Semana Santa y otras cosas

Semana Santa en Mexico

Being a Catholic, there was no better place to spend Holy Week in Mexico than San Cristobal de las Casas.  Starting with Domingo de Ramos, or Palm Sunday, the week was jamb-packed with religious ceremonies and festivities for the preparation of the Resurrection of Christ.  I went to the Cathedral on Palm Sunday expecting the mass to be very similar to the Palm Sunday service at home (as weekly masses have thus far been the same except that they are in Spanish).  To my surprise, there were Maya selling palms for a peso outside of the church.  The palms were beautifully woven into crosses and other holy designs.  I did not know if I was supposed to buy one or if they would be given out during the mass, as is done in the United States.  Being unsure, I decided to wait. I went to the mass which was pretty average, except that I noticed everyone had already bought a palm outside.  As the mass came to a close, I heard the priest saying that the parade of the palms, in celebration of Jesus coming to Jerusalem would be starting momentarily.  At this point, I left since I did not have a palm.  On my way out I purchased a palm and began to walk home.  I had felt so clueless and unsure about what I was supposed to do and whether or not I was allowed to be in the parade that I decided to leave and go to a coffee shop to work on my Evolution study guide.  It felt very awkward for me as church is always a place where I feel at home.  On this particular day I felt somewhat lost and confused.

After my experience on Palm Sunday, I decided that the rest of this week was bound to be quite an experience as well.  Church services were offered through the week but I did not go again until Jueves Santo, or Holy Thursday.  On this day, I went to church with my host family.  The Grandmother of the House was concerned about getting a seat in the church so we left our house an hour before mass.  Needless to say, we were extremely early, and to our luck we didn’t even have a crowd to compete with until maybe twenty minutes before the mass so leaving that early was pointless.  We went to the Church of Guadalupe which is a beautiful church located up on top of a hill.  There is a huge staircase to enter the church, making it quite an exercise to attend mass.  The mass was beautiful.   I looked around and noticed some Mayan people in the surrounding pews.  This made me think back to some of the things Rebecca had taught us, especially about the Auto de Fe and about the conversion of Maya to Christianity.  I wondered how exactly these families had been converted, whether they had been some of the peaceful converters or if they too experienced the hardships of the Auto de Fes.  The mass was much like the Holy Thursday masses at home, recounting the story of the last supper followed by the washing of feet.  In the mass the priest will wash the feet of some selected individuals, representative of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, more specifically the apostles.   I felt very connected with this mass and felt good that I could understand exactly what was going on and what was expected of me during the service. 

After this mass, I met up with some friends in front of the cathedral to go to a small concert.  To our surprise, we caught the tail end of the Procession de Silence.  I could not get over what we saw.  There were young boys dressed in clothing meant to appear from Biblical times.  Behind them were men, I assume clergical, that were dressed in black robes with a hood which covered there entire face and came up into a point or cone.  The only thing exposed were there eyes.  I immediately connected this with something we had learned about in Spanish class in high school regarding Holy Week in Spain.  I could not remember the significance f the costumes which were rather “KKK” in appearance.  The following morning I asked my host mom about it.  She told me that she thought it was representative of those people who had betrayed Jesus.  The coverings represented the sin and how these men were ashamed of their betrayal of the messiah.  It corresponds today to the fact that we all sin sometimes and so this is representative of shame.  Seeing these costumes and first knowing the costumes of the KKK, I found it difficult to not think about the KKK.  As weird as this sound, I connected this to biology and the idea of the same trait evolving independently in different parts of the evolutionary lineage as I cannot imagine the KKK designed their costumes after Holy Week event attire. 

I did not take part in the last tradition of Holy Thursday which is a visitation to seven churches throughout the city.  There are many ideas about why this tradition exist including representing the stations of the cross (although there are fourteen), representing the seven deadly sins, or, most plausible in my opinion, representing the seven sacraments as the greatest sacrament Eucharist was born from the events of Holy Thursday in which bread and wine, the body and blood of Jesus Christ were shared at dinner.  I found this tradition neat and had I had more time I would have loved to take part in it.  The city was full of people walking around on this night and from my Christian perspective it was great to see so many people with the same beliefs as me.  I have no idea if this tradition exists anywhere in the United States; perhaps it does in a city where many churches are within walking distance.  I had never heard of it before this trip, yet it seems like a nice custom.  For Viernes Santo, or Good Friday, there was apparently a passion of Christ, in which a theatrical performance depicting the Stations of the Cross took place.  Unfortunately I missed this as we had class during the time it was being performed.  I would have loved to have seen it as I’ve never seen a live depiction although I do know that these performances exist in the United States.  I still have Holy Saturday to talk about (see next blog entry), but would like to quickly mention how neat this experience has been.  Being in San Cristobal for Semana Santa was an experience which I will never forget.  I got to experience so much and attend many religious events, which have been both awkward and comforting at times.

Fireworks!

Holy Saturday, March 22, 2008, was the Quema de Judas, or the burning of Judas.  For this celebration, papier-mâché dummies or dolls of hated political figures or concepts that were wrong with the world were displayed and then burned.  Each effigy is referred to as a Judas dolls representative of burning Judas Iscariot since he was a traitor to Jesus Christ.  Each doll represents things that are wrong with the world and things that the community wants to purge or cleanse themselves of.  This year’s Judas dolls were things such as Felipe Calderon (president of Mexico), a matador, a famous soccer player (not sure who he was or what he did), human destruction of the world via pollution, deforestation, etc., something called TLC (I tried to translate the signs but could not understand all the words; what I got, however, is that it has to do with the United States having more resources to sell items cheaper when Mexico makes them of better quality but cannot compete with the low turnover rate; what was interesting, however, was seeing the American flag painting getting burnt), and others.  Interestingly, the past two years there have been dolls of George Bush, but this was the first year that he was not included.  So each of the dolls was filled with fireworks and they were set off one by one.  The dolls were created in a contest and the winner is the doll which gets set off last.  Before going to the burning, my host mother warned me to stay back.  I did not know what she meant until I realized that there were actual fireworks and people were allowed to stand really close.   I don’t think this would be permitted in the United States and I wondered what if any regulations there were regarding the fireworks.  Luckily we were standing back because some pieces of the dolls flew off into the crowds, almost hitting a baby one time.  The burnings were very exciting and I imagine it is a great way to relieve stresses about the world and the problems in it, especially those caused by humans.   This experience made me think about how lucky I am to live in the United States where we can say we don’t like the president without worrying about our safety.  In some other countries I can imagine that would not be allowed.  I was even surprised that that was permitted in Mexico.  It did feel weird to be around the ceremony when the doll with the US flag was being burnt.  I felt kind of out of place when this was going on.  Overall, though it was a really neat and exciting experience and I’m glad I went.  It kind of helped tie together for me some of the Mexican attitudes towards things, such as with the matador and with the human destruction of the world, both dealing with life, something which I as a biology student am very concerned with.  If I am ever in San Cristobal again during Semana Santa, I would love to see this event again.  I would be curious to see what the themes of the dolls will be in future years as well!

Homesick

            Domingo de Pascua, or Easter Sunday, was possibly the day of this trip when I missed my family most.   I called my family just as they were all sitting down to a nice feast of baked ham, homemade mashed potatoes, and pie.  My immediate family and my grandmother with whom I am very close were all gathered together around the table together, while I was all alone.  It made me really sad to not be with them on the holiday, as this is the first real holiday I have spent away from my family.  Being that I was lonely, I tried to get out and experience as much as I could from the day in San Cristobal de las Casas.  I walked to the Zocolo, which is basically in the city center, and watched as people lined the streets in preparation for a parade.  After that, I went to the Easter service by myself in the Cathedral.  It was a beautiful mass, yet it was weird to be at a mass alone when everyone else was with their families for the holiday.  One thing I took notice of during the mass was the dress code of the younger kids.  Growing up, I had always worn an Easter dress and an Easter hat or bonnet.  At this mass, however, and at no point throughout the day did I see a single Easter hat.  I suppose that tradition does not exist here.  Other traditions which do not exist in Mexico are Easter baskets (supposedly from the Easter Bunny) filled with chocolate, eggs, and peeps or the tradition of flower giving representative of the gift of life.  I imagine the Easter bunny and associated traditions may not be seen in Mexico because perhaps the holiday is much more religious and has not yet been smothered by commercialism.  Also, people in Mexico, in general, do not have as much money to spend pointless material things like Easter baskets.  I purchased some flowers for my host family for Easter, but was surprised to find that there were not people selling Easter flowers on every street corner as there are at home.  Instead I had to seek out a floreria to make my purchase.  When I bought the flowers for my host family, I felt a pang of homesickness.  Every year, my sister and I go out and buy flowers for my mom and my grandmother.  This year, however, that was not possible.  Perhaps when I get home I can get them some flowers and I look forward to getting an Easter basket with candy from my mom.  Although it was a lonely Easter, it is another experience on the trip and I believe it will help me to appreciate what I have at home more upon returning.

An Experience I Never Want to Experience Again

            Before coming on this trip, I had thought bull fighting was only done in Spain and that it was a tradition that had not made it’s way to the new world.  Unfortunately I was wrong.  I found out about the bullfight through Phil and since the majority of the group was going to the fight I did not want to miss out on the experience. We purchased tickets at the pharmacy and found out that the fight was on Easter.  Talking to my soccer coach from Spain, I learned that traditionally Easter Sunday is the opening day of the season.

When the day finally came, I piled into a taxi with some of my classmates and we headed to El Plaza de los Toros.  We got there early and were able to see the matadors warming up on their horses.  The stands filled in quickly after we arrived, and it was of no surprise to me that there were a lot of tourists, probably there as to not miss out on the experience (exactly my reason for going).  As the fight began with music and the first matador riding around doing tricks with his horse, I imagined that the fight might actually be fun.  Little did I know that the music and horse tricks were to be the only part of the twp hour fight which I would enjoy. 

On Easter Sunday, four bulls were killed.  The penis of each bull was tied with string beforehand as to agitate the bull and get him revved up to fight.  The bull was let out and people cheered as he made his way around the arena.  What seemed so unfair to me was that it was not just the bull and one matador, the man who kills the bulls.  Instead there were many sidemen with capes and small swords and prongs for agitating the bull and weakening him.  It seemed so unjust.  The bull had no chance of winning this fight. Yes I know that conditions in a slaughterhouse are brutal and that the meat which we eat can be considered as unjustly obtained, however seeing these animals suffering was almost too much to bear.  It was not just the animal being tortured, but people were making a spectacle out of it.  It seemed so wrong. 

In the fourth bull fight one of the sidemen must have struck the bull right in a nerve such that the bull was extremely weak from the start.  It fell down and we all thought it was dead.  Then it stood up, seeming to have recovered somewhat.  What sickened me was that people were screaming “Otro, otro!” as this bull was apparently not good enough.  They felt as though he was already dead.  It pulled at my heart to see that people were not even concerned with how awful this bull must be hurting.  Instead of yelling for this bull to be put out of its misery, the crowds were more concerned with the entertainment value. 

After each bull was killed, an ear was cut off as a souvenir and thrown out into the crowd.  I had a hard time respecting the matador, feeling as though it really did not take much courage to kill an animal who was basically helpless.  I also had a very hard time watching as the bull came to the last bit of its will to survive.  The bull was obviously suffering very much, yet the matador could not just put it out of its misery.  I want to just scream, “Kill it already!”.  In one case, after striking the bull in the spinal cord, you could see the bull wanting to show the matador what he was made of and started to charge.  Just as he approached though, his hind legs gave out and he fell to the ground.  It was so awful to watch this.  I hated seeing the bull so vulnerable and without any chance of victory as he was out numbered.  My Spanish soccer coach had told me of how in Spain there were actually cemeteries of matadors who had been killed by the bull, making me wonder if perhaps the fights were more one on one (matador and bull only) than they are here in Mexico.  I would hope so because this was just awful.

For me, the music was the fun part of the fight and it was very exciting to see the matadors and sidemen with the capes which they would pull aside at the last second.  I personally believe that would have been enough to preserve the tradition and entertainment value of bull fighting.  I do not see a need for the bull to die simply for entertainment.  Interestingly, many of the Mexicans I talked with were not a fan of the fights.  I feel like the only way I could tolerate watching the fight is if I had seen it since I was a child and so I would have been numb to the violence.  It was interesting that there were many people who were trying to change the bull fights so the bulls would not be killed.  While sitting outside the cathedral one night, I was given a pamphlet going against the bullfights and telling everyone to boycott them.  There was also an effigy of a matador at the Judas Burnings, showing the dislike and disapproval of the bullfights by many people. 

One thing that really intrigued me was that there was a female matador. I never would have expected a female to fill that position of animal cruelty.  I was surprised though, as she actually had a lot more style than the other matadors, turning her back to the bull and getting really up close and personal with the bull and killed it finally with a perfect shot to the spinal cord putting the bull out of its misery a little quicker.  Still, it was so difficult to watch the torture.

Going to the bullfight was definitely an experience.  I knew going into it that I would not enjoy it.  Somehow, however, I had not expected it to be so gruesome or to upset me so much.  I realize that the bulls we eat are not treated much better in slaughter houses, yet at least they are being bred to sustain our lives and not just to be a sick form of entertainment.  Although it is an experience I will never forget, it is not something I will ever attend again.  It is a tradition which I cannot sympathize with or even want to try to understand.

Children

            All over the city, Mayan people would walk around trying to sell belts or cheap bracelets.  I was able to say no to the adults without feeling too guilty.  What got to me, however, were their children.  It’s very difficult to look at the little children selling stuff and to be indifferent towards their needs.  Even worse were the children who would beg asking over and over again for “Un peso, un peso por favor.”  I would give the children pesos every once in a while but it felt strange as I never agreed with people begging.  I feel that people should work for money.  Yet these were children.  I wanted to help but I never really knew if the children or their parents or who would end up with the money I gave them.  I kept thinking how it would be better to provide the children with food, water, or education, yet I knew that this would not be possible at the time.  Something that surprised me was that the children would come into established restaurants and stores selling stuff.  I was surprised that the owners put up with this.  I had never experienced this before even in the cities in the United States.    My first weekend back in the United States, my mom and I went to a soup kitchen to help out.  Seeing the poverty in my own city, reminded me of the poor children in Mexico.  I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of programs, if any are available for feeding the poorest of families in Mexico. Hopefully there are some programs.  I cannot imagine begging.  I am blessed that I never was put in a position like the children in Mexico live with every day.  I only pray that they may get enough aid and support to survive and that they will hopefully receive some education so they will not be destined to live their entire lives selling stuff on the street or end up like some of the old Maya women I encountered on the street unwilling to work and begging for money.  As I returned to the United States, I must say how much I appreciated the living conditions which I have and the education I am able to receive.

Music

            In my home stay in San Cristobal, I had a twenty-two year old girl named Annette.  She was living in the house but is not related to the family.  She is actually from Quintana Roo and is doing work in the city for four months.  I considered her my “host-sister” and she was really fun to hang out with.  We would go out for coffee and listen to her boyfriend, Darinel, who plays guitar and sings, covering traditional Mexican songs such as “Santa Lucia”.  I found it interesting how he and his friend Eric found troubadour gigs almost every night that we were in San Cristobal de las Casas.  I listened to them play on four occasions at three different coffee shops four nights in a row.  They told me that a lot of it had to do with the influx of tourists in the city for Semana Santa.  None the less, I couldn’t help but think about how this differed from musical opportunities at home. In Mexico, almost every restaurant had some live music every night.  I thought it was a great way to make the dining atmosphere more appealing.  I enjoy live music so much more than just hearing a song over the loudspeaker.  Knowing how much good musicians practice makes me appreciate any live performers.  There was even a lot of live music just walking down the pedestrian street in San Cristobal.  There was a range of music from guitars, bongos, didgeridoo, cellos, basses, to some people just singing their hearts out.  Although there are some places with live music in the United States with live music all the time (probably the really big cities) I feel that it is much less common.  My brother is in a band called the Difference.  Their band is very musically talented and they even write their own songs, yet it is still very difficult to find places to play.  They are working on a cd and continue to pursue their musical dreams, but I cannot help but think how they might do playing in another location and thinking about how they would love a city such as San Cristobal to play in.  Culturally, I leaned that music is just as important, if not more important to the Mexican people.  In my homestay, there was almost always music playing.  I’m really excited because Annette gave me twelve hours worth of Mexican music of various styles so I can have a taste of Mexico whenever I feel like it.