Weather-Ruined Tarahumara Count Blessings

This decade, the Tarahumara Indians of northern Mexico have faced hardships on a scale that’s almost biblical. First, a protracted drought brought denuded forests and malnutrition, decimating the mountain tribe renowned for its long-distance runners. Now, rains have ruined crops and washed away the hopes of ending hunger among these subsistence farmers, many of whom have fled to the cities to beg on the streets.

But the scourges of nature haven’t wiped out their capacity for empathy. While visiting Orange County on a relief mission for their own people, four Tarahumara men this week watched news reports of floods ravaging other parts of Mexico. And they realized their homes in the Sierra Madre were spared the worst of the water’s fury.

The men, who have no electricity or running water in their remote homes, were struck by the television images of whole towns swallowed by mudslides in central Mexico.

“We think it’s sadder what’s happening over there,” said Sebastian Cruz, one of about 800 residents of a Tarahumara village called Choguita.

Nowadays, we hear about something called compassion fatigue. Too many disasters tax our capacity to care and our ability to come to the rescue. They seem to hit one after another--earthquakes, hurricanes, explosions, famine.

In this torrent of tragedy, the plight of the Tarahumara is yesterday’s news. A couple years ago, the media turned these “exotic” victims into a fashionable cause, grist for colorful news features. In pictures, they wore native costumes with bright bandannas across their foreheads like Apaches. Good art, as photo editors say. The Indians also ran in local marathons to raise money, wearing their traditional sandals with soles made of discarded tires fastened to their ankles with leather straps. Great video, as news producers say.

The media coverage hit like their natural disasters in reverse--first a flood then a drought. Today, the Tarahumara are no longer a hot topic. The mainstream media have lost interest, and even coverage in Spanish has been limited this time around.

It’s the suffering that won’t go away.

The men from the mountains have returned to remind us that their families and neighbors still need help. This is the fourth year they’ve come to Southern California, bringing attention to conditions back home by running in the 100-mile Angeles Crest marathon, attending fund-raising dinners in private homes and visiting university classrooms.

In Orange County, they still count on the help of their volunteer benefactors, Ines and Ernesto Robles of Santa Ana. At the height of the drought three years ago, the couple launched a grass-roots effort to assist the distressed Indian people of their home state of Chihuahua. With the help of Ines’ three sisters--but with no fund-raising experience--they organized a drive to take food, school supplies, clothing and cash to the residents of Choguita. They called their effort Tarahumara: Una Mano Amiga (A Friendly Hand).

“We have no choice but to continue the struggle,” said Ines, who opens her home to the men each year. “While there are people here who will support us, well, we will go forward. I’m not going to stop.”

When I visited Wednesday night, the four men had their eyes glued to the baseball game on the television set in the Robles’ modest living room. They seemed fascinated by the American stick-and-ball game, but they admitted they didn’t understand it.

“We don’t know how score is kept,” Sebastian said, sitting stiffly on the couch with his companions, Juan Herrera, 31, Martimiano Cervantes, 48, and Madero Herrera, 28. Back home, they play basketball and volleyball.

The Tarahumara are legendary runners. It’s said they hunt deer by chasing the animal until it drops from exhaustion. That fame prompted promoters to recruit Indian runners for competitions in the United States.

In 1994, Juan won first place in the 100-mile run in Leadville, Colo., finishing in 17.5 hours. But back home the following year, his left leg was broken in a brutal assault by another man from the tribe. The surprise attack, Juan said, was prompted by his stepping in to prevent the man from running off with one of his cousins.

Juan showed me the long, dark scar running the length of his thigh to his knee. That’s where doctors in Cuauhtemoc, Ines Robles’ home town, had to cut to install a permanent metal brace.

Despite the injury, Juan ran the Angeles Crest 100 two years later, in 1997, finishing sixth. He would have placed better if he hadn’t lost time at the rest stops where friends tried to convince him to drop out.

“He couldn’t stand the pain,” Ines recalled. “You could see it in his face.”

Juan struggled for words to explain why he forced himself to complete the race that year. There was simply his love of running. There was his desire to match his winning time in Colorado. And there was that indescribable, marvelous feeling he’d get sometimes during the race when the pain disappeared.

At times, too, he would think of his people back home.

“Thoughts would come to me,” he said. “Of my home and how they suffered.”

A few days after that race, Juan’s toenails fell off. He thinks it’s because he ran in athletic shoes rather than his open sandals. Maybe his feet got too hot, he guesses.

He noticed other runners kept changing their shoes and socks at certain intervals. He kept wondering why they did that. Now he thinks the tactic might have helped them prevent foot damage and keep their toenails.

But who knows? It’s still a mystery to him.

Just like death comes as a mystery to the Tarahumara people. The severe weather has taken the lives of many, especially the young and old. But the men don’t know how to identify the cause of death.

“Quien sabe de que se muere uno,” Sebastian said. “Who knows what one dies of.”

Some say the man who broke Juan’s leg took his own life by hanging. The assailant had been brought to justice before the Tarahumara authorities, who are independent of the Mexican government. The defendant was ordered to pay 2,000 pesos as compensation for Juan’s injury. But he killed himself because he couldn’t afford to pay, Juan and the others speculate.

The tribe elders, or traditional governors, also organize the distribution of food and other relief supplies acquired through their California allies, now including supporters in Los Angeles, Pasadena and Oxnard. They send messengers to scattered homes and hamlets, calling people to gather at Choguita to receive their share of the donated goods. They conduct the proceedings in their own lyrical language called Raramuri, which is also the tribe’s Indian name.

Ines, who travels to the remote location with her husband to personally deliver the contributions from Orange County, says donations have dropped since 1997 when publicity was at its peak. Last year, the local group raised just $2,300, which she used to buy sugar, salt, rice, lard, coffee and soup. They have about the same amount this year, not counting funds raised outside the county. Another benefit will be held Sunday in Los Angeles before the men go home next week. (For more information on how to help, call (714) 550-4678.)

In past years, funds have been used to buy playground equipment and classroom supplies for the only school in Choguita. The people also voted to use some money to cement the floor of their Catholic church, replacing the wood floor that could rot with time.

A durable floor, a set of swings and a teeter-totter. Those are tangible things that people will see and remember, the men told me. They prefer those concrete improvements to food itself, because food is consumed.

“En un rato se acaba, y otra vez ya no hay nada.” said Sebastian, who like the others is bilingual in Spanish and Raramuri.

“In a while, the food is finished, and again there’s nothing left.”

Agustin Gurza’s column appears Tuesday and Saturday. Readers can reach Gurza at (714) 966-7712 or agustin.gurza@latimes.com