Mexico | Embroidering for Peace and Citizen Education

This piece came to me in Facebook via the Fuentes Rojas (Red Fountains) web page. Written by a Professor of Education, it is a beautiful description of the goals and motivations associated with the citizen movement Bordando por la Paz (Embroidering for Peace) now underway in Mexico and around the world. The translation is mine.

Embroidering for Peace: One Victim-One Handkerchief
Among the cities are Pátzcuaro and Zirahuén, Michoacán;
along with many U.S. and International Cities
(Click to enlarge)

"Robert Antelme's axiom:
'Do not strip anyone of their humanity'
is an ethical first principle..."

(Edgar Morin, 2006:115)

Educación personalizante: Martín López Calva*, originally published in e-consulta
Translated by Jane K. Brundage

Daniela is eleven years old and on Sundays, she has been Embroidering for Peace. She and other boys and girls often accompany their mom or dad to this activity that is as simple as it is profound. It is simply about going to the Plaza of Democracy in central Puebla between noon and 3:00 p.m., to sit together with other young people and adults from different parts of the city—people with different occupations, ideologies and beliefs—to embroider white handkerchiefs with the names and stories of the thousands of people who have died in recent years in the so-called "war on drugs" and in other events related to criminal acts, whether a product or not, of organized crime.

"A man died peppered with bullets in front of his house
after receiving warnings from an armed group to abandon the city.
Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, August 31"

Sometimes Daniela goes to the Plaza instead of watching television or going to the mall. Perhaps without realizing it, she is learning more about citizenship than she might throughout an entire school year of civics and ethics classes.

It is educational because "Embroidering for Peace" (https://www.facebook.com/BordadosPazPuebla) is an act of peaceful and organized protest that silently cries "Enough Is Enough!" to the spiral of violence that the country is experiencing. It is an educational activity not only for those involved in it but for the people who accompany those who embroider, and even for people just passing through the Plaza who stop to see. For all these people, we who embroider are witnesses of this symbolic act that aims to make visible what until now has been hidden from view.

Each white handkerchief embroidered with red thread gives voice to the name of a Mexican who has been twice removed from humanity: first because he was deprived of his life in a violent, unjust, and absurd way; and, secondly, because in impunity and oblivion, his murder has remained anonymous.

On each embroidered cloth an invisible story becomes visible. Each story acquires names and faces of those who before this symbolic act were just a number, a figure in the statistics of impunity, in a country where everything happens but everyone, beginning with the authorities, pretends that nothing is happening.

Some of the people who embroider describe it clearly:

"Embroidering one of these stories sensitizes me and makes me more aware of how terrible the situation is that we are experiencing; it makes me realize that each of the sixty-thousand dead was a person with a name, a history, a family and aspirations."

Among those who have been sitting to stitch in a timely and permanent way are relatives who tell part of their own history: siblings who lost a brother because he refused to pay "dues" back in a northern state, so the family had to flee, cutting their roots to come live here in Puebla; uncles who ask that the history of a niece murdered one night in the street be embroidered.

And so Sunday after Sunday a community of Embroiderers for Peace is being built of thoughtful, committed citizens who want to provide symbols that make visible what we all hide. A solidarity is being created that extends via the social networks across the miles, holding together other groups of the same movement in distant cities: http://www.eluniversal.com.mx/estados/87029.html.

The goal is to embroider all the possible stories that make up this sea of ​​stories cut short by death in a culture increasingly used to exclude "the others", for whatever reason; a culture that suppresses the humanity of "the others", either by killing them or by tolerating and accustoming themselves to death, to the "death toll" that is a segment of any television news program.

The goal is to upholster the Zócalo [Mexico City's main plaza] with white handkerchiefs embroidered with the names of all the victims, to shout with a symbol of peace. It is the rebellion of those who do not believe in violence and who do not want violence as the backdrop of our times, of those who do not want our children to inherit a country at war but, instead, want for them a harmonious and fair country where everyone fits in, and which does not suppress anyone's humanity.

Like Daniela, many children should train themselves to be citizens beyond the school walls. It would be enough for all of us—those of us who sent them to school to be "trained in values"—to waken from the lethargy in which this system has us...that defines us as consumers and denies us citizen status. Instead, we might come to practice citizenship with passion and responsibility. Spanish original

*Martín López Calva holds the Ph.D. in Education; his areas of focus are Human Philosophy and Education, Professional Ethics and "Educational Subjects and Processes."

Still Curious?

I just finished translating this interview with Colombian General Óscar Naranjo, who will be Peña Nieto's outside counsel for security issues. I was skeptical, but Naranjo's enthusiastic embrace of an enlightened concept of law enforcement [in essence, neighborhood policing] working shoulder with a responsible citizenry as the key ingredients for blocking organized crime—well, it makes this article a natural follow-on to citizenship themes enunciated by López Calva in Bordando por la Paz.

Here's the link: Mexico and Colombia General Óscar Naranjo, Peña Nieto's Drug War Adviser.

Ball Court Game in Mesoamerican Culture

What better introduction to the Mesoamerican Ball Court Game played on Mexican soil for nearly 4,000 years and to the land that introduced the rubber ball to the world than the Mexico Team's first-ever Olympic Gold in soccer—¡fútbol!

Mexico's Gold Medal Soccer Team at 2012 Olympic Games

Cambridge University classicist Nigel Spivey (The Ancient Olympics) argues that the Olympics were invented as preparation for war. For the young men of Ancient Greece, the quadrennial sporting tribute to the god Zeus was also rehearsal for armed conflict. The games equipped young men with a spirit of self-sacrifice and the stamina that underpinned Greek supremacy in battle.

Nor can commercial aspects of the modern Olympic Games be ignored. Updates of construction costs (jobs!) and revenues attributable to the Games appear regularly in the press.

None of this would have seemed strange to Mesoamerica’s early ruling elites. Ball games were spectacles enjoyed by all social classes. The economics of ball games included long-distance trade of the rubber balls prized for play. Not infrequently ball games involved high-stakes gambling—perhaps one way that power was negotiated between rival factions, since it was believed that the winner was chosen by the gods.

Ball games demanded skill and endurance from players and, yes, they also involved sacrifice. Natural forces were spiritualized in Mesoamerica. Civic life was deeply religious: official ceremonies conveyed symbolic, religious meanings.

Ball Game Played with Rubber Ball

Games of 'foot on ball' were played in England and Northern France in the eighth and ninth centuries. In England, players kicked around an inflated pig's bladder.

The rubber ball comes from Mexico and Central America. Rubber balls didn't arrive in Europe until the late sixteenth century—most likely introduced to Europe by the Spanish sometime after Hernán Cortés defeated the Aztecs in 1521.

The Olmec culture on the Gulf of Mexico in modern-day Veracruz State is the foundation culture of the cultures of Mesoamerica. In the Nahua language spoken by the Aztecs, Olmec means "people of the rubber". The Maya used rubber to develop weapons with handles, such as hammers or hatchets; the Aztecs developed medicinal uses for rubber; and both the Aztecs and the Maya used rubber to waterproof clothing.

The best rubber comes from tropical gum (rubber) trees that grow at elevations lower than 600-700 meters (2,000-2,300'), which makes it obvious that the oldest ball court found to date is located in the region of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, southern Mexico, on the Pacific Coast.

Its symbolic and practical values made rubber a valuable Isthmian product for trade into the highlands (Central Mexico). The Aztec rulers in Tenochtitlán demanded an annual tribute of 16,000 rubber balls.

Ball Courts

The earliest ball court found so far is located on the Isthmus of Tehuántepec at Paso de la Amada, which flourished from 1800 to 1000 BCE. Its ball court was 80 meters long and 7 meters wide (260' x 23'), bounded by long parallel platforms about 2 meters (about 7') high.

The first ball court we saw is located at Tingambatu, Michoacán, in the hills between Lake Pátzcuaro and the  mid-sized city of Uruapán. Tingambatu is of Chichimeca origin and means "Hill of Mild Climate".

Ball court at Tingambato, Michoacán
Photo: Reed

Chichimeca is the Nahua name for semi-nomadic tribes from the north and carries the same connotation as 'barbarian' in Europe. Over two hundred Mesoamerican ball courts have been found in the Southwest United States! This excellent description of ball courts has a photograph of the circular Wupatki ball court north of Flagstaff, Arizona.

Formal ball courts were long rectangles, averaging about 40 meters (130') long, though many were less than 20 meters (66') long. The Grand Court at Chichén Itzá was 150 meters (about 490').

Ball courts were oriented to the heavens, often in ways that marked the equinoxes or solstices. 

Grand Court at Chichén Itzá on the Yucatán Peninsula
Photo: Reed

"I"-shaped Ball Court at Uxmal, Yucatán
Photo: Reed

Formal ball courts were enclosed by sloping walls, but pick-up games could be played on any level surface.

Ball Court at Monte Albán, Oaxaca, with sloping walls and "I" end zones.
Photo: Reed

Ball Court at El Tajín, Veracruz—one of seventeen ball courts at the site!
Photo: Reed

How the Ball Game was Played

Two teams of one to seven players moved a rubber ball around a court. The action was somewhat like soccer. Players wore body protectors made of leather and wood. We know about these body protectors mostly from representations carved in stone found in the Gulf lowlands (Veracruz). Today's archaeologists call these items yugos ("yokes"), which weighed about 30 pounds (13 kilos) and fit snugly around the hips.

Other paraphernalia, also represented in stone, were hachas ("axes") and palmas ("palm stones"), so-called because of their shapes. Palmas were hand-held and may have been used to put the ball in play. 

The ball game was played in many ways. In the most common variant, players kept the ball aloft by hitting it with their hips and scored if the ball touched the ground of the opposing team's end of the court. Some courts featured rings embedded in the walls at the center line.

Goal Ring at Chichén Itzá's Grand Court
Photo: Wikipedia Free Library

Ball Game Ring in the Garden at the Frida Kahlo Museum, Coyoacán.
Photo: Reed

Passing the ball through these rings would have been extremely difficult but players who scored were accorded not only gifts but extremely high honor.

El Tajín: Ball Player (left) receiving Staff of Honor for superior play
Photo: Reed

Why the Ballgame?

Trying to understand the Mesoamerican ballgame highlights an interesting cultural phenomenon: the appearance of something seemingly familiar in a totally new cultural context introduces meanings so different that the familiar becomes distinctly unfamiliar. The Mesoamerican ballgame is a good example: it carried meanings far more finely nuanced than any modern game of soccer.

Formal ballgames were religious and political occasions, recreating sacred events related to the fertility of the earth, while at the same time providing an opportunity for lavish feasts intended to  demonstrate a ruler's wealth and power in ways that made it possible to cement political alliances.

Mythic Meanings

Early Mesoamerican peoples believed that spiritual forces inhabited both physical geography and biota (flora and fauna). They revered things that exhibited the constant movement that signified the Life-force—reflecting mirrors (obsidian), feather-work banners that ruffled in the breeze, shining metal that cast glints of brilliance.

In this context, latex (rubber) was valued not merely for its practical qualities (medicinal applications, waterproofing clothing), but for its sacred essence as well. The flow of latex from gum trees was associated with the flow of blood, which was held to be the single most important offering that humans could make to the gods. In both Aztec and Maya creation myths, the gods sacrifice themselves by shedding their own blood to create humanity.

El Tajín: Ball Player performs an act of bloodletting; his stream of blood feeds the Fish God (bottom left).
Click to enlarge. Photo: Reed

In Nahua, the word olli means rubber, and the Nahua word ollín means motion or movement—the movement that represents the Life-force itself. When put into play or motion, the rubber ball would have represented the vital Life-force inherent in all things that move.

The ball court in Mesoamerican cosmology assumed symbolic functions. The alley represented the sun’s path; specifically, its nightly travel through the Underworld. Round markers in alleys of Maya courts frequently bear a quatrefoil cartuche, representing an opening to the Underworld.

In the Maya Popol Vuh, the mythic Hero Twins descend to the Underworld to play ball against gods of the Underworld. The game becomes the metaphor of Life, Death, and Regeneration, as the Twins resurrect their father, now reborn as the Maize God, from the court of death.

Yaxchtitlán, Chiapas: On the entry stairs to the Great Temple is this depiction of the mythical Ball Game; dwarfs from the Underworld play with Lord Bird Jaguar IV (at left). Stairs have liminal value as places between This World and the Other World.
Click to enlarge. Photo: Reed

Detail: Behind (left) Lord Bird Jaguar IV, the ball rolls down the stairs, which symbolize passage through the liminal zone—the zone that exists between chaos (world of nature, which ends in death) and cosmos (world of gods, which is endless movement, ollín, Life-force).
Photo: Reed

The two teams respectively personified the forces of light and darkness that conflict at dawn and at dusk. It was believed that time elapsed only with human activity, so it was through the ritual of the ball game that individual ties were established with the cosmic order.

Ritual ballgames were carried out to ensure the continuity of the natural cycles—first and foremost, the sun’s daily cycle: sunset, death and rebirth at dawn. But the ballgame ritual was also carried out to ensure continuity and success of the annual agricultural cycle, which was based not only on the daily regeneration of the sun but the seasonal regeneration of the corn, maize, as well.

• Spring Equinox: Ballgames were part of the ceremonies related to the burning of fields and other activities connected with the approaching end of the annual dry season and preparation for planting.
• Summer Solstice: Ball games announced the arrival of the rainy season.
• Autumn Equinox: Ball games celebrated the harvest.
• Winter Solstice: Ball games held at the beginning of the dry season signaled the start of trade to distant territories and preparations for war.

Sacrifice

In Mesoamerica's difficult geography (Mexico and Central America), prosperity was attributed to the spiritual efficacy of rulers (god-kings) charged with mediating on behalf of their people with the powerful ‘otherworld’. Ball game imagery is filled with themes of fertility, including sacrifice in the service of fertility.

Ball Court at El Tajín: The bare spot in the grass is in front of the wall where visitors have stopped to study images of the ball game ritual carved into the stone (see below). Click to enlarge. Photo: Reed

El Tajín: At left, Ball Player receives charge from Priest, with symbol of ollín (Life-force; intertwined ribbons) at their feet. At right are a Jaguar God and God of Death. Click to enlarge. Photo: Reed

Representations of the sacrifice of individuals in association with the ball game have given rise to the notion that losers were ritually dispatched at the end of each game. This would certainly have been the case in official ball games, which had symbolic value. At the end of the game, the losers—and apparently sometimes, the winners—were killed with the obsidian knife highly sharpened to assure a clean cut.

El Tajín: The Ball Game ritual reenacted the sacred battle between the cosmic forces of creation and destruction. The God of Death presides (left margin) over sacrifice of Ball Player (loser and possibly the winner).
Click to enlarge. Photo: Reed

Negotiation of Power / Conflict Resolution

The ball game also provided political rivals an arena for resolving conflicts. Players representing rival factions contested on the ball court at auspicious dates on the ancient calendar. It was assumed that the gods chose the winner and the loser, who was sacrificed at the conclusion of the contest.

Archaeologists analyzing the number of ball courts in the Central Highlands of Mexico and in the Valley of Oaxaca have concluded that many early communities had ball courts during periods of political fragmentation, when the need to resolve conflicts was presumably high. Conversely, during periods of political centralization, ball courts were found only in the larger capitals.

The appearance of the massive ball court at Chichén may have been one of the means by which the Itzá rulers indicated their larger goals of making their capital the premier political center on the northern Yucatán Peninsula. Conversely, the absence (to date) of a ball court at Teotihuácan may be an indicator of their ability to control by other means, such as by means of their extensive trade routes.

Ball Games as Spectacles and as Demonstrations of Economic Power

The ball game was a spectacle enjoyed by commoners and aristocrats. Aztec kings ranked the ball game high as a leisure activity. It is known that some kings sometimes played. Certainly they watched the action of the game and gambled on the outcome. Kings wagered valuables like jewelry, slaves, land and houses, and quantities of cacao beans.

Aztec rulers also understood the entertainment value of the ball game and staged such events when:

'the common folk and vassals were very fretful ... [in order] to animate the people and divert them. He commanded the majordomos to take out the rubber ball, and the girdles, and the leather hip guards, and the leather gloves with which the ruler's ball players were dressed' (Sahagún 1979 [1569]: 58).

Note: Bernardo de Sahagún (1499-1590) was the first anthropologist in the Western Hemisphere. A Franciscan friar, he spent fifty years interviewing the priestly and educated Aztec elite in order to record their culture. The evangelical intent was to replace ancient rites and rituals with Christian devotional activities, but Sahagún's work is widely respected today as a primary ethnography of Aztec culture.

Like today's Olympics, ball games not only provided entertainment but they also served to reinforce the economic power of rulers. Bumper crops, dependent on adequate rainfall, impressed both potential followers and rival factions. The annual arrival of the rains was arguably the ruler's most basic demonstration of spiritual efficacy, followed closely by command of resources (closely related to surpluses arising from bumper crops) for the construction and maintenance of ball courts and for hosting ballgames accompanied by lavish feasts.

Hence the ball court can provide a clue to chiefly power. Abandonment of the ball court at Paso de la Amada, for example, is taken to be an important indicator of the decline of the ruler's power.

Summary

Throughout Mesoamerican culture history, the ball game played not only a key role in community life,
but was also a crucial social tool for mediating relations between communities.

Still Curious?

This post is indebted to two classic archaeological works:

• Susan Toby Evans encyclopedic work Ancient Mexico & Central America: Archaeology and Culture History, which was written originally to be a college textbook.
• Mary Miller and Karl Taube's An Illustrated Dictionary of The Gods and Symbols of Ancient Mexico and the Maya--what Reed and I call "the god book"!

Jenny's Travel Journal:

• Guadalajara and Jalisco includes a brief description of Guachimontones;
• El Tajin I: Beauty and Mystery includes photos of some of El Tajín's seventeen (!) ball courts, by far the most found at any other site.

In addition to the Grand Court, the religious center at Chichén Itzá had twelve other, normal-sized Maya ball courts. Slides 9-11 of this walking tour of Chichén Itzá show the temples at each end of the Grand Court with its "I"-design.

Wikipedia:

• Mesoamerican Ballcourt;
• Paso de la Amada is the site of the earliest Ball Court found to date;
• Short history of Medieval Football in Northern Europe.

This Soccer History Timeline gives an interesting global overview of multiple 'games played with the foot' and credits Mexico and Central America as the origin of the rubber (latex) ball, but its dates of "600-1600 AD" are off. Archaeological research puts the dates from 1800-1000 BCE.

Mike Schepker's highly readable paper on Mesoamerican Ball Game has interesting material.

New York Times: The Greater Meaning of the Olympic Games Can Depend on Where You Live.

Día de los Muertos: "Yo Soy la Tierra"—"I am the Earth"

For those of us steeped in the Western tradition, experiences that challenge our taken-for-granted assumptions about how the world ‘is’ can startle and unsettle us. But when we lean into these challenging experiences rather than rebuffing them, we open ourselves to a deeper understanding of what it means to be human.

Renowned Mexican anthropologist Guillermo Bonfil Batalla studied indigenous traditions and practices. In introducing Bonfil Batalla's master work, México Profundo, his English translator wrote:

"An ancient agricultural complex provides their [indigenous communities'] food supply, and

• Work is understood as a way of maintaining a harmonious relation with the natural world;

• Health is related to human conduct; and

• Community service is often part of each individual's life obligation.

• Time is circular, and

• Humans fulfill their own cycle in relation to other cycles of the universe."

At times living in Mexico is a wild ride. We go along day-to-day assuming that we are more or less in the modern world, then suddenly something happens that brings us up short, and we become aware of having landed in a completely different universe. So it was one day when my Spanish teacher Alicia, who is Purhépecha, announced,

“Yo soy la tierra”—“I am the earth.”

“What?” I asked, startled as much by the abruptness of her announcement as by her words, which I had instantly understood.

She repeated her statement, more insistently, emphatically,

“Yo soy la Tierra”.

My face must have betrayed confusion because when Alicia repeated the phrase for the third time, “Yo soy la Tierra” her voice tone had softened ... more inviting than insistent.

Her words left me mute—without a thought in my head, incapable of framing a response. I had never before heard anyone utter words so simple, yet so profound. Words spoken matter-of-factly, with tremendous dignity, Alicia's tone conveyed the urgency that lay just beyond her words.

I reflected. In the Spanish language and in Mesoamerican religious thought, each word in the simple sentence is pregnant with meaning:

• Yo – I, the ‘me’ that is me—no ‘other’—Alicia was saying that she is, herself, the earth.

• Soy – am: the ‘essence’ of being itself—in Spanish the verb ser ('to be') is used when referring to an essential, unchanging quality (e.g., “Soy madre”); a second verb estar (also 'to be') is used to refer to a state or condition that can change (e.g., “Estoy cansada” – I am tired).

• La tierra – the earth, the soil. In Mesoamerican thought, the earth is a complex symbol—domain of the earth goddess, Tonantzin, it is also the locus of the Underworld.

Alicia continued. Before her death, her grandmother had given Alicia three dichos (sayings).

I. 

 “La tierra es la madre | Lo que tú haces a la madre, vas a recibir.”

The Earth is the Mother | What you do to the Mother, you are going to receive.

The Earth is the Mother: Tonantzin is believed to be a manifestation of the Earth Mother, known as Coatlicue, the mother of all living things. Conceived by immaculate and miraculous means, Coatlicue is the one who decides the length of life. To the Mexica, the earth was both mother and tomb, giver of life and receiver of human remains at death. The process of decomposition both feeds the earth and culminates in reunion with the Life-Force that animates the universal cycle.

What you do to the Mother, you are going to receive: Alicia pointed out that everything we eat and everything that enters our bodies originates from the earth in one form or another—not just plant foods, but beef, fish and poultry as well.

She then related ancient agricultural wisdom for cultivating the earth, including the custom of planting multiple crops in the same field. Beans and squash planted with corn, for example, deliver nitrogen that nourishes the corn plants in a natural, organic manner, without negative side effects.

It isn't difficult, then, to imagine the sense of honor felt by campesinos working their ancestral lands—their work enables them to maintain a harmonious relationship with natural forces as they care for—in English, we might say husband—Mother Earth herself.

Nor is it difficult, then, to imagine the profound sense of violation occasioned by such extractive practices as open pit mining, illegal logging of sacred forests, fracking—which constitute a veritable rape of Mother Earth.

Moreover, this violation, this rape is not without consequence, for humankind is destined to 'receive' in kind 'what it has done' to Mother Earth, which leads quite naturally to the grandmother's second dicho, saying:

II. 

 “No siembres para que no coseches.” 

“Don’t sow that you need not harvest.”

The similarity of this saying with Saint Paul’s injunction to the Galatians is unmistakable: “As you sow, so shall you reap.” There is a similar saying in the Old Testament, “He who sows the wind shall reap the whirlwind” (Hosea 8:7). But Alicia assured me that her Purhépecha grandmother intended neither of these meanings.

To explain, she related this anecdote: Apparently in the 1950’s, foreign agricultural companies gave free chemical fertilizers to the campesinos. After using them, the campesinos discovered that not only were the fields unable to grow anything without using these expensive fertilizers, but the people feared eating foods grown with chemicals because they feared putting those chemicals in their bodies. Health is related to human conduct ....

For the same reason, many indigenous people reject western medicine in favor of traditional medicines that originate from medicinal herbs and plants locally grown. Not coincidentally, one consequence of Mexico’s geography are its diverse ecosystems. In fact, Mexico is one of the planet's countries with the greatest biodiversity. It is a resource that Mexico's peoples have drawn upon for three thousand years.

III. 

 “Tú eres hijo de la tierra y ella va a darte lo que necesitas, pero el día que mueras ella se alimentará de ti y entonces te preguntará ¿qué hiciste conmigo?”

“You are a child of the earth, and she [Mother Earth] is going to give you what you need, but on the day you die, she will feed herself on you, and then she will ask, 

‘What did you do with me’?”

This final saying is perhaps the most profound. When her grandmother died, Alicia felt sad but at the same time peaceful because she felt that now it was her grandmother’s turn to feed the earth. As Alicia observed,

“The daughter must to return to her mother….”

Traditional burial rituals are helpful. It is the family’s responsibility to prepare the grave. I can only imagine the range and force of feelings expressed by family members as they perform this final task for a loved one. Surely there are feelings of sadness at losing the participation of this beloved family member in the family’s daily life.

But there is also calm in their confidence that they are preparing the resting place for the daughter, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother as she goes forth to rejoin the Life-Force itself.

Time is circular, and humans fulfill their own cycle in relation to other cycles of the universe.

And now we come to the grandmother's last words, “…and [Mother Earth] will ask, ‘What did you do with me’?” A difficult, even profound, question — one each of us is called to answer for ourselves....

Qué le vaya bien—May it go well with you.

Easter Sunday in Pátzcuaro

This morning dawned clear and bright at Casa Mariposa.  Easter Sunday was heralded by the inimitable sound of cohetes—rockets, or large firecrackers—calling the Faithful to Mañanitas, Morning Prayers.  I'm not quite sure why the cohetes sound so reassuring and friendly; perhaps it is knowing that they take the place of bells in the smaller churches around Lake Pátzcuaro.

Easter Sunday is mostly a Family Day.  Our favorite restaurant in Pátzcuaro, el Camino Real (the King's Highway), is decorated for the occasion with blown-out eggs hung on a tree. The symbolism is unclear, but eggs are clearly fertility symbols in anticipation of the approaching planting season.

The restaurant's cocineras (Mexican chefs are traditionally women) will be kept hopping all day preparing  almuerzo (brunch) in the late morning, followed by comida (dinner) in the afternoon.

Tables will be set up in a covered patio area in front of the restaurant to accommodate customers. Meanwhile, the restaurant's cheerful meseros (waiters) will quickly push tables together to accommodate family groups easily numbering ten, fifteen, even twenty or more people per family.

One of my favorite sounds in Mexico is the muted, comfortable sound of family conversation punctuated by the gentle laughter that seems to come easily and often during these family celebrations.

Easter Message from Pátzcuaro

For this extranjera (foreigner) living as embedded as possible in a Mexican neighborhood, it is increasing awareness of and respect for the acute Mexican sense of the dualism that characterizes all life.

In the Mexican sensibility, every condition of human life is characterized inevitably by its opposite state—life and death, joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, success and failure, bitter and sweet—the list is as infinite as the states of the human condition.

When we first arrived, I experienced as jarring, discordant, the automatic reminder by our Mexican friends of a condition's opposite state.  Being reminded of a condition's opposite denied me the luxury of relishing—or wallowing in—a current state.

But over time, I've discovered the wisdom inherent in recognizing the Essential Duality of Life:  no condition—positive or negative—lasts forever.  I'm mindful of St. Paul's comment from his imprisonment:  "I've learned in whatever state I am, therein to be content." 

It is in this context that perhaps we can approach an understanding of the suffering and penance of Good Friday and Holy Saturday as the necessary precursor for celebration of the Risen Christ on Easter Sunday.

¡Feliz Pascua!  Happy Easter!

Holy Saturday: Silent Procession in Pátzcuaro

The Procession of Silence on Holy Saturday night before Easter Sunday is a time of deep penance. 

Men dressed in medieval-style robes of purple or black, their faces and heads covered by conical caps, walk barefoot through the streets, together with images of the Crucified Christ, the Sorrowing Virgin Mary, and John, the Disciple whom Jesus charged with caring for his mother, Mary. 

Children carry symbols associated with the Crucifixion. 

Boy dressed as Roman soldier

Women and girls dress as the women following Jesus. The girl dressed in black in the center represents Mary, who is following a white-robed angel and accompanied by other women.

History of Conical Hoods

A word is needed to explain the conical hoods.  For our countrymen and women in the U.S., the connection to the Ku Klux Klan is instantaneous and fraught.  Here's the story as we understand it. 

The conical cap has a long history throughout the world. It was used during the Spanish Inquisition as part of the clothing of humiliation worn by people charged with heresy before the Inquisition. There is some evidence that this practice is the historical root of the student's Dunce Cap.

Pointed hoods were also used by various Spanish secret orders and Catholic lay confraternities for processions—specifically, the Capirote, or conical cap, was worn during Semana Santa processions held in Seville, Spain.

But the story of how the medieval conical cap came to be adopted by the Ku Klux Klan is a curious example of cultural diffusion. During the making of the movie (1915), The Birth of a Nation, the costume designer reached into the medieval ages to get a costume idea for the Klan, which by the 1920's had nearly died out. The designer came up with the medieval Spanish Capirote. In the wake of the movie, the Klan experienced a resurgence and adopted the conical cap seen in the movie.

It should be noted that although "Birth of a Nation" is honored for its technical innovations as one of the One Hundred Best American Films, the racial undertones are deeply disturbing to contemporary audiences.

Conical Cap in Pátzcuaro

But it is safe to say that the tradition of the conical cap in Pátzcuaro's Silent Procession is grounded in the medieval tradition of Spanish lay confraternities, as introduced in Nueva España by the Spanish monastic orders. In Pátzcuaro, barefoot penitents march in the Silent Procession in search of atonement for their sins.

The Procession of Crosses on Good Friday Night and the Procession of Silence conveyed to Reed and me powerful feelings of the suffering that humans are capable of inflicting on one another—as represented by the image of the Crucified Christ. 

But these annual processions also convey the love and devotion that Mexican Catholics have for these very realistic images that provide them with a tangible connection to their God.

Good Friday in Pátzcuaro

Gazing periodically out the iron gate of Casa Mariposa on the outskirts of Pátzcuaro, Reed and I watched a steady stream of cars heading toward Centro (downtown) in advance of Good Friday. Based on our week-long observation, we're confident that the cars bear license plates from all over Mexico—Puebla, Jalisco, Guanajuato and Querétaro and, above all, the Distrito Federal or Mexico City.

Pátzcuaro is a destination on religious pilgrimages of the faithful throughout the year. But observance of the days preceding Easter are especially powerful and emotionally charged. 

The stage is set, as it were, by the Altar de Dolores (Altar of Sorrows) that are set up in more than twenty locations in Centro—not only in the Básilica and Churches but in the Palacio Municipal (City Hall), Library, local Theater, hotels, schools and even some private houses, including the Bishop's Residence, situated on the Plaza Grande. 

By far, the most elaborate and beautiful of these Altars is the one set up in front of City Hall (see below), which induces a distinct cultural jolt among those of us raised in a tradition of strict separation of Church and State.

Altar de Dolores (Altar of Sorrows), Palacio Municipal, Pátzcuaro

Semana Santa, Holy Week, in Pátzcuaro is very different from Holy Week in the United States. Almost all Mexicans are Roman Catholic, and their Easter traditions originated in Catholic Spain 400 years ago. 

Processions through the streets and other events represent the last week of the life of Jesus. The images are extraordinarily vivid in their portrayal of the suffering and crucifixion of Jesus and of the suffering of his mother, the Virgin Mary. They provoke an immediate emotional reaction. To those of us with a Protestant heritage, they can be strange and even disturbing . Here you will encounter this Mexican experience.
Good Friday morning began for us with the procession up to Calvario Church, located on the road leading up the volcanic mountain called Estribo.

In the procession, men and women from the Church's confradas (lay service organizations) carried on their shoulders wooden platforms on which rested statues of Jesus, Mary, and John the Disciple, whom Jesus charged with caring for Mary.

Women of the Confrada carry the image of Mary, Mother of Sorrows

The men of the confrada wore shirts bearing the message (loosely translated), "Jubilee Year celebrating 350 years of miraculous movement of the Lord of the Third Order." (Third Orders are church lay organizations, distinquished from clergy and monastic orders.)

Message on back of shirts worn by men in the Confrada

When the procession reached the area in front of Calvario Church, a man from the Church, in a reenactment of the crucifixion of Jesus, was placed on an actual wooden cross. On either side of 'Jesus' were two other men representing the two thieves.  All three remained on their crosses for less than an hour before being taken down.

The crowd of watchers then began to disperse—many taking advantage of traditional Mexican food offered for sale by residents of houses along the route of the procession. One family had offered chairs on their balcony for observers willing to pay for a better view.

Tonight after dark was the Procession of Christ Crucified. We waited patiently with others for the arrival of the procession. We spotted the white canopy first, but had no idea what it was until it close enough for us to see a priest walking under it, carrying the Host, which embodies the presence of Christ.

Following the priest came a seemingly endless procession of Crosses, brought by the confradas from their Churches in Pátzcuaro and from Churches in nearby pueblos to be part of this procession.  The first Cross was cradled tenderly in the arms of two men.

Christ Crucified is draped in purple, which symbolizes His Suffering and Passion.

Next came the Cross of the Sacred Heart. The handwritten sign, "The Holy Cross of Saint Lazarus," touched me for its unapologetic simplicity.  

Next came a Black Christ. 

Christ shrouded in His Tomb. 

The Sorrowful Mother of Christ dressed in the black of mourning, carried by women of the Confrada. 

The Cruz Verde, or Green Cross, with the Rays of God emanating from the empty cross draped in white, which symbolizes not only purity, but mourning as well. The Cruz Verde was the only 'empty' Cross in the procession.

The color green carries complex symbolic meanings. In the Aztec culture, green connoted royalty because it was the color of the quetzal plumes worn by Aztec chiefs. Green is also associated with resurrection and regeneration. Fiesta Day for Cruz Verde is May 3, which coincides with planting in the Lake Pátzcuaro region.

The last Cross was remarkable for its humanity and its simplicity. 

The Procession ended as it began...in silence. We, like the others who had stood near us watching, began walking away slowly, quietly, reflectively.  

Mexico Culture: Humble Man, Big Soul

Reed and I first arrived in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, in August 2007, seeking a place to retire. We had no idea what we would find when we set off from Morelia. The state capital of Michoacán and a UNESCO World Heritage site, colonial Morelia is located about 35 miles east of Pátzcuaro.

Arriving in Pátzcuaro

That first ride from Morelia was spectacular with mountains rising as high as 3,000 feet above the 7,000 foot high Altiplano (High Plains). We were delighted to find the main road into 475 year-old, Spanish colonial Pátzcuaro lined by a mixture of eucalyptus trees that reminded me of my childhood in Palo Alto, California, and pine trees that reminded Reed of summers on lakes in the Adirondacks of northern New York State. Pátzcuaro has been designated a Pueblo Mágico by the federal government because of its beautifully preserved colonial heritage. In a word, we were enchanted.

After wrapping up loose ends in the States, we arrived in Pátzcuaro permanently in August of 2008. Our first months were occupied with getting settled, learning new routines for daily living, and making friends along the way. Our intent was to interweave our lives as much as possible with the Mexican community. A small American community of about 200-300 people is scattered around Pátzcuaro and surrounding pueblos. But our focus was on improving our Spanish so we could communicate with the people of our chosen town and, hopefully, make Mexican friends.

Rather than buy a car, we decided to use taxis. This was an extraordinarily happy decision. We decided to work with Monarca—not only do Monarca cars have the beautiful Monarch butterfly stenciled on their doors, but the drivers deliver consistently superior service. We are quite impressed with our drivers. In the U.S. many of them could easily hold middle management positions. In fact, the best of them run their taxis like small businesses; they develop relationships with selected clients and can be trusted to run errands. I have run into drivers in Soriana’s Supermarket, buying supplies for our favorite local restaurant, El Camino Real.

Luis—A Humble Man with a Big Soul

Today I want to write about Luis, who is a Monarca driver. One morning he picked me up to take me to CELEP, our Spanish school. In the course of our chat, he told me that he loves to write, and he said he wanted to read to me what he had just written. It blew me away, so when he was finished, I asked whether I could copy it. When we arrived at CELEP, he dictated to me while I copied his words into my notebook.

With Luis' permission, I’m reprinting his words in the original Spanish, which I’ve also translated into English. As you read, take special note of the verb to "loan". Although Luis had originally written “gave”, when he read it out loud to me, he said, “No”, and changed the verb from "gave" to "loan" — an important change.

Somehow I think it's important to mention that when I saw his handwriting in his notebook, I realized that he is barely literate. Although this exchange is unusual for its profound insight, conversations of this nature are not uncommon in Pátzcuaro.

Here are Luis’s words in English and in Spanish:

Life Says: Life does not begin when when you are born but when you decide. There are some men who are already born, but they have not yet lived. I was born and already I have lived because God loaned me my life—and He also loaned it to you, and it is only one time. For this reason I will be happy. Yesterday has already gone, and perhaps tomorrow might not arrive. For just this reason, I will be very happy today. ~ Luis, Taxi Driver, age 40

Dice la Vida: Empieza cuando tú decides no cuando naces. Porque hay unos hombres que ya nacieron pero aún no viven. Yo nací y ya he vivido como y porque o para quien Dios me prestó la vida y a tí también y solo es una vez. Por eso hoy seré feliz. El ayer ya se fue y el mañana tal vez no llegue. Por eso solo por hoy seré muy feliz.  ~ Luis