PDF (Lo-Res) - Smithsonian Institution Libraries

12 SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23
Indian families of the community (Wasserstrom,
pers. comm.).
From the fall of Porfirio Diaz in 1910 to the defeat
of General Pineda in 1924 the Zinacantecs endured a
period of armed encounters when neither their lives
nor their possessions were secure.
Conditions have changed rather dramatically in
the past twenty-five years. The Departamento de
Asuntos Indigenas came to the aid of Indians in legal
disputes that could not be settled at the township
level. Since 1950 the Instituto Nacional Indigenista
has built roads, schools, clinics, and stores in the
Chiapas highlands. In 1972 the Programa de Desarrollo
Socio-economico de los Altos de Chiapas was
inaugurated to provide new legal, administrative,
and economic recourses for the Indian population.
The paternalistic attitude of Ladinos has been shaken
by Indian competition. Though exploitation has not
ended, and though it is too soon to expect Ladinos to
exchange their condescending view of Indian culture
for one of respect, the Indian communities are
beginning to experience a new optimism.
In folklore the Ladino has been accorded a place
consonant with his historic role. One aspect of the
Earth Lord is modeled after the fabulously rich
Ladino landowner who offers great treasures in
exchange for contract labor. Otherwise the Ladino,
almost without exception, is an evil character,
whether layman or priest—"the spawn of an Indian
woman and a white dog." Running through the
folktales is an ever-recurring refrain: "Once the
town had wealth, now it is penniless; if what had
happened had not happened, we would be on top,
the Ladino face up."
It is not surprising to find that in the oral literature
of Zinacantan personal relations, whether between
man and god, between stranger and Zinacantec,
among fellow townsmen, or between family members,
are shaded with distrust. In addition, few
mythic antagonists are ever reformed; they are generally
rejected and destroyed. A frequently unpredictable
universe, whose evil manifestations are
easier to batter down than to set right, may have
been the creation not of Zinacantecs alone, but of
Zinacantecs laboring under the domination of
Ladinos. With renewed prosperity, a new ebullience
may spill over into the folk traditions.
In 1958, when Zinacantecs first told me their tales,
the hamlets of Zinacantan were separated by gleaming
forests of oak and pine. Wisps of smoke rose
from the tall, black pyramids of thatch nestled in the
green corn fields. Men ran down muddy trails,
urging on their convoy of mules, or strode jauntily
along the highway, weaving a coil of palm fiber for a
new hat. Their Mayan profiles slanted obliquely
under straw platters spilling yards of pink and purple
ribbons. Brief white shorts set off their brown muscular
thighs as they paraded at the head of their
flock of womenfolk. The women, bowed under
bristling bundles of firewood, drew shawls across
their faces as the cars raced past.
Now the forests ringing the hamlets are mostly
knee-high stumps. Low tile roofs cover the adobe or
brick rectangles. Trucks, few mules, carry corn.
Store-bought sombreros and long pants far outnumber
beribboned platters and white shorts. Most
boys walk bareheaded. Those who can, wear watches
on their wrists and carry radios in their plastic
shoulderbags. Girls stare boldly and may even smile.
But the electricity is still dim, meals are still
cooked on wood fires, dogs still bark and roosters
still crow through the night, men still lead the way,
mist swirls still past the ragged limestone cliffs, and
the thunderbolt crashes, shaking the mountains to
their foundations. The profile is still Mayan. 3
TALETELLING
The hesitant teasing out of tales began in my front
yard in Zinacantan. Here, Romin Teratol, speaking
Tzotzil slowly and barely above a whisper, recited
tale after tale to my clumsy pencil. After my skill
had become more adequate I worked with Xun
7Akov and then approached one of the elder members
of the community. Although eager to supply
myths, Manvel K'obyox was incapable of repeating
verbatim. His lamentable scantiness of tooth also
frustrated my most conscientious efforts at transcription.
It was then decided to shift from pencil to tape
recorder and from Zinacantan to San Cristobal
where we would be free from neighbors' intruding
ears. After each session the recording was transcribed
in rough approximation, to be polished subsequently
with Romin Teratol's help.
The storytellers' toils were accompanied by idle
chitchat, bowls of beans, and, when appropriate,
bottles of cane liquor or beer, so that their stories
would reflect, as they should, hours of leisurely
companionship. I had hoped that tales might be
elicited without payment of a fee, but Zinacantecs
value their time highly. I did not want them to feel
exploited.
The choice of narrator was limited by the trials of
establishing close relations; no Zinacantec acquaintance
would agree to serve as liaison to individuals
who seemed to me particulary knowledgeable. Con-
familiar with Of Wonders Wild and New: Dreams From
Zinacantan will recall this scenery (Laughlin, 1976:1).