Friday, November 19, 2010

La Malinche: The Mother of Crucified Woman

In Chavela Vargas' song La Llorona, she sings "yo soy como el chili verde, llorona, picante, pero sabroso"
I am like a green chilli: spicy, but delicious.
I think this is the mantra of La Malinche and every intelligent woman who is in the midst of duty and pleasure.

What fascinates me is representation of these women. She is both the mother and the raped or the chingona. She was violated. Some people say that La Llorona did not have a choice in the matter. She was weak. The name La Llorona signifies this sentiment. But at the same time, she is strong, she is the suductress. Those lips, those eyes, the fiercity in her tongue. She is the mother of a bastardized land. Did she abandon her people? Was she selfish? To me, La Malinche will not be one or the other: weak or whorish. She is strength to me. Strong women find themselves fighthing themselves at the end. They are glorified for their intelligence and prized for their beauty like a jewel. But they are judged as possession. That is the mistake. They are not treated as women. If they refuse a man, she is a harlot. If she sleeps with him, she is a harlot. This is the ascribed identity of a La Malinche. And trust me, there are several of these mujeres walking amogst us: Cleopatra, Frida, Ms. Monroe, our mothers, even you.

But what we need to realize is that these women were women. Not gods. Not monsters. Women. They were full of life. Full of determination, love, lust, youth. Women who defy the norm are automatically categorized. But we are not weak. We are not La Llorona. We are La Malinche. Women of our own destiny. Choices we make are not for any man. In my mind, La Malinche, although lost her name, stole Cortes'. She became the face as he became the raper. I am not glorifiying La Malinche. I am paying homage. To me, La Malinche is not just a mother or a weeper. She is strength. She is intelligence. She had a duty to herself and no civilization and no man. How dare empire after empire puts her on trial. Trials in which men stand up and point the finger at a woman with hair thicker then huipiles. As my mother always says men will always point fingers, but it is up to us to hang our heads in shame or hold our backs tall and take the arrow with pride. But must we lose at the end? Have we? Have we coquetas lost everything? No. We are the winners at the end of the day. We live in songs, poetry, cantina songs in bars tucked in verdant Chiapaneca hills. That is where we live. We live between heaven and hell. We are Las Malinches de La Tierra. The Malinches of the Earth.

No comments:

Post a Comment