Monday morning at Tenacatita is the quiet day, the restaurants are closed and everyone is counting their takings from Sunday, the peak beach day in Mexico. We weren’t entirely alone with four youngsters spending Sunday night on our small beach with a campfire and songs and laughter while the New Mexico Sprinter van with the two large dogs took itself apart and parked on the hill above the beach. It gives a broad view of the beach but limits contacts with passersby. I took this photo from the spot while they spent Sunday in seclusion somewhere else.
Our buddy Ron’s comment on the aerial parking spot was that he wasn’t that keen to be the center of attention. I miss Ron. He’d have enjoyed my walk this morning. I got stopped by an armed man.
It happened like this: Knowing the beach would be empty I decided Monday was the day to set my Panasonic FZ1000 to black and white and seek out some contrasting compositions in morning pictures. Not every sunrise has to be recorded I hope, lest we get boring. Well here’s one more!
As Rusty and I walked into the restaurant area a private insecurity car drove by. The occupant mumbled a good morning back at me as he filmed me with his phone. You know it’s been a dreary night shift when me walking Rusty is the highlight of your shift. We ambled on. I saw a restaurant table trying to make break for it, so in similar fashion to the security guard I made the wild action of the poor table the highlight of my morning! Exciting stuff!
Rusty wanted to check out the road into the beach area so off we ambled, taking turns to sniff and photograph.
Naturally Rusty got bored first and turned back whereupon I turned onto a side road to play with those long tall coconut palms that remind me of home.
Whereupon a man composed of six parts muscle and two parts armament approached and asked if I spoke Spanish. “Por suppuesto” I replied as though every lonely lunatic gringo speaks the lingo when cornered. This is private property he said. You can only walk and photograph on the beach and the road which are Federal property. I was suitably chastened and polite to all six of them and promised not to do it again now I knew and everyone smiled, including the thin wiry guy with the gold capped teeth and we got to chatting. I commiserated with them about the trials of night shift and they introduced me to their dog who Rusty had met on the beach previously.
I called Rusty but had to whistle twice to get his attention. I do the same to my wife I said sadly. The first time she calls I ignore her. Much hilarity. We turned for home and they waved good bye. A nice clean report to file to end their shift. The dueno’s (boss’s) property rights maintained.
Which brings me to the title of today’s story: the Ejido described in the dictionary as a noun:
(in Mexico) a piece of land farmed communally under a system supported by the state.
"Mexico's unique ejido land tenancy system"
There’s a bit of history here so skip this if you aren’t interested. When Mexico won independence in 1810 the idea of freedom was a noble one and presumably everyone would benefit from Spain’s departure and self government would spread the wealth. Oddly enough that didn’t happen. So a hundred years later after many governments and many coups and much wrangling the full blown revolution got fired up and involved those names familiar to you, Villa, Zapata and so forth. Americans lined the border to watch Mexicans battle for their ideals. The outcome led to nationalization like Pemex, Mexican Petroleum, that held a monopoly on Gulf of Mexico oil extraction, processing and distribution until undermined by the North American Free Trade Agreement which allowed competition ( and construction I am grateful to say of modern gas stations with clean toilets everywhere).
The other thing the Revolution did was it finally established land reform. Hopelessly impoverished peasants no longer had to toil as indentured servants for absentee landlords but they could, after a fashion, own their own means of production in a uniquely Mexican concept: the Ejido (pro: hay-hee-dough). This was not collectivization Soviet style, so fashionable in Russia in the 1920s but a Mexican form of shared opportunity.
The Federal government owns the land and the occupants can neither buy or sell it. They get to live on it and cultivate it and enjoy the income. In its own way a smart thoughtful way to lift the hopelessly poor out of the mire. By the 1990s it had become obvious ( to some wealthy investors) that ejidos didn’t work(for them) and were holding back development or some other bromide as was the fashion of the day which said privatization was the path to progress. We’ve seen that in the US and Europe too since the end of the Cold War. Many ejidos do still exist and you will see roadside signs to ejidos along the highway but many were disbanded and guess what? The occupants did not benefit from the “liberalization”. Which brings us to Tenacatita.
The bay is beautiful, the snorkeling is said to be the best on the coast ( don’t expect much the waters are too cold for corals) and powerful people in Guadalajara saw the potential for development. The story since we were here in 1998 has been one of forced evictions, road closures, court cases, abandoned properties and resilient locals bringing in food trucks where previously they had structures. Working class beach life continues despite it all.
If you would like you can Google “Tenacatita evictions” and read stories from a dozen years ago and save me the limited bandwidth of copying and pasting. You can draw your own conclusions and decide from a distance who is right and who is wrong. In these cases I find myself pulling for the underdog even though I have no knowledge of the legalities, of course.
We live the privilege of being outsiders with nothing at stake though I am clear in my own head I never want to own land again. The remaining years of my life, wherever I live in the US or abroad, will see me as a renter such that I can move at will. It is conceivable my rather sturdy defense of renting might change but there will need to be a lot in favor of buying to convince me to do so.
I like being footloose and I accept I am an oddity in that I don’t feel attached to the land but for those that are, for those who tie their identity to land and making a living from it and raising their families on it one can only wonder at the pain of separation.
I wonder what Tenacatita will look like in ten more years?
