We may have been slightly alarmed if Pat and Anita hadn’t warned us that the loud cannon-like noises resounding day and night after we arrived in San Cristóbal were fireworks in celebration of El Día de la Virgen de Guadalupe. Yet far from signifying the sounds of violence that many of our families and friends expressed fear over, these explosions signified a culturally rich, spiritually rife holiday in admiration of the great heroine of Mexico: La Virgen. In the words of one of our speakers, “[In Mexico] the Virgin is more popular than God and Jesus combined.”
In the days preceding the 12th, as we learned to traverse the cobble-stone pathways of the city, we would often be passed by small parades of young people passing through San Cristóbal on their way to their home parishes elsewhere. Depending on the amount of funds they were able to raise beforehand, they may have begun their pilgrimage in Mexico City, or somewhere closer to home if they had less money. The goal of these groups was to arrive in their home parish, out of breath, in the height of the festivities, to the great celebration of their community. These groups- the majority being teenagers- piled out of trucks all over Mexico at the beginning of cities and run or walk through, chanting and singing. Many times I heard voices chimed in to “CERO, CERO, CERO, LA VIRGEN ES PRIMERO,” to which I’d stick my head out of the shop to see people in red track suits, or perhaps wearing white T-shirts with the Virgin on the front and bandanas on their heads, or maybe in full costume, parading by with torches and framed pictures of the Virgin.
The largest celebration in San Cristóbal began after sundown on the 11th. Around 9 or 10 we left the hotel and joined the masses walking down the andador (one of the streets where cars can’t go) that leads straight to a cathedral on a hill. The crowd grew thicker and thicker the closer we got to the parish. Lining the streets were vendors selling every type of fried food, fermented fruits in plastic cups, Mexican-style corn (meaning covered in mayonnaise and chili powder), pizza, and pastries. The ascent to the cathedral began with giant cement steps, illuminated by strings of lights overhead. Once at the top, you could look back and see the lights and crowds stretching out into the city. Hours before the midnight mass began people filled every space in the pews. Frequently groups would appear breathless at the mouth of the church, drop to their knees, and complete their pilgrimage by swaying down the aisle.
After joining the celebration the night before, on the morning of the 12th we piled into vans and headed out to the nearby indigenous communities of Chamula and Zinacantan to see how they celebrate the Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe. What we saw in these places would have been harder to interpret if we hadn’t had the help of a guide and also the knowledge of Patricio Ruiz, who came to our hotel on the 11th and gave a lecture about the historical and cultural context of the Virgin.
Given the overt and underlying complexities of what Patricio shared with us, I think the prominent symbol of the Catholic Cross with a tree branch on it will serve as an apt example. In the early 1500s during the Spanish conquest of Mexico, the Spaniards realized that they shared a common symbol with the Mayans: the Cross. However, the Cross symbolized something very different for each group. To the Spaniards the Cross was the epitome of the Catholic Church. To the Mayans, it was their representation of the Ceiba tree, the sacred Tree of Life. During the course of the Spaniards’ violent religious conquest of the Mayans, they sought to impose the superiority of their Cross over that of the Mayans. We saw the lingering testament of this conquest all around us in the form of the Catholic Cross with a tree branch on it.
Chamula and Zinacantan were only miles apart, but they couldn’t have been more different! In Zinacantan there was a traditional mass service going on and few people out in the courtyard or walking around. But Chamula was something else all together.
We were all anticipating this visit because we had heard that Chamula had kicked out the Catholic Church and appointed their own bishop for appearance’s sake. I probably don’t need to explain how rare this is in Mexico. However, the moment we finally wound our way through the celebrating crowd and entered into the church, I realized the difference between this church and others was even more dramatic than I expected: the world had changed. The interior came at me in sensory waves: The smell- huge bronze vestibules of burning incense mixed with scent of the pine needles covering the floor; the noise- soft music of stringed instruments and Chamula Tzotzil; and sight- like nothing you could expect to find in a Catholic Church, perhaps a well-kept secret since cameras are banned everywhere in the town. From the ceiling draped floral arches alternating between long, high windows. Table after table overflowing with lit candles lined the walls. In front of them sat huddles of indigenous women in beautiful attire on the pine needles and leaves. The incense they burned mingled with the smoke of the candles to create an unearthly atmosphere. The only light came from the candles and the windows that cast pathways to the floor as the light latched to the smoke.
Overall, it was really amazing to be in Chiapas during these celebrations. We learned so much by being present for them. There were many discussions about the religious, political, traditional, gender, and historical implications of what we saw, and we also couldn’t help noticing that we have never been a part of any celebrations like these ones in the United States. The following quote by Mexican Octavio Paz in The Labyrinth of Solitude speaks to this phenomenon.
“Our poverty can be measured by the frequency and luxuriousness of our holidays. Wealthy countries have very few: there is neither the time nor the desire for them, and they are not necessary. The modern masses are agglomerations of solitary individuals. On great occasions in Paris or New York, when the populace gathers in squares or stadiums, the absence of people, in the sense of a people, is remarkable: there are couple and small groups, but they never form a living community in which the individual is at once dissolved and redeemed.”
view more photos of the celebration and of Zinacantán at our gallery here
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