El corazón

"Soy la sangre dentro de tus venas,
soy un pedazo de tierra que vale la pena."
(Calle 13, Latinoamérica)

Latin American newspapers and magazines are kind of graphic - at least more graphic than those in the United States.  Graphic in the pornographic sense and in the bloody/gory sense.  During my mission, the glimpses I caught of Paraguayan periodicals were often startling.  It's the bloody/gory thing that I want to discuss now.

We've seen a lot of bloody/gory imagery in this class.  Vividly visceral depictions of blood, sweat, urine, etc. are found in materials we've studied from Victors and Vanquished to the short stories to The Kingdom of This World to Bless Me, Ultima, to... you get the picture.

I want to talk specifically about the heart.  Hearts are all over the place in Latin America.  Not the Valentine-shaped <3 type of heart, but the beating anatomical heart.  Catholic images of El Corazón Sagrado de Jesus are everywhere.  Recall the heart from Borges' The Circular Ruins.  In addition, think about the live performance of Latinoamérica that we watched in class - if you look closely, there's a small screen that shows a fist superimposed over an image of a heart that is beating constantly throughout the song.  The larger screen shows lots of different changing scenes, but the smaller one shows the beating heart throughout.  The music video shows an underground heart - the aorta and arteries stretch out through the dirt like roots of a tree.

Isn't the song all about roots?  About origins?  How does the heart relate to that?  Hearts are symbols of life and love.  Blood is a symbol of inheritance and mortality.  All these themes are very important in Latin America, but aren't they important in all cultures?  What makes Latin America different - why is there so much visceral realism?

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(On a somewhat related note, blood symbolism ties in nicely with my post about fire and water from a couple weeks ago:  "...ye must be born again into the kingdom of heaven, of water, and of the Spirit, and be cleansed by blood... For by the water ye keep the commandment; by the Spirit ye are justified, and by the blood ye are sanctified..." -Moses 6:59-60)

"Those Who Don't"

"Those who don't know any better come into our neighborhood scared.  They think we're dangerous.  They think we will attack them with shiny knives.  They are stupid people who are lost and got here by mistake...

All brown all around, we are safe.  But watch us drive into a neighborhood of another color and our knees go shakity-shake and our car windows get rolled up tight and our eyes look straight.  Yeah.  That is how it goes and goes."

(Sandra Cisneros, The House on Mango Street, 28)

I'm from the state that has the highest percentage of Mexican Americans.  I'm from the city that has the third largest population of Mexican Americans in the country.  My best friend from high school is Latino.  Not far from my house, there's a gas station where a couple dozen Mexican men gather each morning, waiting to be hired for a day of Manuel manual labor by other men who cart them away in the beds of their pickup trucks.  Two summers ago, I worked in a part of town very heavily populated by Latinos - most of the store signs are in Spanish, and many houses and other buildings are painted in bright, Latin American colors.

Despite all of this, I still feel like I don't have a good understanding of Mexican American or immigrant culture.  Most of the Latin culture I'm familiar with is what I experienced on my mission in Paraguay.  However, since I served south of the border speaking Spanish, lots of people assume that I understand Mexican slang or that I'm a connoisseur of Mexican food.  Especially returned missionaries who served in Mexico.  ("Let's go to this one place... they sell really good horchata!"  "What's that?" I ask.  "Are you serious?"  I'm still not entirely sure.)

I got a very sobering taste of immigrant life a few weeks ago, though, during a phone call with a mission buddy from Guatemala.  Here's part of our conversation:

Me:   "How's work?

José:   "Okay I guess.  It's a lot of work.  You guys (in the US) make more in a day than I make in a week."

He told me how much he makes, and it's true.  Dang.  Later on in the conversation:

José:   "My brother was in the USA for a while; he was in Texas."

(Being from Texas, I got excited and asked him about it.)

Me:   "Oh cool!  What city did he live in?  Did he like it?"

José:   "He was working there, but he didn't have documentation.  The cops found him and put him in jail.  We didn't know what happened - we hadn't heard from him for weeks and we were all really worried.  They deported him and he came home later on."

What do you say to that?  I didn't know how to respond.  I somehow managed to finish the conversation.

That phone conversation, along with The House on Mango Street and La Misma Luna, have helped me understand a little more about this very difficult aspect of Latin American culture.  Life is hard.  There's a lot of distrust going on out there, and I think a lot of it is due to ignorance.  I don't know if there's a solution to everything that's going on or if the whole immigration thing will ever get sorted out.  I only hope that building trust (from both sides of the issue) can help smooth things over.

Favorite

I'm not really what you'd call a 'literature' person.  (Sorry, Dr. Mack, I know that's your thing.)  I read, and I enjoy reading (most of the time), but I'm not a fast reader.  It's a lot easier for me to relate to other types of art.  (But this class is REALLY helping me get more out of reading - seriously.)

I roomed with one of my good high school friends for my first three years of college.  He studied film here at BYU, and continues to do so as a graduate student in California.  While living together, I think some 'film critic' rubbed off on me.  I try to watch movies as pieces of art rather than mere forms of entertainment.  (However, different films serve different purposes - everybody needs a little Nacho Libre every now and then.)  I've also been playing music since I was five years old.  With this background, it's easier for me to relate to sound and visual images than to text.

My favorite thing we've studied so far this semester was the film The Mission.  (As mentioned in a previous post, I may be biased because I served my mission in Paraguay and visited the ruins of the Jesuit missions.)  But as we discussed in class, this film isn't really about the Guaraní Indians.  I think I'd like this film just as much if the setting were a different Latin American country with a different Indian tribe.  It's the message and high quality of the film that gets to me.

The Mission is about redemption - it has one of the best 'atonement' scenes that I've ever seen.  The film makes you think about life and hard decisions and how to treat others.  In addition, it's stunning from an artistic perspective.  It won the Academy Award for Best Cinematography and was nominated for Best Picture.  The film score is equally beautiful - I heard "Gabriel's Oboe" several times before I ever saw the movie or realized that that's where the melody came from.  The music was ranked #23 on the American Film Institute's 100 Years of Film Scores.

Conclusion:  that's why The Mission is my favorite so far.

Agua y fuego

"These things of the water, the mermaid, the golden carp.  They are strange.  There is so much water around the town, the river, the creek, the lakes-" (117)

"I thought about the sins of the town and how the golden carp would punish the sinners.  He would drown them in clear, blue water.  Then we passed the church and I thought about God's punishment for sinners.  He casts them in the burning pit of hell where they burn for eternity... Drowning or burning, the punishment was all the same." (137)

(Rudolfo Anaya, Bless Me, Ultima)

Fire and water are two of the most raw, elemental symbols that exist.  Their contrasting characteristics make them go well together:  fire rises up, water sinks down; fire's heat dries up water, water puts out fire.  There's a very good yin-yang feel about them.

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In a religious setting, I think most people associate water with "good" and fire with "bad".  For example, fire destroys; the "fires of hell" remind us of punishment and suffering.  In contrast, water soothes and cleans us; we are baptized in water.  Our physical lives depend on it, and Christ talks about "living water".

But are we not also baptized by fire?  Fire also cleanses and purifies, and gives us heat and warmth necessary for life.  Moses saw the power of God in a burning bush, and later as a pillar of fire.  Joseph Smith talked about heaven as a place of "everlasting burnings"; the Bible Dictionary says that fire is often a symbol of God's presence.  Water also has some negative connotations - Noah and his family were saved while water destroyed the rest of mankind.  Lehi's family and the Jaredites had to pass through stormy seas; the apostles were also frightened during a storm while Jesus slept on the boat.  And how often do we hear that nonsense about "Satan controlling the waters"?

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I think it's awesome how symbols can be used to denote completely opposite ideas.  Fire and water aren't the only examples.  (Snakes are another good one - a symbol for the devil, right?  But what about the brazen serpent and feathered serpent?)  I think that's what's going on with all the water stuff in Bless Me, Ultima.  Water is a precious resource in the dusty desert... how lucky for their town to be surrounded by it.  But remember that one day the Golden Carp will return and flood the city, punishing all the sinners.  Antonio is a mix of the sweet moon water and the salty sea.  "[Is] the power of good and evil the same?" (page 55); power might just be power, and it depends on how we view it - the same for water and other symbols.

When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o'erflow,

For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,

My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply.

The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design

Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.

-Robert Keen

Mom vs. Dad

"It is the blood of the Lunas to be quiet, for only a quiet man can learn the secrets of the earth that are necessary for planting- They are quiet like the moon- And it is the blood of the Márez to be wild, like the ocean from which they take their name, and the spaces of the llano that have become their home."

     I waited, then said. "Now we have come to live near the river, and yet near the llano.  I love them both, and yet I am of neither. I wonder which life I will choose?"

     "Ay, hijito," she chuckled, "do not trouble yourself with those thoughts.  You have plenty of time to find yourself-"

     "But I am growing," I said, "every day I grow older-"

     "True," she replied softly.  She understood that as I grew I would have to choose to be my mother's priest or my father's son.

(Rudolfo Anaya, Bless Me, Ultima, 41)

Latino or no, coming-of-age stories are not hard to find.  The example of Bless Me, Ultima has the added element of one parent versus the other.  Antonio feels that he must choose to become either like his mother's side of the family (calm, settled, religious farmers) or like his father's (rowdy, free-spirited, indifferent vaqueros).  The idea of parental polarization goes way back:

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"Y crecieron los niños, y Esaú fue diestro en la caza, hobre del campo; pero Jacob era hombre quieto, que habitaba en tiendas.  Y amó Isaac a Esaú, porque comía de su caza; mas Rebeca amaba a Jacob."  Génesis 25:27-28

We see similar parallels from the Old Testament:  the outdoorsy hunter is loved by the father while the quiet son is loved by the mother.  Another very similar example can be found in the character Jack from the movie The Tree of Life:

The premise of this movie is virtually the same as Bless Me, Ultima, just set in a small, 1950s American town.  A quote from this trailer says, "There are two ways through life - the way of nature and the way of grace.  You have to choose which one you'll follow."

Jack's father teaches him the way of nature - survival of the fittest.  To succeed, one must be strong and willing to fight, no matter the cost.  "It takes fierce will to get ahead in this world," says the father.  On the other hand, his mother teaches him the way of grace.  She teaches love, faith, and an appreciation for the world.  "Unless you love, your life will flash by."

I think Antonio Márez's feelings can be summed up perfectly in the quote from the trailer, "Father, Mother - always you wrestle inside me.  Always you will."  (Remember Jacob's coming-of-age wrestling match?)  It seems that Antonio and Jack think that they only have two choices, that they can either become like their mother or their father.  Are those the only choices - is there no happy medium?  Or can these two philosophies somehow be reconciled?

Do unto others...

"...there was a limitless affront in being beaten by a Negro as black as oneself... as low-born; perhaps branded, too.  It was as though, in the same family, the children were to beat the parents, the grandson to the grandmother, the daughters-in-law the mother who cooked for them.  Besides, in other days, the colonists... had been careful not to kill their slaves, for dead slaves were money out of their pockets.  Whereas here the death of a slave was no drain on the public funds."
(Alejo Carpentier, The Kingdom of this World, 116-117)

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This is a hard concept to deal with - black slave owners treated black slaves worse than the white owners did.  How could this happen, when just a few years previous they were all slaves? What made them think that it was okay to treat each other like that, committing the same atrocities that they themselves endured?  A scripture comes to mind:

We have learned by sad experience

that it is the nature and disposition of

almost all men, as soon as they get a

little authority, as they suppose, they

will immediately begin to exercise

unrighteous dominion.

~D&C 121:39

I can think of two (infamous) scientific studies that proved the idea mentioned above.  The Milgram Experiment is a classic textbook example of deceitful and unethical research.  Considering the horrific acts committed by Nazi soldiers led Stanley Milgram (a Jew) to design this study to test obedience to authority figures.  He found that 65% of test subjects would administer huge electric shocks to other people (it was fake, but they didn't know that).

The Stanford Prison Experiment was another demonstration of how brutal people can be when given power.  Twenty-four males were randomly selected to act as either prison guards or prisoners in a mock prison situation.  The purpose was to study the psychological effects assuming these roles in such a scenario.  All participants were normal, healthy students with no criminal or psychological history.  Very rapidly, the "guards" were using cruel punishments and psychological abuse.  Many of the "prisoners" had mental breakdowns.  For the safety of the subjects of the study, it had to be ended after only 6 days.  To me, the sad thing about this experiment was that they all knew (initially) that it was fake, and that they'd been randomly assigned the positions.

Comments from the designer and participants of the study.

I think there's more of a dark side to ourselves than maybe we realize.  Let's always remember to take a second and consider how we treat others... you can't go wrong with the Golden Rule.

Con ton y son

The internet radio station Pandora has several pre-made genre stations to choose from.  A couple weeks ago I discovered the Cuban music station... and my life was forever changed.  Latin American music is AWESOME.

I think that non-Latin musicians like doing Latin music every now and then - it just grooves better than lots of other genres do.  For example, take the song Save the Last Dance for Me performed by the Drifters:

You can hear a very straight rhythm, especially coming from the drum set.  Now consider Michael Bublé's cover of the song:

It's obviously Latin music from the beginning - salsa, to be exact.  The clave rhythm (on claves) starts in the second verse, and you can hear the tumbao (on the conga) later on:

Even the inflection and rhythm of his singing is more syncopated, giving it a nice Latin groove.

What about Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton?

Just your good ol' fashioned rock ballad.  But Michael Bublé strikes again!  Here's his cover of this song:

He's turned it into a slow Brazilian bossa nova, even singing a verse or two in Portuguese.  The basic bossa nova rhythm is easily felt throughout:

For a final example, let's listen to the original version of Stand by Me by Ben E. King:

There's a little bit of a Latin vibe going on in there, but Prince Royce takes it to a whole new level:

The song is now a full-blown bachata, a style of music that originated in the Dominican Republic.  The characteristic bongos and güira are prominently heard.  A good portion of the lyrics have also been translated into Spanish.

But there aren't just Latin covers of non-Latin songs; artists cover songs that were Latin in the first place, as well as writing their own original music in different Latin styles.  Latin American music has subtly crept into the tastes of Anglo-America.  You can't help but tap your foot or bounce your head or move some part of your body while listening to it (at least I can't).  Is Latin music prevalent because of our proximity to its birthplace, or is it just great stuff?  Honestly I don't care - I'm just glad it's here.

Mary Candelary

María Candelaria (Emilio Fernández, director; 1943)

So I was going to compare this movie to Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but then I remembered that it's a Disney movie, and those are frowned upon in this class.  (Except for Pocahontas.)

Instead, I'll discuss Jonathan Livingston Seagull, a novella published by Richard Bach in 1970.  Hall Barlett directed a film adaptation which came out in 1973.  (While the book was moderately successful (top of the NYTimes Bestseller List for 38 weeks), the movie was less so - the author sued the film company, and it's one of the few films that Roger Ebert has walked out of.)

I never read the book, but I saw the movie on my mission.  (My mission president loves this movie - he had it on DVD and showed it to us.)  It's a very spiritual/transcendental/metaphysical story about a seagull who savors the joys of flying instead of conforming to the trash-eating lifestyle of his flock.  His flock eventually banishes him and treats him as an outcast because of his "radical" ideas.  Similarly, María Candelaria is an outcast in her community.  Unlike María Candelaria, however, Jonathan Livingston Seagull doesn't die.  He sticks it to the man (who in this case happens to be a council of seagull "elders") by teaching the young seagulls how to overcome the mundane conformity of garbage-scavenging.

Through the symbolism in each story, it's pretty obvious that María and Jonathan are Christ figures.  (Okay, so maybe María represents the Virgin Mary... In order to make the symbolism fit with the gender of the characters, La Virgen is the next best thing.)  Just to make sure you get the connection, the dedication at the beginning of the film reads "To the real Jonathan Livingston Seagull, who lives within us all."  From my point of view, María represents the 'redemptive' power of the Atonement; she suffered and died because of the sins of the people.  Jonathan reflects the 'exalting' power of the Atonement, because he helps others reach their full potential and become like him.

yes, Neil Diamond did the music for this movie

Another interesting connection between the two is the symbolism of their names.  Candelaria is Spanish for Candlemas, a Christian holiday celebrating the presentation of Jesus at the temple, and during which candles are blessed.  (Candles... light... Light of the World... Christ.)  As for Jonathan Livingston Seagull, is not the Savior referred to as a living stone (1 Peter 2:4-6)?  His name in the Spanish translation is less discrete:  'Juan Salvador Gaviota.'  For whatever reasons, artists have been employing Christ figure symbolism for centuries.  What other examples can you think of?

If walls could talk...

"The Mexican muralists produced the greatest public revolutionary art of this century, and their influence throughout Latin America - most recently in the wall paintings in Nicaragua - has been far-reaching and continuous.  There was a time, during the 1930s, when it was also felt in Britain, and in the USA, but since then they have rarely entered artistic discourse."
(Dawn Ades, Art in Latin America, 151)

Man, Controller of the Universe by Diego Rivera

Murals are cool.  They make places more interesting.  People have been painting on walls for a long time.  Some murals are considered great works of art.  Sometimes they serve political purposes; sometimes they’re just to look pretty.  I’d guess that most times they are commissioned works of art.  Mexican murals turned out to be a big hit – they served a distinct purpose at a time of political and social change.  The purposes murals serve are highly varied, and I’d argue that there’s always an underlying motive for creating them.

downtown Provo

You don’t have to go to Mexico to see murals – we’ve got some here in Provo, even on campus.  I think that relief sculptures can also count as a type of mural (carved, rather than painted).  There are plenty of those around too.

relief sculpture on the LDS Mesa Arizona Temple (source)

Murals are a unique form of visual art because they’re stationary.  I think this adds to the artistic experience - in order to see a mural in person, one must travel to its location.  This forces the observer to also experience the sounds, smells, and general ambiance of the mural’s location.  But I think in most cases, people don’t travel to a place specifically to view its murals; the murals add to the general ambiance of the place.

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What about painted walls that aren't commissioned works of art?  Most people call it graffiti.  It often serves the same purpose – to send a message to the masses in a public place.  I didn't think much about graffiti until I heard about Banksy, an anonymous street artist from England.  If you haven’t heard of him, you should definitely read up on him – he’s a super-interesting figure.  He definitely has a political/social agenda, but I think he does much of his work for his own enjoyment (and to make places more interesting).  Reading through one of his books completely changed my attitude toward graffiti.  What do you think – is graffiti a legitimate form of art?  See what he has to say about it:

“Graffiti is not the lowest form of art.  Despite having to creep about at night and lie to your mum it’s actually the most honest artform available.  There is no elitism or hype, it exhibits on some of the best walls a town has to offer, and nobody is put off by the price of admission…

They say graffiti frightens people and is symbolic of the decline in society...

The people who truly deface our neighbourhoods are the companies that scrawl their giant slogans across buildings and buses trying to make us feel inadequate unless we but their stuff.  They expect to be able to shout their message in your face from every available surface but you’re never allowed to answer back.  Well, they started this fight and the wall is the weapon of choice to hit them back.

Some people become cops because they want to make the world a better place.  Some people become vandals because they want to make the world a better looking place.”

(Banksy, Wall and Piece, 8)

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Science

"The life and death of hypotheses.  From the equation - me as part of the Cosmos - to the axiom - the Cosmos as part of me.  Subsistence.  Knowledge.  Anthropophagy."
(Anthropophagite Manifesto, Revista de Antropofagia, (São Paulo), no. 1, May 1928)

I didn't know what to make of this manifesto when I read it.  I still don't.  But the quote above immediately reminded me of the following:

That dialogue was taken from an interview of Neil deGrasse Tyson, perhaps the most well-known astrophysicist of this generation.  (He even came and spoke at a forum at BYU a few years back.)  The interviewer asks him to share the most astounding fact about the universe.  Tyson responds by explaining how our bodies are made up of atoms that were formed from the supernovae of stars, and then says:

“…when I look up at the night sky… I know that yes, we are part of this universe, we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts is that the universe is in us.  When I reflect on that fact… I feel big, because my atoms came from those stars.  There’s a level of connectivity… You want to feel relevant; you want to feel like you’re a participant in the goings-on of activities and events around you.  That’s precisely what we are just by being alive.”

What a humanities quote from a scientist, right?!?!  I'm a science major, but I still think that humanities are important and that the two fields of study have much to learn from each other.  The manifesto talks about “the Cosmos as part of me,” which is literally true.  The tone of this video clip may not match the tone of the manifesto, but I think anthropophagy relates to both.  We consume subsistence, knowledge, and the world around us.  We take in the universe because we want to be a part of it and we want it to be a part of us.  There’s something very natural and very human about being curious about the world around us; we explore and do experiments to learn more about it.  From a certain point of view, in this process the universe is trying to understand itself.

The works of God continue,

And worlds and lives abound;

Improvement and progression

Have one eternal round.

There is no end to matter;

There is no end to space;

There is no end to spirit;

There is no end to race.

-W.W. Phelps

Good ol' Iracema

"The white warrior no longer desires any other country save the land of his son and of his heart."
(José de Alencar, Iracema, 79)

Iracema's going pretty well, I guess.  The story's interesting enough, but I'm still trying to get over the style of writing.  I connect more with the overall arc and context of the story, so it was hard to find a single quote to write about.  We've talked often about movies whose plots parallel the story of Iracema (Dances with Wolves, Pocahontas, Avatar).  In class the other day, I thought of one that we haven't discussed:  The Last Samurai.

To sum up the story (spoiler alert), Nathan Algren (Tom Cruise) is a former U.S. Civil War captain hired by the quickly modernizing (o sea Westernizing) Japan to lead their army against a rebellious group of Samurai who want to preserve the traditional ways of their culture.  During a battle, he is taken prisoner by the "savage" Samurai and lives with them for several months:

As you can probably guess, he ends up finding inner peace while learning their ways, falling in love, and becoming one of them.  

One of the most interesting differences (compared to Iracema) is that the main character is the Westerner.  Further, instead of joining the natives willingly, he's captured by them.  But the lessons he learns about himself, the people, and life change his attitude toward them.  Eventually, he's given his own katana.  To me, this is comparable to when Martim receives a native name and gets war-painted.  The white warrior abandons his previous life to start a new one in "the land of... his heart."

Iracema is Alencar's way of defining Brazil's national identity - an origin story.  In The Last Samurai, the story is not about origins but the preservation of a national identity.  Katsumoto, the head Samurai, leads a rebellion against the emperor's armies to maintain Japanese legacy and traditions.  At the same time, he's deeply loyal to the emperor (his former student) as the leader of Japan.  Unfortunately, the emperor doesn't understand Katsumoto's motives until it's too late:

I think an important point to consider is the cost (on both sides) of the "Westerner" joining the "natives," oftentimes discovering a personal identity.  Nathan Algren will never be with his people again, and Martim and Iracema's lives will be changed forever.  Obviously they all have a choice, and the life they choose is probably better than the previous one.  But different cultures coming into contact with each other is often messy.

An Open Mind

"The Jesuit Pedro José Márquez published two studies at the beginning of the century which argued that notions of beauty are relative, and that the great monuments of the indigenous past should be studied on an equal footing with those of Greece and Rome."
(Dawn Ades, Art in Latin America, 28)

As a percussionist in high school, I was able to attend a master class taught by Michael Spiro, a world renowned Afro-Cuban drummer.  In addition to teaching us techniques on congas and bongos, he spent a fair amount of time talking about music appreciation.  The most memorable thing I learned that day was about keeping an open mind:  even though we may not enjoy a particular genre or style of music doesn’t mean that we should dismiss it completely as a valid form of art.  Within a genre there can exist good and bad examples, but to discount it entirely is arrogant.  This concept also applies to literature, visual arts, drama, etc.

For example, I often hear people say things along the lines of “Modern art/music is dumb!  There’s no skill involved - it’s meaningless.  Anybody could produce that type of art.”  I’d never had much of an opinion about modern art, either for or against.  However, after taking MUSIC 201 & 202 (Civilization: Music) from a professor whose specialty is modern art/music, I better understood the genre.  Learning about the context and motives for different styles of art gives you an appreciation for them, even though you still may not like them.

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I think this is the point that Pedro José Márquez wanted to make - just because indigenous art wasn’t understood, it shouldn’t be viewed as a lower form than European art.

To me, this idea extends beyond the arts to opposing positions on various topics.  It annoys me when people aren’t willing to admit that views different than their own contain any valid points whatsoever.  Because of this, I often play devil’s advocate when talking with friends or family, even if I’m completely against the position I’m defending.  I was reminded of this in class on Tuesday when Dr. Mack mentioned a character from the book The Name of the Wind who had to maintain two diametrically opposing thoughts in his mind simultaneously.  By considering multiple views of a situation or art form or culture, we develop a more complete understanding of it. 

My Mission

"So, your Holiness, now your priests are dead, and I am left alive. But in truth it is I who am dead, and they who live. For as always, your Holiness, the spirit of the dead will survive in the memory of the living. "  -Altamirano
(Roland Joffé (director), The Mission)

Having served a mission in Paraguay, I don't know why it took me such a long time before watching The Mission.  I finally got around to it when Dr. Mack assigned us to watch the movie - I'm so grateful that he did.  Warning - because this topic hits close to home for me, I'm definitely going to go over the suggested 250-300 words.

(I took all of the pictures in this blog post while on my mission in Paraguay.  One p-day, I was lucky enough to visit the ruins at the Misión Jesuítica de la Santísima Trinidad - the pictures of the ruins were taken there.  Unlike the Aztecs and Incans, the Guaraní didn't build with stone - the only ancient ruins in Paraguay are what's left of the Jesuit missions.)

Where to start?  I've been thinking about this movie constantly since I watched it 2 days ago.  Even considered apart from my bias towards Paraguay, the film commands awe:  great acting, beautiful cinematography, inspiring film score.  But my experiences in Paraguay were what made it meaningful.

The plot centers on Jesuit missionaries who preached the Gospel to the native Guaraní (the people) in Paraguay.  I spent two years preaching the Gospel to their descendants in the same place speaking the same languages.  (The actors portraying the Indians weren't Guaraní, nor did they speak Guaraní (the language) in the movie, and not all of the film was shot in Paraguay.  I surprised myself at how okay I was with that - usually I'm big on authenticity.)

Watching the film was a very nostalgic experience.  All sorts of memories resurfaced in my brain during the movie.  Not specific memories, but more like emotional memories of what I feel for the people and the land.  Only those who have served a mission for the Church will know exactly what I'm talking about - I think it's impossible to describe those feelings with words.  Of course the Portuguese empire wasn't trying to enslave the people I taught, but I think that today's missionaries experience many of the same emotions that the Jesuits dealt with in the movie.

My favorite scene was the atonement of Rodrigo Mendoza as he arrives at the Guaraní mission above the falls.  Through tears and laughter, he comes to understand the grace and forgiveness of God.  He suffers trials and penance as he comes to understand the people he's serving.  I think most missionaries have similar experiences.

Ha pe tesapehára omimbi pe pytûnguype ha pe pytû ndikatúi ombogue pe tesape.  Juan 1:5

Last summer I finished a book by John Gimlette called At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig: Travels through Paraugay.  In it, he talks about the rise of the powerful Jesuit missionaries and how the Spanish and Portuguese eventually took them out.  Here are some quotes and some of my commentary:

Gimlette describes how though they were peaceful communities, disobedience was still punished with lashings:  "There was no death penalty, and after every flogging, the accused kissed the sleeve of his scourge, the priest.  Here, perhaps, was the most telling feature of all:  in each of the reductions there were seldom more than two Europeans.  Whips or not, the Jesuit Arcadia was a community by consent" (286).

"[The Guaraní] could reproduce almost anything:  violins, harpsichords, clocks, statues, Dürer, Bosch or Callot.  Their choirs could mimic any that the holy fathers had left behind... They built themselves a printing press a century before Buenos Aires.  At San Cosme, they constructed an astronomical observatory and brought the world important news from Saturn.  These were some of the most literate communities in the world and in a state of unceasing adoration.  Life, as one wag put it, was a perpetual Sunday" (286).

"Even Voltaire, who was never comfortable in the praise of religious orders, conceded that the Paraguayan example was 'unique upon the Earth' and a replica of the 'ancient government of Sparta'... It would even be suggested that the republic was modelled on Thomas More's Utopia and Campanella's The City of the Sun" (287).

Regarding the Portuguese invasion:  "The Jesuits played their part in the ensuing slaughter.  Intellectually, they argued that kings had no business subverting the natural rights of Indians.  Disobedience was morally imperative.  In the field, the holy fathers exhorted the Indians to resistance.  Chief among them was an Irishman of uncertain temper and excruciating Latin:  Thadeus Ennis.  After four years of stalemate, he urged his Guaraní to battle" (288).

Regarding the confusion of the Guaraní that still may exist today:  "Sixty thousand Guaranís were enslaved.  To the slavers, their harvesting was child's play.  No longer did they have to pursue the fleet savages through the forest.  The Jesuits had gathered them into human dovecotes.  'Of gravest concern,' wrote one priest, ' is that the Indians imagine that we gathered them in, not to teach them the law of God but to deliver them to the Portuguese'" (282).

(This river connects to the one from the movie The Mission.)

Regarding the movie:  "The Mission emerged in the last decade of the Stronato. Thadeus Ennis is just recognisable (sic) in the swagering of Robert De Niro.  At the time the film was set, Paraguay's government was considered the most virtuous in the world.  By the time the film was launched, it was the most diabolical.  Naturally, General Stroessner had the picture banned" (289).  The "Stronato" refers to the 35 year long reign of Paraguay's most recent notorious dictator, General Alfredo Stroessner.