A Life Without a Mexican

Sergio Arau's film A Day Without a Mexican employs a fantasy/fiction device as a political broadside. What would happen, Arau asks, if all the Hispanics in California were to mysteriously disappear one day? Needless to say, the state would cease functioning, and the remaining whites, blacks, and others would have a very tough time learning, or in some cases re-learning the work done by the vanished Latins.

Even though the movie has gotten mostly lousy reviews, Arau has a point. What everyone in California knows about Mexican workers, besides the fact that they're ubiquitous, is that they generally give the customer excellent value. Whether legal, illegal, or second-generation, bilingual or Spanish-only, they do a good job for a fair price, unlike many of the white workers and contractors they've replaced.

When I was working full time I never did anything around the house. If something broke down or needed doing I called a Mexican. They were always willing, always knew what they were doing, were always pleasant to deal with, and never overcharged. Most were independent contractors, and were glad to get the work in a competitive environment. I had summers off and could have mowed the yard or trimmed the trees, but who wants to work outside in Bakersfield in the summertime?

My relationship with the Mexicans was a two-way street. I served them as they served me, teaching English at a primarily Hispanic high school. I worked hard correcting papers, changing the verb conjugations and tenses to what they needed to be and flagging the spelling errors. Then I assigned re-writes of the corrected masterpieces. No progress if you don't correct your mistakes.

I took home a fat paycheck and even though I wasn't by any means rich, felt like a millionaire. It was true symbiosis.

Now everything's changed, and I no longer work. My life as a rich man and patron of Mexican service workers is over. I have to join the human race.

If the swamp cooler's going to get fixed I have to do it or broil in the summer heat. I can't afford to call someone to repair the plumbing fixtures in the bathroom. There's no one but me to figure out the myseries of the breaker box. And that overgrown garden -- there's nothing to learn, but there's a boatload of hot, tedious, difficult work to do if it's going to look like anything besides a weed patch.

I can't decide whether we'd be better or worse off if the service economy we've grown to know and love suddenly vanished. I do know that even the vigilantes who have appointed themselves to patrol the border with their SUV's and Smith and Wessons would be unpleasantly surprised by the new, serviceless world they'd created were they to succeed in their aims. On the other hand, we'd be forced to learn how to do things for ourselves again.

I think I'd better re-read that Emerson essay called "Self-Reliance."