San Cristobal and Chamula: A Tale of Two Cities
A church on San Cristobal’s main square is covered in anti-government and feminist graffiti. These kinds of slogans are common throughout Mexico, but even more prominent in the southern states of Chiapas ad Oaxaca. Chiapas has an ongoing socialist native liberation movement called the Zapatistas, named after revolutionary farmer Emilio Zapata. Femicide is a problem in Chiapas, like many areas of Mexico, and feminist slogans are plentiful on the streets.
What’s the Deal with San Christobal
The picturesque city of San Cristobal de Las Casas (San Chris for short) lies in the Chiapas highlands, an ethnically diverse region of various Mayan groups. Today, San Chris’s beautiful cobblestone streets, colonial architecture, pleasant climate and diverse restaurant scene attract tourists from around the world. Chiapas’ own home grown chocolate, fresh herbs and vegetables, and coffee are a big part of the atmosphere here. But beyond the town’s beauty, there is a real story.
To start the story of San Cristobal you have to first understand who the city’s namesake is— San Cristobal— or in English, Saint Christopher. Demoted from Sainthood by the Catholic church in the 1960s due to him being merely a “legendary” figure, Saint Christopher was, in Catholic terms anyway, a 7-foot tall giant who is most well known for serving Satan before Christ and later dying a martyr’s death after converting 40,000 pagans.
Why is this relevant?
The Spanish named this city after a legendary giant famous for converting pagans. Their intentions for the area have never been hidden. In fact, it was not until the 1994 Zapatista uprising and the political shift that happened in its wake that native inhabitants from the surrounding villages were allowed into the city to sell their wares. Sure, San Chris is a beautiful place and makes a very pleasant getaway, but the city’s history with the Tzotzil Maya has not been fully rectified.
Shoppers peruse the weekly market in front of Chamula’s church. Here, you can find fresh produce, flowers, daily use items, as well as ceremonial items used for rituals in the church. While Chamula is just a twenty-minute drive from San Christobal, the two towns feel, in many ways, worlds apart, especially in terms of customers, traditions and dress.
Not So Welcome to Chamula
Chamula, a mere 10 kilometres away, is one of the only remaining “traditionalist” Catholic bases. While the Zapatista rebel movement encouraged a new brand of “World of God” catholicism that is more directly related to that of Rome, especially in the wake of many Mayan people converting into various evangelical and charismatic Protestant groups (and even Islam— there are three mosques in the area), the “traditionalists” practice an extremely syncretic form of the religion, that in many ways does not resemble Catholicism at all. In many ways, political upheaval, combined with centuries of segregation have caused the people of Chamula to double down on their traditions.
Chamula is not exactly a welcoming place to outsiders. The town is nearly entirely Tzotzil Maya, traditionalist, and fiercely independent. Tribal councils control the law here, and people have literally been burned at the stake in the town square as recently as a couple of years ago. They look at outside influence as a threat to their very existence. Reminiscent to the story of Saint Christopher, the local leadership here is not excited by the prospect of losing more of their fellow traditionalists to new religions and beliefs.
The town is monied, but not in a way that is easily transparent. Large custom-built homes line Chamula’s streets, the products of government support and some economic force not visibly apparent to the town. While San Chris has adopted tourism as their main earner, what drives this capital to Chamula remains a bit of a mystery.
In many ways, Chamula has developed in parallel to San Chris, and while many of the town’s residents pour into San Christobal’s handicraft markets and shops, there is something very different about Chamula. You can feel the resistance here. When you visit Chamula, the perceived indifference of the town’s people smacks you in the face. And you might get a real smack in the face if you’re too liberal with your camera.
Thee most, how to put this, in your face example of Chamula’s traditionalism can be felt instantly upon entering the town’s church.
A woman from the nearby Tzetzal village of Zinacantán makes traditional corn tortillas on a fire stove. This village, unlike Chamula, is mostly “Word of God” Catholic, meaning that they are more closely aligned with the church in Rome, they have services, priests and pews. Still, even in Zinacantán some syncretic beliefs remain, as the leafy tree alter remains a present factor in their cathedral and locals still practice some of the ceremonies you see in Chamula, but not to the extent they are normal in Chamula.
A procession of men through the streets of Chamula on the way to the church. This group, wearing traditional clothing, carrying musical instruments, and incense, stopped at the gate of the church while their procession leader chanted a prayer, before continuing on their way through the market streets.
Trancing, Pox, Coca-Cola, Candles and Animal Sacrifices
Stepping into Chamula’s Cathedral was like an experience I’ve never had before. There are no pews, no podium, no services nor priests. Photography is strictly forbidden, as are mirrors. According to local belief, reflections steal the soul. The ground is made entirely of an eery greenish marble stone covered with patches of hay.
Inside, people are everywhere, with each family or individual claiming a spot on the floor of the church in order to perform their rituals. Candles line nearly all walkable space, lit right on the floor in series of horizontal rows before the worshiper, while others are lit from more standard Catholic stands and holders.
The long and thin candles come in different colours and sizes— red, black, green, yellow— with each representing a different hope and prayer. Lines of people— men dressed in furry white sheepskin vests, and women dressed in colourful tops with black, furry wool skirts, all file into the church in small groups.
Mothers with their children prepare to enter the Chamula church. They carry tree branches for their ceremonies in the church.
With them, they carry crates of glass coca-cola bottles and plastic bottles filled with pox, a local liquor made from corn, sugar cane and wheat that is used for purifying the soul through burping.
As I walked slowly down the cathedral chamber I shuffled my feet carefully, not wanting to knock over any candles. I watched men in full on trances, with their eyes rolled into the back of their heads, mumbling prayers in their native Mayan language. Women carried their children into the church, forcing them to the ground in prostrations, or beating them with tree branches while chanting prayers.
Along the walls of the chamber, porcelain statues of eery-looking Catholic saints, with ghoulish pale faces stared down at me. They looked like the early native depictions of conquistadors, with their exaggerated long faces, extra white skin, tall noses and blue, deep-set eyes. Seeing them looking down along the sides sent a shiver down my back.
As I continued to walk towards the alter I passed more rows of metal candle stands and people in prayer, either standing or sitting on the floor. The alter is nothing like any Catholic alter you’ve seen before. It’s made from trees and tree branches and resembles a small green cave, as if when you walk through it you are passing into another world entirely, one of nature and spirits.
Women sow traditional clothing while their children play at the Chamula market. This market is held once a week just in front of the church square, bringing people from the community together to trade, buy and sell goods, as well as prepare their sacrifices and ceremonies in the church. Tree branches, pox, coca-cola and chickens were widely available for sale amongst traditional items and daily use products.
At the centre of the altar, deep in the greenery, was an LED board with all colours of small LED lights arranged in a circle. Reds, oranges, greens, blues, yellows and more reds spun, while the board emitted a battery-powered noise that sounded like a 1990s video game squeal. My first thought was this reminded me of the Mexican slot machines that you can find outside small grocery stores in the pueblos.
After walking through the leafy tree branch entry to the altar, inside I could see offerings of fruit and drinks alongside plastic dolls of Catholic figures, including a baby Jesus. I felt strange being in here, so I moved along quickly without taking too much of a look around. The whole place was both fascinating and dark.
I continued slowly towards the entrance when I stopped to observe two women with a young child kneeling down on the floor. One of the women was carrying a live chicken in one hand, while the baby was placed between her and the other women. She chanted prayers while waiving the chicken by the feet over several lit candles she had placed on the ground. The chicken’s head grazed the flams from the candles.
She then raised the pox bottle to her lips, intaking a large amount of the fiery liquid, but instead of swallowing it, she spat it at a high velocity onto the chicken and the baby. After multiple sprays of pox from her mouth, she handed the chicken to the other women, who promptly wrung its neck and pulled the head of the now-dead chicken towards the candles. I could not stop looking. This church was like something I had never experienced before.
Women shop for clothing at Chamula’s weekly open-air market. Many of the town’s inhabitants continue to dress in traditional clothing. Women wear colourful tops, scarves, and furry, black sheepskin skirts, while the men wear white furry sheepskin vests, cowboy hats, and boots.
I walked out of the church and to the bright mid-day light of Chamula. The sun poured down, but I felt cold, something in me felt dark. Maybe it was the chicken sacrifice and taking in the whole scene of the church, but I had the shivers.
This was by far the most fascinating example of syncretic Catholicism I’ve ever seen, and beyond the iconography, it’s hard to tell how much Catholicism is in it. Ancient Mayan traditions are still kept alive, and that this church in Chamula is one of the last bastions of the old Maya ways.
Outside the courtyard, the weekly market was in full swing. Children played in the narrow walkways, young mothers carried babies on their backs, old women sorted through wool skirts, and men in cowboy hats shopped for leather shoes. While I stood there, I felt almost invisible, neither welcomed nor frowned upon. The only people who seemed to notice me were the children.
Don’t forget to subscribe below to my mailing list for new projects, adventures and information on how you can join me on some of my exclusive expeditions.
