This post was originally published on June 10, 2018.
The image below comes from Asia Argento's Instagram - Bourdain's 2-year girlfriend at the time of his death - where one moment she is sunbathing poolside, reading a book, smoking a cigarette. The next, her face is swollen, she's drowning in her own tears, she embodies heartbreak. She's soaking in the sun's rays for physical warmth, and not for the sake of a tan: she's just trying to hang in there, and staying alive is her life's challenge right now. Her partner is gone, she can't explain to herself why, she just wishes he'd come back. Her expression haunts me. All she wants is for him to come back.
It's been a few weeks since his horrendous suicide (really, Bourdain?! You had to hang yourself, you asshole?) and I have to admit: I've never cried over a celebrity dying. Bourdain, though? At least 5 times that day, sitting down, face buried in hands. I couldn't even stand and just shed a tear like an adult. I had to crumble down, weep, sob.
The reason this senseless suicide hit me so hard wasn't due to losing his rock n' roll charm, his attractive manly bravado, his courageous outlook on life and sensitivity towards the human experience. It wasn't that he made eating, drinking and traveling an actual religion, with millions of devoted followers around the world who would tune into his award-winning shows and series every week.
It was that a powerful, rich, white American man, who was passionately in love with Mexico, with all our defects, our problems, our poverty, with our corrupt government, no longer was. Bourdain recognized Mexicans as brothers, not just as neighbors: he was vocal on America’s historically uncomfortable relationship with us. Many love to vacation here, but they can't seem to hold a meaningful conversation with us for very long. Americans love our culture, our food, our vibrant traditions, but it’s easy to distance themselves from the problems we face, even the problems Americans co-created.
Many forget most people “illegally” crossing the US-Mexico border these days aren't even Mexicans: its Salvadorians, Nicaraguans and Guatemalans running away from dictatorships birthed from US geopolitics and empire-like strategies. It's easy to be the world’s largest consumer of narcotics, while the US government issues daily travel warnings about how violent Mexico is due to cartel activity. The same cartels that kill using machine guns made in the US, and sold by the US. It’s easy to expect every waiter in Cabo, Vallarta or Tulum to speak english, but we Mexicans would never dream of being addressed in Spanish from a caucasian waiter at a US restaurant. Even in California, Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, our former territory. The thought alone is laughable. I’m constantly questioned about how safe Mexico is by people who live in a country where school children murder each other every week, where civilians are armed at all times, where public shootings, and even bombings, are regular events, where police shoot first and ask questions later.
Can you imagine how terrified you would be of Mexico if you knew 12-year olds murdered their classmates with machine guns once a week? Can you imagine vacationing in Mexico knowing civilians were allowed to carry weapons in public?
No, you probably can’t. But we know it to be a fact, and don’t use it against you, not because we’re innocent angels, but because our culture and our media do not have the historical habit of scapegoating, of systemically-oppressing others who are “different”.
But anyway... back to Bourdain, back to this letter. He was fully aware and against the hypocrisy behind this double-standard. He worded it beautifully in his famous Tumblr post "Under the Volcano", which you can read here. "Mexico. Our brother from another mother. A country, with whom, like it or not, we are inexorably, deeply involved, in a close but often uncomfortable embrace".
So, yes, as a Mexican, I felt validated by him. I felt supported, even protected. As a woman, Anthony Bourdain represented everything I think is admirable in a man. Under his instruction, the Parts Unknown production always included female local experts to share the story of the destination. Learning from women’s perspectives was important to Bourdain, and his show was important to the world. Asia, the woman he loved, was a rebellious, non-conformist, outspoken feminist. “She’s just like me”, I felt. “Bourdain loves women like me”. Again, my place in this world felt protected. It was a reminder that there are important, powerful, privileged men out there who are not threatened by, or put off, by what I am. On the contrary, it's what they love.
Bourdain's suicide was a triple-loss. One, for food and culture. If the culinary world is Wakanda, he was our King, and the King is dead. Two, for Mexicans: our American cultural champion who always had our back was gone. And three, for women: we lost the alpha male prototype, the protector who stood by our side on all matters of rights, freedoms and equality.
During my 20s, I traveled all over the world by myself. I spent months wondering around India, southeast Asia, Europe, I lived in Brazil and Nicaragua. All thanks to what Bourdain inspired in me, the seed he planted in my head: not only that a life of pure adventure was possible, but that as a woman, even as a young girl, I could do it, I could even do it alone.
It's still hard to digest how it went down. This man hung himself in a hotel with a bathrobe belt. I mean... come on. It doesn't get more fucked up than that. He always came off as so wise, so cool and collected. I can't imagine what the voices were screaming inside his head that night, the vile things they were saying, the lies they sold him. I hope none of us ever know. Drug addiction is the biggest curse because its self-inflicted, but a heroin addiction? That has to be the closest thing to having the devil live inside you.
These are not easy times. How I pray we are all blessed with the ability to react with just a bit more compassion, starting with myself. That we are always reminded how little we know, and how much more we can accomplish when we listen before we speak. Especially when it comes to our neighboring countries: how I pray we prioritize healing the wounds in our shared history, and to point the finger at ourselves before we point it at each other.
