Mexico: 8 July 2018 I noticed a suspiciously well-postured man sitting atop a metal fold-up chair on the other side of the room. Sporting an Italian wool suit and a bright red tie, he stood out among this rabble of cowboy-hatted avocado growers and cattlemen in more ways than one. “He hasn’t touched his pozole,” I whispered to my colleague under the drone of a dispassionate speech. “Do you think he’s African?” “Mexicans can be black, too, you know,” my good colleague scoffed.