Mexico: From the 19th to the 21st Century in Three Decades

Introduction Donald D. Brand once said to me: "If anyone wants to know what New Mexico was like 50 years ago they should go to Chihuahua." That conversation took place sometime after I joined the department Don founded and, of course, before his death--sometime between 1981 and 1984--almost 30 years ago. Don knew Chihuahua and New Mexico perhaps better than anyone else at that time. He conducted field research for his doctoral dissertation in Chihuahua during the late 1920s and early 1930s before joining the faculty of the University in New Mexico a few years later. There, in addition to teaching geography, he taught history and directed the university's archaeological field school in Chaco Canyon. He also knew Sonora, having worked there with Carl O. Sauer in the 1920s (West 1979, pp. 46-61). Sonora is where I began my career doing field work in 1977. Brand's assessment may have been correct 30 years ago, but it isn't today. On the contrary, it is probably not much of an exaggeration to say: If anyone wants to know what Chihuahua is like today they should go to New Mexico. Indeed, for Mexico as a whole, the famous quote by the 19th century French writer and critic Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr (1849): "plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose," (the more things change, the more they remain the same), does not hold true. Things in Mexico may have been more or less constant for a long time, but they changed markedly during the past three decades; they are no longer the same. Picking up where Brand left off, so to speak, this article is a reflection on changes I have witnessed in Mexico, what I think brought them about, and what I think of them. Philosophical background I remember well returning to Sonora in 1980. I worked in the remote eastern part of the state, in the foothill valleys of the Sierra Madre Occidental in 1977 and 1978 but not in 1979. Upon my arrival, I commented to my friend Ricardo that some things had clearly changed during my two year absence. I was stunned at his response. "Yeah, Billy, they're getting better." I didn't want things to change. I liked everything as it was, "the last remnant of Colonial New Spain" (Dunbier 1969, p. 279). I am a historical geographer. I like old landscapes. How dare they change? How dare anyone want them to change? Then, after only a moment's reflection and introspection, I realized I was being selfish. Ricardo's words struck two very different and conflicting chords with me almost simultaneously: cultural preservation and economic development. I wanted this area to remain an outdoor museum (Tyler 2000). I wanted what was best for its residents, my friends (Todoro and Smith 2009). I could not have both. I was long aware that change is inevitable. Many times I quoted the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus: "The only constant is change." But, I had been fooling myself. Talk is cheap, and I had been spending like crazy. In my heart I did not want change, but looking at Ricardo, I had a change of heart. Cultures change. They are ways of life that although learned from previous generations are adaptive and therefore cannot remain constant (Denevan 1983). What we look back on fondly, romantically, and unchangingly is heritage (Alberts and Hazen 2010). Mexico has a rich heritage, and a dynamic culture. As a country, it has come out of the 19th and into the 21st century during the three decades I have been working there. Down the road Being adjacent to the United States, Mexico is easily accessible by car. While driving in Mexico one sees and experiences a multitude of traits of material culture on the landscape. My first experience in Mexico involved driving across the border at Nogales, Arizona/Sonora. This town did not appear to be anything special to me. I grew up in Texas and was familiar with border towns. The big surprise was the drive from Nogales to Hermosillo. The road, classified as a highway and a misnomer if ever there was one, was like the one in the movie The Night of the Iguana. …