ONE LIFE STARRING SIR ANTHONY HOPKINS ABOUT SIR NICHOLAS WINTON WHO ORGANIZED BRINGING OF 669 JEWISH CHILDREN OF PRAGUE , EVADING THEIR DEATH IN THE HANDS OF THE NAZIS

ONE LIFE , MOVIE ABOUT SIR NICHOLAS WINTON (WERTHEIM)

MOVIE STARRING ANTHONY HOPKINS, LENA OLIN, HELENA BONHAM-CARTER

Eventhough he was born a Jew, he never practiced, disillusioned by prayers of religious people on both sides of the War for their Gods to help them. Humans create wars, not Gods and Humans must find the solution. A righteous man does not look away

Winton was not declared a Righteous Among the Nations by Yad Vashem in Israel due to the Yad Vashem policy, which states that only non Jews who risked their lives in order to save Jews are to be declared Righteous Among the Nations. As an adult, he was not active in any particular religion.In a 2015 interview, Winton told Stephen Sackur (Hard Talk on BBC) he had become disillusioned with religion during the war as he could not reconcile religious movements "praying for victory on both sides of the same war". Winton went on to describe his personal beliefs: "I believe in ethics, and if everybody believed in ethics we'd have no problems at all. That's the only way out; forget the religious side.

I saw the film at a small French town, Quiberon, where at this time of the year, only few permanent residents remain, while waiting for the summer onslaught. Eventhough I had heard of this story, the powerful portrayal by Sir Anthony made me heave with remembered sadness accompanied by constant tears.

In that theatre, there were only two jews and the rest were secular French who seemed to have been moved by the story, but the emotions felt by me sure were different. It was not just a story for me, these jewish children saved, 669 of them, I may have come in contact with some of their families , for me , they were also my family. I could feel the apprehension of the children leaving their parents not knowing that they will never see them again (most of their parents perished in German concentration camps), it reminded me of the grandparents of my friends with numbers tattooed in their hands in distant Australia, when on sunny afternoons, we children played and the older tattooed ones chattered in Yiddish.  

Rene Char was well celebrated in France, an intellectual, jewish and a poet who suffered the trauma of the Second World War and I remember reading somewhere a line from Rene Char, I, said the man, I am a Jew. I also remember a similar utterance by a character in a novel by Roberto Arlt, an Argentine literary influence of the XX century.

I was thinking of all these, in the silence of the car as the sun was setting off the Côte Sauvage. What is my nationality ? I am an Australian, born incongruously in a forgotten spot of Portuguese empire, with a father who fought for the liberation of Burma, a doctor to the poor and a friend of the indigenous peoples, around the world, having had a chance to work and live in various countries including Sweden Australia UK Cuba Jamaica USA etc etc etc..

Then as Rene Char had said, I said to  myself, My nationality, Sir, is I am a Jew.

Filming at the Prague Railway Station 

Sir Nicholas Winton (Wertheim)

UNA VIDA, PELÍCULA SOBRE SIR NICHOLAS WINTON (WERTHEIM)

PELÍCULA PROTAGONIZADA POR ANTHONY HOPKINS, LENA OLIN, HELENA BONHAM-CARTER

Aunque nació judío, nunca practicó, desilusionado por las oraciones de personas religiosas de ambos lados de la guerra pidiendo que sus dioses los ayudaran. Los humanos crean las guerras, no los dioses y los humanos deben encontrar la solución. Un hombre justo no mira hacia otro lado

Winton no fue declarado Justo entre las Naciones por Yad Vashem en Israel debido a la política de Yad Vashem, que establece que sólo los no judíos que arriesgaron sus vidas para salvar judíos deben ser declarados Justos entre las Naciones. Como adulto, no practicaba ninguna religión en particular. En una entrevista de 2015, Winton le dijo a Stephen Sackur (Hard Talk en la BBC) que se había desilusionado de la religión durante la guerra porque no podía reconciliar los movimientos religiosos "que oraban por la victoria en ambos bandos de una misma guerra". Winton continuó describiendo sus creencias personales: "Creo en la ética, y si todos creyeran en la ética no tendríamos ningún problema. Esa es la única salida: olvidar el lado religioso.

Vi la película en una pequeña ciudad francesa, Quiberon, donde en esta época del año sólo quedan unos pocos residentes permanentes, a la espera del embate del verano. Aunque había oído hablar de esta historia, la poderosa interpretación de Sir Anthony me hizo sentir una tristeza recordada acompañada de lágrimas constantes.

En aquel teatro sólo había dos judíos y el resto eran franceses laicos que parecían conmovidos por la historia, pero las emociones que sentí yo seguro fueron diferentes. Para mí no fue sólo una historia, estos niños judíos se salvaron, 669 de ellos, es posible que haya entrado en contacto con algunas de sus familias, para mí, ellos también eran mi familia. Pude sentir la aprensión de los niños dejando a sus padres sin saber que nunca los volverán a ver (la mayoría de sus padres murieron en campos de concentración alemanes), me recordó a los abuelos de mis amigos con números tatuados en sus manos en la lejana Australia. , cuando en las tardes soleadas los niños jugábamos y los mayores tatuados charlaban en yiddish.

René Char fue muy celebrado en Francia, un intelectual, judío y poeta que sufrió el trauma de la Segunda Guerra Mundial y recuerdo haber leído en alguna parte una línea de René Char, Yo, dijo el hombre, soy judío. También recuerdo una frase similar de un personaje de una novela de Roberto Arlt, influencia literaria argentina del siglo XX.

Estaba pensando en todo esto, en el silencio del coche mientras el sol se ponía en la Costa Salvaje. ¿Cuál es mi nacionalidad? Soy australiano, nací incongruentemente en un lugar olvidado del imperio portugués, con un padre que luchó por la liberación de Birmania, un médico para los pobres y un amigo de los pueblos indígenas de todo el mundo, habiendo tenido la oportunidad de trabajar y Vivo en varios países, incluidos Suecia, Australia, Reino Unido, Cuba, Jamaica, EE. UU., etc., etc.

Entonces, como había dicho René Char, me dije: Mi nacionalidad, señor, es que soy judío.

A LAMENT FOR MY DEAR ISLAND CUBA

This morning, I received an article from Mexico City that was published in the Spanish newspaper El Pais on February 18, 2024.

As I read it, tears welled up in my eyes. Like dust in the wind, I could feel the searing breeze that has carried my friends away from our beloved island. That same wind has also swept away my emotions and attachments. I miss Cuba, but I find myself wanting to shield my heart from the suffering of my fellow Cuban compatriots who remain on the island, unable to leave. The number of people who wish to stay in Cuba is dwindling daily.

The article was sent to me by a close friend, a psychologist who was once my colleague in Havana. We were part of a tightly knit group that often gathered at my apartment in Vedado to eat, drink, chat, listen to each other, and create a wealth of memories. However, she is now in Mexico City, and it is unlikely that she will ever return.

Leonardo Paduro, a well-respected writer and a good friend of my adopted mother in Cuba, has documented the raw truth of life in the streets of Havana through his Lieutenant Conde mystery novels. For anyone who loves Havana, his novels are a balm that is soothing, disturbing, charming, caressing, and exciting—all at once, much like our dear Havana.

In his editorial, Leonardo Padura captures the essence of nostalgia for a land, especially an island, steeped in sun, rum, affection, and literate people. Those who have experienced this yearning will find his words resonating with their own songs of lost hopes and sands.

EL PAIS , SPAIN

EDITORIALS

*More dust in the wind*

Exile has been a substantial part of Cuba since the nation's origins, but the current wave of migration appears to be the largest in history

LEONARDO PADURA

18 FEB 2024

My friend Eduardo came to give me the news: he already has all the necessary documents, he has even bought the plane ticket. In two weeks he leaves Cuba, almost certainly never to return: he has sold off his house, with everything he had inside it. Eduardo is going to meet in Lima with his two sons, who emigrated eight and two years ago and settled there.

My friend Eduardo is a contemporary of mine and, like me, a mantilla resident since always. Or until now. Our friendship must be as old as we are, but the first image I have of him is from the first day of the school year in 1960, when we started first grade at what is still called Plantel Juventud. When lining up for the Civic Act that opened the year—we sang the National Anthem, saluted the flag, and listened to a speech from the school principal—a teacher took Eduardo by the hand and took him to the end of the line of “the men”: because although Eduardo was the youngest, he was also the tallest of all and had to go at the end of the line. Eduardo always had red hair and a freckled face that earned him the nickname El Colorao. Like me, he now has more gray hair than red hair, but he is still El Colorao and, I am sure that since that day of my memory, we are friends.

Eduardo has a degree in Geography. And he was always an excellent professional, with notable knowledge of topics such as cartography, the geological study of soils and other subjects. Two years ago, upon reaching 66, after decades of work, he retired. The pension assigned to him is about 2,000 Cuban pesos. But it happens that today, in Cuba, a carton of 30 eggs is priced at 3,000 pesos. With his retirement, Eduardo would not be able to eat an egg every day. That's also why he leaves. Like his children, he leaves. He is another friend who flies, like dust in the wind.

A few days before I had said goodbye to Kike, another old friend. He went to live in Spain, with his daughter and his grandchildren. And he leaves me with a huge void, not only sentimental, but also practical. Kike was, as my wife and I called it, “the man of the house.” A carpenter, plumber, bricklayer, painter, sometimes even (against his wish) an electrician, Kike solved all domestic problems and from his hands came, over many years, several of the pieces of furniture we use: shelves for books, a table and dining room chairs, wooden doors.

Kike is 78 years old. He is also a mantillaro by birth and never thought of leaving, not even from Mantilla. But he's gone. His retirement, by the way, was around 1,500 pesos and, for this reason, he never stopped working, whatever appeared to be the case, despite his bone pain and persistent stomach discomfort.

Now I just found out that Dr. Esperanza is also leaving. We were study buddies and she was my girlfriend, about a century ago. She is going to meet in Tampa with her daughter whom she hasn't seen in ten years and with two grandchildren that she doesn't know. And she leaves never to return.

Eduardo, Kike, Esperanza are some of the few old friends I had left in the neighbourhood. Over time I have seen many leave and have even attended the wake of others. Like dust in the wind, those friends have dispersed and left me here, increasingly alone and more nostalgic. Each one who walks away is a loss, not only physical, but also mental: they take with them a piece of shared memories that only they could confront. And that hurts, like the amputation that it is.

Why do so many leave? Why people like them, already militants in the senior citizens' club, who will hardly be able to do anything in those destination countries to earn a living? They leave because their affections claim them, but also because they are tired. A heavy historical fatigue that takes shape in a present that does not resemble the future that was promised to us, the one that we deserved after years of work and sacrifices. They leave because here, in their country, they lived off what another friend from the neighbourhood calls “donations”: financial aid from family and friends living abroad.

The children and grandchildren of my contemporaries did not wait that long. Many decided to change their present, aspire to another future and, to achieve this, they emigrated. The children and grandchildren of my generation have not thought twice about it, they have left and they continue to leave through any loophole, towards any destination.

If it is necessary to illustrate the proportions of this national bleeding in transit, there are the figures that the US Department of Border Protection (CBP) has recently made public. Only between October and November 2023, 38,154 Cubans entered the United States through irregular means. The majority have done so through the Mexican border where they usually arrive after taking the “coyote route” from Nicaragua, through Central America and Mexico. The cost of this journey is around $10,000 per person and there is already a network of traffickers who organize the journey.

Thus, through legal channels such as the so-called humanitarian parole established in January 2023 by the Biden Government for emigrants who have a “sponsor” who welcomes them on North American soil, plus those who have done so through irregular means, only to the United States. More than 650,000 Cubans have emigrated in the last two fiscal years. And how many, like my friends, have left for other destinations such as Spain, Peru, Argentina, Russia or wherever they can go? The figure is shocking when placed next to the census of 11.260 million citizens residing on the island that were counted in 2021—a figure that included many who had already emigrated.

Exile has been a substantial part of Cuban history since the origins of the nation. The first man who proclaimed his Cuban belonging and immortalized it in his texts was the poet José María Heredia, who in 1823 fled the island, required by his independence activities. It is a destiny that has followed us ever since and continues to pursue us despite the nationalist pretensions we put on ourselves. And also despite the fact that, as Milan Kundera said, “no one leaves the place where they are happy.”

The current migratory wave, to which these friends have joined, seems to be the largest in national history. And it forms, without a doubt, the reflection of a dissatisfaction of so many people who prefer distance and live all the dramas that an exile implies than to remain in their own place waiting for the bright future that does not light up, that never arrives.

In my novel Like Dust in the Wind I tried to outline a chronicle of the reasons and results of the diaspora of my generation and of the batch of those who could be my children and grandchildren. But reality is usually more powerful and painful than fiction, and today we are seeing how a country is bleeding from which not only young people who are pursuing a less uncertain future are leaving, but also people like my old friends, in search of a future. which undoubtedly has a lot of uncertainty, in which they will suffer nostalgia and feel losses, but in which at least they will have the closeness of their affections and, with them, among other things, perhaps, a relief for so much historical fatigue and, I hope , also the revolts of an emotional memory that makes you fondly evoke the many coffee brews that I made for you here, in my house in Mantilla.

Leonardo Padura is a writer. Princess of Asturias Award for Literature 2015.

https://elpais.com/opinion/2024-02-18/mas-polvo-en-el-viento.html

OH POBRE AMERICANOS, COME TO MEXICO. THE FOOD IS BETTER SO IS THE SPECIALIST MEDICAL CARE . MORE COMPASSIONATE

Oh, unlucky American patients—so close to good personal medical attention in Mexico and yet so far from a holistic approach.

Just about a month ago, I returned to the Ticuna Tribe, who live along the Colombian Amazon, to continue my medical project with them. As you can imagine, the 800 odd members of this community, one of many along the river, are healthy and free of most metabolic problems. However, I was not used to the intense heat and subsequent dehydration. To make a long story short, upon arrival back in Miami, I ended up in the hospital with a diagnosis of intestinal obstruction??, which resolved very quickly with intravenous hydration and resting of the stomach in a matter of hours.

The doctors who work in the American system, which is predominantly an insurance company-dictated economic model, which influences medical decisions, in general lack curiosity about the holistic nature of health and concentrate on the disease of one or more particular organs.

Enter the highly professional, very competent, and more human medical doctors of Monterrey, Mexico. I am not part of the system there, so I cannot comment on the structure of the medical system in Mexico. Still, I can only comment on the doctors at a personal level and the impact they have on patients at a very human level. I am familiar with healthcare systems in the UK, France, Australia, and Israel.

During this visit, I met and talked, in the presence of my good friend and collaborator, an integrative medicine practitioner from the interior city of Muzquiz (with whom I collaborate on the health of the indigenous Kikapu Indians), Mexican specialists in Pulmonary Medicine, Hematology, Orthopedic Surgery, Gastroenterology, and Radiology. Without exception, all were generous with their time and expertise. These are my observations as a Specialist Physician and Cultural Anthropologist.

If you enter a doctor’s office in the USA, or a clinic, the health workers may be from any part of the world—a Syrian Doctor, a Dominican Nurse, a Cuban technician, etc. This cultural incongruity influences healthcare and also affects the emotions of the patient who may be Jamaican or Haitian. This is one of the reasons for the so-called “non-compliance” with medical treatment, as there is a lack of faith based on culture. In Monterrey, all the specialists I met were graduates of the medical school at Monterrey UANL, which is a state-funded university. Many of the people I met hold teaching positions at the University Hospital, along with their private practices attached to well-equipped but not chaotic or crowded hospitals. Everyone spoke the same language, and with maternal proficiency (a big difference from the USA where providers may have a different maternal tongue than the patient). More importantly, as the native healers of the Lakota explained to me, there is a congruity of belief systems between the sufferer and the healer, which aids in the healing of the patient.

The characteristics were common enough for me to paint a general picture. The most striking difference between the Americans and Mexicans was that American doctors work from a platform of FEAR, in that they begin with the worst possible diagnosis and appear and project themselves as saviors when the real, less than grave diagnosis is made. Mexican specialists start from the platform of comfort and alleviation of fear and work on the confidence that creates. This is an important anthropological difference, and it is well-documented from various teaching hospitals in the USA by anthropologists.

The cultural background of the patient and specialists are very similar. I had gone to observe the interactions between a patient and his extremely competent and kind orthopedic surgeon as well as between another colleague and her awe-inspiring hematologist. All of them had similar cultural and societal origins, all intelligent and hard workers and contributors to the happiness of individuals and society. Strong Christian, especially Catholic, traditions are well-apparent to an anthropologist in a subtle but not overwhelming fashion. It is clear to a keen eye that both the patient and the doctor are believers.

The other striking feature of these specialist doctors is their humility. That may be the cause of their treating the patients with great respect and according to them an equality in the sense of conversations. In the USA, I have noticed that even a Nurse’s assistant tries to maintain an upper level of comprehension (and often fails) in an interaction, especially if there is a language barrier. These doctors in Monterrey at the hospitals, Christus Muguerza and San Jose, and Radiological centers exuded confidence and expertise.

The friendship and familiarity were heartwarming. The orthopedic surgeon and the Haematologist had an air of family friends to the patients I was with. The Gastroenterologist was like an old friend even though I had just met him, and the Radiologists who did the ultrasounds themselves (rather than delegating it to subordinates) were confident in their interpretations of their work right in front of you and gave firm handshakes and hugs. They did not recommend further radiological studies, as is the usual case in the USA.

In Anthropology, we make a distinction between Illness, which the patient experiences, and Disease, which is the interpretation of the Doctor. Technological medicine puts the emphasis strictly on Disease, whereas humanistic medicine places importance and seeks out the lived-in experience of the patient’s Illness.

In Miami, USA, like in many cities and towns of that country, you will receive excellent technical care. In Monterrey, you would receive excellent humanistic medical care supported and founded on the doctor-patient relationship.

Rio Grande or Rio Bravo, seperating these two Nations

From a flat Texas landscape, as you cross into Mexico the mountains begin to appear 

Good friends were waiting for me at the Monterrey Airport

In Mexico, one eats Tacos, obviously, shrimp on the left, octopus on the right

I recounted to this physician how I was so short of breath while rushing at various airports, not to miss flights. Airports at Madrid, Amsterdam, Montreal and Atlanta all in a matter of hours. His wise advice was this: You do not need my advice, get yourself a better travel agent! so that you have more hours at airports.

Le conté a este médico cómo me faltaba el aire mientras corría por varios aeropuertos para no perder vuelos. Aeropuertos de Madrid, Amsterdam, Montreal y Atlanta, todo en cuestión de horas. Su sabio consejo fue este: No necesita mi consejo, ¡consiga un mejor agente de viajes! para que tengas más horas en los aeropuertos

This renowned Haematologist pictured with his son who is also a Haematologist recollected fondly my former professor at the University of Miami,Dr William Harrington Sr the haematologist  who injected himself with serum of a patient with ITP to prove its pathogenesis!

¡Este renombrado hematólogo fotografiado con su hijo, que también es hematólogo, recordó con cariño a mi ex profesor de la Universidad de Miami, el renombrado hematólogo Dr William Harrington Sr  que se inyectó el suero de un paciente con PTI para comprobar su patogénesis!

I happened to be in Monterrey on the Day of Friendship and felt good to be with friends , old and new.

It was such a pleasure to see this well respected Orthopaedic surgeon who had operated on the hip of my friend and truly had miraculous results. Faith combined with expertise is a great blessing indeed.

Fue un gran placer ver a este respetado cirujano ortopédico que había operado la cadera de mi amigo y realmente obtuvo resultados milagrosos. La fe combinada con la experiencia es en verdad una gran bendición.

SPANISH TRANSLATION

¡Oh! Pacientes estadounidenses desafortunados, tan cerca de una buena atención médica personalizada en México y tan lejos de un enfoque holístico en Estados Unidos.

Hace apenas un mes, había regresado a la tribu Ticuna que vive a lo largo del Amazonas (la pequeña parte que es colombiana) para continuar mi proyecto médico con ellos. Como puedes imaginar, los 800 miembros de esta comunidad, uno de los muchos a lo largo del río, están sanos y libres de la mayoría de los problemas metabólicos.

Pero no estaba acostumbrado al intenso calor y posterior deshidratación, para resumir, al llegar de regreso a Miami terminé en el hospital con el diagnóstico de Obstrucción Intestinal la cual resolvió muy rápidamente con hidratación intravenosa y reposo del estómago.

Mientras que los médicos que trabajan en el sistema estadounidense, predominantemente de compañías de seguros, dictan un modelo económico que influye en las decisiones médicas y en la falta de curiosidad por la naturaleza integral de la salud de la persona, en lugar de concentrarse en la enfermedad de uno o más órganos en particular.

Ingrese a los médicos altamente profesionales, muy competentes y más humanos de Monterrey, México. No soy parte del sistema aquí, así que no puedo comentar sobre la estructura del sistema médico en México, solo puedo comentar sobre los médicos a nivel personal y el impacto de ellos en los pacientes a un nivel muy humano. Estoy familiarizado con los sistemas de atención médica del Reino Unido, Francia, Australia e Israel.

En esta visita conocí, conversé, en presencia de mi buen amigo y colaborador, un practicante de medicina integrativa del interior de la ciudad de Muzquiz (colaboramos en la salud de los indígenas Kikapu), especialistas mexicanos en Medicina Pulmonar, Hematología, Cirugía Ortopédica, Gastroenterología y Radiología. Todos sin excepción fueron generosos con su tiempo y experiencia y estas son mis observaciones como Médico Especialista y Antropólogo Cultural.

Si entras a un consultorio médico en USA, o a una clínica, los trabajadores de la salud pueden ser de cualquier parte del mundo, un Médico Sirio, una Enfermera Dominicana, un técnico cubano etc. Además hay gente no médica en el consultorio como como escribanos, personas que se ocupan de la facturación, etc. Esta incongruencia cultural influye en el cuidado de la salud y también en las emociones del paciente, que puede ser jamaicano, haitiano o estadounidense. Esta es una de las razones del llamado “incumplimiento” del tratamiento médico, ya que hay falta de fe basada en la cultura. En Monterrey, todos los especialistas que conocí eran graduados de la facultad de medicina de la UANL de Monterrey, que es una universidad financiada por el Estado, y muchas de las personas que conocí ocupaban puestos docentes en el Hospital Universitario junto con sus consultorios privados adjuntos a instalaciones bien equipadas pero no caóticas. o hospitales abarrotados.

Todos hablaban el mismo idioma y con competencia materna (una gran diferencia con respecto a los EE. UU., donde los proveedores pueden tener una lengua materna diferente a la del paciente) y, lo que es más importante, como me explicaron los curanderos nativos de los Lakota, hay una congruencia de sistemas de creencias entre el que sufre y el sanador que ayudan con la curación del paciente)

De regreso a los excelentes proveedores de atención médica de Monterrey México.

Las características eran lo suficientemente comunes como para poder pintar un cuadro general.

La diferencia más sorprendente entre estadounidenses y mexicanos fue que los médicos estadounidenses trabajan desde una plataforma de MIEDO, en el sentido de que comienzan con el peor diagnóstico posible y aparecen y se proyectan como salvadores cuando se hace el diagnóstico real, menos que grave. Los especialistas mexicanos parten de la plataforma de la comodidad y el alivio del miedo y trabajan en la confianza que eso genera. Ésta es una diferencia antropológica importante y está bien documentada por antropólogos en varios hospitales universitarios de EE. UU.

Los antecedentes culturales del paciente y los especialistas son muy similares. Fui a observar las interacciones entre un paciente y su extremadamente competente y amable cirujano ortopédico, así como entre otra colega y su impresionante hematólogo. Todos ellos tenían orígenes culturales y sociales similares, todos eran inteligentes, trabajadores y contribuyentes a la felicidad de los individuos y de la sociedad. Las fuertes tradiciones cristianas, especialmente católicas, son claramente evidentes para un antropólogo de una manera sutil pero no abrumadora. Para un ojo atento está claro que tanto el paciente como el médico son creyentes.

La otra característica llamativa de estos médicos especialistas es su humildad. Esta puede ser la causa de que traten a los pacientes con gran respeto y, según ellos, igualdad en el sentido de las conversaciones. En los EE. UU., he notado que incluso un asistente de enfermería intenta mantener un nivel superior de comprensión (y a menudo falla) en una interacción, especialmente si existe una barrera del idioma. Estos médicos en Monterrey en los hospitales. Christus Muguerza y San José y los centros Radiológicos, derrochaban confianza y experiencia.

La amistad y la familiaridad fueron reconfortantes. El cirujano ortopédico y el hematólogo tenían un aire de amigos de familia con los pacientes con los que estaba. El gastroenterólogo era como un viejo amigo a pesar de que acababa de conocerlo y los radiólogos que hacían los ultrasonidos ellos mismos (en lugar de delegarlos a sus subordinados) tenían confianza en sus interpretaciones de su trabajo frente a usted y le daban firmes apretones de manos y abrazos. No recomendaron más estudios radiológicos, como es habitual en Estados Unidos.

En Antropología hacemos una distinción entre Enfermedad la que experimenta el paciente y Enfermedad la que es la interpretación del Médico. La medicina tecnológica pone el énfasis estrictamente en la Enfermedad, mientras que la medicina humanista da importancia y busca la experiencia vivida de la Enfermedad del paciente.

En Miami, USA como en muchas ciudades y pueblos de ese país, recibirás una excelente atención técnica mientras que en Monterrey recibirás una excelente atención médica humanista sustentada y basada en la relación médico-paciente.

con respeto y gratitud a los siguientes magníficos médicos de Monterrey, NL, México

Dr Mario Alonso Treviño, Neumologo

Hospital San Jose tec Monterrey 

Dr Miguel Cantu Suarez, Gastroenterologo

Hospital San Jose tec Monterrey

Dr David Gomez Almaguer Sr

Dr Andrez Gomez hijo  Hematologia

Centro Medico San Francisco, Monterrey 

Dr Ricardo Valero, Radiologo

Centro Medico Las Lomas, Monterrey

Dr Juan Francisco Garcia Quintanilla, Radiologo

Centro de Radiodiagnostico e Imagen, Monterrey

Dr. Ramos, Ortopedico e traumatologia

Centro Medico San Francisco, Monterrey

https://medicoanthropologist.blogspot.com/2023/06/compassionate-medical-care-in-monterrey.html

TREAT OTHERS WITH RESPECT AND RESPECT WILL COME YOUR WAY

Treat others with respect, and respect will come your way.

During my recent visits to the East, two incidents notably stood out, echoing the words of my dear psychologist friend AA from La Habana: The relationships you build worldwide are your treasure. It often disheartens me to see many in Asia, especially India, neglecting to accord respect to others. They engage in societal transactions that ultimately harm not only others but also themselves. A particular annoyance in India is the pervasive caste and color system disrupting the ability to see a person’s true value.

I was frequently confronted with derogatory comments about the 'Other' — those seen as poor or from distant places like Nagaland or Nepal, and unfounded criticisms of Malayalee workers for their alleged lack of work ethic. However, this attitude of setting oneself apart from the 'Other' is not unique to any one place; I’ve noticed it globally.

In stark contrast, the American Indians embrace the concept of Mitakuye Oyasin, a belief in our interconnectedness. I have taken this principle to heart, striving to be a brother to everyone I encounter, sometimes going out of my way to connect.

The emotional and humanitarian rewards I've received from these connections are profound and fulfilling, especially in light of my commitment to Humanitarian Medicine, enriching this journey of life with deeply satisfying moments.

From my recent journey, I recall two instances:

In 2004, Abu Bakr was a receptionist at the Ballard Bungalow Heritage Hotel in Cochin, managed by Densal Sany. One monsoon day, Abu Bakr shielded us from the rain and wind by inviting us into the reception. Our friendship grew from there, and during a later visit, I was welcomed into his home in Paroor for a feast and offered health advice to his father. Years later, after hearing from Densal that Abu Bakr had returned from working in Oman as a family man, I reconnected with him, leading to a heartfelt reunion in Paroor.

Another memorable moment occurred during a transit stop at Doha airport. Months prior, while transitioning from Casablanca to New York, I encountered Aksam from Colombo. Our brief conversation left such an impression that upon my return, Aksam eagerly greeted me, and we enjoyed catching up. This encounter demonstrated the lasting impact of treating someone with genuine respect and interest.

These experiences remind me of a wisdom shared by Black Bird, an UmonHon Indian: A medical mistake may be forgivable, but a mistake against humanity is not. As doctors, we must remember we are more than our profession; it's crucial to understand and honour who we are as individuals.

An additional personal reflection involves my connection to Wella Watta in Colombo, sparked by a 'genetic memory' and my admiration for the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, who lived there as the Consul for Chile in Ceylon in 1929. Neruda’s passionate and tumultuous relationship with Josie Bliss, and the vivid memories of their time together, continue to move me deeply.

Aksam Abu Tahir a Sri Lankan I met on my first journey on Qatar Airways, we are still friends and try to see each other when I transit in Doha. He organized a trip for me in his part of Sri Lanka in and around Galle

NOSTALGIA FOR MALAYSIA

A Lovely Day in Malaysia

Malaysia, a country teeming with diversity, culture, and heartwarming hospitality, never ceases to amaze its visitors. There's always something enchanting about drifting through its bustling streets, engaging with its people, and, evidently, its culinary adventures. Today, I found myself wrapped in the cozy embrace of a rather unique Japanese restaurant experience, one that strangely -- and wonderfully -- tugged at my heartstrings and reminded me of the global threads that tie us all together.

The Unassuming Entrance to Mizu Japanese Restaurant

Satiated with the brilliance of Malaysian outdoors and the carousel of flavors that is Malaysian cuisine, I ventured into an intriguing Japanese haven called Mizu. At a glance, Mizu appeared to mirror the many Japanese eateries you'd stumble upon in Paris: the essence captured in the name and dishes, yet managed almost entirely by a vibrant mosaic of international souls. This concoction of cultures, rather than off-putting, piqued my curiosity and beckoned me further inside.

Ambience and First Impressions

The warmth of the restaurant enveloped me like a familiar blanket. Transitioning from excellent Chinese and remarkable Tamoul food, I was skeptical yet excited about what Mizu had to offer. The staff, particularly attentive, painted a welcoming atmosphere. It was interesting to note the blend of cultures within the staff itself, creating a unique dining experience that felt both novel and familiar.

The Culinary Delight Begins

Dish after dish, the Japanese culinary philosophy of beautiful, appetizing presentation was honored. My initial concern about the authenticity, given the visibly non-Japanese kitchen brigade, melted away with the first bite. The flavors were a crescendo of tradition and passion, a gentle reminder that the soul of cuisine lies not solely in the nationality of the one who prepares it but in the dedication and skill they bring to the table.

A Connection Beyond Borders

Throughout the evening, one waitress, in particular, caught my attention. Her efficiency, coupled with a steadfast smile, seemed to tell a deeper story. Compelled by a mixture of curiosity and admiration, I inquired about her roots, to which she replied, "Myanmar." This single word sparked a profound connection, bridging cultures and shared histories, and wrapped the evening in a layer of unexpected emotional depth.

Mingalarbar – A Word That Bonds

Her response, and my acknowledgment with a simple "Mingalarbar," lit up her face in recognition of a shared linguistic thread. It was a small yet significant gesture, revealing the layers of individual stories behind the faces we often breeze past in our daily lives. It prompted a reflection on the myriad reasons people traverse borders, chasing dreams, and seeking new beginnings far from home.

The Sentiments Stirred

Learning about her journey, aspirations, and the familial ties that motivate her, I couldn't help but reflect on the broader theme of displacement and the quest for a better life. Despite the joy and novelty of new experiences, there's a poignant thread of sacrifice and longing that weaves through the narrative of every migrant's story. It was a reminder of how food and places serve merely as backdrops to the more profound, shared human experiences that connect us, irrespective of geography.

Reflections on a Day Well Spent

As the day wrapped up, my heart felt full. Not just from the delightful culinary journey but from the warmth of human connection and the stories etched within. Malaysia, with its rich tapestry of cultures, served as the perfect canvas for these connections. It debunked stereotypes and revealed the underlying unity that can emerge from the most unexpected encounters.

The Malaysian Melting Pot: A Conclusion

As I stepped out of Mizu, back into the lively Malaysian streets, I carried with me not just memories of a day well spent but also a profound sense of belonging and an inexplicable bond with a land and its people so diverse yet so unified. Malaysia, in its essence, is a testament to the beauty of diversity, the resilience of its people, and the unexpected encounters that remind us of our shared humanity.

Malaysia is more than just a destination; it's a mosaic of human stories, a crossroad of cultures, and a reminder that in the heart of diversity lies unity and strength. As I continue to chat with friends near and far, reflecting on my experiences, I'm reminded that it's truly the people who make a place. Here's to more lovely days in Malaysia, and to the myriad stories waiting to be discovered in its embrace.A Lovely Day in Malaysia