Mexico is a country founded and built on differences. Maybe that's why "the other" seduces and irritates us. The crash between native Mesoamericans and the Spaniards, who were emerging from a long war against the Arabs, and who arrived to the Indies with expansionist zeal, is bittersweet. On one hand there is the eagerness to subjugate and crush that other world (as seen from either side) and, on the other hand, the desire to touch it, know it and observe it. And that is what both cultures did from their own traditions: the Spaniards, with their evangelist and colonialist zeal; the indigenous with their polytheism and roots to their fertile land. For the Spaniards it was a discovery based on prejudice. God's design had not included these new "beings" in His kingdom. For the indigenous people it was more like a revelation, a discovery with a surprise element. From both perspectives, the differences were what was attractive (as any encounter with "the other" always is). What impacted the future was the inequity. The indigenous people were treated as savages, their land was pillared, they were condemned to exile and to adapt to the vision that the other had of them. And that other, simultaneously exploring the land and discovering themselves in a different geography, were also trying to impose a foreign perspective in the landscape, virgin before their eyes, but ancient from the point of view of Mesoamerican history.
Attraction and rejection are the legacy of an encounter between two visions that gave origin to the syncretic and schizoid Mexican culture. The mutual surprise, the need to get to know that "other," follow their own course in a history where integration and violation ran parallel, as well as the imposition of an old world on another just as ancient or even more, but with a different cosmogony. Facing the unknown, the colonizers opted for imposing the taxonomy of a reality less modern than the rest of Europe. They brought their fear of God and the natives kept their own divinities. They imported fear and exported a sensorial hedonism provoked by a paradisiac geography, exuberant to them; natural to the natives. Attraction and rejection are already a habit. The desire for the other is present in our every day life and marks a paradoxical cultural relation between Mexican social classes.
It has been often said that Mexico's conquest was more like a civil war between the cultures subjugated by the great Tenochtitlan, which the "conquerors" took advantage of. It has also been said that independence was the natural consequence of the separatist impetus/forces of the Spaniards living in the New Spain. Carlos IV underestimated the colony's autonomy.
This contradiction is part of Mexican every day life. Mexicans who speak Spanish but who eat tortillas, nopales (cactus), and chile; who adore the Virgin of Guadalupe and set altars to their dead. We are a society trapped between “criollismo” (Spanish culture developed in Mexico) and the autochthonous intensity that makes us who we are. And this duality, this love-hate relationship, has generated not only a hybrid culture, but it has also perpetuated a class system in which your origin defines your present and continues to perpetuate an already unbridgeable social gap. It is a paradox in which those “others,” just as before, keep rubbing elbows with each other and keep developing a society in which class mobility is highly unlikely (conformist really, when both parts judge the ones who want to leave the comfort of their own class).
Those who serve delegate their own autonomy and civic responsibilities to the “white” people, who in turn must exhibit and perpetuate their foreignness to continue to dominate, either by their skin color, their last names, their addresses, or their education. The ones who make it, dominate. They seduce. Meanwhile, the rightful owners of this land have gone on exile and assume themselves as “the other” in their own habitat. And in their self-imposed exile they adapt to the way of life of the other. This relationship has perpetuated a prevailing classicism in Mexico. The nanny culture has created a society where rich and poor depend on each other economically and emotionally.
It is still common for the dominant classes to have a service staff: drivers, butlers, cooks, maids, and nannies. This team of servants exhibits the economic reach of the wealthy and is in charge of supporting the family’s core. It is the servants that are closer to the children: they are the ones who teach this contradiction. The “home’s children” are spoiled by the nannies; they grow up in brown arms, with more rural tastes, with food presumably more austere. They relate to the world through the basic Spanish spoken by the servants who immerse them in their own musical tastes and their frank laughter. And those children grow up doing the sign of the cross before eating their refried beans with “epazote,” and then they watch the “novelas” next to their beloved nanny. Growing up they create affectionate bonds with “the other” who cares for them and protects them. However, upon reaching adolescence, they are asked to renounce this attachment: they ought to be more cosmopolitan, to desire the girls from their own social class, girls the same color as they are, with the same interests (interests that they are supposedly forced to have) and the same ambitions. But they are completely detached from this world. All of a sudden, they are torn away from this paradise so that they can start the lives that they are meant to have. The longing for the other remains, and it turns into a hidden search, foreseeing a schizophrenic future in which they ought to belong to the dominant group and desire what their equals desire. Facing the impossibly unfair negotiation between the two worlds, the easiest way to adapt is to look down on that other.
This detachment concerns interpersonal relationships, not so much the habits and customs that prevail as socially accepted and are adapted to their “class.” In this way, luxury restaurants offering a “homemade” menu are common. The twist is in the presentation: those refried beans with epazote are served not with the typical “Cotija” or fresh cheese, but with a Brie or a Roquefort. Some bars also play the songs that the servants dance to and sing (learned in buses or small town parties or simply listened to empathetically for their emotional lyrics) but through high end speakers, and under the premise that, more than a “personal taste,” it is a “sign of understanding that other.”
As a result of this, those children raised by nannies every once in a while escape to their imaginary land, but they are condemned to pretend confusion, and here lies the perversity: they reach adulthood leading a double life. They establish relationships with their “equals” and bring again those “others” to cook their quesadillas, teach them the fear of God, and care for their children. The servants have imparted the sentimental education of the wealthy for generations and it will continue to be their future legacy.
From the kitchen and servants’ quarters, the domestics not only decide what is for dinner, but they also serve as the children’s stoical companion, who will always return seeking the comfort of a plate of “huevos rancheros.” The underclass define the longings and hate of the upperclass and serve as their emotional support. Their equals—in both cases—just perpetuate the status quo.
This article was originally published in the Diplomatic Courier's May/June 2013 print edition.
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The Nanny Culture
May 23, 2013
Mexico is a country founded and built on differences. Maybe that's why "the other" seduces and irritates us. The crash between native Mesoamericans and the Spaniards, who were emerging from a long war against the Arabs, and who arrived to the Indies with expansionist zeal, is bittersweet. On one hand there is the eagerness to subjugate and crush that other world (as seen from either side) and, on the other hand, the desire to touch it, know it and observe it. And that is what both cultures did from their own traditions: the Spaniards, with their evangelist and colonialist zeal; the indigenous with their polytheism and roots to their fertile land. For the Spaniards it was a discovery based on prejudice. God's design had not included these new "beings" in His kingdom. For the indigenous people it was more like a revelation, a discovery with a surprise element. From both perspectives, the differences were what was attractive (as any encounter with "the other" always is). What impacted the future was the inequity. The indigenous people were treated as savages, their land was pillared, they were condemned to exile and to adapt to the vision that the other had of them. And that other, simultaneously exploring the land and discovering themselves in a different geography, were also trying to impose a foreign perspective in the landscape, virgin before their eyes, but ancient from the point of view of Mesoamerican history.
Attraction and rejection are the legacy of an encounter between two visions that gave origin to the syncretic and schizoid Mexican culture. The mutual surprise, the need to get to know that "other," follow their own course in a history where integration and violation ran parallel, as well as the imposition of an old world on another just as ancient or even more, but with a different cosmogony. Facing the unknown, the colonizers opted for imposing the taxonomy of a reality less modern than the rest of Europe. They brought their fear of God and the natives kept their own divinities. They imported fear and exported a sensorial hedonism provoked by a paradisiac geography, exuberant to them; natural to the natives. Attraction and rejection are already a habit. The desire for the other is present in our every day life and marks a paradoxical cultural relation between Mexican social classes.
It has been often said that Mexico's conquest was more like a civil war between the cultures subjugated by the great Tenochtitlan, which the "conquerors" took advantage of. It has also been said that independence was the natural consequence of the separatist impetus/forces of the Spaniards living in the New Spain. Carlos IV underestimated the colony's autonomy.
This contradiction is part of Mexican every day life. Mexicans who speak Spanish but who eat tortillas, nopales (cactus), and chile; who adore the Virgin of Guadalupe and set altars to their dead. We are a society trapped between “criollismo” (Spanish culture developed in Mexico) and the autochthonous intensity that makes us who we are. And this duality, this love-hate relationship, has generated not only a hybrid culture, but it has also perpetuated a class system in which your origin defines your present and continues to perpetuate an already unbridgeable social gap. It is a paradox in which those “others,” just as before, keep rubbing elbows with each other and keep developing a society in which class mobility is highly unlikely (conformist really, when both parts judge the ones who want to leave the comfort of their own class).
Those who serve delegate their own autonomy and civic responsibilities to the “white” people, who in turn must exhibit and perpetuate their foreignness to continue to dominate, either by their skin color, their last names, their addresses, or their education. The ones who make it, dominate. They seduce. Meanwhile, the rightful owners of this land have gone on exile and assume themselves as “the other” in their own habitat. And in their self-imposed exile they adapt to the way of life of the other. This relationship has perpetuated a prevailing classicism in Mexico. The nanny culture has created a society where rich and poor depend on each other economically and emotionally.
It is still common for the dominant classes to have a service staff: drivers, butlers, cooks, maids, and nannies. This team of servants exhibits the economic reach of the wealthy and is in charge of supporting the family’s core. It is the servants that are closer to the children: they are the ones who teach this contradiction. The “home’s children” are spoiled by the nannies; they grow up in brown arms, with more rural tastes, with food presumably more austere. They relate to the world through the basic Spanish spoken by the servants who immerse them in their own musical tastes and their frank laughter. And those children grow up doing the sign of the cross before eating their refried beans with “epazote,” and then they watch the “novelas” next to their beloved nanny. Growing up they create affectionate bonds with “the other” who cares for them and protects them. However, upon reaching adolescence, they are asked to renounce this attachment: they ought to be more cosmopolitan, to desire the girls from their own social class, girls the same color as they are, with the same interests (interests that they are supposedly forced to have) and the same ambitions. But they are completely detached from this world. All of a sudden, they are torn away from this paradise so that they can start the lives that they are meant to have. The longing for the other remains, and it turns into a hidden search, foreseeing a schizophrenic future in which they ought to belong to the dominant group and desire what their equals desire. Facing the impossibly unfair negotiation between the two worlds, the easiest way to adapt is to look down on that other.
This detachment concerns interpersonal relationships, not so much the habits and customs that prevail as socially accepted and are adapted to their “class.” In this way, luxury restaurants offering a “homemade” menu are common. The twist is in the presentation: those refried beans with epazote are served not with the typical “Cotija” or fresh cheese, but with a Brie or a Roquefort. Some bars also play the songs that the servants dance to and sing (learned in buses or small town parties or simply listened to empathetically for their emotional lyrics) but through high end speakers, and under the premise that, more than a “personal taste,” it is a “sign of understanding that other.”
As a result of this, those children raised by nannies every once in a while escape to their imaginary land, but they are condemned to pretend confusion, and here lies the perversity: they reach adulthood leading a double life. They establish relationships with their “equals” and bring again those “others” to cook their quesadillas, teach them the fear of God, and care for their children. The servants have imparted the sentimental education of the wealthy for generations and it will continue to be their future legacy.
From the kitchen and servants’ quarters, the domestics not only decide what is for dinner, but they also serve as the children’s stoical companion, who will always return seeking the comfort of a plate of “huevos rancheros.” The underclass define the longings and hate of the upperclass and serve as their emotional support. Their equals—in both cases—just perpetuate the status quo.
This article was originally published in the Diplomatic Courier's May/June 2013 print edition.
