I left Southgate Los Angeles with all the nervousness a war journalist can afford to carry. This would be one of several meetings to come, to organize a fatal strike against the racist group knows as the Minuteman. And i wanted as much in-depth information as i could get, i expected my swollen bank account to thank me later on behalf of major news wires around the globe.
Was i ready for shock?
The encuentro was great, activists gathered for a full day of endogamous support therapy whose most interesting activity (beside the hacktivist demonstration against minuteman) was a zoo tour into the deepest realms of mexico favela-land, were we were strictly forbidden to feed the puppys....
needless to say i left the group as soon as the maquiladora tour hit the ground. While most discussed possible performances, displays of direct action and massive boycotts, i opted to meet the natives: a crowd of taco-friendly carnales & senoritas who for nothing more than a smile spilled the beans faster than a pussycat.
Without further do i started asking the hardcore questions: what do maquila workers think of us gringos? is there some revolution conspiracy against the creepy minuteman? plans to sling stones across the border? flag-burning displays of love?
The answer was always a unanimous no... they were worried about paying the bills, which meant working extra-hours on nafta concentration camps under abusive labor policies -which more than not-attempting against their own health, and trade unions are a big no-no. And of course
However many were happy because a newly created NGO was offering iimediate job positions for any family members, no matter their age... Soon i would discover this to be, well, it's better if you read for yourself on my upcoming post.
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