212 years of Mexican Independence: What is there to celebrate?

[by Marianna Navarette; illustration by Bruno Ferreira]

‘¡Pero sigo siendo el rey!’ sang a Spanish man behind me in the audience while we watched mariachis perform at the Civic Center Plaza. A professor once told me that “things change, but not that much.” She was right.

Only 212 years ago, México did not exist. It was only after the war of independence that México was finally a nation free from Spain— but not from the church or the ruling elites. They were the ones who laid the first stones in the building of the project that is the Mexican nation-state. 

Both ruling classes were part of the reason why I listened to mariachis in downtown San Francisco on September 15 (ahead of Mexican Independence Day, celebrated on Sept. 16th). The whole day, I saw family and friends on social media — in Mexico and the U.S. — getting ready to attend patriotic parties with typical sombreros and ‘¡Viva México!’ slogans. I saw their posts about being proud of their ‘roots’ and Mexico’s cultural richness. 

Personally, I’m not sure if I’m proud of my ‘roots,’ being that the surnames in my family tree are predominantly of Spanish origin. Recently, my family discovered that an ancestor of ours arrived with Hernán Cortés in the 16th century, and while I’m not sure if I have an ancestor of Indigenous origin, “mestizaje” most likely runs in my family.

It might seem that the discourse of “mestizaje” in Mexico is friendly and that it invites coexistence and diversity. There’s a deeper history to it however, one that hides and legitimizes a process of forced acculturation, as Carlos López Beltrán explores in his book Mestizo Genomics: Race Mixture, Nation, and Science in Latin America.

So, if I have no roots or cultural connection to indigeneity, what am I supposed to celebrate on September 16? This year, I left work early and rode the 49 Muni to Civic Center to see the celebration organized by the Mexican Consulate. At each stop there was at least one person with a sombrero, a Mexican soccer jersey, perhaps a huipil, children with matracas, and fathers with beers in hand. I had on my patriotic earrings, beaded in green, white and red.

When I made it to the center of the plaza, on top of a stage, Isabela ‘Chabelita’ Vázquez was singing, accompanied by Mariachi Nueva Generación. It was 7 p.m., there was still light, and those in attendance watched the sunset behind City Hall while listening to mariachi music, as if it were our version of the American Dream.

A couple of unhoused people hummed along to the mariachi and enjoyed the atmosphere. The people around them saw them with joy instead of ignoring them or viewing them with disgust, as they probably would any other time of year. It was an alternate reality. Everyone was welcome to the Mexican party.

I stumbled upon the president of México, Andrés Manuel López Obrador, printed on human-sized cardboard. People took pictures with him, out of admiration, mockery, or both, I guess.

A few hours later, in the Zócalo of México City, Andrés Manuel — not the cardboard one — added in his cry for independence from the National Palace: “Death to classism! Death to racism! Long live indigenous peoples!” I was in my pajamas watching the transmission and ended up amazed by the declamations of Andrés Manuel, because he included the ‘indigenous peoples’ in his patriotic speech. 

This reminded me of what linguist, writer, translator, and researcher in ayuujk — or mixe — Yásnaya Aguilar from the Sierra Norte of Oaxaca, argues in her texts that the culture and art of indigenous peoples are used as objects of consumption by the Mexican State. Aguilar clarifies that throughout history, Mexico has attempted to homogenize the multiple indigenous communities that exist. This creates an imaginary or false “Mexican” identity, which demonstrates to the world that although Mexico is a country rich in culture, its government marginalizes and displaces its indigenous people from their languages, political organizations and territories.

The Nahuas, Huichols, Mayas, Mixtecs, Purépechas and other native peoples living in what is now known as Mexico did not participate in the composing of the national anthem, or in establishing the nation’s national symbols. Therefore, the ‘roots’ that we are so proud of are only used for cultural demonstrations and appropriations, but when talking about autonomy and human rights, their protection is not encouraged.

In the last year alone, 58 environmental activists have been killed in México, the majority being of indigenous communities. However, on September 16, Zapotec, Rarámuri and Mayan dances are exhibited in the many celebrations around the country and in the world while the Mexican government violates human rights in their territories.

It is difficult for me to ‘celebrate’ this day with an identity that is, for me personally, empty. But after listening to the mariachis on Sept. 16 — which also marked Independence Day in Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica —  I went to eat some tacos and drink some horchata. I don’t celebrate ‘La Patria,’ I celebrate the pozole, the salbutes, the tlayudas, and the sopes. The handmade quesadillas and the mole made from scratch. The naturally flavored water of jamaica, and tamarind. The pan dulce and the Mexican grannies who say good morning on the street. I too celebrate the rivers, beaches, mangroves, and mountains I miss from México. I celebrate the environmentalist defenders who are still there.

Perhaps, Mexican identity is having the natural talent to say ‘chido,’ ‘wey,’ ‘padre,’ and ‘mande,’ and not so much about knowing the national anthem. Maybe the 16th is just about celebrating an imaginary homeland with tequila and mariachis. Maybe only the privileged ones can celebrate since they have time to party. Or maybe, it’s just one more day.