On Via Veneto a cool breeze tickles the palms in front of the newly built [tag]casino[/tag]. It’s late afternoon. Just before six. And I’m seated outside Manolos watching two young women with flat belies, tight jeans, and [tag]spiked heels[/tag] work the corner. One of them keeps catching my eye. She’s almost hot enough for me to ignore the dead ants swirling in my cafe con leche. They look like little chocolate bits.

Insects are problem in the tropics. The service too. It’s hot. Ideal for bugs. Not so good for workers in low end jobs. Like many restaurants here, if you don’t call attention to yourself, you could die waiting for help to arrive. I don’t think anyone understands today’s lesson on the corner. You make the big money giving customers what they need.

I’m not asking for a reach around. Just a clean spoon to pick out the floating ants. On the far side of the patio an old man lets out a Kafka-esque hiss. As if he’s about to explode. Head’s turn. He eyes the waitress with a dangerous look. His face seems to be saying; the check beetch.

“Muy atravido” my girlfriend says disapprovingly.She gets what it is to be poor. She understands the daily humiliations. Because she’s lived them. For her it’s disrespectful, cheeky, to hiss at the help. She might use “joven” (young woman/man), if they’re older “senora,” occasionally “oiga, por favor” (excuse me), but never a hiss or oye (hey). To do so would be familiar, rude.

The poor and working class take care with what they say and do. Class distinctions do exist. I get glimpses of it everyday. And I see the whispers and judgmental stares. The poorest woman in Curundu can be found with soup can sized rollers in her hair. She may be hungry, and squatting in a vacant building, but god forbid anyone think she’s too poor for beauty treatments. For all its skyscrapers and big-city aspirations [tag]Panama[/tag]’s got it share of small town [tag]gossip[/tag]. People know each other here. Reputation matters.

My professor, a friendly Peruvian, argues the language has evolved to avoid potential embarrassment. Ahora translates as now, but it could mean later. How much later? Who knows? I do now this. People arrive late. Workers (who need the money), dissappear for days, sometimes weeks. Contractors tell you three weeks and need three months. Work needs to be redone. Often. Things turn to crap a lot faster in the tropics.

Es dificil, ella trabaja y personas mirando que ella esta haciendo es como presionando a ella en el trabajo, y ella es una esclava.

I jot this down after talking with a former maid. Rough translation; for the poor its hard to live and work in Panama. The people are watching you, you feel pressured. With these jobs it’s like you’re a [tag]slave[/tag].

Ironic, so many people come here looking for freedom. Consider this from “Focus Panama” a tourist guide I read while killing ants on their way to the sugar bowl. In this issue they feature a couple who chose Panama as their new home because of the “personal freedoms” that “are rapidly being eroded in the USA.” The article goes on to say these two “academics” did an extensive [tag]Internet[/tag] search and Panama was at the top of the list in terms of [tag]freedom[/tag].

Here are two people with a dream that may have already gone horribly wrong. It took me all of ten seconds to find this;

According to the Washington, D.C.-based Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), Panama has one of the highest levels of legal [tag]persecution[/tag] against journalists in the Western Hemisphere. International Press Institute

In terms of the number of attacks against [tag]journalists[/tag] who report on[tag] corruption[/tag], Panama represents an extreme case. Because of the country’s gag laws against the press, 90 of its 200 active journalists are facing or have recently faced criminal charges for defamation. World Press

If you come to Panama with wildly optimistic notions you’re going to end up pissed. At the time the latter story was filed almost half of the journalists in Panama were up on charges. Imagine that happening in the states. Since 2005 Panama’s media are free. Restrictive laws have since been repealed. But they are still largely controlled by the wealthy elite. And for the people locked up for years awaiting trial, or the 40% living in [tag]poverty[/tag] (or extreme poverty on $50 a month), Panama can be as much a prison as anywhere else.

To be fair Panama can be a more open and free society than the USA. If you’re part of the wealthy elite. Most North Americans, Europeans etc., have the money to do as they please. They can talk smack, wear flip flops, and tropical shirts. Old fat men can walk the streets hand in hand with tiny [tag]young girls[/tag] because they don’t need to conform in order to thrive. They don’t fear the stares and whispers. They’ve left the tyranny of expectations behind.

At our table the check arrives with our bored waitress attached. She scowls at the women chatting up gingos on the corner. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t care about the dead ants smeared on my historic Panama Canal placemat.

We ask about her family. We tip. We leave. The thing is, no matter where you live, people will think and say things. That’s what people do. That’s how society functions. [tag]Socrates[/tag] believed, “it’s not the number of people who oppose us, but how good their reasons are for doing so.” I’ve always believed that. But I also believe it’s easier to be unpopular and infamous if you’re not poor, easier to feel free and think for yourself if you’re not serving others.

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