PALOMAS, Mexico — In 1916 Pancho Villa and his band of bandits slipped across the American border here and invaded the little town of Columbus. Pershing's army drove them back. But to this day, the tug-of-war between the two sides continues.
I was in Palomas earlier this week, taking in the sights and sounds on a Sunday afternoon.
Columbus, New Mexico, now has a Pancho Villa Historical Park — a fact that would tickle the mustache of the man Mexicans called "La Cucaracha." Meanwhile, in Palomas, Villa's old home has been painted "Mexican pink" and turned into a restaurant and souvenir shop.
During the week, hundreds of trucks plow through Palomas en route to the United States because the crossing here is less crowded. On Sundays, things slow down. In the main plaza, dozens of scraggly men stand in the shade of dozens of scraggly trees. The little Catholic church — which looks like something a carpenter father built for his daughter — stands vacant. Instead, hundreds of people crowd into the annex behind the church for Mass, music and the spoken word.
In the cantinas, as I strolled about, I saw patrons watching the installation of the new pope on television with the sound down. They didn't want to miss the songs the roving musicians were cranking out.
And that, I suppose, is what amazes me most about Mexico — the way everything gets stirred together. Death is stirred into life. Sexuality and saintliness, work and play, guns and roses all get tumbled together like clothes in a dryer. I like the mixing — the bumping of the beggars with the "moneybags," the way rich and poor, young and old all tumble together.
And as I walked around Palomas, I wondered if the Mexicans didn't have it right.
According to recent studies, the two "least depressed" American cities were both border towns — Laredo and El Paso, Texas. The towns had fewer suicides, fewer "down days" and fewer prescriptions for anti-depressants than any others. Laredo is 94 percent Hispanic. El Paso is 77 percent. Corpus Christi, Texas — another Hispanic town — was in the top five. New Jersey, another Hispanic haven, was third.
I wonder if that's because, instead of trying to control life, Mexicans simply live it. They leave everything in the hands of God. "Dios quiere" is a popular expression — "God willing." The word "adios" means "Go with God."
In border towns like Columbus, Laredo and El Paso, poverty abounds. Disease abounds. Challenges are grave. But the people have faith. They don't fret over tomorrow. Here, on the border, faith is not a "belief in God," it is "trust in God."
Does that sound like a fatalistic attitude? Is it a form of denial or irresponsibility? Or is it really living out the invitation of Jesus — "Take therefore no thought of the morrow; for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself."
Is that point of view today insane, or the ultimate form of sanity?
Here on the border, according to statistics, sanity seems to reign.
Salt Lake City, on the other hand, was ranked as the 12th most depressed city in America.
As I look out over the Palomas plaza, at the old women laughing and young kids playing, I have to wonder: Without its Hispanic population, how much higher up on that "depressed list" would Salt Lake City be?
E-mail: jerjohn@desnews.com