Federico Reyes Heroles
“Proud” is a term we use with contempt to describe someone who boasts about themselves. “Everything in excess is bad,” Montesquieu would say. But pride is a feeling that has accompanied humanity throughout history. “… Satisfaction with one’s own achievements, abilities, or merits,” the Royal Academy of Spanish Language tells us. Feeling proud of one’s mother or father, or of one’s children or grandchildren, gives meaning to a life. Pride can transcend the personal and become collective. In the coming weeks, as the soccer ball once again draws the world’s eyes to Mexico, a sense of foreboding sets in.
A friend points out that Mexico holds Guinness World Records for nothing but superficialities: the largest cup of hot chocolate, 4,816 liters. The world’s longest carnitas taco. The largest shot of sotol, 400 liters. The longest enchilada. The largest Day of the Dead bread, the longest “wave,” and so on. But true collective pride today is wounded.
No matter how much the ruling party claims that the past was pure darkness, there are the works of great engineers who built our country’s highway system in a particularly difficult terrain. Humboldt described it as a crumpled sheet of paper. For decades at Pemex, technical decisions were made by a remarkable group of engineers. What can be said of the exceptional doctors who consolidated the system of National Institutes, now in a state of neglect? What can be said of the construction of classrooms to meet the needs of a rapidly growing population? The construction of Ciudad Universitaria, which involved great architects. The Nezahualcóyotl Hall, the brainchild of Guillermo Soberón and Eduardo Mata, along with two notable architects whom few remember—Arcadio Artis and Orso Núnez—and which surpassed its Berlin counterpart in acoustics. The organization of the Olympic Games and the first Cultural Olympiad was led by Pedro Ramírez Vázquez and executed by Eduardo Terrazas and Lance Wyman.
In that Mexico, with all its problems, economic growth—which brought about great social mobility and a change in families’ way of life—was a source of pride. The world watched the “Mexican miracle.” Rapid electrification required a massive coordination of efforts that gradually illuminated our Mexico. The National Polytechnic Institute and its capacity for innovation. The Mexican Petroleum Institute, which looked toward the future of that national wealth. The examples are numerous. But now there is anguish. There are many explanations for this. That hurts.
Our democracy is regressing. Morena, through legal means—elections—and illegal ones—overrepresentation—has built an authoritarian apparatus that controls both chambers, the judiciary, and the electoral system. The new de facto pretrial detention is an affront to the basic principles of due process. The National Human Rights Commission is a ventriloquist’s puppet. The most recent approval by the Financial Intelligence Unit (UIF) to freeze accounts without prior notice is an outrage that exacts a high toll on legal certainty. And what can be said of the thousand-headed monster of the disappeared?
Mexico is regressing in every way: growth is less than mediocre, with no sign of a way out. Regardless of the world gone mad, internal factors—a subjugated judiciary, an unchecked UIF, insecurity, and corruption—are driving away gross fixed investment. No matter how many eulogies are sung for our future, the fact is that we haven’t even managed to ensure a steady supply of medicines or systematic vaccination. Education is in crisis, and productivity is falling.
But perhaps the greatest loss is that of a spirit of service, which is conspicuously absent today. Cynicism pervades everything, from the plenary session of the Supreme Court of Justice of the Nation to statistical lies used as a communication strategy. The concealment of massive oil spills, constant oil explosions, train derailments, overcrowded hospitals, destroyed highways, journalists being persecuted or murdered, and a long list of other issues. Now it turns out that the Frankenstein of the National Coordination of Education Workers is handling explosives.
Collective pride? Impossible. Zero sense of service.
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