Gabacho Flaco en Iowa
Dear Skinny Gabacho in Iowa:
In friendlier times, Mexicans would've greeted your arrival with a hero's welcome, the kind of celebration they rolled out for Pope John Paul II, John Steinbeck, or The Three Amigos. You could've strolled through the villages with the haughtiness of a god, raining gold upon peasants and bedding a couple of virgins along the way. See, you and your gabacho amigos are Mexicos lifeblood. Your thirst for cheap immigrant labor, oil and thrills accounts for nearly $40 billion in revenue for Mexico's top three industries -- immigrant remittances, oil exports and tourism, respectively -- and more than a third of Mexico's GNP. Without your largess, Mexico would be a Guatemalan backwater. But Mexicans never hear a gracias (an amnesty program would be nice) for holding up our end of the relationship; no, we get barbed-wire fences. Fine. Mi casa no longer es t casa. We don't dare cut off economic ties with the United States -- Guatemala -- so we instead take our revenge in Mexico and its American protectorates by treating gabachos with contempt: a bribe here; extra kids in the schools there; a constant stream of imprecations (pinche puto pendejo baboso) muttered under our collective breath. There's nothing you can do to avoid the hate, Skinny Iowan, so bear with it and don't act surprised when your seorita's family asks if you can smuggle them into el Norte.
Got a spicy question about Mexicans? Ask the Mexican at [email protected]. And those of you who do submit questions: include a hilarious pseudonym, por favor, or we'll make one up for you!