The Celebration of Saint John, a Living Tradition in Capacuaro

Photo: Erandi Ávalos.

In many parts of the world, June 24 marks a very peculiar celebration: that of Saint John the Baptist. Due to its proximity to the summer solstice, it reflects its nature as an agricultural and astronomical rite which—like many Christian festivities—has ancient origins that, over time, risk losing their original meaning and becoming mere disconnected customs, saturated with superficial entertainment, grupera music dances, excess, and trash. It’s clear that traditions are dynamic, but it’s important to ensure they maintain at least a minimum degree of coherence with their context.

Photo: Erandi Ávalos.

In Michoacán, several towns celebrate this date in grand fashion, generally beginning on June 22 or 23 and concluding around the 25th. Each has its unique way of celebrating and is distinguished by one feature or another. In the case of Capacuaro, a town in the municipality of Uruapan, the explosion of color everywhere is breathtaking. From the women’s traditional clothing—shiny sequined hair wraps, embroidered huanengos and aprons, and vibrantly colored rebozos—to the imposing and exotic horse-mounted “Moors”—a historic and syncretic reminiscence of the Spanish conquest and colonization, and of Spain’s own history—who, through their dance, are the heart of the celebration. They dance in groups as an offering to Saint John the Baptist, asking for good rains and bountiful harvests, and are guided by masters who teach them the choreography and oversee their striking costumes.

Santiago Rosales, the current mandón—holder of the town’s staff of command—says he learned the dances from his father Domingo at the age of thirteen, and later dedicated himself to teaching the youngest children. Now his own son carries on the tradition, ensuring that future generations continue to dance for Saint John, and also preserving a relationship of learning and communication between adults and youth—no small feat in these times.

Photo: Erandi Ávalos.

The women also contribute by embroidering the cloths that adorn both the horses and the dancers, and by preparing the feast offered to all visitors, consisting of the traditional churipo and corundas.

The food, the flowers adorning the church and the saints, the music bands, and everything needed for the celebration are provided by the cargueros, who voluntarily donate hundreds of thousands of pesos to make it all happen. Other communities are invited to join the festivities, and will later be visited in return. The bonds created within the community and with other towns are key to social integration, and although the nationwide problems of chaos, violence, degradation, addiction, and loss of identity are present across the country, this kind of event is undoubtedly vital to maintaining, as much as possible, social order and healthy coexistence. If we also consider the spiritual meaning it carries, the experience becomes even more enriching.

Photo: Erandi Ávalos.

Although Capacuaro has lost almost all of its vernacular architecture—a true shame—it has managed to preserve the P’urhépecha language remarkably well. One can hear it fluently spoken by children, adults, and elders alike. In safeguarding their language, they also preserve a unique way of perceiving the world and expressing their culture.

For millennia, rituals tied to key dates have been part of life. Nowadays, they are increasingly replaced by individualistic celebrations devoid of metaphysical, natural, or aesthetic meaning, and that fulfill no long-term social purpose. Could it be that we urbanites have completely lost our sense of connection to the Earth and its cycles—and that this loss affects us more than we realize? Could it be that we, scholars but never wise, children of materialism, should reconsider these rituals of supplication and gratitude for rain and harvests as real and sacred, ever since humans began to cultivate the land? Perhaps the coming droughts and floods will give us the answer.

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Erandi Ávalos is an art historian, cultural manager, and writer. She has collaborated on individual and collective projects for public and private cultural institutions in Mexico, the United States, the Netherlands, Costa Rica, and Spain. She is currently the Director of Outreach at Cine Qua Non Lab. Since 2018, she has been a member of the Mexican Section of the International Association of Art Critics (AICA). Contact: erandiversionmejorada@gmail.com