Federico Reyes Heroles
In the wonderful Nezahualcóyotl Hall, we listened to the band, musical group, or small orchestra. Their mission: to reclaim their roots and project them toward new horizons. A small ensemble, as was customary in rural orchestras. Ten people who research, perform, and devote their lives to their native Oaxaca. Noteworthy: they educate in music. What a treasure our Mexico is! The treasure of mestizo Mexico, because the clarinet was not born in these lands, nor was the double bass, the guitar (Asia Minor), the violins, the trumpet, or the mandolins. But does that detract from their merit? On the contrary, it broadens their world, taking them to other musical universes: chilenas, pasos dobles, sones, jarabes, and so on.
The instruments are the result of mestizaje: there was the Mixtec bass and the Mixtec drums. The “Neza” is brought down by applause. Pasatono—the name of the group—is now international, having performed in New York and other major cities. Guillermo Soberón was a visionary and modern man. Thus, the University Cultural Center was born.
The “Neza” was inspired by the grand strokes of Hans Scharoun’s Berlin Philharmonic headquarters. But it surpassed it. Eduardo Mata, that great director we lost, was behind it. The Catalan architect and artist Arcadio Artís made innovations and incorporated the acoustic suggestions of Christopher Jaffe, an American. It was a melting pot in every sense. Mexico was open to the teachings of the world. The programming of the OFUNAM and the Minería Orchestra showcases this openness. Mahler is just as welcome as contemporary Chinese music. Why fight against universality? It comforts the soul. But it also shrinks it.
On September 15, the squares resound with “Viva México.” But it is the same country that destroys its wonderful jungles and forests, and now even the fantastic lake systems of our Caribbean. It is the same Mexico whose rivers are official garbage dumps, which does not invest in its hydrological system and spills millions of tons of humus into the sea that has been accumulating for centuries. The country experiences forest fires—the vast majority of which are deliberately set—devastating over 200,000 hectares annually. Forest culture is non-existent. The Mexico of abusers who prefer the quick business of illegal logging, which gallops uncontrollably, rather than imagining the rational exploitation of our forests and jungles.
The same squares that will tremble every September 15th between flags waving with great energy and, at the same time, hiding our country’s main enemy: the Mexican himself. Yes, the one who decides not to respect traffic signs because his priorities will always be higher than those of his fellow citizens. And we will eat pozole or tamales, tequila and beer—with origins in the Middle East—will flow to liven up the party, and our second anthem, Moncayo’s Huapango, will play tirelessly. The same country that watches the parade of corruption but prefers to remain silent, to sail comfortably along. That beautiful country of volcanoes and seas of privilege, like that of Cortés, which is the envy of many, inhabited by beings who, deep down, despise life itself, in all its forms. Hence, there is domestic violence, gender violence, animal abuse, and abandonment of babies. Today, it is a country of spectators who take refuge in a revolution in which the honest citizens rose against the dictatorship. The same country that excels at building challenging roads, schools in remote mountain areas, and world-class dams, yet lives in quiet indignity, knowing it is lied to daily, with many businesspeople applauding the government’s irresponsibility. Long live Mexico! First, my businesses and contracts are my priority; if I succeed, the rest becomes irrelevant, even if we sail aimlessly together.
A true nation defends its own, as well as that of others. In Mexico, there is a mariachi nationalism and a daily counter-nation, shameful.
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