Wow. I am new to medical anthropology/ anthropology but of the handful of authors I have read in the past couple of years, Garcia’s movement of prose and narration amidst the history, the personal, the private, and the observed has been one of the most stunning.
I took her class at Stanford in 2023 and am not surprised.
She is plainly candid in her capturing of history and its downstream impacts, illustrated by each individual story she recounts from anexados she meets in the different neighborhoods of Mexico City. One of the most striking themes that runs throughout all of her work that I have read so far is that violence and care can not only coexist but also be derived from the same place. Originally, I didn’t understand what she meant when I first encountered this concept, but I now understand— in the same way parents yell at their kids when they are worried about them, some parents send their kids to military camps in the US, and some parents pay for their kids to be kidnapped to anexos in Mexico to protect them from an even more cruel outside world. Still, other parents who use heroin share in their heroin usage behavior with their kids as a mechanism of care, an attempt to connect, relate, and protect one another. Violence, as Garcia observes, has always justified itself to the people, organizations, and governments who use it. It is rarely used because the perpetrators believe it to be completely senseless and useless. Is it fucked up? Yes. Do I see why people make the choices they do? Yes.
I read The Pastoral Clinic before I read The Way That Leads Among the Lost and would recommend others to do the same. I have heard some PhD students in the Stanford anthropology/ med anthro department echo the sentiment that while their work is necessary and important, few are happy doing it. “Anthropologists hate anthropology. It is hard to be cynical all the time and you can’t help but be more cynical the more you learn,” they said. Dr. Garcia stumbled her way into the work for TWTLATL while trying to escape the work that led to The Pastoral Clinic. It is admirable that in choosing her works, homecoming anthropology is still what she continues to complete. I can only imagine that it takes a lot of courage and heart to continue engaging with a scholarly discipline that not only reveals the most difficult truths about society, but also reveals and forces one to continuously confront their own most difficult truths. Other reviews say that Garcia spends too much time covering her personal story and not the stories of the anexos. I offer a different perspective: as Garcia studies anexos, she herself becomes an anexada, eventually shedding herself of the curated distance created by the titles of anthropologist and researcher as she contends with her history of homelessness, her relationship with her family and their abandonment, her worries about motherhood, marriage, and lesbianism, and her depression and epilepsy, all of which she deals with during her study of the anexos, in the manner of treatment offered by the anexos. Anexos exist in the US, amidst several communities of our own (like the SF Bay Area), and anexos are also consequences of the relationship between the US-Mexican drug and arms trade. She asks of her audience to do the same when we observe and study suffering, to see ourselves in the people who suffer, to bear the same crosses, and to climb the same hills. Her story is imperative to this book, if only to show a privileged audience that anybody could be in those shoes, that anybody, including a Harvard-trained Stanford professor, can suffer with and benefit from and live with and become the annexed.
In the world of the academic, we are often either busy coming up with solutions to, avoiding, or exacerbating the complex, generational, institutional problems that we don’t fully understand yet. Our world is idealistically preoccupied with solution-oriented impact, is obsessed with the temporary means to patch up fundamentally broken political systems. Garcia’s writing has shown me the increasing importance of taking the time to fully understand and solemnly bear witness to the pain and suffering that people live through every day while waiting for these solutions, while waiting for justice, while waiting to be given a voice. To bear witness to the ways in which each individual person valiantly makes do for themselves and for others amidst their condition. Because oftentimes justice is never afforded, people’s voices are never heard, and solutions are buried under bureaucracy and governmental and military corruption and inefficiency. In a sense, to bear witness while the relentless train of history chugs onwards with our eyes wide open may be one of the only ways that we can preserve our collective humanity and dignity. The Way That Leads Among the Lost is a tremendous feat that seeks to and to an extent, accomplishes exactly that.