Week 13: Moving on

By Caitlin Reed

Today I gave my presentation on The Queer God, by Marcella Arleuas-Reed. Everyone gave a presentation on a different book about “first-world” liberation theologies. It was kind of hard to do because everyone is excited getting ready to go to El Salvador - we are leaving tomorrow morning. My head feels like this week has been three weeks because so much change has happened. We began the week still in our homestays. I personally love (ed) my homestay because I was staying with a woman who is a dance teacher and since we both love to dance, we were able to connect in a lot of great ways. She and her family live in Ahuatlán, forty minutes from CEMAL on the ruta 3. The first time I went there I felt like I was going far away because it is enough away from the city that there are barrancas and fields. In the mornings the bus follows the horizon lines of mountains while the color for the day is still working itself out. From my morning bus rides, I have also discovered that some of my favourite 6 AM morning smells are hair gel and perfume or cologne because by afternoon or even late morning the smells have washed away into the seats of the bus, and other people come in and sit on the smells until finally they are so everywhere that they can’t be smelled anywhere.

We ended our homestays with a convivio on Wednesday night where the students who did independent study presented their projects. I was one of these students. We began our presentation by coming out and lighting three candles then Tannia said a prayer or offering before she began her monologues. All of her carried through her voice, and some people felt her and cried or smiled softly. I smiled softly because I love to see her express herself and am excited to listen. After Tannia was finished, I presented my project which is on danza folklorico, something I am involved in at my university in California. For my project I talked about the evolution and modernization of the different danzas and bailes, and then I performed two songs:“La Cabeza del Cochino” de Yucatan and “La Faceta” de Chihuahua. I was very nervous to perform. Very. But after I finished speaking and began dancing I became more calm AND nervous! The kind of calm that makes you happy and the kind of nervous that makes your steps tight—exactly the right kinds, and immediately I wished the two dances I was worried about before could turn into ten. That’s how good it is when you finally perform.

After me was my gatito Christy - she did performance art and it was hanging in the air until she cut it down. She cut down a tree - a tree made of careful marks, and ticks and circles. Circles covered the floor when she was finished and people reached for the carefully marked pieces to take with them, something from the moment. I have seven in my journal. I loved this night, because sharing yourself is falling. You let yourself fall and be picked up by two, ten or forty different ways of looking. Falling is letting go and holding on at the same time, which if you’ve tried to do on a bike or with another person is difficult.

After this night we ended our homestays. I am sad about this because it has been my favorite part, and I miss how my family sits on their chairs and talks about what they love.

Week 12: ¡Atenco no se vende!

By Christy Chang

Students, host families, and community members of Atenco in front of a mural.


This week our group, along with some of our host families, went to Atenco in the state of Mexico. Before going, we learned about this community in our political science class “Gender and Social Change in Latin America” through our unit on social movements. Atenco is about thirty minutes outside of Mexico City and is mostly made up of farmers and traders. In 2001 the community protested against the government proposition to construct an airport on their farmland and organized a movement called the Frente de los Pueblos en Defensa de la Tierra (People’s Front in Defense of the Land, FPDT). Specifically they were opposing the expropriation of 5,000 hectares of agricultural land and the construction of the airport.


On August 1, 2002, after nine months of struggle, the government canceled the expropriation of the land in Atenco as well as the construction of the airport. However, this FPDT success did not occur without consequence. During the opposition movement there were a number of reports of illegal searches, arrests, harassment, threats, physical attacks, and arbitrary detention. Furthermore, in April 2006, there was a clash between flower growers and local authorities in a nearby community of Texcoco. Municipal authorities forced the relocation of 1200 flower stalls. Forty eight flower growers protested at the office of the Attorney General and on May 3, the public security forces removed the protesters with excessive force. This excessive force included human rights violations such as the killing of a minor, the inhumane treatment of detainees, and violation of women’s rights. Many people would argue that the violence in Texcoco was revenge for the victory that took place in the community of Atenco in 2002.[1]


Still today, many members of the FPDT are being detained for outrageous amounts of time under unlawful circumstances. This is also an example of how the government and judicial authorities have used their power and privilege to oppress those who defy hegemony.

After visiting with the community of Atenco, I was amazed at the incredible power, pride, and strength that the members of the FPDT and the community have as a whole. They are still fighting hard to gain freedom for their compañeros in prison while many members must take extreme caution in public because of their involvement in the movement. I also felt very fortunate to see the agricultural lands that were intended to be sold for the construction of the airport. It was beautifully serene and peaceful, and clearly a very important part of the community.

This visit to Atenco and the land surrounding it was a continuation of my thoughts on the entire idea of land, particularly in the sense of it being owned. The land and farms in Atenco have a great history throughout the community. We watched a documentary prior to our visit in which one man said that the land was not theirs, rather it was for their children. It belongs to those who work it. And truly we see this type of attitude and tradition within many communities in Mexico. I recall learning about very similar ideas in Amatlan, an indigenous community in the state of Morelos. What role do humans have in deciding how something as powerful as nature can be divided, separated, conquered, or purchased? These ideas also came to my mind when we were on the border in El Paso, Texas and Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua. The separation of land was decided upon through the suffering of many people. And I question if land can really be owned by any person? What price does one have to pay to “own” the land? How much money, or rather, how much blood does it cost?

[1] Centro de Derechos Humanos. “Atenco: Rule of law, made to measure.” 10 May 2006.

Students walk through the agricultural land that was proposed to be used for airport construction.

Week 11: Dia de los Muertos

By Tannia Esparza Diaz

El Dia de Los Muertos is celebrated on November 1st and 2nd to make offerings to dead relatives and celebrate death and life. This celebration is based on the belief that on these nights the spirits of the dead visit their relatives and enjoy the feast offered in their honor.

I remember always being excited for el Dia de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead)! Every year October came with anticipation, and while my friends were anxious for candy and costumes I was preparing for bread, candles, prayer, and celebration. Weeks before November 1^st and 2^nd my mom and my tias would get together to discuss who was going to make what bread, what polvorones, and what dishes. Making bread took days, and I remember waking up with my mom in the middle of the night to check on how much the dough had risen. By October 31^st my mom and my tias had prepared a huge feast of mole, posole, camote, polvorones, gusanitos, chocolate, atole, ponche, fruta, tequila, cerveza, cigarettes, lots and lots of pan, and all of our dead relatives’ favorite antojitos. All of this was set up on tiers of boxes covered with carpetas and manteles bordados. Veladoras and small candles and photographs were set up for each relative we were commemorating and flores de Zempoalxochitl were spread all over the altar. On October 31^st my mom’s entire family of 9 brothers and sisters and their wives and husbands and daughters and sons came over to my house to pray the rosary and remember our ancestors and our loved relatives who had passed away and celebrate their yearly return to feast on the physical pleasures of taste and human warmth. My house smelled of fresh sweet bread, tears, and laughter. Dim lighting and flickering candles were reflected on the faces of little ghosts, bunnies, and vampires anxiously waiting for “trick or treat.” Nostalgia on the faces of my tios and tias mourned their country and remembered old days in Mexico. These are the October memories of my childhood, survived by ancestral longing and a rebellious refusal for assimilation.

This year, Dia de los Muertos in the land of my parents made me quiver with emotions unintelligible to my mind.

On Saturday November 1^st my host mom, Cristi Bustos Vargas, and I walked the streets of colonia Ocotepec here in Cuernavaca. We began our Dia de Los Muertos Celebration with a toast of frozen paletas de coco and piña to prepare our panzas for the big feast. Led by scattered Flor de Zempoaxotchil petals on the ground, we came across the church where Liberation Theology activist and supporter, Archbishop Sergio Lopez Arceo gave mass years ago. Concheros gathered outside of the church and performed the legacies of Indigenous danza around an altar in honor of Indigenous identity and tradition. While Cristi and I became part of the masses of people that filled the streets, the sunset came with bright pink clouds and trusted the night to a crescent moon that saw fireworks and candles from the sky.

Cristi and I visited ofrendas in people’s homes, dedicated to the dead who had passed during the year. The first home we visited led our way to the altar with candles on the floor. We walked into a room filled with all the food, the bread the veladoras, and the flowers I remembered from my mother’s altars in my childhood. Everything was there. This time however, the altar revolved around a body made up of old clothes and shoes and a sugar skull, shaping the figure of an old woman who had recently died. At the foot of her bed was an enlarged picture of her while she was alive. My reaction to the altar happened as soon as my eyes made way to the old woman’s face in the photograph. Without warning to myself or the people around me, my body began to shake and I began to cry. An unknown force of emotions, feelings, and thoughts came over me. I was in the presence of a family who had recently mourned their loved “old woman.” That love was being manifested in that altar that contained so much of who she was and still is. They were openly sharing their love, their loss, their celebration to anyone who came into their home. There I was in the home of someone I had never met thinking about my mother’s yearly drifting gaze and happy/sad/mournful tears. I thought about all of the songs we sing to remember mi abuelita Chanita. I thought about all of the deaths I have celebrated, remembered, and mourned. I thought about the life of that old woman and wondered what she had lived through, what she had seen, how she had felt. I cried and I smiled at the same time knowing that she would return to see her family and eat her pan. I believe that night the old woman’s spirit was present and I feel blessed to have been able to be with her in her home. Earlier that night I saw a beautiful Zempoaxotchil flower on the floor. Before leaving the altar I thanked the moon for her light and left the old woman the flower I found. I figured she already knew it was for her anyways.

I continued visiting ofrendas with Cristi, feeling every family’s pain and joy, thinking about death and life with contradictions and welcoming the lessons of my ancestors.

Altars are filled with food and items enjoyed by the dead when they were alive and candles and flowers are displayed so that the dead can make their way home.

Week 10: Religion and liberation

By Danielle Litt

Natalia with the Bisexual Pride Flag that she shared with us

This past week was spent in Mexico City where we discussed religion, liberation theology, what it means to be both a feminist and to be liberated, and if it is possible to be these two things and have religion. We began our time in Mexico City with a panel at “La Iglesia de la comunidad metropolitana” (the church of the metropolitan community), a church vibrant with colors and art and adorned with crosses, rainbow colored flags, and stained glass windows of Jesus, the Ten Commandments, and the apple from the Garden of Eden. Here we spoke with Reverend Jorge Sosa and Fray Julian Cruzalta about sexual diversity and the Church. Throughout this conversation we heard the Bible described as myths “that are part of the construction of our being but not our history” and the Bible described as a sacred book.[i] In our next religion class on Thursday we discussed what we had thought of Cruzalta’s description of the Bible and different questions it raised for us.

That evening we made a stop at “Católicos por el Derecho a decidir” (Catholics for the right to decide). This is an organization that declares itself both Catholic and Pro-Choice, what for some would be a contradiction of terms. As we were welcomed into their garden for a talk, we were told to quickly close the door behind us since the organization receives threats because of their work. One tactic that the organization uses are quotes such as “Love others as yourself, use a condom” and the Songs of Solomon to show that there is indeed sex in the bible. This organization realizes that making sex a taboo topic does not stop sex from taking place; it just stops it from taking place safely. Its goal is to open up dialogue so that people have a place where they can learn that if they are going to have sex they should do it safely

A third conversation we had during the week was with Natalia Anaya Q., an activist who has worked with bisexuals, people with HIV, and transsexual people. She self-identifies as a member of all three of these groups. Recently, a new law created by Natalia’s organization was passed in Mexico City, stating that transsexuals have the right to change their name and gender on documents such as driver’s licenses and birth certificates. We talked about the power of language and how there can be both power and pain in different words describing men, women, transsexuals, and people of all different sexual orientations. Natalia spoke about how important and difficult it is for us to have self-acceptance and finished her talk by saying that the most important thing is to “be free inside your own soul.”[ii]

We had many different conversations this week, both with guest speakers and amongst our group. Through these talks, we not only had the opportunity to question others about religion and liberation but also ourselves. Do we think that the Bible is made up of myths? What does the word myth mean? Is the Bible sacred? Is monotheism too limiting a choice? How do we identify ourselves? Are these identities shaped by religion? Are they contradictory to religion? Can you be both a feminist and a Christian? Gay and Christian? An ally of the LGBTQ community and a Christian? More personally for me: What if you’re Jewish (a religion we have not read or had any speakers about)? I can’t write the answers to these questions. We did not come to a clear black and white consensus in our group, nor do we all have a clear black and white consensus within ourselves. These are questions that often lead to ambiguity, answers of yes and no, maybe, and sometimes. Maybe it is like the rainbow colored flags that we saw this week. Maybe instead of black and white and even gray, the answers come in red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple, the colors of the gay pride flags that adorned the Church we visited. Or if not that, then at least in the pink, purple, and blue colors of the bisexual pride flag that Natalia shared with us.

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[i] Lecture by Fray Julian Cruzalta, October 21, 2008.

[ii] Lecture by Natalia Anaya Q., October 22, 2008.

Students with los Catholicos por el derecho a decidir