Today Ab and I were particularly lazy and didn't get up until late, and we had a breakfast so late we couldn't even euphemistically call it brunch. It was lunch, pure and simple.
We decided to skip another archeological site in favor of going to the bookstore at el Palacio de Bellas Artes. Even just going into the lobby is magnificent. I bought some gifts there, and then we headed to the Zona Rosa to meet Flor's sister, Mir. The metro is gigantic and only costs 15 cents in American money. Of course, it's size and price are mutually exclusive, but when you think about it, mass transit is the sole means of transport for most people here, so it has to be cheap. At times, it feels like all 20 million people in the DF are making the transfers along with you between train lines. The stations reminded me of the rather open, spacious platforms in Montreal.
We met Mir and we headed to San Angel, where we met up with some gay activists: three journalists, a lesbian legislator, and her consultant. Since Mir is well acquainted with some of them, she helped set up the meeting. In retrospect, I realize a lot of my questions were both naive and arrogant at the same time, as I approached so many questions with my insular first-world point of view. It seems like the Mexican gay rights movement and recent progress in just five to ten years is almost the work of unaccountable forces. There are lots of gay groups, and there is more consciousness of gay people and lesbians in Mexico, but no one group or set of groups is big enough to vie for credit (like we would here). It was later explained to me back home that there is a certain "ordered chaos" at play in some developing nations that makes no sense to someone who's been a "niche market" since birth (e.g., me).
The gay and lesbian rights movement in Mexico, as it was explained to me, seemed a bit more organic, possibly because there was so much more overt, orchestrated progress elsewhere. Because minority rights activists of all kinds have to band together, gay and lesbian rights have been part and parcel of the women's movement, the rights of Mexican minorities, and rights and accessibility issues for the disabled. It was also explained to me that the number 41 is somewhat taboo in Mexico, as 100 years earlier, in that very street in San Angel, 41 gay men were arrested at a private party. Apparently, 41 is skipped the way 13 is skipped sometimes in the USA. No male soldier in a roll-call in the army wants to be number 41. The number is often skipped. It is a national phenomenon, apparently.
Well, my coddled first-world mind might not fully comprehend how the gays and lesbians of Mexico are making progress, but the six men and women I met seem very determined and dedicated. It's good to see it's happening, however it happens, it happening.
After our meeting was over, Mir, Ab and I went to dinner, and then met Flor and Cat at the family home. We drove to a gay nightclub called Butterflies. It featured a seemingly de rigeur drag floorshow and then dancing and a lot of smoke. I must confess that while I appreciated the outing, nightclubs are not my thing. Especially when 98% of the population smokes like chimneys. My eyes were bothering me and I was feeling quite old. But, the place was packed. People of all shapes and sizes were there. Mostly mestizo-looking Mexicans, since most of the population is a mezcla (mixture) of the Spanish conquistadores and the indigenios (native indigenous population).
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