Malintzin
(aka La Malinche, Malinalli, Do�a Marina, and La Chingada)
16th century

Malintzin was an indigenous woman of nobel birth. As a child, she was abandoned by her mother and sold into slavery to other indigenous tribes. She learned the languages of the other tribes. When the Spanish arrived, she was offered toh them along with other women. They quickly realized that she was skilled in many languages. Malintzin also learned Spanish and became an interpreter for Hern�n Cort�s. Many blame her for the downfall of the Aztec empire because she aided Cort�s by tipping him off to an uprising. She also was a mistress to Cort�s and gave birth to a son, the first mestizo (indigenous and Spanish) child.

The word "malinchista" still is synonymous with being a traitor to your people. However, in recent times Chicana and Mexican feminists have redefined the term and sought to change her image to make it more accurate and less hateful toward women.

I looked up some of the Mexican literature on this woman to share. One looks at La Malinche as la Chingada and the other as a victim.

From The Labryrinth of Solitude: Life and Thought in Mexico by Octavio Paz, 1961

If the Chingada is a representation of the violated Mother, it is appropriate to associate her with the Conquest, which was also a violation, not only in the historical sense but also in the very flesh of the Indian women. The symbol of this violation is do�a Maline, the mistress of Cort�s. It is true that she gave herself voluntarily to the conquistador, but he forgot her as soon as her usefulness was over. Do�a Marina becomes a figure representing the Indain women who were facinated, violated or seduced by the Spaniards. And as a small boy will not forgive his mother if she abandons him to search for his father, the Mexican people have not forgiven La Malinche for her betrayal. She embodies the open, the chingado, to our closed, stoic, impassive Indians.

I chose the translated version of this poem by Rosario Castellanos just to be courteous to any non-Spanish speakers. Plus, I get tired of writing the accents.

From A Rosario Castellanos Reader edited by Maureen Ahern, 1988...

From the throne of command my mother declared: "He is dead."

And threw herself
into another man's arms; the usurper and stepfather
who did not sustain her with the request
a servant renders to the majesty of a queen
but groveled in their mutual shame
of lovers and accomplices.

From the Plaza of Exchange
my mother announced: "She is dead."

The scale balanced for an instant,
the chocolate bean lay motionless in the bin,
the sun remained at mid-point in the sky
awaiting the sign
which shot like an arrow,
became the sharp wail for the mourners.

"The bloom of many petals was deflowered,
perfume evaporated,
torch flame burned out.

A girl returns to scratch up the earth
in the place
where the midwife buried her umbilicus.

She returns to the Place of Those Who Once Lived

She recognizes her father, assassinated,
ah, by poison, a dagger,
a snare before his feet, a noose.

They take each other by the hand and walk,
disappearing into the fog."

Thus the wailing and lamentation
over an anonymous body: a corpse
that was not mine because I was sold
to ther merchants, on my way as a slave,
a nobody, into exile.

Cast out, expelled
from the kingdom, the palace, and the warm belly
of the woman who bore me in legimitate marriage bed
who hated me because I was her equal
in stature and in rank,
who saw herself in me and hating her image
dashed the mirror against the ground.

I advance toward destiny in chains
leaving behind all that I can still hear,
the funereal murmurs with which I am buried.

And the voice of my mother in tears -- in tears!
She who decrees my death!

Me siento: hungry
Escuchando: depeche mode, "little 15"

M�s reciente:
Searches - 09.16.05
the big move - 07.29.05
mother and daughter: a comparative analysis - 07.28.05
jardineros y dom�sticas - 07.27.05
tough question - 07.25.05

antes // despu�s