[Originally Published in The Press Democrat (March 1, 2026)]
Nick Papadopoulos Photography
For more than a decade, my wife and I have resided in Baja California Sur, Mexico. We are U.S. citizens by birth and still spend time in Sonoma County. We’re residents of Mexico by choice. And every year, like clockwork, something happens.
A hurricane barrels into some part of the country. A cartel leader is captured or killed. “War zone” violence flares in a region far from where we live. The cable news cycle lights up. Fox News, CNN, social media feeds filled with buses on fire and ominous music.
And then the texts start coming.
“Are you OK?”
“I’m watching the news. It looks horrible.”
“Are you bunkered down?”
“Please let us know as soon as possible.”
First, we are deeply grateful for those messages. Truly. Keep them coming. It is heartwarming to know who people thousands of miles away care.
But this year, something shifted. A reorientation of perspective.
After replying, “We’re OK. Mexico is a big country. The violence is contained to certain regions. We’re fine,” I paused.
Why the heck am I not sending the same message north? There’s certainly cause to.
By almost any measure, what we read about the United States these days feels like a relentless cycle of shock, violence and tragedy. Fires overtaking entire regions. Hurricanes battering coastlines. Toxic water crises. Mass shootings. Political extremism. Inflation anxiety. Mental health struggles. Families stretched thin. Our elders, aging in their own country, struggle to access coordinated care and support.
If anyone should be sending a check-in text, it might be us sending a note northward.
So here it is.
United States, are you OK?
We’ve been reading the news. It looks overwhelming. Are you all right? ¿Están bien, amigos?
Let’s be clear. Mexico has serious challenges. Violence. Corruption. Pollution. Inequality. We don’t deny them. We don’t minimize them. We live in unstable times, and everywhere it seems something is hitting some sort of fan or another.
But in our corner of Baja, our lived experience differs sharply from the narrative that dominates U.S. media screens.
We do projects around the house. We work hard to pay the bills. We do our best to contribute to our community. We walk freely. We experience a pace of life that feels human. We once thought seeing the Mexican military on the streets was a big deal. Now it does not compare to what we see unfolding in parts of the United States with ICE and other militarized operations.
Although we wonder if our welcome will wear out, we do feel deeply welcomed and for the most part appreciated.
And we are not alone. More than 1.2 million foreign-born residents live in Mexico, and U.S.-born residents are by far the largest group, with roughly 800,000 people according to Mexico’s 2020 census. Some U.S. government estimates, which include dual citizens and others not fully captured in Mexican data, run significantly higher. Retirees, remote workers, entrepreneurs and families seeking affordability, health care access or simply a different rhythm of life are choosing to move south.
The migration story between our countries, while complex and distinct, no longer runs in just one direction.
Ten years ago, we made the decision to immigrate south. Mexico afforded us that opportunity. We are indebted to this country for opening its doors and allowing us to create a new chapter of our lives, which span two countries
We are grateful and honored to Mexico for residency and a warm welcome for us “gringos” and to the United States for continued citizenship and the freedoms that shaped us.
Politics can be loud. Headlines can be sensational. But on the ground, people are people. Parents supporting families. Small business owners trying to stay afloat. Elders hoping to age with dignity and security.
Most people are not screaming at each other. They are cooking dinner. Everyone keeps to themselves for the most part, but when it counts, we help each other out. Estamos juntos.
Yet a single dramatic event, a bus on fire, a protest turned violent, a politician shouting in all caps, can dominate the global narrative and eclipse the quieter realities underneath.
That is what gives me pause.
Certainly, we do not live in a perfect paradise. We live in a stable pocket of a complex nation. And like everyone else, we know stability can disappear at any moment. Hurricanes come. Political tides change. No country is immune to fragility.
But when the check-in texts arrive each year, I now feel compelled to reflect them back like a mirror.
Are you safe? Are you sleeping OK?
Are you feeling hopeful?
Are you able to age with dignity?
Are your kids safe at school?
Are your communities connected or splintered?
Because from here, what we see often looks like a country living on edge.
And I offer these questions and observations with love and respect. I am not anti-U.S. I am a U.S. citizen. My family lives in the U.S. My vote is a U.S. vote.
But watching the rise of division, disrespect, hurt and extremism, I question whether the United States is as OK as it assumes Mexico is not.
At the end of the day, perhaps the healthier posture is not comparison. Maybe it is mutual concern.
Instead of asking only “Is Mexico safe?” perhaps we might also ask: How are we all doing in the Americas, as neighbors, as nations, as human beings trying to navigate a loud, painful and unstable era?
We are fine. For now. Estamos bien. Por ahora.
My wife and I feel as grounded as possible in this chaotic world. We recognize that stability comes with no guarantee or warranty. We feel grateful for the opportunity Mexico and the United States have given us. We are extremely privileged to live and traverse borders. Most people are not this fortunate.
So this is not a rebuttal. It is not a defense. It is not a provocation. It is a reverse check-in.
United States, are you OK?