Tijuana

Tijuana is a conceptually driven devised piece of documentary theater whose underlying premise is to (supposedly) put oneself in the shoes of another and learn more about humanity, all the while teaching a lesson in dignity and economics. This play forms part of a series that looks at what democracy means for Mexico from 1965-2015. In this case, Lázaro Rodriguez, film and theater actor from the group Lagartijas tiradas al sol, portrayed life in Tijuana for five months in 2015, and took on a new identity and worked for minimum wage. As a result, Tijuana becomes a recollection of recreated vignettes performed on stage through such physical elements as visual aids and props, as well as formally through current theatrical fashion in México, narraturgia (telling stories and reenacting them).

Image by Juan Leduc

I must be honest that I am a little troubled by, but not completely opposed to, the concept in general. If what he told us is indeed true, then for me, Tijuana feels uncomfortably close to slum tourism, a controversial type of voyeurism to see how people live in the poorest areas of the world. With that said, Carolina A. Miranda of the LA Times feels the opposite. She feels that the play “steers clear of romanticized poverty porn” because she sees the play more as “ultimately a performance about a performance. As Rodríguez questions his own motives for wanting to take on the role of Santiago Ramírez, he asked: “Is it possible to represent another?”. I think that’s a question that not only deals with the premise of the play, but acting in general, which is far more intriguing to me. Gabino’s other works tend to question the fidelity of representation as well, with both Tijuana (2017) and Montserrat (2014) providing bibliographies at the end. If a bibliography is needed, then to what extent is material provided, and to what extent does the actor provide his own resources. Therefore, to what extent does he “actually” walk in another’s shoes?

Beginning of the work. Photo: Nicholas Sheets

While I feel the premise behind this devised piece of theater is noble, that is, to educate Mexico’s middle class to current socioeconomic problems, I find it more troubling that an actor who was apparently dishonest with locals (not revealing his true identity or purpose), and who later makes a living as an actor by producing other’s poverty into entertainment, albeit honest entertainment, thinks that the ends justify the means. With all of that said, however, Gabino does not pretend to become what he is documenting. That is, he does not portray himself as having authentically experienced poverty. He confesses at the beginning, for example, that he brought with him hygiene products that a person on minimum wage could not afford, but that he finds essential for his daily routine, emphasizing implicitly that he does not plan to fully experience poverty. At another point we see him in an interview post-Tijuana sipping a cup of espresso, juxtaposing his own middle-class life versus the poverty of others. Thus, the play is as much a play about working class poverty conditions as it is about Gabino himself, or the persona he created, and that, I have to say, saves the play from becoming 100% “slum tourism” or “poverty porn”. But then again, was this Gabino or a persona Gabino created? That would change a lot of how one looks at this play.

Gabino's "interview". Photo: Nicholas Sheets

And, if this was indeed the actor who lived in poverty and not a fabricated persona, then this is not the first time something similar has been produced for consumption in an art form. You’ll probably remember the documentary in Netflix called “Living on OneDollar” (2013) where four Americans go to rural Guatemala and document living on a typical wage for two months. Of notable difference here, however, is that Gabino is Mexican, whereas the Netflix documentary is made by foreigners not accustomed to the country where they are living. Another similar documentary where someone documents poverty working conditions in sweat shops is The True Cost (2015). Since the naturalist movement in the late 19^th century, audiences have welcomed a new form of “living in the shoes of another” through visual art such as film documentaries and documentary theater. And while these types of documentaries are necessary to provide more concrete information about challenges in our world today, to what extent do these efforts lend to “poverty porn” or “slum tourism”? Does Gabino offer a new perspective on dealing with difficult issues through Tijuana?

Tijuana. Photo Credit: Nicholas Sheets

Moreover, the production blurred the lines between theater and real life, in true documentary fashion. On two occasions we are privy to recorded death and destruction―literally. Gabino recorded videos, took photos, and acquired others’ videos. Thus, the audience receives both Gabino’s experience in his own words and writing, as well as actual experiences of others. On one occasion we see someone’s video recording of shoddily built houses collapsing on the side of a hill as spectators laugh and joke about it. This was the 2015 landslide in Tijuana in the colonia Anexa Miramar, and luckily no one was either injured or hurt during this catastrophe, since signs of a landslide were beginning to appear, and people were evacuated. Nonetheless, this was not the outcome of another video reproduced with sound only, except for one brief moment, showing the actual murder of a supposed rapist. Gabino reproduced the speech by one of the community leaders who declares that justice should be executed by the community and not by the police, since the law had abandoned them in their shanty towns. After this fiery speech, the lights went out and we heard a video someone took while the community murdered this man, and then suddenly, we see his bloodied body. After this brief glimpse, we continue to hear the community killing him while we sat in utter darkness. Absolutely horrific, and uncomfortable; and I think that was the point.

Gabino recorded his experiences in a journal, which he states served as a means whereby he could record his thoughts without having to color them through hindsight. He would often recite this journal word for word, which would often lead to a reenactment and/or his didactic thoughts about that experience. For example, on one occasion he was home alone when suddenly he found himself in front of the family’s adolescent daughter, who was completely naked after having taken a shower. He excused himself with an apology and returned to his room, conflicted over what he as Gabino Rodriguez versus he as Santiago Ramírez (his new persona) would have done. But after a conversation with Gabino, I’m not sure whether all the material provided is completely legit, or material created to show the life of “someone”, when that someone is not actually Gabino himself.

Tijuana. Photo Credit: Nicholas Sheets

Toward the end of the production he made a point to argue that the socioeconomic situation of those who live in poverty with the legal minimum wage of around 73 pesos in 2015 (the equivalent of about $5/day at the exchange rate around May 2015) creates situations like the one he lived in—living in a small room in a section of town abandoned by the police. It also says something about what Mexicans who hold power think about those who live in poverty. In 2018 the minimum wage a day for a Mexican is 88.36 pesos (or the equivalent of $4.80 at the current exchange rate). His conclusion, “People who determine the minimum wage don’t ever have to live on minimum wage”. Tijuana is an attempt to show how people live on minimum wage to a middle-class public that has probably never experienced such a socioeconomic struggle.

Toward the end of his stay in Tijuana Gabino’s persona decided that his life was indeed in danger because he had misled this community for five months in terms of his real identity and purpose, and after learning of the brutal murder of this person in the video, and having lost his true identification card, he left a month early. I asked him after the show if he was concerned whether his story would eventually make its way back to the family with whom he lived, or that particular community. He replied that the social circles of those who attend and publish about theater are far removed from the lives of a community that lives under minimum wage. This is somewhat fortunate for him, but also unfortunate in general. But if the story itself was almost all fabricated, then I take my hat off to him for his amazing storytelling, and I have to take a hard look at myself for my own gullibility. As Gabino states in another interview: "I show a lot of material in the performance which proves I was there. But the spectator has, hopefully, enough material to doubt whether they are seeing truth or fiction" ("Playwright undercover: Gabino Rodriguez").

Tijuana. Photo Credit: taken from Exberliner

Nonetheless, the theatricality of the storytelling provided a helpful mechanism for us to follow his story, and an artistic means to perceive life in Tijuana without having to go to Tijuana. There was a projector upstage right where pictures and videos appeared. For example, the video of the man being murdered, and the houses crumbling in the landslide, appeared on this screen. But when he would reenact certain experiences he would also use the screen, as a sort of supplement to his storytelling. For example, while in Tijuana Gabino would go to a park and meditate while looking at the sky. Gabino laid on the floor of the stage looking upward, and the audience saw clouds and airplanes moving on the screen. In essence, we saw what he was looking at, but at a different angle. On many occasions he would read aloud his journal, and as an audience we see the journal entry on the screen. Thus, the visual aids helped reinforce many of his experiences that words alone could not portray.

Looking up at the sky. Photo: Nicholas Sheets

Gabino also used movement as a mechanism for storytelling. He began his performance reproducing movements he performed each day in a factory, moving his hands to the rhythm of the part of the machine that he was assigned to in the assembly line. He opened with these robotic movements but ended dancing as if he were in the bar of the community, lost in the music the locals danced to. And this movement was far freer than the repetitions of a factory.

One of the final moments dancing. Photo: Nicholas Sheets

But these lighter moments were tinged with underlying pessimism. For example, at one point he narrated the times he enjoyed watching “Manchester United” vs. “Real Madrid” playing soccer, the kids wearing shirts of famous players they dream of becoming, dreams that Gabino states will more than likely never take place. So, while the community enjoyed playing soccer to pass the time, it merely underscores the stagnant place and unmoveability of this sector of society.

Tijuana is a tough play to digest, and it should be. Someone with fame and money who is concerned for those around him that suffer socioeconomically decides to apparently walk in the shoes of those with whom he empathizes as a means to call attention to the plight of another. But if he did not do what he said in a literal fashion, that is, he created a persona like himself to make a sort of mockumentary, then the play takes on a whole new and interesting light that is indeed worthy of far more explorations. Ultimately, however, I feel the play is a step in the right direction in understanding what democracy and freedom mean for those who live on minimum wages in Mexico in 2018, as well as how those in the middle class perceive of, and play with, their own representations in juxtaposition.