What’s the point of capitalism if I can’t enjoy it?

These days I am reading a lot about Marxism in Mexico specifically and Latin America generally, because I am revising the first chapter of my thesis, about Mexican Marxist? Communist? José Revueltas.

This reading makes me think about my own life, and how the capitalist system is really working for me. Given that it’s capitalism, there is little rhyme or reason to this fact (except that the system in which we live seems to reward those who already have enough, while at the same time making them anxious because they think they don’t, but I digress). In Mexico this becomes starkly apparent. This morning, I was jogging in Chapultepec park at around 6.30. Even though the sun had not yet completely risen, I ran around, or between, men who were sweeping the pathways. They had to have been there since 6 or 6.30 and definitely came from further away then I did. This is the kind of capitalism that makes me uncomfortable. But then there’s the capitalism that takes advantage of equally cheap labour in Mexico and gets me a maid included in my rent. That part is amazing. Except that I still feel a little bit guilty if she washes my dishes.


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