A family’s quest for unified cultural identity
My grandfather escaped Pancho Villa by hiding in an empty well.
He was a gringo, 6 feet 2 inches tall, with black hair and blue eyes. He loved his Mexican wife, his Mexican kids and Mexican hats. On the frontier of Sonora circa 1910, he was as inconspicuous as a revolutionary on horseback. I have this image of him, hiding out in that cramped space trying to be small, and Pancho Villa riding past a well that is wearing a sombrero.
My grandfathers came from different places and backgrounds — one was from New Jersey and one from Guaymas, Mexico. One left a farm in rural America to find work in rural Mexico. The other left a small port town for the city. Both had one thing in common — they loved the idea of Mexico and wore that idea, literally, to demonstrate their affection. I have two photos of them that I like to look at side by side. Each wears a classic Mexican “traje de charro” — a cowman’s embroidered suit. They look badass in these old photos. They look like they know it.
Badassness runs on the frontier, especially if the land involves turf wars over mining rights and railroad tracks. The railroad tracks in my family run between Guaymas, Mexico, and Nogales, Arizona. In 1854, fights broke out in Sonora over the location of the railroad in Guaymas, over American control of the railroad and copper mines and who should be emperor. This confusion resulted in the Battle of Guaymas when a French count named Gastón de Raousett-Boulbon decided to attack Guaymas and crown himself king. His plans are foiled by a soldadera named Loreto Encinas de Avilés, who warns Mexican defenders just in time. The French vice consul, José Calvo, intercedes with Raousett-Boulbon to surrender, and hands him over to Mexican authorities. For this, Calvo is trolled by California newspapers who support the count’s dreams of Manifest Destiny.
Calvo is my great-great-greatgrandfather on my mother’s side. Doña Avilés is my greatgreat-great-great-grandmother, also on Mom’s side. By the time William Davison, my paternal grandfather, finds work on the Sonora railroad it’s 30 years later and there’s a new cast of characters claiming to be emperor. That’s when Pancho Villa rode in to town to make sure no Americans were on the short list.
This true story about opposing sides ending up in the same family takes place where the Mexico-U.S. railway began. If old family photographs anchor my memory of relatives I never knew, historical photos illuminate the reason behind our family quest for a unified cultural identity. Take the photo I discovered of the Yaqui warrior Cajemé, an indigenous liberation fighter also from Sonora. His name means “one who does not stop to drink water.”
Cajemé’s adventures took him to California, then to Guaymas where, I discovered, he joined my ancestor to defend the port against Count Raousett-Boulbon. He was honored for defending Mexico with an appointment as “Mayor of the Yaquis.” His assignment: control his people under Mexican dominion. Instead, he united the Yaqui tribes into an independent republic and led an armed insurrection to secure their independence. In the end he was betrayed by members of his own community. Like the count, he was captured and executed by firing squad, but not before exclaiming, “Antes como antes y ahora como ahora. Antes éramos enemigos y peleábamos. Ahora está todo concluido y todos somos amigos.” (Before was before and now is now. Before we were enemies and we fought; now everything is concluded and we are all friends.)
Today fights are breaking out on the Sonoran border over the location of a wall, over American control of Mexican identity and who should be emperor. In his photo my American grandfather is leaning against a garden wall looking off somewhere, as if he’s daydreaming about the old days when he tried so hard to be Mexican. The photo of my Mexican grandfather shows him on a horse, looking confidently at the camera. It always seemed to me that he was very earnest in his Mexicanidad. The photo of Cajemé was taken during his captivity. He’s smiling, maybe because he’s at peace, maybe because he didn’t need to prove anything. I saw that old photo of Cajemé and I thought about my grandfathers and all the times before, when I wondered who we were. I knew exactly then, where they were trying to go.