The Guadalajara Reporter

Prostitutes and prostitution are noisily on the minds of Republicans and media folk, stirring memories of cantina murals

Abruptly, the word, “prostitute” – not greatly used in public political speech because of that iron truism, “Those who live in glass houses ...” – is extremely popular.   Suddenly it’s a favorite among Republicans.  They seem consumed with sex, especially Rick Santorum and the weirdly loathsome Rush Limbaugh.

In the past week, “prostitute” was discussed in every form of media, and social and private conversation. Sex for sale is its most strict definition. It also means people who sell themselves for any kind of advantage, an implication the GOP should keep in mind. In Laurens County, South Carolina, conservatives passed a resolution requiring anyone running for office as a Republican to sign a pledge promising not to have had extra-marital sex in the past and to avoid pornography at all costs.  Someone asked, “Who’ll be able to honestly sign up?”

When my wife and I landed in Mexico in 1963, we were surprised to learn that even the smallest pueblo had several burdeles – brothels.  In those days, the daughters of even the poorest families “went out“ with boys heavily chaperoned.  They wore long dresses, had hair on their legs (to show they weren’t Indios) and were closely watched by family members and neighbors.  It didn’t always work. But it did boost the brothel trade.

Besides selling short stories – a slow process due to Mexico’s dilitory postal system – I was learning how a Nikon camera worked under the tutelage of a friend known as Lake Chapala’s master photographer.  Brothels here had a reputation that surprised me: their mural art. The walls of almost every cathouse were said to be decorated with naif art, painted by local untutored artists.

My photo mentor took me to see an example one morning – no patrons, a teenager sweeping up the the night’s debris, a man refilling iced beer coolers, checking the liquor supply. The walls of the brothel were painted an unfortunate dark green. Yet the black and red elementary figures were easy to make out. Simple, even childish, they possessed a striking straightforwardness. An echo of prehistoric drawings.  The painting reflected rural Mexico: men on horses lassoing livestock, and the obligatory raw display of erotic encounters.

“Every whorehouse here has a history.  Problems with the church, townspeople, the police. Stories of the biggest, bloodiest fights, of murders.  Of women who went on to become well-known courtesans.  Some who went to Guadalajara and became well-known entertainers.  Others who came to sad ends.”

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