Category: Life stories

  • Historias del agua Sobre los clamores de un lago y una cuenca de los valles en MéxicoPablo de la Fuente | Diablo Rojo Graphics | Letting Go | Santiago, Chile, 2022

    Water Stories On the cries of a lake and a basin of valleys in Mexico

    By Carlos Mendoza Álvarez

    “Un Salto por la Vida” (A Leap for Life) is a civil society collective from El Salto, a municipality in the state of Jalisco, which we visited a year ago as participants in the Re-existe festival at ITESO University in Guadalajara, Mexico. Its residents and activists had foreseen the contaminated water crisis that erupted last Sunday in Guadalajara for years. The brutal pollution and growing shortages have been caused by the industrial mirage of the so-called Mexican Silicon Valley, an environmental aberration continued to be promoted by governments and companies in the region, leaving a trail of environmental and social destruction that has been documented by residents, organized civil society, and universities in Western Mexico.

    Gradually, the outcry from families—with children and the elderly sickened by the devastating impact of chemicals in "drinking" water—gave way to resistance from civil society. Scientific studies provided the foundation for social activism to promote the right to water as a priority in the struggle for human rights at a time when modern society seems unwilling to awaken from the nightmare of development.

    “The wars of the future will be wars over water,” I recall a historian predicting at the beginning of the millennium. And what seemed like a distant dystopia a quarter of a century ago has become everyday reality in every corner of the planet, from Gaza and the West Bank in Palestine to Wallmapu in the southern tip of the American continent.

    In Mexico, Lake Texcoco and the Lerma-Santiago River basin have become a painful thorn in the side, especially due to the voraciousness of the megacities that devour everything in their path. But at the same time, both territories have become breeding grounds for rebellion when their inhabitants put their finger on the wound and begin a painful but hopeful path of socio-environmental intervention to save a lake with an ancient history and a vital basin in the central-western part of Mexico.

    The “Charter of Lake Texcoco” was an initiative proposed a decade ago by the People’s Front in Defense of the Land and the residents of Atenco, along with their students, activists, and artists, to sing an elegy to water that would give voice to their struggle and make their vision of the territory visible. The poet, academic, and activist Al-Dabi Olvera paved the way for me years ago to understand this poetic-political resistance through the narrative practices we carried out under his guidance at the Ibero-American University in Mexico City with the research project called Narratives of Resistance. That Charter begins by saying:

    “I’ve known about the lake since I was born; it’s my parents’ legacy,

    It's the life we have, the one we want our grandchildren to live.

    Anáhuac is to be between waters,

    fish, frogs and axolotls, ducks, chichicuilotes and swallows.

    There was no shortage of quelites, quintoniles, and purslane.

    The people knew how to live with the waters,

    collecting the ahuautle, the tequesquite.

    That lake is called freedom.”.

    It was an elegy to lost water and a song to water regained. Years later, that lake has finally been declared a nature reserve by the federal government, and its wetlands are being restored thanks to the arduous and constant work of the community, in partnership with the current government, which we hope will continue in the years to come, beyond today's partisan political interests.

    ∂

    In our age of Artificial Intelligence, water is being transformed into a coveted commodity. An indispensable "product" for the digital industry because data centers require it: a single standard data center consumes 25 million liters of this vital liquid annually to cool the computers that power "the cloud." A cloud that is more of a hellscape of semiconductors and digital networks at the service of the powerful. Indeed, ecological devastation is already occurring alarmingly in areas of Texas and Ohio, and is multiplying from China to Argentina, wherever the lords of the digital super-industry need it to establish their data businesses where water is plentiful. In these territories, Israeli power is strategically expanding to sell technology, replicating its voracious business and its power over local governments in the name of supposed progress and water security.

    The water sequestered by fracking is yet another contradiction of this extractive economy. To extract gas from increasingly deeper underground regions, it is necessary to inject unprecedented quantities of water. The life force of water is transformed into a weapon of death at the service of the devastating oil and gas energy industry, which is currently controlled by the United States, China, and Russia across the globe.

    And to make matters worse, the water used by the soft drink industry is another head of the capitalist hydra, as the Zapatistas call it, which transforms a precious resource into poison with every soda placed on the tables of the poor. Mexico is the world's largest consumer of soft drinks, and, as a sad example, Chiapas, the state with the highest poverty rate, is also where soft drink consumption is highest, leading to malnutrition and disease. This is a lamentable example of the Illichian principle of counterproductivity: it takes wasting two hundred liters of water—in the entire water chain, from sugarcane or corn cultivation for processing to the production of the soft drink—to put a single bottle of Coca-Cola on the market. The city of San Cristóbal de Las Casas carries water in its soul, with its Tsotsil name Jobel or land of wetlands: bodies of water that still survive despite the exploitation of springs and the terrible public administration that privatizes wells, monopolized today by Coca Cola, and urbanizes those bodies of water inhabited by reeds, birds and increasingly rare amphibians.

    To complete this picture of the environmental horror that has water held hostage in our time, it is necessary to mention the sewage from the drains of the world's metropolises, which have transformed rivers and basins—once home to wetlands, streams, and rivers—into channels of chemical, organic, and energy waste from the plastics, steel, and semiconductor industries. But the most macabre aspect of these flows is that they have also become receptacles for the human remains of people disappeared by criminal organizations, thus becoming rivers of iniquity.

    Thus we find ourselves thrown into socio-environmental chaos by the machine civilization, now disguised as an algorithm of voracious power.

    ∂

    And amidst so many painful splinters in the body of Mother Earth and our people, where are there signs of comfort and hope to rescue and heal this wounded socio-environmental body?

    The resistance of the people of Atenco in Texcoco and El Salto in Jalisco is like spores spreading through valleys and canyons around the world, giving rise to new organisms in their wake. They do so on a small scale, but a real one. Their methods of organization, their protest marches, their rituals of caring for Mother Earth and the most vulnerable people and creatures in the community are already signs of another way of being, one that transcends greed.

    Without romanticizing these movements, knowing that they also experience tensions over power, control of the narrative, and obtaining resources from the state and international solidarity funds, we recognize that other languages are being babbled there with their decolonial verbs: eating, learning, organizing… and waiting.

    Now it's up to each of us, individuals and communities, to live and tell our own stories of resistance. What is your water story?

    Jobel, October 17, 2026

  • El primer cumpleaños de mi blogDenilson Baniwa | Curumim, keeper of memories | Brazil, 2018

    My blog's first birthday

    By Carlos Mendoza Álvarez

    One of the facets of the “deprofessionalized intellectual,” to use that expression beloved by Gustavo Esteva, after thirty years of academic life in my case, has consisted of exploring the territory of the blog. Discovering this inhospitable land has proven to be quite a challenge for a citizen of the so-called Generation of the Baby boomers or the post-war period.

    This digital adventure has been a challenge for someone who comes from the digital prehistory. I was a child of the 1960s who grew up playing with Towi, small wooden pieces to build houses or animals, imagining stories of cowboys and Indians. My childhood was filled with racing games with tiny metal toy cars, the size of my palm, launched with precise flicks of my index finger to propel them along the edge of the cement sidewalk, circling the block of our house, located in the beautiful San Francisco neighborhood of Puebla. We would cover a perimeter of about a hundred meters, spending long hours with cousins and neighbors. Then came Meccano sets, building machines and bridges with metal pieces full of holes held together with screws. These moments alternated with races of go-karts, speeding down the sloping streets. No video game left its mark on my generation.

    For schoolwork, the typewriter was our irreplaceable ally in middle and high school for submitting final projects. We would make carbon copies of our work on sheets of colored tissue paper, depending on the subject. Making a typing mistake was a real tragedy because we had to retype the entire page.

    Years later, when I wrote my doctoral thesis in Freiburg, I was finally able to use an electric typewriter with a built-in proofreader, which seemed like a quantum leap compared to the mechanical Olivetti typewriters of my childhood and adolescence. But even then, when the rigorous thesis supervisor commented on the typed pages, submitted after many sleepless days and nights, the entire chapter had to be rewritten. The magic of the copy-paste of word processors that now save us hours and days of work with a single click.

    Despite the great advantages of today's digital world, I now recall with nostalgia that heroism of academic writing from my childhood and youth, which tested us in the art of patience when writing, correcting, and preparing academic work carefully, at a pace of trial and error, in a parsimony that favored reflection and, sometimes, led us to collective hysteria.

    The final binding of the typed work was the master touch that, for students with good financial resources, was done with ostentation by using the new thermal binding technology, finer and more elegant, to impress the professor.

    ∂

    Suddenly, without realizing the qualitative leap into the digital world, I've been thrust into another inhospitable territory called Artificial Intelligence. A few years ago, some journalists and scientists were talking about the "Internet of Things," which seemed like a Gothic oracle brought into the digital world. All the technological devices designed with semiconductors and microchips were connected in a secret network in some digital cloud that seemed to float above our heads. That cloud perhaps represented something similar to what grandmothers imagined when they prayed to angelic choirs to protect us from heaven. The difference is that now that cloud is a threat because it stores our data in some center controlled by Google or Palantir, devastating the land and its population, but above all, leaving us unprotected against the global surveillance that terrified Pope Leo XIV.

    In the world of philosophy, I recall that, at the beginning of the new millennium, Mariano Corbì, a Catalan Jesuit who did not like to be identified as a companion of Ignatius, spoke of “digital reason” as an alternative to “analog reason” that had dominated the West for thousands of years, predicting an ontological leap in cosmic and human relations that would have an immediate impact on a new way of living spirituality as “religion without religion”.

    For his part, Ivan Illich, in his brilliant work "In the Vineyard of the Text," published in 1993, explored the birth of the West in terms of the technology of meaning production from the medieval book, following his great Parisian master, Hugh of Saint Victor, in his work "Didascalicon," as a metaphor for the argument that unfolds like a vineyard from the leaves of the text with its numerous glosses. Based on this intelligence of the text, Illich characterized the systems era that humanity entered with the digital technology of the end of the last millennium as a dangerous threshold of dehumanization.

    But now artificial intelligence is growing and is here to stay as a data and communication control environment that, in its generative form, threatens to make decisions on its own, cross-referencing data and drawing conclusions, to inform decisions in the companies, governments, and militaries that depend on it to achieve the ultimate efficiency (if you'll pardon the expression) of their commercial and military objectives. We have much to learn, evaluate, and decide so that this new technology doesn't end up devouring us as a human species.

    ∂

    A year ago, on June 1, 2025, I launched my blog as a virtual pathway to weave conversations with people and communities with whom I share friendship, aspirations, ideas, and ongoing initiatives to cultivate a more humane world in our own territories. The digital world now allows me to continue this dialogue with people from the Global South and North, with whom I have crossed paths at some point in my personal, academic, and pastoral life, from Mapuche and Dakota territories to South Africa, from Boston to Chiapas, from Pomerania to El Salvador, Brazil, and Peru.

    With the support of Raquel, Sergio, and Fatima, talented colleagues from the Afink workshop and advisors in graphic and digital communication, as well as the critical eye of Eduardo Velasco as the portal's image advisor, I have been proposing a short text each week on current topics, with an emphasis on the human background, thought, spirituality, and social commitment to tell and weave stories of dignity and hope.

    Reaching the milestone of a first year of weekly publications allows me to revisit the topics discussed—always accompanied by a decolonial art image or a photograph of my own taking from my travels—to express my gratitude for this collective learning, trusting that the conversation will continue so that we can mutually enrich each other with true words.

    San Cristóbal de Las Casas, June 29, 2026

  • Los frutos de la Pascua floridaCarlos Mendoza Álvarez | Chapel of the Rosary, Santo Domingo Church of Puebla | 2026

    The fruits of Easter

    By Carlos Mendoza Álvarez

    Three weeks of silence on this blog have passed amidst a whirlwind of pastoral and personal events that, in retrospect, I see as related fruits of this year's Easter journey. Through brief stories, I will try to recount the glimpses of the world to come that I perceived during these days.

    The religious celebrations of Holy Week suddenly intertwined with a mysterious encounter at the water wells of Yalentay, in the hills of Zinacantán, where I was unexpectedly welcomed by the guardian of the place. These multifaceted religious celebrations unfolded amidst visits from dear colleagues and friends who had traveled from afar—Amirah and Alicia with Adriana—with whom I longed to share the rich fruits of an indigenous Church rooted in and embodied by the Tsotsil people, accompanied by questions about what still needs to be learned about caring for the land as part of the path of resistance.

    Easter in Jobel

    The group of six acolytes was entrusted to me for their training and the preparation of their vestments in the Dominican style. They are six teenagers. pigtails who, with great conviction and emotion, wish to dedicate part of their human and spiritual lives, occupying their free time during middle and high school, to “serving at the altar.” In the context of San Cristóbal de Las Casas, a city of intense religious and devotional practice, connecting with young people to serve Christ at the altar and in the community, especially the poor and the excluded, presents a significant pastoral challenge. Integrating a new generation of young believers faces various forms of resistance from older generations, who seem unwavering in their hierarchical and individualistic religious practices of San Cristóbal's popular piety.

    But after two months of Saturday meetings in a fraternal atmosphere, with simple prayer from the heart and through listening to biblical stories in contemporary audiovisual versions, an incipient community of friendship with Jesus, as shepherd and friend of the sheep of this and other flocks, was formed.

    At the end of this process, which had some tensions with the older generation, I realize the good heart of today's young ponytail holders, eager to serve with beauty and truth at the liturgical altar, while also anxious to translate the symbolism of the altar of Christ—the poor—into acts of service to the most vulnerable in the city.

    65 soles

    And April arrived with its birthday-like emotional force, giving me the opportunity to relive the feast of desire in my own flesh—with mass and a table set with the hallmark of the flavors and style of Puebla—, accompanied by my family and by old and new friends, as thanksgiving for the 65 springs I have been able to live as a man and as a Dominican, most of my life.

    The Chapel of the Rosary, the epicenter of the spiritual life of many families in Puebla, including my own, was the perfect place to offer a prayer of thanksgiving for the gift of life, accompanied by my family and friends throughout so many years of sharing bread and salt, pain and hope, celebration and the work of building other worlds here and now. The Baroque music performed by Julio Saldaña and Suzy Torres, with Magda as soprano and Abraham on keyboard, allowed us to connect with the ancestors of my family and my religious order. This extraordinary space of Baroque art is even more admirable because it tells the stories of women of faith, like Mary, the young woman from Palestine who said yes to the angel, and of many women from the Bible and Dominican sisters from Europe and America, all of them walking, accompanied by the three theological virtues, toward fullness of grace.

    It was a pleasure to host my classmates from the State Normal Institute and the Emiliano Zapata Popular Preparatory School as guests. The years that flew by now seem to bring us closer than we are apart. I had the feeling that we were coming home, after each of us had followed our own path, whether as a lawyer, chemist, engineer, educator, or guerrilla fighter.

    And to my surprise, meeting Polo Sánchez Brito, scout guide of the Antelopes patrol of Group 1 of Puebla, more than half a century later, was to reaffirm those lessons to be self-reliant and in community in the middle of the forest, orienting oneself with the compass and the stars on the initiation walks, learning to light a fire with flint and a little straw, to cook breakfast and prepare coffee with milk at dawn, in addition to recognizing the footprints of the animals that passed by on the paths and recording them in plaster molds.

    Six toasts, one for each decade lived, allowed me to recall small stories of family childhood and as a boy scout, the affective awakening of adolescence, the critical high school youth, the profession chosen from an early age in my case as a Dominican, the faith committed throughout the years according to a spiritual and intellectual tradition of eight centuries, and finally the academic life of three decades inspired by the pastoral accompaniment to vulnerable communities in Mexico.

    And in the end, all this shared memory was crowned by the loving toast in the voices of my sister María Eugenia, my friend Raúl from high school and Amirah, who represented the doctoral students of Boston College from various countries of Our America, from whom I continue to learn so much.

    What a joy to celebrate the gift of life in this way!

     

    Bavarian dialogues

    And, as a challenging continuation of life, I am now undertaking a brief academic stay in Eichstätt, in Bavaria, thanks to the invitation of my friend, Professor Martin Kirschner, who is allowing me to reconnect with that profession of teaching that I left a year ago when I resigned from Boston College, after three decades of academic life.

    Being the “subject of study” for doctoral students in Bavaria wasn't entirely unfamiliar to me, after Cleusa Caldeira, at the Jesuit Faculty of Theology in Belo Horizonte, Brazil, dedicated her doctoral thesis to exploring my contribution to theological thought. Here, Constantin was tasked with reading my latest book on the resurrection as messianic anticipation, in order to pose incisive questions about the “reality” of Jesus' resurrection, asking what happened to his body and how it affects us today. At its core, there was a metaphysical questioning underlying this foundational event of Christian existence.

    Returning to the rhythm of a European university city—calm, quiet, and orderly in its timing and customs—is a delight. But it's also a challenge not to disconnect from the life and pastoral processes I've been immersed in for the past five months in Chiapas.

    In what way, going forward, will you be able to achieve a balance between action and thought, with enough time for meditation, reflection, and writing?

    The dream of a cabin-home appears on the horizon, a place to socialize with friends in body and spirit, the breath of the divine Ruah to let us be moved by its breeze.

    Perhaps the volcanic environment of my childhood is the fertile humus that will make that dream bloom.

    Eichstätt, April 30, 2026

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