Diego Rivera: Artist, Ignoramus, Communist

I recently took a weekend away from my five-month stay in Guanajuato, Mexico where I am currently studying abroad to visit el Distrito Federal, or as most Mexicans refer to it, Mexico. Sort of like if Americans called Washington, D.C. "America" or "The United States." Anglophones like me generally know it as Mexico City, and it's only a 300-peso, 6-hour bus ride away from my school. So two fridays ago, when a friend of mine in my 11:00 grammar class asked me if I wanted to grab a cab with her to the bus station at 3:00 that afternoon, I happily accepted. I rushed home to pack after class, crammed everything I could into my trusty black EMS backpack, called my parents, called my girlfriend (not living with me in Mexico), and ran back to the town center to meet my friend. Nine hours (construction), two cab rides, and three badly dubbed movies later, we were in the heart of one of the biggest cities in the world.

The first night didn't get started until after midnight, and it ended before 2AM. Both of us were pretty exhausted and hoping for an early start, so we settled for a few beers in the bar-filled section of town near our hotel. The next morning we met up with a Swedish lesbian couple from my school back in Guanajuato and started trying to do as many typical, touristy things as humanly possible.

Knowing nothing whatsoever about Mexico City prior to my arrival, I was completely at the mercy of the three women leading me around with guide books and subway maps. That said, I knew that I really wanted to get a chance to check out some Diego Rivera murals. I had seen pictures and various reproductions of some of Rivera's work, most of which I thought was very interesting and beautiful. For that reason, I was excited to go to the Teatro de Bellas Artes, where our taxi driver had told us there would be an unveiling of a recently-moved Rivera mural to go along with the many others already covering the walls of several government buildings.

I saw Rivera's murals at both the Palacio Nacional and the Teatro de Bellas Artes, and I saw more of his stuff when we went to the house he shared with Frida Kahlo. In each of those places, I was amazed by the energy and life that truly emanate from each of his pieces. I suspect that many critics think of Rivera's style as a bit crude, but when you are standing in front of a fresco that's 80 feet wide and 35 feet high, full of bright colors and impassioned historical figures the size of trucks, it's hard not to be impressed. However, what shocked me the most about Rivera's work was not the scale or the vividness of the colors, but rather the frequency of his proud, blatant representations of communism and its leaders, often juxtaposed by a gray, dreary, miserable United States, complete with factories and Standard Oil signs. Several of the paintings show Lenin himself, leader of the masses against injustice and poverty. Fine.

I understand communism's appeal, especially if you live in a place like Mexico and believe (mistakenly) that your country has tried free markets and elections and failed. Diego Rivera spent most of his life in a desperately poor country with a corrupt government pandering to the desires of a select few business elites. When he showed support for communist movements in his work or traveled to Russia to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the October Revolution's success, I'm about 95 percent certain that he believed the movements he admired would fight against the status quo and create more justice, equality, etc. The status quo of early 20th century Russia and Mexico (and the vast majority of the world) was a truly miserable thing, so I completely sympathize with the desire for change. What I cannot understand or justify is the amount of support that Rivera continued to show for communism well into his later life (he died in 1957). His house, which I assume has been largely redone since his death, is literally covered with socialist and communist propaganda, including framed portraits of the two men - Josef Stalin and Mao Zedong - responsible for more deaths than any other pair of human beings this century, perhaps ever.

Anyway, I had been pretty good for most of the day, trying my best not to reveal my strong ideological feelings about the bombardment of bullshit to which I had been subjected. But finally, on our last stop at the Palacio Nacional, leaning up against the marble railing next to a Swedish lesbian, staring Lenin right in the face, I let loose this gem:

"Good call, Diego. The Russians got it right. Definitely chose the best system."

Immediately I could tell I had said the wrong thing. The girl turned to me, stiffened her spine, stared me straight in the eye, and retorted:

"I'm not sure you can say that our system has worked out any better," and walked away.

For the record:
Russia GDP/capita (at purchasing power parity) 2006, after roughly 20 years of supposed reform: $12,200
World Rank: 82

United States GDP/capita (at purchasing power parity) 2006: $43,800
World Rank: 10

20th century famines responsible for the deaths of over 5 million people:
China: 1
Russia: 1
United States: 0

But hey, at least they were better at something.