Is Being a Good Neighbor a Matter of Life and Death?
The other day, I came across a research study that looked at what is most predictive of survival after a natural disaster. This particular study examined several factors: who was present in the worst of the disaster’s path, what types of emergency services people had access to, but also the quality of a person’s personal and community networks. The researchers found that the pace of someone’s recovery after a disaster (in this case, a tornado) was much faster for “those with recovery assistance from neighbors, stronger personal networks, and higher levels of social capital.” Those who were more closely connected to their local communities experienced better outcomes.
In my own research on what helps us die a ‘good death’ in Mexico, I’ve found something similar. Receiving the care we’d prefer at end of life (and thereby dying the death we’d prefer) doesn’t seem correlated with proximity to the most expensive, well-equipped hospitals. It seems it doesn’t matter if you have checked all the boxes on every legal document, if you have access to the best health insurance or a substantial bank account. Of course, these things can help, but only if something else is true.
All the access and assets in the world benefit us at the end of life only if we are connected to caring and capable people who will ensure those resources are put to use the way we would like them to be.
Building Community Connections
As immigrants to Mexico, we may find it challenging to connect with our local community. Our attempts to make Spanish-speaking friends may feel uncomfortable or awkward, not only due to a language barrier but due to cultural differences. Despite this, it is well worth the effort. Those of us who are rooted in community have a better chance of survival.
I use the word survival here, not only as it relates, quite literally, to staying alive in an emergency, but also as it relates to our mental health and a quality of life that offers us deep nourishment on an energetic level.
As someone who grew up in the United States, my friend group was largely defined by school, work and recreational activities. After college, I lived in a series of apartments where I rarely saw my neighbors, much less got to know them. From apartment life, I moved to the suburbs, where the level of isolation struck me as particularly pronounced. My neighbors’ homes were located far back from the street, at the end of long driveways secured with shut iron gates. Children did not play in public as I had when I was little, but in their private, fenced-off yards.
When I moved to Mexico, I was blown away by the culture of friendliness and publicly shared community life. In my personal experience in Mexico, it’s rare to pass a fellow human on the sidewalk without saying buenos días, without acknowledging your fellow human beings. When I go to the big city for appointments, gentlemen walk into the bank and acknowledge all those who are currently waiting with a smile and a greeting. (Imagine going to the DMV in the US and saying, “Good Morning!” to the room full of others who have already taken a number.) As the sun goes down in the cities, families take to the public plazas and the malecon in droves. Kids with their bicycles ride circles around balloon and ice cream vendors while adults sit chatting and talking to their neighbors. In my rural Mexican neighborhood, I know immediately when someone is a tourist from north of the border. They are the only ones who don’t wave when they drive past me on the slow-going dirt roads.
Perhaps some of these customs will soon fade away, due to our global pre-occupation with smartphones and a younger generation that’s less formal. On a recent domestic flight in Mexico, I noticed the only person who immediately stood up upon landing was a teenager. (Typically, on a domestic Mexican flight passengers wait patiently for a stewardess to invite their row to disembark.) One of my fears is that Mexico’s friendly culture of community over individuality might someday be diluted by the presence of gringos.
We gringos have brought with us to Mexico a hyper-individuality, a me-first, scarcity-mentality cultivated by the -isms we grew up with. We are in a rush. We have no time to talk about the weather or ask about someone’s family before getting down to business. We come from places where you only wave to those you already know, where it’s strange to trade greetings with strangers, where stranger equals danger. I feel a great responsibility not to become one of those gringos, the kind that doesn’t say buenos días when passing a fellow human being on the street. I don’t get it right all the time, but I’m trying.
Being a member of a community entails a certain responsibility. If I want to live in a town where everyone waves to each other, I'd better be willing to be the first to wave.
It’s all too easy in our busy lives to think that cultivating relationships doesn’t matter much; we deprioritize having coffee with the neighbors and instead, continue with our own routine. We spend our time focused on growing our bank accounts, making our homes more comfortable and our insurance policies more robust. We forget that, in the end, these things can be of help only if something else is true; only if we are closely connected to real-life people who will ensure that the financial, medical and legal tools we hope to lean on will be put to use in the ways we planned for.
Taking Action
And so, in one month, one week, or on the daily, what actions are we taking to become more deeply connected to our local communities? Our quality of life, and perhaps life itself, depends on it.
In the comments, let us know how you made friends with your neighbors in Mexico. Or, join the discussion in our private online Facebook group.
