Celebrating La Virgen

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

Remembering Acteal

A solemn march uphill through carved-out communities,
Spirits serenaded by a triumphant marching band
High up in the clouds, overlooking absolutely everything,
Moments of soul-warming intense sun quickly met by
The goose-bump rendering shade.
The intermittently sweeping calm breeze reminds everybody
That somebody greater is here today;
This place is alive.

The casual and intense beauty of Los Altos lay beyond the road,
Their hillsides robbed of their contents,
Men adorning sombreros, work furiously in the foreground
With beads of sweat glistening in their brows.
One man braces himself for just a moment,
His pitchfork firmly entrenched into the tierra,
Perhaps staking his claim in the fiery remnants below,
His silhouette conjuring an eerie resemblance to that of
A modern-day conquistador, standing proudly atop
His pile of burning trash.

A tired dog lies on the side of the road, and I wait for it to exhale.
It does not.
. . . . .

Walking uphill
-still serenaded-
heading directly into the beehive.

Upon arrival we’re met by gathered masses and
The bystander chapel that was forced to contain
Such aggression,
Families killing families,
Mothers, fathers, and children huddled in prayer,
All slain,
The near-decimation of a community;
A massacre.

But in spite of it all, they still march uphill into the beehive yearly,
Proudly staking their own claims of the charred ashes underneath the soil
Fighting the screams and the tears that threaten to burst from inside
And instead,
Choosing to sing.

¨Cantamos

porque el grito no es basta,

El llanto no es basta.¨


Gathered high atop this mountain of unrealized beauty,
In this community driven to geography’s edge,
Forever marked by the absolutely worst moments of men.
Huddled in prayer,
Not screaming,
Not crying,
Singing.

Cantamos.


for more photos of Acteal, view our Gallery Post.

The City Through a Historian's Eyes

Photo by Andrea Gorma

The other day we were lucky enough to be given a tour of San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, by local historian Patricio Ruiz. Although Chiapas has well over 3,000 years of recorded history, he made it both fascinating and approachable.  

The five hundred years that have passed since the conquest of Mexico have been brutal ones for most of the indigenous people in Chiapas. Before the Zapatista uprising in 1994 (for more information see the EZLN website in Spanish or here for English), many of them worked as slaves on large haciendas. The Spanish owned haciendas, much like plantations in the southern the part of  the United States, were large farms that relied on slave labor to work the land.  Company stores, operated by the owners of the haciendas, exploited the indigenous workers by inflating the prices of necessary items like food, clothing, and tools. This made the landowners a tidy profit and served to keep their laborers in perpetual debt, which oftentimes could not be paid off for generations.

Photo by Andrea Gorma

The indigenous people that lived and worked in urban areas, like San Cristóbal de las Casas, did not have it any easier. Prior to the 1994, they were expected to step down from the sidewalks into the street to give people of European-descent the right of way. During our tour, we passed many women proudly wearing the textiles Chiapas is so famous for. Beautifully woven and embroidered in vibrant colors, their dress conveys a lot of information about their identity; for example, the village they’re from, their status within the community, and most of all, pride in their heritage. Patricio told us that before 1994 these women would never have worn their traditional clothing into the city. It’s difficult to believe that only sixteen years ago, these women would have hidden their identity behind a plain ol’ t-shirt.

            
            Although, since the arrival of the Spanish, the indigenous people have been subordinated and oppressed, their presence is seen all over the center of the city. The Spaniards tried to create buildings in the latest Spanish style, but the result is a blending of Spanish and indigenous design. Because indigenous artisans built them, they resemble the embroidered cloth that they wore more than the ornate Baroque buildings the Spanish had in mind.

Photo by Andrea Gorman

Pictured here is the cathedral of San Cristobal de las Casas, located in the central plaza. The indigenous artisans who built it only saw drawn pictures of the Spanish Baroque style architecture they had been instructed to recreate, so they drew from what they knew. As Patricio pointed out, the front of the cathedral resembles indigenous embroidery more than European finery.

Above one of the oldest homes in town sit two lions, but they look more docile than the fierce guardians the homeowners had probably imagined. Here again, you can see that the artisans used as a model animals that they were familiar with like dogs.

San Cristóbal may be a colonial city, but Patricio helped us to see the indigenous influences that have been present since it’s founding.

Celebrating Madre Tierra with Slow Food

December 10^th, 2010

On Thursday, our first official day of activities in San Cristóbal de las Casas, we were lucky enough to be invited to a Slow Food event at La Casa del Pan a local bakery and restaurant. The Slow Food movement, created as an alternative to fast food in the United States, encourages people to appreciate every step of the food they consume, from soil to table.

The guests of the event brought dishes to share, allowing us all to be grateful for the hard work that went into prepairing the myriad of platillos we enjoyed. The tamales prepared by our kind chefs were muy deliciosa and were shared by all in the potluck-style event!

A presentation was given by three women from the area,  members of our community partner Mujeres y Maíz, who had the opportunity to participate in a international Slow Food conference in Italy. The topics covered ranged from sustainability, product integrity, academics, internet education and much more. Salone de Gusto 2010 was an international event attended by over 200,000 visitors during the five day event.

The Slow Food event at La Casa del Pan reminded us that food movements can be inclusive, involving everyone who has an interest in healthy food, conscientious eating, and local flavor. We were all grateful for the opportunity to participate!

-Angie

Ya estamos! We're here!

After months of preparation, we have finally arrived in Chiapas. We’re staying in beautiful San Cristóbal de las Casas. We are so happy to meet our community partners, Siempre Viva and Mujeres y Maíz and to begin our projects.

Follow our blog to get up to date on upcoming posts and photos directly from Chiapas