http://www.edmontonsun.com/news/columnists/thane_burnett/2009/09/08/11054091.html
LA GLORIA, Mex ? The road in and out of Town Zero is paved by swine flu.
There are 10 kilometres of fresh blacktop, as well as a new playground and even a recently unveiled statue in the centre of this dusty Mexican village.
All of it is what H1N1 left behind for La Gloria?s 3,000 residents.
Then there are the persistent questions, dogged accusations and perhaps a prescription for some hope in calming worldwide fears over the new influenza virus.
It?s here in La Gloria, three hours outside Mexico City, where it?s believed H1N1 made the antigenic shift into humans.
This may well be the innocuous birthplace ? where locals ride burros to the nearby fields to tend to corn grown in waves on slippery slopes ? where the pandemic began.
Before swine flu, the last interesting thing to happen here was when the town was renamed after a revolutionary leader tried the locally fermented maguey juice hooch and proclaimed loudly "Gloria!"
Before that, the place was named after a chicken, which gives you a sense of where it had previously placed in importance.
Then, earlier this year, people here fell ill.
?It was the first time we can remember everyone getting sick,? recalls local 30-year-old mom Maria, as she buys tortillas inside La Gloria?s ?Groceries and Seeds? shop.
Not willing to offer up her last name, she explains she at first wasn?t worried when her six-year-old child complained of headaches.
Then health officials began to take blood samples from everyone ? even offering to pay for some of them.
From February on, about 60% of the town complained of influenza-like illnesses. Mexican doctors at first thought it was just the regular flu, which is as common in La Gloria as goat droppings down main-street.
But a blood sample taken from Edgar Hernandez Hernandez, a five-year-old boy in town, would eventually come back positive for a brand new H1N1 strain.
His family says he began feeling ill in late March.
Edgar stayed in bed for three days, though slept with other family members.
He?d greet his little brother with kisses. No one else in the household became sick.
However, Patient Zero had been identified, and Edgar and his family have found fame in that.
They travel to public appearances in Mexico. His father, a bricklayer, has the new use of a slightly used Ford pickup truck.
Edgar now enjoys an education bursary.
It?s his image that?s been cast into an effigy over a fountain pond.
?Here?s the f---ing statue,? says one man, as he leads us to it.
It sits next to the just built sports court and is as new as the ribbon of fresh pavement on main-street.
It?s all thanks to government programs. And H1N1.
Many townspeople see this as political window-dressing. Others welcome any attention. And it has had an impact. The government maintained power easily in this state during a recent mid-term election.
The statue is not in honour of the virus, Mexican officials stress, but rather, says Jorge Brandy, spokesman for the state of Veracruz, a symbol of a town?s strength.
La Gloria was never completely sealed off, and visitors ? many who had travelled through during the Easter season ? simply spread far and wide.
Officially, H1N1?s first fatality ? number one of more than 2,800 around the world so far ? was Maria Adela Gutierrez Cruz, a 39-year-old tax collector from Oaxaca, Mexico.
But the count may have started here earlier than that.
They buried Maria Hernandez Pedraza?s seven-month-old son, saying he and another La Gloria baby had died of pneumonia. No one?s willing to dig up Maria?s boy, or the other child, to reconsider the cause of death.
?I have no idea where (the new flu) came from,? says Maria, as she stands near La Gloria?s school as uniformed children line up outside.
For a reason that remains unclear, the family had not yet named the baby before he died.
Today, Maria and other local women who gather on the street don?t want to talk about what has been taken from them. They instead insist more be offered to the town.
?They think that we?re ignorant, but we?re not,? says La Gloria resident Rosalia Mendoza.
If not the science, they clearly understand the politics of being Town Zero. They want more help for families who don?t qualify for financial support, a local medical clinic and even Internet access at the school.
La Gloria?s population is largely "campesino," farm-folk who often do without computers or telephones. But there is no lack of mass communication.
Instead of ads in a local newspaper or radio, a local shop owner uses loudspeakers, set high on poles, to blare out ear-splitting specials of the day ? from fresh pork rind to microwave popcorn.
Then there is the soft-spoken network, inside stores and on the streets, as locals gather in the chill of evening.
Some here have decided the arrival of H1N1 is somehow connected to U.S. President Barack Obama. He had visited Mexico just before the outbreak, they point out suspiciously.
Many more say it has to be the collection of giant pig farms, located a short drive outside of town. They figure a stiff wind whipping up from the south, where the commercial swineherds are located, brought the virus here.
They have a word for the political fallout that?s followed ? "cochinero," which means a place fit for hogs.
In a community hall in nearby Chichicuautla, lawyer Dulce Maria Vazquez meets with area residents angry about the pig farms.
?It?s been Christmas in May,? she says of the tax money spent sprucing up La Gloria.
They just want the pig farms shut down.
Guadalupe Serrano Gaspar, a 76-year-old resident of La Gloria has been fighting the facilities for years. He?s spent time in police custody because of it.
?I can?t stay quiet,? he says as he walks newly paved main-street.
?This is...a cancer.?
Prof. Octavio Rosas-Landa, an economics professor and activist from Mexico City, complains: ?All the industrial practices not allowed in Canada and the U.S. come here.?
He believes faulty systems ? from the use of limited water resources to the low immunity of local residents ? led to a perfect breeding ground for H1N1.
Mexican politicians and officials who run the area?s 106 pig farms, some partially owned by U.S.-based Smithfield Foods Inc. ? the world?s largest producer of pork ? counter that their complexes have been tested, with no trace of H1N1.
While officials for Smithfield subsidiary Granjas Carroll de Mexico would not grant Sun Media an interview, they have previously assured their animals are fully inoculated. No worker has gotten sick, they?ve noted.
In La Gloria, everyone has an opinion on how the virus started, if their town was really the birthplace, whether officials acted quickly enough and even on the existence of H1N1 itself.
But becoming "Town Zero" seems to have left a sense of baptism by fire.
No one seems to fear the fast approaching flu season.
If it?s such a threat, shrugs local shopkeeper Guadalupe Alante, then why did La Gloria survive?
In fact, it put them on the map.
?We simply do not believe in it,? he says of reasons to fear the influenza pandemic.
?Because it did not destroy us, did it??
Swine flu didn't keep faithful away from Mexico City chapel
The plague couldn?t keep them away.
Even at the height of the H1N1 flu strain crisis, the faithful would still make the pilgrimage to the chapel of San Hipolito, in the heart Mexico City.
They have gathered here again in front of the 17th Century edifice, because it?s the 28th of the month, and time to give thanks to San Judas Tadeo, the patron saint of lost causes.
Mexico City?s most devout believers clog the public square, lugging religious statues ? hoisting the icons toward dark clouds gathering over the church?s Baroque facade.
Their religious chants compete with the barks of street hawkers, selling everything from flavoured ice treats to a hemorrhoid treatment.
Walking through the happy mass, Daniel Busio Duran, a Mexico City taxi driver, cradles his idol like a child.
During the initial months of the outbreak earlier this year, Mexican worshippers called on San Judas to help them cope.
But now, there?s a belief among many that the deadly strain of flu has been more myth than reality.
Devout Catholic Duran ? along with others here ? does not believe what scientists and politicians have said about swine flu.
?The government is trying to scare people,? Duran says.
?We never thought it was that bad.?
It?s all just a way for the government to get money out of the World Health Organization, people here say.
Duran compares H1N1 to El Chupacabras, the legendary "goatsucker" beast that is rumoured to roam parts of the Americas, attacking livestock. More myth than flesh, he points out.
In the busy square, as the devoted hold their statues high over their heads, they pray for the impossible to take place.
But not all have the same faith in what science says is happening right now.
LA GLORIA, Mex ? The road in and out of Town Zero is paved by swine flu.
There are 10 kilometres of fresh blacktop, as well as a new playground and even a recently unveiled statue in the centre of this dusty Mexican village.
All of it is what H1N1 left behind for La Gloria?s 3,000 residents.
Then there are the persistent questions, dogged accusations and perhaps a prescription for some hope in calming worldwide fears over the new influenza virus.
It?s here in La Gloria, three hours outside Mexico City, where it?s believed H1N1 made the antigenic shift into humans.
This may well be the innocuous birthplace ? where locals ride burros to the nearby fields to tend to corn grown in waves on slippery slopes ? where the pandemic began.
Before swine flu, the last interesting thing to happen here was when the town was renamed after a revolutionary leader tried the locally fermented maguey juice hooch and proclaimed loudly "Gloria!"
Before that, the place was named after a chicken, which gives you a sense of where it had previously placed in importance.
Then, earlier this year, people here fell ill.
?It was the first time we can remember everyone getting sick,? recalls local 30-year-old mom Maria, as she buys tortillas inside La Gloria?s ?Groceries and Seeds? shop.
Not willing to offer up her last name, she explains she at first wasn?t worried when her six-year-old child complained of headaches.
Then health officials began to take blood samples from everyone ? even offering to pay for some of them.
From February on, about 60% of the town complained of influenza-like illnesses. Mexican doctors at first thought it was just the regular flu, which is as common in La Gloria as goat droppings down main-street.
But a blood sample taken from Edgar Hernandez Hernandez, a five-year-old boy in town, would eventually come back positive for a brand new H1N1 strain.
His family says he began feeling ill in late March.
Edgar stayed in bed for three days, though slept with other family members.
He?d greet his little brother with kisses. No one else in the household became sick.
However, Patient Zero had been identified, and Edgar and his family have found fame in that.
They travel to public appearances in Mexico. His father, a bricklayer, has the new use of a slightly used Ford pickup truck.
Edgar now enjoys an education bursary.
It?s his image that?s been cast into an effigy over a fountain pond.
?Here?s the f---ing statue,? says one man, as he leads us to it.
It sits next to the just built sports court and is as new as the ribbon of fresh pavement on main-street.
It?s all thanks to government programs. And H1N1.
Many townspeople see this as political window-dressing. Others welcome any attention. And it has had an impact. The government maintained power easily in this state during a recent mid-term election.
The statue is not in honour of the virus, Mexican officials stress, but rather, says Jorge Brandy, spokesman for the state of Veracruz, a symbol of a town?s strength.
La Gloria was never completely sealed off, and visitors ? many who had travelled through during the Easter season ? simply spread far and wide.
Officially, H1N1?s first fatality ? number one of more than 2,800 around the world so far ? was Maria Adela Gutierrez Cruz, a 39-year-old tax collector from Oaxaca, Mexico.
But the count may have started here earlier than that.
They buried Maria Hernandez Pedraza?s seven-month-old son, saying he and another La Gloria baby had died of pneumonia. No one?s willing to dig up Maria?s boy, or the other child, to reconsider the cause of death.
?I have no idea where (the new flu) came from,? says Maria, as she stands near La Gloria?s school as uniformed children line up outside.
For a reason that remains unclear, the family had not yet named the baby before he died.
Today, Maria and other local women who gather on the street don?t want to talk about what has been taken from them. They instead insist more be offered to the town.
?They think that we?re ignorant, but we?re not,? says La Gloria resident Rosalia Mendoza.
If not the science, they clearly understand the politics of being Town Zero. They want more help for families who don?t qualify for financial support, a local medical clinic and even Internet access at the school.
La Gloria?s population is largely "campesino," farm-folk who often do without computers or telephones. But there is no lack of mass communication.
Instead of ads in a local newspaper or radio, a local shop owner uses loudspeakers, set high on poles, to blare out ear-splitting specials of the day ? from fresh pork rind to microwave popcorn.
Then there is the soft-spoken network, inside stores and on the streets, as locals gather in the chill of evening.
Some here have decided the arrival of H1N1 is somehow connected to U.S. President Barack Obama. He had visited Mexico just before the outbreak, they point out suspiciously.
Many more say it has to be the collection of giant pig farms, located a short drive outside of town. They figure a stiff wind whipping up from the south, where the commercial swineherds are located, brought the virus here.
They have a word for the political fallout that?s followed ? "cochinero," which means a place fit for hogs.
In a community hall in nearby Chichicuautla, lawyer Dulce Maria Vazquez meets with area residents angry about the pig farms.
?It?s been Christmas in May,? she says of the tax money spent sprucing up La Gloria.
They just want the pig farms shut down.
Guadalupe Serrano Gaspar, a 76-year-old resident of La Gloria has been fighting the facilities for years. He?s spent time in police custody because of it.
?I can?t stay quiet,? he says as he walks newly paved main-street.
?This is...a cancer.?
Prof. Octavio Rosas-Landa, an economics professor and activist from Mexico City, complains: ?All the industrial practices not allowed in Canada and the U.S. come here.?
He believes faulty systems ? from the use of limited water resources to the low immunity of local residents ? led to a perfect breeding ground for H1N1.
Mexican politicians and officials who run the area?s 106 pig farms, some partially owned by U.S.-based Smithfield Foods Inc. ? the world?s largest producer of pork ? counter that their complexes have been tested, with no trace of H1N1.
While officials for Smithfield subsidiary Granjas Carroll de Mexico would not grant Sun Media an interview, they have previously assured their animals are fully inoculated. No worker has gotten sick, they?ve noted.
In La Gloria, everyone has an opinion on how the virus started, if their town was really the birthplace, whether officials acted quickly enough and even on the existence of H1N1 itself.
But becoming "Town Zero" seems to have left a sense of baptism by fire.
No one seems to fear the fast approaching flu season.
If it?s such a threat, shrugs local shopkeeper Guadalupe Alante, then why did La Gloria survive?
In fact, it put them on the map.
?We simply do not believe in it,? he says of reasons to fear the influenza pandemic.
?Because it did not destroy us, did it??
Swine flu didn't keep faithful away from Mexico City chapel
The plague couldn?t keep them away.
Even at the height of the H1N1 flu strain crisis, the faithful would still make the pilgrimage to the chapel of San Hipolito, in the heart Mexico City.
They have gathered here again in front of the 17th Century edifice, because it?s the 28th of the month, and time to give thanks to San Judas Tadeo, the patron saint of lost causes.
Mexico City?s most devout believers clog the public square, lugging religious statues ? hoisting the icons toward dark clouds gathering over the church?s Baroque facade.
Their religious chants compete with the barks of street hawkers, selling everything from flavoured ice treats to a hemorrhoid treatment.
Walking through the happy mass, Daniel Busio Duran, a Mexico City taxi driver, cradles his idol like a child.
During the initial months of the outbreak earlier this year, Mexican worshippers called on San Judas to help them cope.
But now, there?s a belief among many that the deadly strain of flu has been more myth than reality.
Devout Catholic Duran ? along with others here ? does not believe what scientists and politicians have said about swine flu.
?The government is trying to scare people,? Duran says.
?We never thought it was that bad.?
It?s all just a way for the government to get money out of the World Health Organization, people here say.
Duran compares H1N1 to El Chupacabras, the legendary "goatsucker" beast that is rumoured to roam parts of the Americas, attacking livestock. More myth than flesh, he points out.
In the busy square, as the devoted hold their statues high over their heads, they pray for the impossible to take place.
But not all have the same faith in what science says is happening right now.
