Mexico is special, despite all her problems.
When I flew out all of my bags were opened and extensively searched....twice- I even saw one guy taking off his shoes so that the police could check inside. The only other place I have witnessed such extensive searches was in Manila when they searched me before I could get into the stores (and the searches to get on the plane were even worse!). And in both cases I felt safer flying out of a third world country than I did out of the USA where people complain about random and sporadic searches that are meant to keep us safe. And so this brings me in a full circle....I would rather be in wild Mexico where people understand that inadequate searches put us in danger as opposed to the USA where the seeds of discontent sprout up at the slightest inconvenience. And I really am a Mexican at heart.....give me Mazatlan any day,with or without the drug wars.