Monday, April 30

Post-Script. Had some interesting experiences on my last day in Chiapas so why not share them?

I met Rivkah at 10 am at Tierra Dentro to look at the paintings by EZLN artists. Note the previous posting of the painting by Tomás that I bought. Rivkah will be thinking about how gender relations are portrayed in these paintings, in comparison to representations of Zapatistas by other artists like Gustavo Chávez Pavón, who did much of the work at Oventik, and Beatriz Aurora, who does the posters that have also become post cards. We also went to another store with similar material.

Later Sara B. joined us for a walk to the Museo de Medicina Maya (Museum of Maya Medicine). While Rivkah and Sarah sat in the orientation room reading the museum pamphlet, I went into the next room, a chapel, and watched a healing ceremony in progress. The healer or ilol was a man, and his patient was a woman facing an operation for colitis. The ilol insisted that her real problem was cancer and that it could have been caused by the sin of envy, at which she affirmed that she is a business-woman and this would apply.

By the time I had entered, the patient had already set up very slender candles in three rows on the floor, and soon after she lit them while the ilol prayed. He then took a raw egg in his hand with branches of what I think was sage, and rubbed it on all the saint statues in the room while praying to them. First was Christ on the cross, then St. Peter, St. Lawrence, St. John, and I forgot the last. He then had the patient stand and alternated brushing the saints and swatting the patient with the branches still held in his hand with the egg. Finally he cracked the egg on the edge of a glass holding clear liquid (either water or posh) and emptied the contents into it. He examined the configuration of the yoke and found an extrusion which he said corresponded to the woman's cancer. He explained this to her, she paid her 40 pesos, and it was over.

I rejoined Rivkah and Sarah and we walked through the rest of the museum and went into the medicinal garden, after which we returned the museum to watch their video on the method of parturition in the local Maya tradition.

The photographs above show the chapel and the diorama of childbirth in the museum and are taken from the web. Note that the kneeling figures in the chapel are also manequins.

Friday, April 27

Today was the last day of classes, topped off with a fantastic party hosted by Kinoki through the efforts of Rhett. As each person left, Maria Louisa captured their final comments on videotape. I left with Rita. We were both very tired. I said almost nothing but Rita really rose to the occasion and gave an inspiring impromptu talk.

Rita will be leaving on Sunday and I leave on Tuesday. LASOM students will be all moving on, some staying in Latin America for a time. But as this is the official end of the program, it is also the official wrap-up of this blog.

Thursday, April 26

This morning I walked Rita to Na Bolon, the home of Franz Blom and Gertrude Duby that has been made into a museum and research institute. Rita noticed that a room had been opened with a small exhibit of Chiapas traje. I was very happy to see chronological arrangement for three displays: Aldama, Chamula and ZInacantan. Usually Chiapas traje is represented as timeless and unchanging, but here the dramatic changes became obvious. This is especially so at Zinacantan (see photo) where the explosion of complex design may be due not only to the more industrialized technology of aniline dyed threads and machine embroidery, but also perhaps to a greater influx of wealth through tourist dollars and a broader investment in floriculture.

Later I met Sara for a visit to a weaving workshop using large European style looms. These are variously called floor, foot, treadle and pedal looms. We were told to go through the Los Arcos hotel to the workshop in back. When we went inside, we found two men in the process of weaving fabric and two others involved in the more tedious process of attaching cords to the treadles. We spoke to the elder of two men involved the weaving process. He turned out to be a kind of foreman of the workshop, the longest standing employee also in charge of ordering threads. We noticed the punched cards that program the design, and he noted that these have been in use for quite a long time, sometimes requiring repair. We also commented on how physically demanding the process seemed to be. He admitted this and other difficulties, but also showed that he was proud to have been put in charge of the workshop.

In the afternoon I participated in Rita's last Spanish literature class, in which we returned to the Castellanos book and disscussed it in relation to the preface and afterword. Rita also asked me to comment on the story told in the last chapter, which is a bricolage of elements from the Maya Popol Vuh as well as Greek mythology and both the Old and New Testament. I argued that this section was stylistically quite distinct from the rest of the book and wondered if it had been added. I also argued that it might be designed as subtle critique of magic realism.

After the break, Rita asked students to meet in groups and then report to the class on what they understood as the major themes, threads, or accomplishments of the course. The discussion was very lively and most contributed. Prominent among the themes was the importance of local conditions and the intricately interwoven power relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous groups which we not only read about in the book but also took part in as non-Indigenous tourists visiting and even holding class in an Indigenous community (Chamula).

Wednesday, April 25

Today's fieldtrip, organized by Brent Skura to go with his class, was to La Albarrada, an agricultural and technical training and experimental facility operated by the state government of Chiapas. We were first treated to an overly basic discussion of why trees are good for the earth, and then were fortunately handed over to a more interesting teacher, Dagoberto de León López, on the agricultural practices that they teach. The organization brings in people, free of charge in most cases, for two month training sessions. The agricultural training consists of eight modules, each a week long. About 20% of the training is study or theory, and the other 80% is the practical learning experience of working the farm.

Maestro Dagoberto explained the two emphases of the program: the integration of different aspects of agriculture into a sustainable system, and the development of techniques that can be easily applied by campesinos with few resources and few external materials available. The organization is also run in an integrated way: participants in the program work the fields and what is produced also feeds them during their stay. See Photo of Dagoberto explaining these issues to the class on the grass.

Another good example of the integrated nature of the program would concern the rabbits, whose feces are transformed into organic fertilizer and which are also eaten as meat. Once trained, campesino families can be presented with a breeding pair of rabbits to take advantage of the method. See Photo of Peggy talking to Dagoberto.

A good example of adjusting the technology to the resources available to campesinos involves growing oyster mushrooms. Dagoberto teaches techniques of growing the mushrooms on discarded organic waste like maize cobs with the kernels removed, or maize stalks: things that might normally just be burned. He also showed us a frame that can easily be used to provide the heat and darkness that mushrooms require, and discussed simple methods of keeping them moist so that they will fruit. When I asked how they seed the maize cobs with spores, he offered to show us, as some cobs were actually ready for this procedure, having been soaked previously for 24 hours in water with quicklime. He asked for a volunteer to participate and Andrés threw himself into the task (see photo). The spores have been commercially placed into sorghum seeds using holes made in the seeds with a needle. Andrés and Dagoberto each filled a plastic bag with seeded maize cobs. The bags had large squares cut out on each side over which material from surgical masks was taped, allowing the fungus to breathe without letting in insects that would devour it.

Dagoberto also showed us a compost pile and discussed methods of using the soil as well as the water runoff for fertilizers. with red wrigglers and talked about their mating and growth cycle. He talked about methods for separating these worms from soil one intends to use. He is quite funny, so he began by saying you should give them names and then call them. But he went on to note that the worms do not like the light, so one can make a pile of the soil and they will go down to the bottom, letting you take off the top. Another way is to put the vegetable waste they will be eating on another part of the soil and they will travel to it.

We also got to see raised fields, known popularly by the Nahuatl term "chinampa." Dagoberto showed us the route the water takes as it is brought from a river through canals to a series of graded fields and then returned to the river.

After the tour, the group retired to Tierra Dentro for lunch and a discussion of what had been learned.

Tuesday, April 24

Rita returned this morning from her excursion to Mexico City where she presented a talk on her research at UNAM (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México).

This afternoon Rita and I hosted her Spanish classes for a viewing and discussion of the 1954 film made from B. Traven's "Rebelión de los Colgados" (Rebellion of the Hanged). Rita introduced the context of the film in terms of 1950s nationalism in Mexico. She discussed characteristics of Mexican cinematic melodrama and advised students to pay attention to three main cinematic elements: text, image, and music. When the film concluded she opened a discussion of ways in which the film departed from the book which the students have read. A lively discussion followed. It was noted that the role of Candido Castro, as the starring role played by Mexican superstar Pedro Almendáriz, took on a greater and more extended importance than in the book. Much discussion surrounded the movie's ending, which reverses the theme of the second half of the book. In the book, the rebelious workers realize they must fight rather than just return to their homes, but in the movie the short rebellion culminates in a quick return home with the prospect of complete future happiness. This expresses the prominent post-revolutionary nationalist ideology of indigenismo with utopian fervor that is far more positive and simplistic than Traven's novel.

Monday, April 23

Spent part of today working at home, revising lectures based on new materials, including trip to Guatemala. Went out to buy presents, mainly textiles. Later had a great walk with Sara. That's it!

Sunday, April 22

Thanks to an invitation from Alica's mother Sara, I was able to go with the two of them to Acteal for a memorial mass. As may be seen on the blog entry from February 18, the massacre of 47 persons, mainly women, on December 22, 1997, is commemorated by a mass on the 22nd of every month. Our host today was Father Pedro Arriaga, an old friend of Sara's who also happens to be a priest, living in San Cristobal but responsible for the municipio of Chenalho in which Acteal is located. He also lives less than a block from me, so it was easy to meet up with them for a ride in his comfy truck. On the way, he pointed out many historical features associated with violence and displacement, especially pertaining to the Zapatista struggle, and for part of the time we listed to Zapatista radio as well.

When we arrived at Acteal about 10:30, Padre Pedro had to meet with some people preparatory to the mass, so Sara, Alica and I went into the small church which was the major site of the massacre. As we sat on the church benches, looked at the statues and the crosses on the walls each inscribed with the name of one of the victims, an elder woman came in and began lighting incense. We did not know then that she would play a major part in the mass, and that her name is Juanita. After paying our respects in the church, we went to the cenotaph room below the amphitheatre-like open chapel. I noted a new mural on the largest wall, that had not been there in Februrary. More on that also. Up above, in the open chapel, a marimba band was playing, with drum and guitar backup.

The ceremony began about 11:30. About a dozen men in full traje (white shirt and shorts, black over-shirt with blue crosses sewed on, be-ribboned hats) marched in procession to the church with Padre Pedro. They lined up in front of the church and then a few went in while the rest moved slightly away. Then an equal number of women, also in full traje (blue skirt, striped and brocaded huipil, white shawl with brocade flowers, and ribbons braided in their hair) performed the same ceremony in front of the church. The men who had gone into the church then came out with flags, and others carried out musical instruments. A procession then formed which led up the concrete stairs to the conical memorial at the side of the road. The official men went first, followed by the official women, and then others. They were led by the orchestra consisting of a wood or bamboo recorder, a trumpet made to sound like a conch shell, a violin, a guitar, a harp, two drums, and a rattle. When we got to the top, the procession re-formed. As guests, Sara, Alica, and I were asked to join the procession after the official men and women, as we followed the orchestra and circumambulated the monument three times counterclockwise. Padre Pedro called this, "making the caracol (conch shell, in this case)" and asked us to use the experience to let the memory of the deceased enter our hearts.

We then descended the stairs and entered the open chapel. On the main stage-like area was an altar table, at the front of which Juanita placed a chair from which she kept renewing the incense. Three crosses were placed in front of the altar. Seats were arranged on the main floor on four sides around the altar and crosses. At the back were the leaders of the ceremony. On the right side were the offical men in full traje. On the right front was the orchestra in white traje, without the black over-shirt and hat. On the left side wsa the chorus, women in front and men behind. On the left front were the official women. The rest of us sat in the audience, with men on the right and women on the left. Many very young children, probably age 5-8, were charged with the care of babies up to 2 years old, carrying them on their backs, and entertaining them. Apparently they were filling in for their mothers, the official ladies sitting at the front. I also noticed a Spanish and a Swedish lady sitting in the audience that I had met in the workshop at Frayba the previous Monday.

The ceremony in the chapel began with a speech by the Presidente of Acteal, then us five foreigners were asked to come to the microphone and introduce ourselves, after which the chorus stood to sing a hymn in Spanish and Tzotzil. At other points in the ceremony, other guests were asked to come to the front as they arrived. These included two US couples from Colorado, a group of Italians, a religious school group mainly from wetern Mexico, and three K'iche' Maya from Guatemala.

The Abejas organization provided a speech which was then read, and we were informed that we could obtain copies in the Acteal office. The thrust of the speech was a condemnation of the policies of President Calderon, who uses force and violence. The Abejas testify that this doesn't work, that violence only breeds violence as they know only too well. Denunciations were launched against the arrests of protesters in Merida (protests against the meeting of Bush and Calderon in March), in Oaxaca, and in Atenco.

After the speeches came prayers, the censing of the crosses, reading from a Tzotzil bible, all punctuated by humns from the chorus. Padre Pedro's sermon was in Spanish but after each paragraph a man translated it into Tzotzil. Then the musicians headed a procession of "offerings" for the altar, including the wine and wafers for the ceremony, as well as buckets of huge chrysanthemums.

The ceremony with the host involved much kneeling and praying as well as standing and singing, followed by the officials leading a dance with the traditional orchestra. After this, all present shook hands with those around them, wishing each other peace, and the wafers were distributed.

The chrysanthemums were then passed out to the official men and women and to the foreign guests. Carrying the flowers, we went in procession down into the cenotaph chamber to conclude the ceremony. One of the K'iche' men, a Maya priest, gave an oration and lit candles in front of the pictures of the victims. As we again knelt, Padre Pedro performed a ceremony which I could not see, but seemed to involve holy water. Part of the ceremony was a blessing and inauguraiton of the new mural, which he said had been painted over Holy Week in early April. The names of the deceased were then recited, after which we deposited our flowers in the bucket placed in front of the memorial photos.

The ceremony then concluded, we were invited into a lunch consisting of sopa de frijoles with potatos, tortillas, and a manzanilla tea. On the ride back to San Cristobal, Padre Pedro was kind enough to stop for a minute while I took some pictures of the beautiful church painting at San Pedro Polho.

Saturday, April 21

OK, so I am only doing this out of habit. I did virtually nothing today. I went out to get food and two other errands and came home dizzy and muddled. Time for bed. Better luck tomorrow.

Friday, April 20

This afternoon we were treated to a special lecture by Professor Lucia Zambrano, who teaches at the Tuxtla Gutierrez campus of the Instituto Tecnológico de Monterrey. Her subject was a literary analysis of some of the early discourses of Subcomandante Marcos. She focused on the letters to Eduardo Galeano, Carlos Monsiváis, and a young Zapatista, considering particularly the stories of an alter ego called Durito, the pipe-smoking beetle whose real name is Nabucodonosor (Nebachanezzar). She also mentioned the character of El Viejo Alberto who acts as his conscience.

Professor Zambrano is a charismatic and entertaining speaker, often leaving us in stitches. But she also packed the lecture with considerable academic content. She introduced the talk by explaining what she considers the four core themes of Marcos' discourses: recuperation of land, autonomy, justice, and equal rights for women. She noted that the framework within which all four themes are developed is one of denunciation.

Professor Zambrano then discussed his rhetorical devices, which are varied and often include what we might consider opposite approaches in the same piece. He is frequenly ironic and joking, also poetic with ample use of metaphors. His writing can be mysterious and mythological in content, or pointedly political. It can range from the style of children's stories to densely theoretical. Breaking rules appeals to him, and in his ample use of post scripts, he sometimes includes these in the middle rather than at the end of the piece. Finally, she noted his incorporation of rhetorical devices and pacing of Indigenous expression.

Professor Zambrano also took up the issue of Marcos' position as interlocutor for the Zapatista movement, interpreting conditions in the jungle for an urban audience. She noted that his methods are distinctly postmodern, with the instant worldwide communication provided by the internet. She noted that his writing became more direct and political, hence less literary, as he came to have a major impact, to be read and discussed intensely and internationallly.

In the discussion that followed the talk, the issue of Marcos' role in the recent and contested Mexican election was raised. If he had not refused to support the (relatively) left-wing candidate, Lopez Obrador, it is thought that Calderon would have lost decisively. But instead he argued for a politics of the left outside of the current political system in Mexico. Rita noted the similarity in this aspect to the Piquetero movement of Argentina, which likewise rejects the system and thus does not support left wing party politics in that country.

The main event of the evening was a surprise birthday party for Flora and Lisane, held at the apartment shared by Erin, Valerie, and Jennifer.

Thursday, April 19

Down with a bad cold. I stayed in bed much of the day. Sneeze. Cough.

Wednesday, April 18

Today's highlight was a visit to the Casa del Cacao with a banquet and presentation by artist-chef-historian Erasto Molina, all as guests of Brent Skura and the Faculty of Land and Food Systems.

I was not able to attend this event. I will update this blog entry when I can get notes on the talk and the food.

Tuesday, April 17

Today Rita’s class began a study of Traven’s Rebellión de los Colgados (Rebellion of the Hanged). The second half of the class featured a guest speaker, anthropologist Gaspar Morquecho. Professor Morquecho’s insightful presentation concerned the history of models of labour contracts involving Indigenous peoples of Chiapas, from the period of the Porfiriato (government of Porfirio Díaz, 1876-1911) to the present, as part of the process of Modernity in Mexico. The Porfiriato, is the period during which Traven’s novel is set.

Professor Morquecho began by explaining the system of enganchados, known in English as debt peonage, during the Porfiriato, as a means of explaining the logic of capitalism. He noted that the enganchados system was used to recruit the labour force for coffee plantations and mahogany harvesting, subjecting labourers to cruel punishments as a means of increase productivity. Traven's novel deals specifically with the mahogany fincas (monterías) in the Lacandon area and the virtual enslavement of Indigenous labourers. Professor Morquecho linked the detailed description of the labour in the monterías with transnational capital and the international context of the production of the novel (1950), the Second World War.

Professor Morquecho continued with a discussion of the Cárdenas administration (1934-1940), during which capitalism in Mexico underwent the process of substitution of imports. He explained that under Cárdenas, reformism appears with attempts to control the abuses of the finqueros through the Dirección de Protección de los indios and the Sindicato de trabajadores indígenas. But landowners in hard negotiations with the government made these Indigenous protective institutions another instance of intermediaries (or new-enganchadores).

Finally, Professor Morquecho considered the present, under the paradigm known as globalization, with Mexican labour strongly affected by the wars in Central America. Since the 1980s masses of illegal workers from Guatemala mainly enter Mexico and become 'enganchados' by mestizo landowners or big corporations, paid lower wages than what would paid to a Mexican campesino. This situation gives rise to conflict among Indigenous populations from Mexico and Guatemala. Professor Morquecho also noted a phenomenon of abandonment of their small agricultural lands in search for work, whether in the construction industry, in tourist places like Cancún, or in migration to urban centers (D.F.) or abroad (U.S.), becoming enganchados of another sort.

The somber panorama drawn by Morquecho points to the continuity of a system of labour exploitation that while transforming itself and acquiring other forms, still remains profoundly based on the exploitation of the Indigenous populations. When asked if the Zapatista movement has been able to correct such situation, Morquecho underlines its novelty—that in the midst of neoliberal policies being implemented so harshly in Mexico, a group of leftists managed to break away and declare a struggle based on the historical claims of the rights of people to their lands.

When asked if there is an indigenist new literature written in one of the Indigenous languages, Professor Morquecho gave the example of Jacinto Arias, Tzotzil, from the area of Chenalhó

Monday, April 16

Today I attended the human rights workshop at the Fray Bartolomé de las Casas Human Rights Centre, also known as Frayba. The workshop leader was a Tzeltal man named Marcelino Hernandez Gomez. He spoke about some of the major concerns of Frayba, including appropriation of lands and displacement of communities, conservation of natural resources, and human rights. He talked about indigenous resistance, citing the government's electricity scam as an example, and explaining how communities resisted the vast rate hikes. As another example of resistance, he talked about communities allied with the Zapatista movement and their refusal of government aid as a means of maintaining autonomy. He also went into detail on the attempts to privatize land holdings, whih not only opens them up to transnational exploitation but undermines the consultative process that sustains communities.

Sr. Hernandez also spoke a great deal about Maya views of the world and his own experiences. He discussed a world view that is integral, with human life in its appropriate place within the cycles and structure of the natural world. He explained the three levels of the cosmos and their different attributes, all interrelated and interdependent. He emphasized the necessity to show respect both to nature but also to one's elders. But he moved on to more overtly political terms to explain that land and territory (tierra y territorio) must always be considred together. He then went on to explain his own experience, first prompted by school teachers to forego his heritage and make his way as a ladino, and then his period of recovering the value of his heritage and working within its governmental-religious system. He talked about a project of interviewing elders and collecting knowledge about plants, especially medicinal plants.

Other specific topics were also covered, including the peace camp at Huitepec ecological reserve, an area consted by the Chiapas government and the Zapatista-allied community of Ocotal; the other campaign and its second journey now underway; low intensity warfare in the Selva Lacandona and the decision of the EZLN to resist expropriation of the lands for which they have fought.

Sunday, April 15

Rita and I went to the Museo de Los Altos today, a museum operated by INAH and lodged in the monastery of Santo Domingo, the monastery that also houses the Sna Jolobil weavers' cooperative and adjoins Santo Domingo church and the artesanias market.

The displays cover primarily the history of San Cristobal. I had seen the display before and wanted Rita to see the images pertaining to the Cancuc or Tzeltal rebellion around 1714, and the Chamula rebellion or War of the Castes of 1869-70. The upstairs was closed off, but I am posting a view of the monastery courtyard from upstairs that I took on my previous visit.

We did walk around the lower level and saw an art excibition of aquatints concerning migration, including migration of Europeans into North America in the early 20th century as well as more recent migration of Mexicans into North America as undocumented labourers.

Saturday, April 14

Today has been fairly quiet but with two beneficial meetings.

At 10 am, Rita and I went to meet Professor Sophia Pincemin of the Universidad Autónoma de Chiapas. We discussed the possibility of a joint event enabling UNACH students to interact with LASOM students, possibly for the event Rita is planning for this Friday, April 20, with a guest speaker from Tuxtla Gutierrez presenting a talk on the discourses of Subcomandante Marcos. Professor Pincemin has also done considerable research on the classic Maya mural paintings of Bonampak, and we hope to arrange an event event for her to present the results to LASOM students and faculty.

At 4 pm, Brent and I went to the Casa de Cacao to arrange an event for his agriculture class, to which all LASOM participants are invited, that will take place on Wednesday, April 18. This will be a presentaiton and lunch sponsored by Brent's department.

Friday, April 13

This afternoon Rita and I took her Spanish class out to Chamula for the final session on Rosario Castellanos' social realist novel, Oficio de Tinieblas (Book of Lamentations in English Translation). The final chapters epitomize both Spanish and English Titles. The crucifixion of the child, adapted from local legends, is the crux of the Dark Ceremony referred to in the Spanish title. In the final chapter, the brutal repression of the Chamula people is reinterpreted by them as a punishment for their sins, as is the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple by the Babylonians in the Book of Lamentations of the Old Testament.

When we arrived at Chamula, we first went into the church, to see what remained of elements that were used in the celebration of Semana Santa (when the crucifixion is supposed to have taken place). We saw the huge cross, once again wrapped in cloth, as well as the glass casket in which an image of Christ is kept. The church still contained abundant white lillies for Easter and other flowers were hung over each of the cases containing the images of the saints.

We than went out to the plaza in front of the church, where the crucifixion takes place in Castellanos' re-writing of the event. We sat in a huge gazebo in the plaza, forming a circle, and began with some readings of the texts in both English and Spanish. The Spanish readings attracted some attention. Several girls of elementary school age came over while Paulina was reading. She handed them the book and one girl took over part of the reading, beaming with pride. A man who was trying to sleep off his liquor was later intrigued and joined the circle, sitting next to me. But he soon retired to the edge of the gazebo to continue his nap. We also attracted some of the young ladies selling the finger-woven belts and some small boys who thought we made an interesting setting for their play-time. Despite all these distractions, the discussion of the book was quite good, both of its conclusion and a general discussion of its use of social realism.

We gave the students some shopping time in the many souvenir and clothing stalls (I bought fruit for the evening in the plaza market) and then returned to San Cristobal. Brent joined us for supper, featuring Rita's famous moussaka among other treats.

Thursday, April 12

Tzajal Hemel




Tzajal Ch'en

Brent came last night about 11:40, tired after marking exams and long plane flights, but he was raring to go this morning to meet the class. I took him over to Jovel and then left.

Before noon, Rita and I set out for Chamula to make some decisions on where to hold the class tomorrow afternoon. Once we had done this, we decided to ask about visiting Tzajal Hemel, the paraje that figures so strongly in Castellanos' account of the 1869-70 caste war of Chiapas. We asked some officials gathered in front of the municipal hall or cabildo, but they had not heard of the location. We also asked taxi drivers and got the same response. So we went upstairs in the cabildo to talk to an officer. He showed us his map of the parajes (rural communities) of Chamula but Tzajal Hemel is not listed on it. We decided to xerox his map and then compare it back home with a published map that does show Tzajal Hemel. But when we finished the xerox a taxi driver came up to us and asked if we were still interested in visiting Tzajal Hemel, saying he came from near that area and knew where it was. So we went with him up the main highway towards Chenalho, taking a dirt road cutoff, and stopping in front of a cliff where a landslide revealed bare read earth. This is indeed the meaning of Tzajal (red) Jemel (landslide). We did not see the community: the driver was extremely vague about this, saying that we were on the appropriate land and there were a few houses below. We didn't know whether the community had largely moved or been deserted, whether he just didn't know, or whether he was being purposely evasive.

Our driver stopped some ladies on the road and talked to them in Tzotzil. He then told us that he had asked if there was a cave in Tzajal Hemel (since it figures so prominently in the novel) but that they had said thaey didn't know of any cave.

However, the driver mentioned that there is a cave called Tzajal Ch'en (red cave) near Chamula which is sacred, often visited, used by ilols for good or ill, and offered to take us to it. The cave is indeed very close to Chamula, perhaps a kilometer from the town centre, on the upper flank of a small, rocky hill. One can only walk into a cave for a couple of meters, and then it becomes so low that one would have to crouch, crawl, or kneel. Apparently it goes a good deal further into the hillside but we did not investigate it. We then returned to Chamula and caught a combi back to San Cristobal.

Wednesday, April 11

Today was the last Maya class. After daily classes for 7 weeks, this is quite a shift. But we went out with a bang. The subject today was highland Maya weaving, and we spent the first half of the class with a show-and-tell. Several students bought textiles, as did I, and I managed to cover much of the information just using them as examples. After the break we discussed three articles that in different ways discussed the social, political, and economic contexts within which the textiles are made and exchanged in Guatemala. Each author (all women) also emphasized women's agency in determining how their weaving will change rather than depicting them as passive victims of oppression and market forces.

In the afternoon I attended Rita's class again, since the class is still working through the Castellanos book and I love Rita's arguments and the intense class discussions. I probably put in my oar too often, though. We had a wonderful discussion of the feminist reading of the book and Rita explained how it exemplified a Latin American feminism rather than the North American variety. There is never enough time to plumb the depths of this rich, thoughtful, conscientious and beautifully written text.

In the evening I stopped in at Matea and Paulina's apartment for the going-away party for James, who is finished with his courses and going to meet Joshua in Oaxaca. We also celebrated Maria Luisa's acceptance into the BFA program in theatre at UBC, which is quite a coup for her and she is, of course, absolutely thrilled.

Brent is due to arrive tonight and begin his class tomorrow. So much happens so fast here!

Tuesday, April 10

Today was our excursion to Amatenango del Valle. Our guide was June Nash, anthropologist extraordinaire, who has been connected with this town of potters for half a century. Nash is also the author of an incomparably brilliant book on the current political situation of the Indigenous people of Chiapas entitled: Mayan Visions, The Quest for Autonomy in an Age of Globalization.

Despite her expertise, Nash is soft-spoken and unassuming. This has probably helped her build very close personal relationships with potters whom she has known for decades. When she spoke to the group, she maintained that soft charisma, explaining aspects of history, politics, and technique concerning Amatenango potters.

It took about an hour to get to Amatenango from San Cristobal and we went straight to the Presidente's office to announce the purporse of our visit. He was not able to see us but we had made an appropriate effort. We then went into the church and June showed how images of two very important saints to the Amantecas had been reinterpreted and given local stories. These were San Pedro Martyr with a cleaver in his head, and Santa Lucia holding her eyes on a plate. I mentioned these in an earlier posting in which June took Rita and myself to Amatenango to plan today's excursion.

We then went to see Juan Bautista who is leading a local program in bilingual education (Tzeltal and Spanish) but he had been called away. So instead we visited some potters' households and in some cases watched them work. In one studio we were able to watch one woman form the base of a pot with the coiling method. The clay is worked very wet, so when the pot reaches a certain height it must be allowed to dry before a higher wall is built up. Meanwhile her sister, Victoria Gomez Perez, was making the tiny animal figurines or animalitos. They also took us to their back yard to see where they fire the pottery and talked about the procedure.

Other exceptional visits included the family of a Alberto Gomez Kut-Saban who makes high-end market ceramics, espcially huge jaguars a meter long. Last time we were there, he was packing some of these up for shipping to Chicago. Alberto was not there, but we talked to his son, Ramon, who is studying anthropology at the Indigenous university in San Cristobal. We also met his teacher, Professor Sophia Pincemin, at their house.

Finally we stopped in at the house of the woman who is closest to June and is her "comadre." Carmela Lopez de Leon is just as delightful as June and they had a warm conversation while younger members of the extended family brought out pottery for students to buy. Many did by things, including doves, roosters, and piggy-banks. In the earlier posting I mentioned that Carmela had been at a curing ceremony for a girl, now 4, who had been very sick and could not be diagnosed by western medecine. She is not better, and her illness is now more apparent, though I won't comment on it.

We headed off to nearby Teopisca for lunch, with most of us at a restaurant that June enjoys. She helped the waiters rearrange the tables so we could sit around a square and all talk to each other: as usual, June fosters community discussion. I felt privileged to sit next to her and talk, although it is not the first time I have had the opportunity, since her house in San Cristobal is only a block from our apartment.

During lunch one of the drivers informed me that it was now too late to go to the ancient site of Chinkultik, as it is two hours distant and closes at 4:30. They also suggested that we could not get to Tenam Puente, another site that is easier to reach, but it seems they were not telling the truth in this case. However, I had not been to either site and could not judge, so I gave up on that. Instead, we took advantage of the time to go to the waterfall of El Chiflon, an hour distant. Two thirds of the class actually returned to San Cristobal to work on homework, while the other third of us took one van to the waterfall. The water was very cold and the current very strong but it was very refreshing. As usual, James led a group (Alica, Peggy, and Tina) in doing stunts involving jumping into the water from overhanging trees. Kids these days!

Monday, April 9

In class today we discussed classic Maya figurines. We looked at differences in technique, theme and function between the usual Maya household figurines and the specialized figurines found in burials at Jaina. The class ended with a long discussion of Ruscheinsky’s thesis on the gendered and gendering discourse of figurines and consideration of the musical function of many figurines in relation to the most widespread themes.

Rita came back from Argentina in the early afternoon, glowing with reports of her book launch that involved a panel of major figures in the literary scene, including the writer who is the subject of her book. She also showed the full page newspaper spread with a photograph of her and a long interview about the direction and thesis of her book.

Sunday, April 8

The ride back to San Cristobal was relatively uneventful, except that Rhett was quite ill. Although we had to wait a half hour for another passenger coming from San Pedro, we still made it back to San Cristobal at 3 pm. San Cristobal is now into its annual, week-long fair and we passed a street with large floats from a parade that had ended. We got fairly close to our house and were let off.

I checked my email and then headed to the market for some food. On the way back, I stopped in at June Nash’s house to check on arrangements for Tuesday’s day trip to Amatenango del Valle. She was being visited by Robert Benfer, an archaeologist who works in Peru, and his wife, Louella, a linguist who works with Tojolabal communities in Chiapas. Bob mainly talked about his experiences in Peru and the politics there. He was the excavator of the famous Temple of the Fox, containing beautiful sculptures from around 2000 b.c.e. Fortunately I had my computer with me and showed June and her husband Frank the photographs of these sculptures that I had taken from the web.

Saturday, April 7

Ewan and I were at the procession before 5 am. It was progressing along the most important spot, in front of the mayor’s and city government offices. A sort of piñata had been hung from one of the arbours, and when the urna passed under it, ropes were pulled to open it up and scatter green confetti over the urna. A very nice touch.

As the urna turned eastward to return to the church, we left the procession and took up positions at the top of the church steps to watch it come up. By this time Andrés, my official photographer, had joined us, and got a wonderful photo of the urna ascending the church steps. Once it was inside, I took up another position in front of the monumento, so I could see the urna progress along the central axis of the church. The effect of the urna entering the church at dawn, with the light and volcano seen through the door (the church directly faces San Pedro volcano) was spectacular. At the middle of the nave, the urna turned around, an impressively stately maneuver, and then was brought up to the head of the church and finally set down after its 15 hour journey. Most traditionalists left the church at this point. For them, the transformation was now complete. The Maize is reborn and the world is remade. Some Catholics immediately began coming along side the urna to pray.

We noticed at this time that while San Juan Carajo returned to the church with the urna, Maria Andolor was not with them. Sara asked about this and found that Maria Andolor had gone to the cofradía Santiago Apostol, where it was being celebrated with a live band, (and from which it would be returned in procession in late afternoon, I later learned from Andrew). Sara was told that we would be welcomed and so we set out, asking directions. These got confusing at one point, but Ewan noticed the table on which Maria Andolor had been carried, sitting in the back yard of a house from which music blared. We figured this was the place and climbed through the yard, where we were ushered into the small cofradía room. We saw Maria Andolor set up next to Santiago (on his horse) on one end of the cofradía room, and San Nicolas set up in the group at the other end. Below San Nicolas was a mask of Rilaj Mam (Maximon) with his hat, scarf, and cigar. Andrew later explained that new masks are made for the Mam every year, and that a house that has hosted Cofradía Santa Cruz and the Mam gets to keep the mask. The rafters had the usual multicoloured hanging decorations along with balloons. In the next room the band was playing: a marimba, three saxophones, drum, and a singer with a metal rasp. The microphone was hooked up to speakers the size of volkswagons. Deafening.

In the cofradía room, we were told that pictures were fine if we made donations, and we also donated to the acquisition of liquor: brandy this time. I had a shot and I assume the others did also, but Ewan said they seemed to really like him and gave him four shots of the brandy. Partly this was because he was such a good sport about joining in the dancing. The dancing is male-male, male-female, female-female. Drunk men seem to particularly like dancing with other men. Ewan and I both had that privilege, as well as dancing with a pair of women. But even they in their politeness pointed out that I was hopeless and what I was doing could not be called dancing! Amen to that. After this polite rebuff I decided to go out of the room and watch the band. I noticed the Telinel we had visited the night before, sitting in the yard, still sadly in his cups and sharing his grief with those who would listen. He seemed so much less charismatic on the margins of this event than he had the night before as the centre of our attention.

It was now around noon, and some went off to lunch. Ewan, Andrés and I headed to Santa Cruz Cofradía, where Rilaj Mam is kept, and to see their other statues, including a Cristo Sepultado in a glass coffin. When we got there, we were shown a picture of the alcalde (the cofradía head) next to Rilaj Mam, and told that he would be resting in the loft for two days (every Santa Cruz Cofradía must have a loft built to house the Mam when he rests).

As we headed back to the plaza, we ran into Andrew. He advised me that he had arranged for us to go to the San Juan Cofradía later that day to see the Martin bundle danced. We would meet at 2:30 at a restaurant. We had about an hour and decided to hunt up another cofradía. I thought I might be able to find San José from the night before but couldn’t. We stopped an elderly gentleman and asked directions. He offered to take us to the Cofradía San Antonio for a small fee, and we accepted. The cofradía was located on the saddest street I have ever seen. The only men around were staggering drunk. One man was lying face down, unconscious, his body covered with flies. We did not know if he was alive. There was nothing we could do, and this street was not a place to hang around, so we entered the cofradía. The alcalde was not in, so there was no beer-drinking or dancing, but we made a donation and took some photographs of the statues and many relics that decorated the altar and the platform in front of it.

We then headed to the Pescador restaurant to meet Andrew and the other students who would be coming with us: Erin, Tina, Maria Louisa and Rhett. Diego Chavez was there and stopped to say hello. He told me that he had been up all night with the urna procession and then had just 2 hours sleep before he was called upon to go to a nearby low peak called Cerro de Oro, to participate in ceremonies. He explained that the heavy rain on Thursday would have required cancellation of the urna procession if it came on Friday, so many traditionalist priests had gone to do ceremonies in four caves to ask that the rains be held back. Indeed they were, and the procession of course came off beautifully, so they needed to go back on Saturday to give appropriate thanks in other caves.

Andrew then came and had a coffee, after which we went to San Juan Cofradía. This was a very special invitation. The cofradía houses the Martín bundle, perhaps the most sacred and powerful object in Santiago Atitlán. We might call Martín a deity, and one who pre-exists the saints and creation. During his ceremony, doors and windows must be fastened shut, as his power unleashed could destroy the world. The cofradía was beautifully clean: trash was carefully placed in a bag hanging on the wall, from which Andrew noted it must be ceremonially disposed of. The altar contained the famous statue of San Juan Bautista holding his sheep attribute, but the sheep is painted with spots to turn it into a jaguar, since Martín is, among other things, a patron of the hunt. At the other end of the room is the table containing the deer heads and skins for the deer dance in which the hunt is a metaphor for the destruction of the Martín-as-Sun before his re-creation. Behind the altar statues was a black oilcloth, behind which Andrew suspected was a colonial period religious painting. On the platform in front were arranged the bundle of Martín on the right, and one of the Maria’s on the left. The persons there could not say which Maria. The problem is that the alcalde of the cofradía was sick in bed, and the Nab’eysil, the celibate priest who embodies Martín, had died and had not yet been replaced. Another priest would carry out the ceremony.

The Martín bundle is an elaborate green cloth containing (perhaps among other things), shirts of previous Nab’eysils. Normally the Nab’eysil puts one of these on for dancing the Martín out of his chest, remaking the world, being reborn as the Maize, and returning the bundle to the chest. Andrew suspects that the shirts may go back to colonial times. The Maria bundle is a tiny fancy cushion to witch are attached three porcelain angel heads. Each of the bundles has a carved chest, with Martin’s on the left, and Maria’s suspended from the ceiling at the right. On the altar next to San Juan is a small glass case holding Yaxper, a female deity whose statue was probably originally a porcelain archangel but now dressed in Atiteco women’s clothing.

When the doors and windows were closed, each of us was given a lit candle. Formerly this would be the only light, but a florescent light was now turned on so all could be seen clearly. The leading priest danced the Martin bundle while his assistant danced behind with a small carved animal. Music was provided by a tape deck as well as the alcalde’s wife (the Tixel) playing a slit gong. After the dance all of us payed homage by kissing the Martín bundle and the animal, then they were returned to Martín’s chest. Then the leading priest danced the Maria bundle while his assistant carried two crosses. A young man entered at this point and took over the slit gong for this dance. We kissed the bundles and crosses and then they were returned to the Maria chest. Then the doors and windows were opened and we relaxed with the usual beer drinking ritual and dance.

It was now after 5 pm, so we took our leave of the cofradía and then of Andrew, collected our luggage, and made our way to the wharf for the lake crossing back to Panajachel. On the way we followed Andrew’s instructions and stopped in at a shop on “Gringo Alley” to see the pre-Hispanic pottery and figurines for sale. Then a calm lake crossing, looking for the hotel, finding it and also finding a big problem. The owner had mistakenly written down that we were coming on Sunday rather than Saturday and did not have enough rooms. So most of us ended up sharing beds.

Friday, April 6, Part II

The most spectacular part of the Semana Santa celebration at Santiago Atitlán, as elsewhere probably, is the procession of the urna carrying the image of Christo Sepultado over the alfombra (sawdust carpet) around the ritual circuit. In this circuit it passes “shrines” at the four corners, and in so-doing remakes the world by re-instating its spatial order. The urna (coffin and platform) is quite heavy, so that even though over sixty young men (in their late teens) were packed together to carry it, they seemed to struggle. Every minute or so the urna would slip down the shoulders of carriers on one side and have to be hoisted back up. The strain was obvious and that added to the power of the process. Also the fact that it lasts about 15 hours. The families of the young men pay for the privilege of carrying the urna, and although one team could probably survive the ordeal, there are so many who want to undergo this rite of manhood that two teams are assembled, and a change is made in the middle of the night. The carriers include members of traditionalist as well as Catholic families, and probably Evangelicals as well. The ritual is an example of the symbiotic collaboration of traditionalist and Catholic that is required to pull off this five day event.

As the church was packed for the mass, I did not try to get inside to see the image of Christ removed form the cross and placed in the urna’s coffin. Instead Ewan and I followed Allen Christenson’s suggestion and climbed the platform of the cross in the church plaza for a direct view of the urna leaving the church, descending the stairs, and crossing the plaza. We were packed in with many Atitecos, mostly women and children, who had also come early for a good view. Among us were bags of excess sawdust from the alfombra across the plaza.

By 3:45 we could see the urna in the doorway of the church. How long it had taken to move the few meters from its original position to the door I can’t say. The descent of the church steps was swift, but then began the incredibly slow progress of forward and backward motion. As the urna cleared the church steps also, the steps were occupied by the men with the giant candles who had been carefully tending them at the sides of the nave since their lighting in early morning. The effect of the brilliantly decorated urn and brightly dressed carriers against the candle covered steps is spectacularly beautiful. Also, the whole route of the procession is dotted with arbours hung with evergreen and some of the fruit brought from the coast to decorate the monumento. And some of these arbours help frame this view. Added to the event was the band that had been playing on the porch of the church since the previous day, but was now moving along with the urna. In front of the Urna stood a group of ritualists including two, dressed as Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea who bury Christ, and who were responsible for reading or chanting from a book. One of the two was soused. And finally, as the urna passed, turning the carpet designs into just a swirl of colour, children ran in behind and scooped up the coloured sawdust.

Within the next hour, the urna’s companions, the statues of Maria Andolor and San Juan Carajo, had also appeared in the church door and slowly descended the steps. At about 4:55, Rilaj Mam entered into the crowd from his chapel to the north of the processional. He took his place between the urna and Maria Andolor but just stood there without dancing. After less than half an hour, (the urna moving only about 3 meters), the Mam turned around once and dashed ahead of the urna, descending the plaza steps, and running all the way back to his home in Cofradía Santa Cruz.

This was “una verguenza” ( a shame) because Rilaj Mam is supposed to either confront or accompany the urna for the whole time it is in the church plaza (until about 8 pm). In terms of Maya agricultural symbolism, the reborn Maize represented by the Christ-as-Maize is now able to defeat the Lord of the Underworld (Rilaj Mam) before he re-creates the cosmos. So it was not a good thing that Rilaj Mam deserted the field without putting up any resistance or even honouring the Christ-as-Maize by accompanying him. Andrew explained the problem to me. The man who carries Rilaj Mam is called the Telinel. A person usually becomes Telinel for a year. But this year, three Telinels had been selected and had to resign. The man who carried him today was not a Telinel, but only a man in the cofradía who had to take his place and was not spiritually prepared for the burden. The result was both predictable and shameful. Andrew suggested that the interpretation Atitecos would apply was that Rilaj Mam knew the carrier was not spiritually qualified and gave him a hard time, so that he could not bear to continue. More on this later.

Once the procession passed the cross platform (about two hours after it had appeared in the church door), I decided to walk around a bit and check on the progress of the alfombras. The last two sections had very complicated pre-Hispanic motifs and I was anxious to see how they were coming along. I ran into Andrew who was with Diego Chavez, son of the artist Nicolas Chavez at whose designs I was looking. On the day before I had asked about seeing Maria Castelyan, the female counterpart to Rilaj Mam, who I had not been able to identify from photographs of Cofradía Santa Cruz that Allen had sent me. Andrew had explained that she was not now in Cofradía Santa Cruz, but was being held back by the last Telinel to resign the post. I had told Andrew that I was anxious to see here, and now that he was with Diego Chavez he said it would be a good time.

So off we went to the former Cofradía Santa Cruz, climbing up city streets and into narrower and narrower alleys, the last being less than a meter wide. Then across a rocky space and we were at his house (I didn’t find out his name, as Andrew simply addressed him as Telinel). By this time two other men were with us, so the five of us sat on the two benches in the tiny room with the sacred image. The Telinel’s wife sat on one of the benches, and a chair was brought for the Telinel to sit between us. Andrew is very careful to show respect for Atiteco traditions by following devotional procedures, so he carefully offered a devotion to Maria Castelyan. She is a reclining figure, about 50 centimeters long, with a similar mask to Rilaj Mam’s and also smoking a cigarette. I gather that like Rilaj Mam, her body is a framework to which the cloths and mask are attached. Sh reclined within a glass case on the top of a platform that filled the far wall of the narrow room, opposite the Telinel’s seat. The floor of the room was covered in pine needles, and the rafters also decorated.

As customary, I and others contributed some funds so that beer could be brought and ceremonially shared. The Telinel opened the beer bottles on the edge of the wood platform under Maria Castelyan, which caused some merriment. Then one of the men with us took the duty of pouring the beer. Only two glasses were used, which had to be shared. Persons were handed the glasses according to status and age. The Telinel and his wife were first, then Andrew and me. The Telinel offered some beer on the altar platform and to the earth on the pine needle-covered floor. Then all the others present are saluted and respond appropriately. Andrew also offered some beer to the earth. He first saluted the Telinel and his wife and then the others. At least part of the salute (the only part I learned) was basically “thank you” (matiox). I felt incredibly clumsy an ignorant but Andrew was encouraging.

The visit to this cofradía took more than an hour, during which the Telinel, speaking in Tzutujil, told his sad story about how he had had to resign his post. What I gather from Diego Chavez’s brief explanation in Spanish is that he had been accused of embezzling the funds donated to Rilaj Mam. It may have been others who did it, but he was blamed and had to resign. He was extremely sad, and as he had been drinking for a while before we came, he used our presence to unburden himself. Although I could not understand a word, I was struck by his oratorical style and paid close attention to his tone and gestures.

When the talk was over and the beer finished, we took our leave and walked back into the centre of town. We stopped into the Cofradía San José, which is very near the church. They were happy to have more guests. The band from the church and procession was there, and Andrew found that a young entrepreneur named Nicolas had hired and paid for the band, and that he had brought the band to this minor cofradía along with several previous telinels, considered heavyweights in Atiteco society. This was quite a coup and Nicolas was clearly a rising star on the Atiteco firmament. At this cofradía, some men were quite drunk. We saw this at other cofradías but in general when they get drunk they get friendly rather than violent. Very friendly. They like to dance in the cofradías, and many, including Andrew, danced to the band Nicolas had brought.

When we left the cofradía, we headed to the processional route to watch the progress of the urna. We crossed an intersection which, unlike the carpeted areas, was not roped off. The crowd was enormous, so there was not much room to maneuver for watching. I noticed from the identity of the carriers that at some point since I had left the urna at the edge of the church plaza, that it had turned around. This probably happened when it entered the processional route.

We watched the urna come into the intersection and then noted that the rope enclosing the next section of carpet, an uphill slope, was not lowered for them. Andrew found out that this was because officials had figured out appropriate times to enter each section, in order to make sure that the conclusion of the procession would come at dawn. The urna was early, and for a half hour it moved and swayed back and forth in the small intersection. We were right up next to the urna, which gave me a chance to understand more about its power. With its considerable weight and more than sixty carriers, it seems to have a mind of its own. A slight movement becomes magnified and it may course forward, backwards, or to the side for a good bit before the movement is counteracted. At one point it surged toward us and the crowd behind us, and we had to surge as well to avoid something serious. The urna and its carriers were just a couple of centimeters from my face before it surged to the other side. When the time was right, the rope was lowered and the urna began climbing the uphill slope.

It was about 9:30 pm and people were ready to eat. While Andrew and Diego headed to a restaurant, I went to the market to get some bananas, then returned to the hotel planning to rest, especially since my dental problem had worsened. My roommates were gone with the key, so I looked around on the streets for them, thinking they might also be getting something to eat or drink. I saw Diego Chavez checking out the progress of his father’s carpet designs. No luck, so I returned to the hotel. After a while, Maria Louisa came in, wanting to get another video tape, and took me back to where my roommates were watching the urna progression. They decided to come back as well (Maria Louisa stayed to film more). It was now after 11 and I set the alarm for 4:45 so that we could see the end of the procession and the return to the church at dawn.

Friday, April 6, Part I

I was back at the main street by 5:15 am, (Ewan joined me within 5 minutes, and Sara shortly after) by which time Christ and Mary had drawn fairly close. There was a much larger crowd than during the night when I had let. I saw the statues draw closer and then meet and join in procession back into the church, about 5:30. Christ was left in front of the monumento, without his cross, while San Juan Carajo and Maria Andolor were placed near the Maria altar. I didn’t know it yet, but San Nicolas had been taken to the cofradía of Santiago Apostol.

When the statues are deposited, a new ceremony develops. Huge foil-decorated candles are carried in by persons, mostly men, moving on their knees the whole length of the church and onto the mat, up to the pillow. They lay the candle on the pillow in both directions (vertical then horizontal) then put a donation in one of the plates, and carry it behind to where a priest has opened the sacred navel hole. Groups of candles are placed into the hold while the priest prays and lectures to the holders. These are mainly male heads of families and older boys who will be tending the candles for more than 24 hours before they take them to their homes or to cofradías where they will burn for weeks in some cases (all of this and most other information from generous Andrew Weeks). I did see few women, whom I would assume are widows. Some of the candles came as arrangements carried on platforms. After the candles are blessed in the navel, their holders line the sides of the church nave and light them. I see this as the reverse of the candelabra ritual the night before, which signified the death of Christ/Maize, now replaced by his rebirth after the nighttime insemination. This ceremony of bringing and blessing the candles took about 2 hours.

About 7:30 am, the preparation of the cross began, A tall cross wrapped in white cloth was removed from the wall next to the Christ retablo and laid, with its top raised on a table, on the long mat where the ritual of placing the candles on the pillow had just taken place. Over the next several hours the articulated statue of Christo Sepultado was removed, by men of the Cofradía Santa Cruz, from the glass coffin near the base of the Christ Retablo and placed on the cross. His arms and feet were bound to it. New plastic flowers were used to replace those of the horizontal arms of the cross and Christ’s crown of flowers. His lower torso was dressed in a powder blue shroud to which were sewn dozens of plastic flowers. While this decoration goes on, a procession of men and women comes on their knees beside the cross to offer their devotions to the head of Christ. Meanwhile the coffin on the urna was being readied with a new mattress, blankets, flowers, all thoroughly perfumed with deodorant sprays.

Interrupting this procedure was a Catholic group with priest and loudspeaker, first making a stand in the church plaza and then entering the church with a small statue of Christ carrying the cross. The catholic Atitecos knelt and prayed in unison, singing hymns.

Also taking place at the same time, beginning around 9am, was the laying of the coloured sawdust carpets that decorate most of the ritual route (8 long blocks). One could see the leaders with coloured drawings of the designs that had been approved by a committee, and several helpers using piles of coloured sawdust drawn from huge bags with metal basins. Some of the repeated patterns were created with cut wood stensils, and many others were drawn out by the leaders. Each block-long segment is assigned to a specific person/artist, with the final examples at the end of the circuit being particularly high in prestige. The last segment is given to an alcalde, and the second last by the famous Ateteco artist, Nicolas Chavez, to whom Andrew introduced me that morning.

By 1pm, the image of Christ on the Cross is ready to be raised. Eight long poles with cloth-wrapped forks are used to lift it into place and set it into the navel whole. Two ladders are placed against it, and two sacristans climb the ladders and bind them to the arms of the cross with cloths. It is important to note that the traditionalists and Catholics apparently see this raising of Christ on the cross in two different ways. This is Good Friday, so the Catholics see it as representing the crucifixion, when Christ dies, to be reborn on Easter Sunday. For traditionalist, Christ-as-Maize was already reborn after the night-time insemination and the dawn lighting of the candles. So when he is raised in the whole that represents the navel of the world, he is the Maize as world tree, raising the sky.

While traditionalists and Catholics may see the image of Christ on the Cross in very different ways, it should be noted that this part of the ritual, like many others, requires a symbiotic collaboration of traditionalist and Catholic. Before the Catholics can have a mass for their crucified Christ, they must rely on the traditionalists of the Cofradía Santa Cruz (Holy Cross) to ritually prepare the image of Christ and bind it to the cross which they have also decorated.

When the cross has been raised, the traditionalists leave and Catholics crowd the church for a mass. I took the time to look in on Rilaj Mam again and to walk the ritual circuit to see the progress of the “alfombras” or sawdust carpets. They had been started largely in the order that they would be crossed by the urna or coffin of Christ, so those nearest the church entrance were almost finished, while those near the end of the circuit had barely begun; they would not be reached by the urna until early the next morning. Men with water tanks on their backs came around continually to soak the carpets with water to keep the wind from blowing the sawdust away. This process blurred the edges but did help preserve the carpets.

Thursday, April 5

For our Guatemala trip we met at project central for a briefing at 7:30, distributing the instructions that Allen Christenson had so generously typed and sent through email, then left on two vans at 8 for the border. There were few hassles at the border and we changed vans for the Guatemala portion. We stopped at the crossroads between Totonicapan and Xela (Quetzaltenango) to get money from ATMs and then continued on to Solola. There we ha to wait for 45 minutes outside a university campus, formerly a notorious military camp and torture centre identified by a giant boot at the front. We were waiting to deliver a passenger to another van headed for Antigua. By the time we arrived at Panajachel it was late and pouring rain. The manager of the vans offered to have us taken to the launches, and there a driver arranged for a private launch at only a small amount over the usual fee per person. We crossed the lake largely in the rain: those up front got a soaking despite being handed a tarp after a while. We arrived at the hotel around 6:30 and checked in, after which I hurried to the church to see the ceremonies.

I was hoping to see the end of the “last supper” with the 12 children as apostles, but it had apparently been cancelled because the new priest, who is antagonistic to traditional Maya religion, refused to bless the food. But this gave me a chance to look around. I went first to see the “monumento,” the additional retablo set up against the central retablo of the church, made to look like a mountain to represent the mountain of abundance. The armature is made of old carved spiraling columns rescued from long deteriorated retablos from the side of the nave. These are connected with a network of ropes demonstrating that the world is created in part through an act of weaving. Hung onto the network were the fruits and flowers that young men had brought from the coast earlier in the week. Each fruit was decorated with coloured strips of tin foil. The monumento extends outward in triangular sections at the side, instead decorated with palm and evergreen fronds. This, and flat carved panels of scrolls at the top, emphasize the mountain shape of the monumento. The monumento has a doorway left into it, signifying the cave into Flower Mountain or the mountain of abundance and renewal, but through this door could be seen the statue of Santiago, the patron saint of Santiago Atitlán, The Christ retablo to the right was covered with a sheet, as Christ, the Maize, is now in the underworld for the 5 transitional days when his alter-ego, Rilaj Mam or Maximon, rules. Only the Mary retablo, at the right, was completely visible.

Along the central axis of the nave, and near the “navel hole” in the church, were set up five saint statues on tables. Three of these would be the most prominent in the night’s outside performance: Christ carrying a cross, Mary of Sorrows (called Maria Andolor), and San Juan Carajo (St. John the Prick). The other two were San Nicolas and Christ of the Palm Sunday, riding a donkey.

In front of the five statues was a mat with a pillow and offering plates on it, flanked by two benches, I suppose set up for the last supper that didn’t happen. Also along the central axis of the church but nearer the entrance the great triangular wood candelabra was set up, with some candles in it that were going out. More of this later. In one front corner of the church, the urna or coffin and platform for Christ was already lit up with Christmas lights and attracting attention. I also took the time to leave the church and go into the chapel nearby where Rilaj Mam or Maximon was set up as ruler for the time that Christ-as-Maize is in the underworld. He is placed on a cut section of a tree, as a way to perpetuate the earlier tradition, forbidden by the catholics, when he was placed on the monumento.

The candelabra ceremony started about 8 pm. A religious functionary took charge of lighting the candles, which must be done in specific order from top to bottom. When each was half burned, they were replaced, also in a specific order. He put each candle out with a “snuffer” kept in a bucket of water. Behind this man was another constantly swinging and renewing an incense container, which is great because the pom or copal smells wonderful (piney). Standing on the other side of the candelabra were two sacristans who chanted from antique books, with texts largely in Latin. One political leader, the head of the cabecera of Santiago Atitlán, sat at the centre of the central bench, on the other side of the sacristans, and facing the candelabra. Along the sides were various people, including some tourists that a guide shoved into the seats. In one interpretation, the candelabra, and especially the top candle, represent Christ-as-Maize, and when it is finally snuffed out, it represents the death of the Maize in the underworld that prepares for his rebirth.

While I was standing and watching the ceremony, a non-Maya gentleman asked if this was my first time seeing Semana Santa at Santiago Atitlán, which I readily admitted. I asked him the same question and he replied that he had seen it several times, since he was making a documentary on the ceremony. I figured at once this was Andrew Weeks and addressed him as such, introducing myself as well. This was a very good thing, because over the next 48 hours he spent a huge amount of time with me, explaining things and taking me around to places that I will mention later. I had noticed several important-looking men with staffs and cloths wrapped around their hair had gone in procession to the benches around the mat near the statues, farther up the nave. He took a look and explained that this was a fairly grave political situation. All of those men are “alcaldes” or heads of the cofradías, the religious brotherhoods operated by Maya traditionalists, and they really should be sitting on the benches around the candelabra. Andrew noted that among them was a man who had been named as the “cabecera” or “mayor” in competition with the official one, seated with the candelabra. This new cabecera and his alcalde supporters were thus snubbing the old cabecera who sat largely unsupported.

About 10 pm, people started refurbishing some of the statues that would be taken into the street for the night’s performance. The flowers on Christ’s cross were renewed. Palm fronds were woven to make a new “hat” for San Juan Carajo. Several men crowded around San Juan to help bind the statue to the table-like litter on which he would be carried. The binding must be firm because he is raced back and forth along the main street all night. More later. As Andrew predicted, lots of adolescent males crowded around the statue, having their say and trying to get involved. The carrying of San Juan is something of a mark of male prowess and these adolescents were strutting their stuff.

By midnight, the statues were ready to be taken into the street; all but the Palm Sunday Christ. The procession descended the church steps, crossed the church plaza westwards, descended the plaza steps, and entered on the main north-south street. It turned south and at the first corner of the circuit, deposited the statue of Maria Andolor at a shrine that had been set up with several religious functionaries attending her. The procession continued eastward along the ritual circuit, climbing up a rise, then turning north at the corner, continuing along behind the church plaza to the third corner, turning back west to the fourth corner at the main street again, where Christ and Nicholas were deposited. Then San Juan Carajo began his famous “corrida” in which he runs back and forth along the main north-south street between Christ-as-Maize and Maria Andolor. At the Maria Andolor station, the bearers of San Juan Carajo thrust the statue upward twice while they hoot. The explanation, made clear to anthropologists by Atitecos, is that Christ-as-Maize is inseminating Mary-as-Earth in order to be reborn. However, when San Juan Caracol gets to the Christ station, he is also thrust upward with hoots, as is San Nicolas who accompanies Christ. I stood near the Maria much of the time, listening to Christmas carols played on the Christmas lights strung over the street for decoration.

I watched this action until about 2:30. I knew that the Christ and Maria statues were supposed to draw together during the night, but by this time they hadn’t moved. I decided to get 2 hours sleep and then return in the morning.