I still have this condition of being human, please be kind
A post from César Jéronimo Esquinca
It was a tough last minute choice to come to French wine country and join a residency mustered by a leading intelectual on climate and civilizational breakdown. It was partially motivated by the happy discovery that it was being held in a hub that I had been wanting to visit for a while, last time as a possible birthday present to myself: a tenzo/temple food workshop - idea that was quickly dropped because of my uncontestable focus on spending time with my former partner.
First horizon.
Upon arrival and in other moments I had to navigate some common spaces that I've been having in conversation with new acquaintances and old friends: why are you here in Europe? How can you move around so much? Are you not tired? And to tell you the truth I am tired.
To the surprise of many, I'm mostly just tired of answering these questions, mainly because they still touch tender spots. I can recite them now with the same painful self-awareness to which I sang the USA anthem during my middle school studies in Mexico: the decision to move to Europe because of the full scale invasion of Ukraine to support my Ukrainian former partner's safety and well-being; my decision to stay in the region to be with her as much as possible and continue my pursuit of interest and nourishment for the vision of social innovation for Planetary Health I had incubated during my Master studies; the costly and tiresome dynamic of entering and leaving the Schengen area because of the lack of adequate legal options to justify my long term stay within Schengen space; the knife in the neck feeling of not finding an employment opportunity connecting my areas of interest and valued competences within the European labour market that could offer me appropriate income and visa to sustain my needs and those of my relationship; the navigation of feelings of helplessness, guilt and anger with the situations faced by people I love in different places I have connections to - most of them within the Most Affected People and Areas (MAPAs) categorization; the often dystopian intentional journey of discovery and nurture of spaces that are generating alternatives for adaptation, resilience and transformation towards more desirable futures; the distance between my mom, dad and brother and how hard it is to communicate between us; the unrelinquished thirst of feeling at home with the society and place that I'm in.
Second horizon.
I arrived on a Sunday afternoon after confirming via email my participation, with no arrival details and without having paid my financial fee, managing to keep the feelings of impostor syndrome and migration/racism persecution at bay. This last one is present when I'm in Europe for a couple of years now, but much stronger these days. Didn't know which door to knock on or if I would be welcomed with a "oh, but we weren't expecting you yet so best go find another lodging today." After giving ten minutes of thought about which doorbell to ring on the address I found on Google Maps, I went for a good 20 minutes round of hounding at the blue door. A surprised and speeding smile welcomed me, enquiring about my trip and if I had chosen a room already. Dropped off my bag and joined the other attendants gathering in the room they called the dojo. The name made me remember my friends who days before between jokes shared their concern for my safety whilst I visited "the cult gathering". I opened the door and was met by a group of curious eyes, with the kind of stares of a group that already has found a sense of who was present and is confronted by a new mildly disruptive member. Gave a nod to Rupert, the reason why I was there (who vaguely remembered me), and sat down. The practice began with a warning: we are in a sort of a deep topic, we will have a rotating fishbowl dialogue dynamic where people can tap in to replace one of the speakers at the center. We are focusing on...
*pause for suspense*
White privilege.
A different light was shed over an unsurprising observation of the group that I had when entering the room: there were no people of color present. After the announcement of the topic and dynamic my observation turned in itself and became: I am the only person of color present in the room. Shit. For the first time I experienced that phenomena that I had read so much about: the unattainable challenge of feeling the need to represent the racialized majority in a dialogue.
- No, no, no, focus Jeronimo, it's not your obligation to do this, and you can choose to sit this one out and listen, just listen. -
The dialogue began with honest realizations about white privilege, and bit by bit, slowly but surely the dialogue began to become somewhat of a single sided collection of perspectives. I felt some eyes staring at me as an invitation to speak. I refused to cede to the impossible challenge.
- Continue to listen, just listen. It's a new group also, I don't want to bring conflicting viewpoints. The whole point of the residency is to go past culture wars.
Mhm.
Well. If that is the point then dissonance and disagreement are needed right? Ok fine. -
I awkwardly joined in the hot seats at the center, opening with a well thought and strategic joke about myself: I'm actually white. People laughed with me. Good. Now to the story that delivers the point I wanted to bring forth: how I have been racialized in Europe but I am privileged in relation to my context in Mexico and how this reinforces a structure that oppresses black, indigenous, people of color within a State that inherited these structures through the processes of colonization.
My story doesn't fairly make this point understood for all but seemed to have opened new lines of dialogue. I feel welcomed, listened, and appreciated. Disagreement emerged in different moments and stances but it's never too uncomfortable. The practice ends with an appreciation of this fact and how the format and participants allowed for this to happen. I leave the room feeling we are still strangers but I have been heard and valued.
Third horizon.
A whirlwind of emotions encapsulated by a cell of warmth and laughter. Delicious grandma recipes shared in a tenzo food environment, unexpected Wu-Tang lines dropped during practice, childhood memories and thoughts about motherhood and being a good child appear, lots of deep but light kitchen table talks. Sun comes out most evenings, and on rainy cold days there is tea, soups and fireside conversations. I stumbled my way back into singing at odd moments, inspired by the most unexpected harmonizing vocals that met one night after practice, playing around with songs from Leonard Cohen, Radiohead and The Beatles. Practices, conversations and dialogues around progress, equality, food production and personal dietary choices, second renaissance and paradigmatic shift, are approached with courageous honesty. Both deep and shallow emotions and thoughts are shared in a climate of caring attention. Hugs start to become a common sighting, tears as well. Discomfort in our practices is expressed more and more in a way that makes it as approachable as the thought of changing pillows on a couch to fit the needs of the person sitting. We are not all friends, but we are no longer strangers.
Civilizational collapse becomes a possible point of honest and open discussion in such conditions. Comfort for the sake of discomfort.
Fourth horizon.
The International Criminal Court announces the application for arrest warrants for members of Hamas and democratically elected leaders of the Israel Government. I cry in the shower going over a question my dear Arthur asked in practice days before: how can you disagree on deep important topics with someone you like, someone that you want to be liked by? Reminded me of the pain and shame I felt arguing about another war and the pain of a group of people, disagreeing with a displaced person that I love who was torn by another active armed conflict. Every cell of my body screams how I wish I was kinder back then, every time, all the time. It's very hard when you face so much pain. I ground myself and go through to the four mantras that help me:
Darling, I am here for you.
Darling, I know you are there and it makes me happy.
Darling, I know you suffer.
Darling, I suffer, please help.
This is a Happy Moment.
Darling, you are partly right.
I don't want to take my words back. I can't. I need to be able to disagree because I still believe it is an act of love to myself and others. I can have integrity and be kind to those with whom I disagree. I can work to stay open and welcome those rare and unique moments of simple humanity that Petra so accurately described where layers of identity become so blurry that we are just humans sharing together. Despite of being able to identify them, her, Valerie and myself coincided that these moments have been impossible to synthesize or reproduce as such. There are some elements that can be drawn, like the shared awareness of common vulnerability or the realization of the possibility of imminent collapse, beautifully traced in Valerie's memory of having dinner on a seaside restaurant right after the Fukushima earthquake, still feeling the replicas, and being surprised and humbly guided by the locals stoic reaction. I may not be able to reproduce these moments, buy I can prepare myself to let them spring and flow.
Fifth horizon.
I listen to my ancestors talk about how they lived this moment. How they faced the collapse. What Siobhan felt explaining to me that bombs exist and people actually reduce to ashes other humans and living beings with normalcy. How Ben felt rejected by friends and family because of his political activism speaking out about the collapse, and its policed repression. How Alexia felt she had the majority of her life ahead singularly focused on navigating the polycrisis, yet her eyes glimmered with joy when talking about her activist community. I feel heartbreak and admiration. What a powerful practice it is to play and travel outside of time to meet your future 7th generation, and answer some questions from them about this moment as a historical retrospective. I'm grateful and in awe thinking about the time and work it took for us to be able to feel we had an environment where enacting practice was possible like this. How I was just invited to join in a space of vulnerability days before, and the courage and softness it took in that afternoon full of light for me to admit to Catherine, ever so clear in her sensing, that I wish for kindness and tenderness for myself. Now I see how necessary it is for me if I'm ever to be able to join or nourish any kind of throughtopia.
Sixth horizon.
Point of view.
Watching the landscape of myself as a train rider that passes by, I remember that every story that I have shared here is just one thin layer, one misty reflection, one cloudy mountain in the everchanging sight of who I am. Distant horizons of identities that appear and disappear throughout my ride.
I leave the hub to continue my journey with the strongly reaffirmed notion that moments and spaces like this are fundamental -foundational for the minds- and how I want to travel like the Monarch butterfly, pollinating wilderness throughout my way.
I keep the warm loving feeling that all the wonderful humans that were with me in this residency fostered, remembering how great it was to feel like an idiot in a room filled with other silly ducks (thank you Jo and Liam for the realization).
Co-founder Cambio Natural
Alumnus Social Innovation for Sustainable Development - ITCILO
Co-fundador 180 Degrees Consulting Mexico