Whenever I get ready to head south, I find myself wondering a lot about the first and third worlds. At this point, the inevitable question that ricochets around my mind is: “Exactly where is the second world?”
We have the first. We have the third. To me, the first world is where corporate giants rule and technology is god. It’s a place where we have identical tract homes with fresh paint, new furniture, at least three cordless phones, TV sets with VCRs or DVDs, computers with modems, cable or DSL hookups. It’s a place where our shiny, new, leased SUVs and mini-vans stack up bumper to bumper on freeways and on surface streets that get more crowded every year. Tall buildings dominate the skyline and sunsets are often tinged with burnt orange from smog.
We have insurance to cover every inevitable mishap, yet when one occurs, we have to fight for months to get our insurance companies to pay up. With the exception of our inner cities, the first world is remarkably sanitary. Pretty much everything is paved and even rivers flow in concrete ditches. Our fenced, manicured yards prevent dogs from wandering. Automatic sprinklers water our lawns. We can buy everything we need to eat at Vons, Smart and Final or Costco and use our microwave ovens to whip up instant meals in minutes. Very few of us cook, garden or sew anymore.
When we think of the third world, the images that come to mind are starkly different. We think of ignorance, overpopulation, government corruption and the huge gap between the wealthy and the poor. We think of narrow, paved roads full of potholes, with decaying dog carcasses and trash scattered randomly along the edges. Or dirt roads where a film of dust covers every slow moving beat up car that wanders by with at least one headlight out. Buildings are painted in vibrant, random shades of magenta, turquoise, orange and cobalt blue—when they’re painted at all. Color rules. Music blares. Streets bustle as neighbors and families share in each other’s hardships, struggles and triumphs. Open spaces are far more prevalent than urban sprawl, but that makes us gringos nervous—because this world is foreign to us—not only in terms of language and culture, but also because it’s still raw, chaotic and has a wild frontier spirit that feels ready to burst forth at any second. We’re afraid of the dirt, the poverty, the drugs and crime (and we don’t have those?). We’re uncomfortable with the disparity between this other world and the one we take for granted ... and we considers ours far superior.
So why did the spin-doctors
label us a first world country and our neighbor to the south, Mexico, a
third world country? Again, where is the second world?
Because I bounce back and forth between the two countries, I have some thoughts on that subject. To me, the second world is a blending of the other two. But it’s sort of invisible—like a state of mind. You can’t see it or touch it or quantify it by rigid standards—at least not our standards. Affluence is not the ultimate goal in life—but neither is poverty acceptable.
No. The second world is a place of simplicity and contentment. It’s a place where materialism and one-upmanship rank far below friendship, cooperation, helpfulness and kindness. Where fear—whether it’s of being mugged, cheated, outmaneuvered or outdone is not at the forefront of everyone’s mind. Have you seen the movie, Pay it Forward? I think that kid invented the second world.
Does it exist outside
a movie theater? For me it does. I find it south of the border—in a supposed
third world country. But I think it’s anywhere people really care about
each other. For me, it helps too if there’s fresh air and elbowroom—and
if the beauty of the natural world dominates the landscape. 
I find it in little fishing villages scattered along the Gulf of California, where the locals share their bounty with anyone who happens to show up, whether it’s by land or sea. Where the Americans who intrude give back gifts of whatever they have on hand, in gratitude for the food, music and friendship they receive. I find it in the Norte Americanos who’ve settled into Baja to spend their retirement years with a view of the pounding surf in a home they could never afford in Alta California. These folks have become a part of their communities. They spend their money locally. They participate in fiestas of all kinds—from quincineras (15 year old girls’ coming out parties) to weddings, funerals and religious holidays. They gather money from their neighbors when anyone, be it a local or another expatriate, is in need of financial help. They share.
I find the second world also in the hearts of the Mexicans who embrace
us and encourage us as we struggle with our ragged Spanish. I relate to
the Americans who flee our country so they can live in less crowded places
with neighbors who are their friends, and understand the concept of live
and let live. They are eager to downsize and reduce their earthly possessions
to a more manageable, uncomplicated level. They move south in search of
a more comfortable, considerate and gentle lifestyle, away from our consumer
society. To me—that is the second world.
If I believe everything
the media tells me, people in third world countries desire nothing more
than to catapult into the first world. There are some who do yearn northward,
toward the gleaming skylines of San Diego, who long for affluence and all
the goodies money can buy. But what if they were offered another option—the
second world—a place without the constant clawing and grappling of the
first world and the privation of the third. It’s also a place where people
look out for one another, refusing to bow to corporate gods of technology
and relentless Darwinism. Where people strive to live in harmony with one
another, and with the earth. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. I wish more people
could, because I think we’d all be an awful lot happier—somewhere between
first and third. That’s where I hope President Fox will take Mexico ...
to the forefront of the second world—to model for the world a country whose
values include respect, friendship, tolerance, generosity, openness and
accountability—for all living creatures and for the planet we inhabit.
I call this corazón—heart.
© Ann Hazard, 2002. No part of this
article may be reprinted without permission.
This story is featured in Ann's newest book,
Agave
Sunsets. It has also been published
in the Summer 2002 issue of Discover Baja, the September 2002 issue
of Baja Tourist Guide , the March 13, 2003 issue of The Coast
News and the spring 2003 issue of Sister Cities Magazine.