Traditional healers put Coke to the test
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, April 14, 2004
ZINACANTAN,
Mexico --Doña María Lopez lights lines of candles in front of a homemade altar in
her adobe brick house in this town in southern Mexico. She is getting ready for
the ritual known here as a "cura," or cure, to relieve son Diego's
body aches.
Over an
old sweater and rough woolen skirt, Lopez wears a brightly colored, hand-loomed
and embroidered ceremonial shawl. She kneels on the packed-dirt floor and keeps
other offerings nearby: sprigs of basil, a jar of homemade sugarcane rum, and
two bottles of Coca-Cola.
Lopez is
an ilol, or shaman, who conducts the rituals central to the life of the
Tzotzil Maya populations of this region. Coca-Cola plays a key role in those
healing sessions, along with a homemade rum called pox (pronounced posh).
"One
of the most important ceremonies among indigenous people is that of drinking,
of sharing," said Alejandro Valdivia, who is half-Tzotzil and conducts
tours here. "It functions as an element of union among them
. . . and it marks the hierarchy among a group of people."
Mexico's
per capita consumption of Coca-Cola products surpasses even that of the United
States. Part of the reason for the drink's popularity is rituals like the one
Lopez is about to perform.
As she
finishes lighting the candles, Diego sits beside her. Lopez begins a singsong
prayer in the Tzotzil language. After several minutes, she lightly swats
Diego's head and shoulders with the basil sprig to draw out the sickness. She
repeats this several times and then pours the rum into a small cup, taking a
sip before giving it to Diego and other members of the family. She sprinkles
the rest over the candles, which flare as the alcohol ignites. In a moment, she
does the same with the Coca-Cola, pouring a cup for each person so they can all
drink at the same time.
After
more prayers, Lopez rubs an egg over her son, so it, too, can absorb the causes
of the ailment. She then breaks the egg into a glass of rum and
"reads" the tendrils formed by the egg white as it settles. Shortly
after, the ceremony ends.
Catholicism,
Indian beliefs merge
Zinacantán
and nearby San Juan Chamula are known worldwide for the way Catholicism and
traditional Indian beliefs have combined to form a unique religion. About
80,000 Tzotzil Indians live and practice the syncretic faith here in a closed
society that merges religious and political power and fiercely resists outside
authority.
Walk into
the church in the town square in San Juan Chamula and you will find dozens of
people in small groups, kneeling like Lopez, in front of rows and rows of
candles on the pine needle-strewn floor. The air is thick with the smoke from the
candles and the murmur of voices.
The
church is unfurnished save for tables holding hundreds more votive candles and
glass cases containing statues of a pantheon of saints unrecognized by the
Catholic Church. Over them, up front and center, rules St. John the Baptist,
Chamula's patron saint.
Each
group pays for the ilol to conduct a variation of Lopez's ceremony that
sometimes involves a live chicken.
Lopez is
a weaver by profession, like most of the women who live here. But she was
trained from childhood as an ilol. People come to her home and pay her
to perform cures — the men on Tuesdays, the women on Thursdays.
The
rituals have become an important part of the economies of San Juan Chamula and
Zinacantán, since the families have to pay not just for the shaman's services,
but for the trappings of the rituals, said Miguel Rolland, an Arizona priest
who has worked for years in Chiapas and has studied the Tzotzil culture.
Merchants do a lively business in front of the church selling candles, soft
drinks and rum for the rituals, which might be performed several times a year.
But
are they effective?
Sergio
Castro Martínez, who runs a museum dedicated to highland Indian customs in
nearby San Cristóbal de las Casas, said they have vast symbolic power, and for
some, that may be enough. He said the carbon dioxide in the Coke makes people
burp, and the Indians interpret that as expelling the sickness.
But even
Lopez knows the limits of tradition. Sometimes, when her own children become
very ill, "We do go to the doctor," she said.
In Chiapas, cola is king
Popular soft drinks saturate all areas of life in Mexican
state
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
In the dusty villages that dot the highlands near this town in the southern
Mexican state of Chiapas, the cola wars are one family's feud.
Two
branches of the same powerful clan control distribution of Coca-Cola and Pepsi
to tiny shops in towns blanketed with advertisements for the soft drinks,
Coca-Cola in particular.
It's a monopoly that has made the family of Salvador Tuxum the lords of the
realm in one of Mexico's poorest states.
Coke is
much more than just a thirst quencher here. Since the 1950s, when this very
American product made its appearance, Coca-Cola has played a central role in
every aspect of the lives of the indigenous groups that populate the area —
from their rituals to defining their social standing and economic prosperity.
"It
has become very important in all of life in Chamula, and in the indigenous
population of other towns in the highlands of Chiapas," said Gaspar
Morquecho, a local journalist who studies Indian conflicts in the area.
"Coca-Cola connected itself not only to the economy but also to the
powerful groups, the elite who have political, economic and cultural
control."
In
Chamula in the 1950s, that elite was the Tuxum family, said Jan Rus,
coordinating editor of the journal Latin American Perspectives, who has studied
Chiapas Indian groups. "He was a brilliant man," Rus said.
Now in
his mid-80s, Tuxum eschewed the accoutrements of wealth and power that came
with the distributorship rights for the soft drinks.
He always
made sure nobody could gossip about him, dressed like his Indian neighbors and
lived in a humble house, Rus said.
His children
were another story. Rus said they drove flashy cars, built lavish homes and
flaunted the power the family wielded in the region.
That
power is enormous. The Tuxum clan decides who sells the drinks and who doesn't.
In a part of Mexico where soft drinks constitute a major portion of a shop's
sales, it means that the Tuxum clan decides who can and can't do business
there.
Despite
the family monopoly, Coke and Pepsi compete vigorously, Morquecho said. They
put distributorships right next to each other and engage in price wars. A Coke
in these small villages costs half of what it might cost in larger cities.
Sales
volume more than compensates for low price.
"It's
cheaper to buy Coca-Cola than to buy milk in the city," said Miguel
Rolland, a priest who for years has worked with Indian groups in Chiapas.
"Indians here have Coca-Cola once or twice a day."
Adriana Valladares, a spokeswoman for Coca-Cola de Mexico, said per capita
consumption in Mexico of Coca-Cola products is the highest in the world.
"It's
a reflection of how Coca-Cola has become integrated into the culture," she
said.
In some
areas, the lack of clean drinking water makes Coca-Cola the beverage of choice.
And Rus said Coke even contributed to the government's reformist goal of
curbing alcoholism among the indigenous population.
When Coke
arrived on the scene, Indian elders already were looking to substitute the
homemade rum they call pox (pronounced posh) as they realized the damage it
wreaked on their livers.
Soon,
festive occasions that had once called for sharing pox were instead marked with
the purchase of round after round of the curvy Coke bottles.
Baptisms
are among the most festive of those occasions. The parents invite friends to
come "hug" the baby, which means to share a drink with them. Rus said
members of the family try to outdo each other in offering their hospitality.
One can
guess a guest's prestige by the number of bottles that collect at his feet as
he sits chatting with family members.
"In
the last 25 years or so the value of soft drinks instead of pox has become even
more pronounced," Rus said.
The move
away from pox to Coke and Pepsi even sparked religious conflicts that roiled
this area in the 1970s.
At that
time, Protestant evangelists started making inroads in the area, claiming
converts from among the local religion, a syncretic version of Catholicism that
was rejected by the Vatican.
Rituals,
drinking linked.
Sergio
Castro Martínez, who runs a museum about highland Indians in nearby San
Cristóbal de las Casas, said much of the religion revolved around the drinking
of pox in rituals and celebrations.
It also
involved special jobs, both secular and ecclesiastical, that are passed on from
year to year among community members.
But as
the Christian converts turned down alcohol, they also turned down these duties.
Angry leaders began expelling them from their communities. Invitations to drink
pox instead of Coca-Cola became a test of loyalty to the old ways.
Those who
opted for Protestant evangelism settled in large "refugee"
neighborhoods outside San Cristóbal de las Casas.
Over the
years, however, Coke and Pepsi became so ubiquitous that neither the Chamulans
nor the Protestants could be identified by what they drank.
Morquecho
said the wealth generated by distributorships also enabled the cola lords to
turn to another profitable business: money lending, at exorbitant interest
rates of 10 percent to 20 percent per month, to laborers traveling to the
United States.
"They
are financing the trips of undocumented people to the United States,"
Morquecho said. "The Chamula Indian has to lay out about $3,000 for the
trip, but since the family stays behind, repayment is guaranteed. Even if the
person dies, he has a relative from whom they can take what little the family
has."
Unlike in
several other parts of the world, the one thing that Coke is not in this
isolated corner of Mexico is a symbol of American cultural imperialism.
For
instance, in 1994, the neo-Marxist Zapatista Army of National Liberation
launched a rebellion against the central government to protest globalization
policies. In particular, the Zapatistas targeted the North American Free Trade
Agreement.
Locals
here said the Zapatistas periodically tried to block the company's trucks and
organize boycotts against Coca-Cola. The efforts never caught on.
"The
Zapatistas drink Coke just like everybody else," Morquecho said. "It
just doesn't make any difference."