Recently, I took my parents to an event and found myself spending a couple of days immersed in the quaint charm of Guanajuato a historic Mexican town.
One unforgettable encounter was with a retired miner from Mina de La Valencia. He shared tales from his 45-year-long career underground, including stories of friends lost in accidents and his personal brush with death that sent him into a four-year break before he could return to the mine. He also drew us back to the era when slaves, under Spanish rule, tirelessly pursued precious metals. A church, built in honor of the patron saint, San Cayetano, remains as a testament to these dark times. Despite its unfinished exterior, the church holds within three magnificent altars made of 23-karat gold.
Walking through the tunnels, exploring the alleys, and observing Guanajuato's architecture was a delight. I participated in a “Callejoneada”, a traditional parade where students clad in distinctive attire play music along the narrow alleys, drawing a crowd of tourists, and ultimately converging in “el callejón del beso”. This experience stirred reflections on our Mexican culture and the significant Spanish influences within it. I found myself intrigued by how readily we've adopted these foreign elements, sometimes allowing them to overshadow our pre-colonial identity. This insight is not so much a critique, but a newly found realization.
During the weeks I spent with my parents before our trip to Guanajuato, I inquired about our ancestral language. My father, born in Michoacán, and my mother, a native of Sonora and granddaughter of a small-town pioneer could not provide definitive answers. This curiosity about our lineage made me ponder the broader aspects of language, heritage, and societal attitudes within Latin American culture.
Among many Latin Americans, an unspoken perception of English as a superior language exists, which causes discomfort when returning Hispanics employ it. It's often seen as cultural treachery, sparking a “Do you think you're better than us?” type of confrontation.
Interestingly, we Mexicans seem to feel more at ease the further we distance ourselves from our indigenous roots. Many of us, including myself until recently, show no desire to trace these roots—an aspect of our past many wish to forget.
A few years ago, I switched my social media postings to English. Until today, this decision occasionally provokes sharp comments questioning my loyalty to Spanish. However, in a time where English bridges cultures, my decision is purely practical. I love Spanish and consider it my mother tongue, but increasingly, it feels like a borrowed language, given the fact that the languages of my ancestors remain an enigma, potentially an unsolvable one; while English seems to be the language of the internet and travel.
Why am I contemplating these matters?
During a recent conversation with a full-time missionary, I was reminded that numerous languages are on the brink of extinction, with no written form to preserve them. This revelation stirred pressing questions: Should we strive to safeguard these languages? Do they hold future value? Or is humanity steadily progressing towards a universal language in the name of unity and advancement?
I've been tracking the use of artificial intelligence (AI) in language translation. AI's potential to understand and codify spoken languages opens new avenues for preserving endangered languages, ensuring future generations maintain a connection with their roots, understand their origins, and recognize the unique contributions they can offer to the world.
Listening to the miner discuss colonial times made me reflect on actions justified in the name of faith. I am grateful for my faith, which took Spaniards introducing Christianity, and Anglo-Americans bringing Protestantism, and in recent years, I’ve been greatly influenced by charismatic circles. However, I can’t shake the thought of how we might be replicating the same transgressions as earlier Christians, especially in the realm of missionary work. I don't subscribe to the belief that the end justifies the means.
Walking through Mexico City, I am reminded of the social class disparity, even more, palpable than in other parts of Mexico where I've resided. Here, colorism and classism are really on your face.
These observations stand as a warning to myself in my mind.
Raised among missionaries and participating in missionary work since my childhood, I sense a destiny to continue seeking ways to serve in the future. No matter how that service manifests, may I always reach out without conditioning my assistance on the acceptance of Jesus and adherence to my beliefs.
May we shed the savior's mentality, but emulate the love of Jesus—unconditional, ready to wash the feet of even those who might betray us.