I moved to La Paz from Querétaro (for those who don’t know, it’s a city close to Mexico City) in 2014. Ever since, I have felt so blessed and grateful to belong to such a great and caring community, with so many joyful and dear friends. Every year, I write a post on my anniversary in La Paz, and this year, I want to reflect on what belonging to a community means to me.
Baja California Sur has always held a special appeal. The turquoise waters whisper promises of serenity, with rugged mountains dotted with cacti standing as silent guardians, and the slower pace of life is a magnet for those seeking a change.
Over the years, I’ve witnessed a steady influx of people, both from within Mexico and from abroad. Those seeking a change, like Mexicans from big cities such as Mexico City, Guadalajara, and Monterrey, have traded concrete jungles for sandy beaches, drawn by the promise of a more relaxed lifestyle and a growing job market. Foreigners, especially retirees and remote workers, have been captivated by the beauty and affordability, seeking a slice of paradise to call home.
I’ve witnessed firsthand the delicate interaction between newcomers and the established community. I have seen waves of expats with a spirit of camaraderie, those who enroll or create their own charities and volunteer organizations, and those who organize cultural events, injecting a breeze that makes this region so unique. As an outsider myself, I saw the positive impact of nationals moving to Baja. People who brought new businesses with specialized services and products that weren’t available before. This all contributed to enriching the society.
But migration can also have unintended consequences. Local workers struggle to compete with new skillsets. Crime rates rise with the influx of people. There is a lack of public services and an increased cost of living, especially housing.
Communities, like intricate ecosystems, thrive on balance. Introducing a new element too abruptly can disrupt the harmony.
This is where the weight of responsibility settles on us, the “migrants.” We can choose to be passive observers, or we can become active participants, striving for a sustainable equilibrium. Supporting local businesses is a start. Learning Spanish and its culture, volunteering at a local school, sharing our experiences with others responsibly, and teaching ourselves to become more community-aware can help. Thinking of the community as a whole, not as individuals, becomes a way to give back.
There’s no easy answer, no clear line dividing “good” migrants from “bad.” We all exist on a spectrum, taking something away but hopefully also giving something back. The question that keeps me grounded is this: How can I ensure that the paradise that drew me in, the place I now call home, remains a welcoming haven for everyone?