Whenever I have called my mom, I've never had any insightful conversations with her, beyond the usual "mom-talks" (don't forget to clean your clothes, keep the house clean, eat at your times, go to the doctor, I love you sweetheart.) It was never a problem with my dad--even though he didn't knew too well English, the broken Spanish we talked was good enough to analyze history and philosophize about the future. My partner had told me numerous times to start respecting my moms, to talk to her beyond the realms of parenthood, and as real sociable beings with past experiences and feelings.

And I did. And it was a heartwarming conversation with her. I dont really remember who initiated the conversation, but the topic was the differences in lifestyle in a Capitalist state versus a small village in the rural mountainous regions of Oaxaca Mexico. And it was very fascinating to hear her story of when she was a little girl in a small pueblo called Tabaa, Oaxaca. (We are Zapotec--People of the Clouds)

I remember I asked her so: "What was Oaxaca like when you were little?"

She said, "It was a self-sufficient environment, agrarian sedimentary lifestyle, voluntyrism was the daily practice, and barter was the economic platform." (obviously she didn't say it like this, but to capture your imagination, I chose these words to best describe the reality she lived).

I thought to myself, this is fascinating. Primarily because she was not born that long ago. She was well around the time of WWII. Where industry, production, and this new adaptation of capitalism thrived.

She continued, "trabajas con lo que tienes, y de alli le sigues pa delante./you work with what you have, and you keep moving forward"

I responded, "So the house that is there, did you have to go through any government agency to get it sanctioned?

She said, "No, no, no, mijo ni que gobierno ni que ocho cuartos./No, no, no son not in my life would the government intervene." "Ese fue el terreno de mi tatarabuelo, y mi papa construyo la casa de adobe, en donde yo naci/The land belonged to our ancestors, and my Dad helped construct the adobe house where I was born."

note: these houses are a bit more modern than in her times

And I kept listening to her.

"Mira, lo que podiamos creceer fue chiles, frijoles, maiz, y calabazas/Look, we grew what we could which were: chilies, beans, maize, squash." "Y cuando no teniamos nos intercambiamos productos de lo que queriamos con la gente/And when needed an ingredient not grown in our garden, we would barter with other folks."

I responded, "So money didn't exist?"

She said, "Eso es lo locura de vivir en la cuidad/ That's what is sad about living in the city."

VS.

And again, she made me think about why she chose to say city instead of state or nation. It never really bothered me; only it was intriguing why she would make that comparison. One theory of mine is that the concept of nation-state was never a prevalent issue in her surroundings as a child. She saw "pueblo/town" y/and "cuidad/city" as the binary products to which our cultural reality is constructed. I dont blame her, although I might be over bending her intentions, I might call it a political statement to the fictious notion of nation state.

"Que con el dinero no puedes sobrevivir. Tienes que trabajar todo tu vida/Without money you cannot survive. You need to work all your life."

And I said, "So you are pretty much a slave then, right?"

She said, "Si como un esclavo. El dinero te prude. El dinero te mata/Yes just like a slave. Money corrupts you. Money kills you." "Aya en mi pueblo, habia probesa, pero eso era porque la gente estaban flojos para ser lo ellos mismos/Over there in my village, there was poverty, but it was because the people were lazy to cultivate and produce sustenance for themselves."

I said, "Was there any compassion? Would you had allowed for that neighbor to die from starvation to uphold your ideals?"

To which she said, "Claro que habia compassion. Teniamos unos vecinos que fueron pobre de la patada. Pero mi madrecita tenia mucha compasion para ellos, que le daba de lo que creciamos/Of course there was compassion. We use to have neighbors that were extremely poor. But my mother was extremely sympathetic, that she would share with the neighbors our crops." "Pero si no quieren hacerlo, que vayen y ayuden a la gente, para asi recojer una coleccion de lo que creece/But if they do not want to do it, then have them volunteer with someone, that way all they have to collect is what they grew."

Which I agree, a commune cannot uphold people who are lazy. It needs the constant cooperation of the people to make the concerted effort to continue to live. And so, the voluntaryst way of surviving, was integral to the well-being of her community. While notions of poverty existed, it wasn't the coercive necessity to survive like the way we conceive it here in the states in. Rather, it was cooperative necessity to survive.

She slowly stopped the conversation, and acted as a mom again. "Sabes que mijo? Que tal si hablamos mas este Domingo? Ya se que estas cansado papasito, tu descansa, trabajas mucho y estoy muy orgulloso de ti, te amo papa/You know what son? What if we continue to talk on Sunday? I know you are tired son, you rest, you work alot and I am extremely proud, I love you son."

It warmed my heart the conversation we had. I told her, "Gracias madrecita/Thank you mom, (ja-ka-ra-rue(yo te amo/I love you: Zapotec); hasta she-ji-ra(hasta manana/Goodnight*: Zapotec))

Te amo madrecita/I love you mommy...