Emiliano

EMILIANO

 A partly fictionalized story about the legendary leader of Mexico's Revolution. ¡Viva!

By Perry Gaspar

Our story starts a little over a hundred years ago in a small village in southern Mexico in the state of Morelos. There once lived a young mestizo boy there by the name of Emiliano. "Mili," as his family usually called him, was the second to the youngest in a large family of 5 brothers and 4 sisters. By now, several siblings had grown, left home and made homes of their own. Mili's parents were campesinos, people that work with the land. They grew beans, corn, tomatoes, and some sugarcane on their small farm. The family also owned several heads of cattle, two horses, and a burro. His father, Gabriel, was a horse trainer like his father before him, and Cleofas, his mother, was a seamstress. Mili's family wasn't the poorest family in the village, but they were far from being rich.

Mili Zapata was quiet but serious for a young boy. While most boys ran here and there or kicked tin cans down the street, or flung their wooden tops inside circles scratched in the dirt, Mili would rather be on his horse he called "Papaya," out in the campo, riding fast and jumping over the many stone walls. Mili was a very good rider and he was no doubt following in his father’s footsteps as an excellent horseman. Mili was also a thinker. When he wasn't out on Papaya and he was around the other boys, he would frequently gaze off in the distance with his deep, dark eyes and think. Mili was basically shy and if someone started up a conversation with him, he would simply answer "sí," or "no," while nodding his head accordingly. He would then excuse himself, saying, "..con permiso," and run off towards home.

Like his brothers and sisters, only occasionally could Mili attend school as there was always much work to be done on the farm: tending the fields, or feeding the various animals. Each of the children was required to do their part of the chores necessary to support the household. (Mili didn't know it yet, but one day, he would become famous). Many of the people of Las Piedras were poor. Most children were expected to work at chores as soon as they were big enough, around the age of 8 or 9 and sometimes even younger.

Mili was always an observant sort and at a young age he recognized that the people in his village were different from the people in the big city over the mountains to the north; and different too from those who lived in the haciendas, the big ranchos that lay between his village and the city. Among other things, he noticed that many of the hacienda folk were of lighter skin color than his own. He had noticed too, and wondered why all people were not treated the same. And he was curious to know how it was that few people had so much, while so many had so little.

Mili had been many times to the sprawling hacienda owned by the Mendez family on the north-western side of Las Piedras. His father worked there most days of the week, grooming and caring of the many horses and mules the Mendezes owned. He taught people to ride also. Those days when his mother didn't need him to help around the home, Mili liked to go along with his “Papi” to the hacienda to help with the animals. The size and grandeur of the Mendez hacienda captivated Mili. He noticed the many nice things that they owned and he couldn't help but notice the great number of people that worked there: the maids, servants, cooks, gardeners, and in particular, the many vaqueros on their work horses.

Mili liked to watch the vaqueros while they worked, and he was fascinated by their dress. The wide brimmed sombreros, the snug-fitting pants that belled at the bottom with silver buttons that ran down the sides of their legs, and the intricate stitching on their leather vests. Mili knew some of the people that worked for the Mendezes. Like himself, they were people from his village, the parents of some of his friends. Some lived permanently on the hacienda grounds.

Twice, Mili had been through the tall, wooden front doors of the main house, just inside in the big passageway. From there, Mili could see other parts of the house. Especially into the large sitting room with its big fireplace and the many chairs and couches and tables. He was awed by the thick rugs on the floor and the high ceiling with the big cast iron chandeliers that hung down from the massive wooden beams. There were big paintings on the walls of Don and Doña Mendez and other family members. It had occurred to him that the whole house where he lived could have fit into just one of those rooms!

* * *

Many things concerning the hacienda had troubled Mili. He had seen on several occasions that the dueños, the owners of the hacienda, would be disrespectful to his father, and to some of the other workers also. "You'd better do it right, or else," he heard someone threaten. "If I have to tell you again, you'll get no pay!" he heard on another occasion. Mili felt this was not right. Why should someone talk to another this way? His friends and family never talked to one another in that manner. He was taught to be considerate to all people.

One day, he witnessed one of the foremen named, Juan, push his father aside causing him to almost tumble to the ground. Gabriél, being humble, said nothing. Riding horseback on the way home after the long day of work, Mili asked his father why the foreman had done so. "Pápi, why did Juan do that to you?" "I'm sorry you had to see that, Emiliano," his father told him. "I simply had given my opinion to him. I said that he must not whip his horse as he does. I think he probably felt a little guilty about it after I brought it to his attention. Juan is a bit spoiled, and being young, still has some things to learn. You, my son, know better than he does." Mili smiled proudly.

Mili thought about what his father said as they continued on down the dusty road nearing home and the supper he knew his mother would be preparing and would have waiting for them for when they arrived. The sun was now very low and the hot day had begun to cool off. The rocks and trees had a golden glow as they almost always did that time of day. Off in the distance a donkey brayed. It was Pépe, their donkey, and Mili knew they were nearly home. This day would have a profound effect on Emiliano.

* * *

The village of Las Piedras lay a half days ride over some mountains from the big Ciudad de México, to the south. Due to its proximity, the people of Las Piedras supplied many things to those who lived in the city. On most any day one could see oxen or mule drawn carts and burros, laden with fruits and vegetables, chickens and pigs, leather goods and woven material; headed up through the pass and over the mountains to be sold in the many markets in the big city. The women of Las Piedras sewed rebosos and wove beautiful serapes to sell. The men made fine leather saddles and bridles and carved wooden bowls and utensils and even toys. Mili's mother sewed and embroidered fine faldas and blusas, and his father would sell the corn and tomatoes they had grown. Selling their goods in the markets was a major livelihood for the villagers. Some days, one could make enough money on market day to last their family for several weeks before having to go again.

Mili thought the big city was very interesting, but he would always be glad to get home again to his humble village. The people in the city seem to be in a hurry, he thought to himself. They even walk and talk faster! And like the hacendados, they treated him and the people of his village differently from their own kind. Like the Mendezes, the city folk were well dressed, drove fancy buggies and coaches, and lived in big houses. Mili never really felt comfortable around them.

One day as Mili and his older brother, Eufemio, were working together in the tomato field, Mili shared what he had seen happen that day to his father at the hacienda. Eufemio was furious to hear that Juan, the foreman, had treated his father in a discourteous way.

Later that evening as the two lie in their beds, they talked more about things they had seen or heard. Mili learned that his brother was bothered by many of the same things. And Eufemio informed him of some other things he was not aware of: the fact the Mendezes had taken land from their neighbors, the Trujillos, family friends and campesinos like themselves. "They also diverted the acequia so they could have more water for their animals, which means that many families on that side of our village get less water to use," Eufemio explained. "And you know the Archuletas, they did the same. They put a fence up where there has never been one before, and claimed the land as theirs. Old man Chuy had planted his beans there for many years, and now he can no longer do so. I tell you Mili, there's something in the air lately that I don't like. These people will take our land and maybe our village too if we let them!"

Eufemio was about to tell his younger brother to to go to sleep now, but he didn't have to. Mili was already snoring softly. The night was very calm. Aside from Mili's gentle snoring, the only other sound were the crickets outside which seemed almost loud to Eufemio as he lay there in the dark with his head resting on the wall behind him. Soon, he too would fall asleep.

As Mili grew, he would learn much about his country's dictator, Porfirio Díaz and his government based in Mexico City, and the extent of the wrong they had been doing for many years to the less fortunate people all over Mexico. He came to like the city and its people even less and what they stood for. Likewise, people like the nearby Aragones and the Archuletas. All they seemed to care about were themselves. The campesinos became weary of the so-called more affluent, seemingly always taking and never giving back. La gente needed land too to survive -- land and water were central to life. They were necessary for raising their animals, their food, their families; was this asking too much?

By now, Mili had talked and listened to many people with feelings like his own. He was thoughtful, compassionate, and he understood well what the peasants hardships were about. He and his family were victims too, and he made a decision to do something about it.

* * *

Several years passed, and Mili was now 18 years old. His brother Eufemio, had left to join in some fighting that had begun. Something "muy serio" was in the air. A revolución had begun. Injustices like those in Las Piedras were happening everywhere throughout México. The poor were getting poorer and losing access to arable lands, as the rich got only richer. Peasant uprisings against the ruling class were frequent now. They had no choice but to fight back for what was being denied or taken from them.

The village of Las Piedras would fight back also. Mili and his father would attend meetings with other men around Las Piedras to discuss strategies to oppose the powers that be. The meetings were mostly kept secret and held at different locations. Emiliano, as he was usually called now, would have a lot to say at these meetings. He had good ideas and spoke with passion about the campesino situation. He was no longer the boy who didn't participate. He was a man now and had joined the rebellion.

"We can no longer accept what the hacendados have been doing, taking our lifeblood away from us," he told the group. "We must join together, and fight those who deny us land and liberty."

Several days later as planned, many of the villagers held a protest against the Aragon hacienda. Some of those that worked there did not show up for work. The shops and businesses that catered to the Aragones did not open for business. Later that day as expected, the Policía arrived and arrested many including Emiliano. They were loaded into wagons and taken to Ayala, the nearest town that had a jail big enough to hold them all. Emiliano and the others spent a couple days there, but were pardoned and released unharmed if they promised to return to work.. Emliano had been many times to Ayala before. It was where he had gone to school as a boy.

It would be only a few days when the meetings would start again. Emiliano himself led the campesinos on several attempts to make negotiations with the Aragones and other haciendas, but the hacendados wouldn't budge. Meanwhile, at one of the meetings, Emiliano's friends and neighbors elected him "President of the Board of Defense," for his village. Emiliano seemed destined to be a leader!

* * *

Sitting with the family at the breakfast table the following Sunday morning, Emiliano's mother told him, "I am proud of you my son, and what you are doing, but promise me you will be careful."
"Do not worry about Emiliano, Cleofa," his father spoke up. “Yes, he believes strongly in what he is doing and is very cautious also."
"We'd better get going if we are to make it to church on time," his sister Lúpe chimed in.


With that said, everyone gulped down the last of their cafés they were drinking and rose to collect their sombreros and serapes, and prepared to pile into the family wagon. Emiliano chose to ride Papaya alongside. Once in church, Emiliano prayed that he would do what was right for the people of Morelos. In his mind, he knew what his family would pray for.


As mass ended, Emiliano excused himself saying, "con permiso" to his family and rode off by himself. He went to the top of a hill overlooking Las Piedras and looked across the valley it seemed to fit snuggly into. He could plainly see the fields of corn. The leaves were turning brown now as most had been harvested recently. He could see, and hear, the fields of tall sugarcane still mostly green, their tops rustling softly with each breeze. To his left on a slope of the same hill he stood on, were the mango groves, large trees that he recalled climbing many times to knock down the yellow and red fruits to his waiting brothers and sisters below as they scurried to collect them in their pockets and skirts. To the East, beyond the last bunch of visible tile rooftops, the Rio Verde sparkled in the morning sunlight. The sky was a huge deep-blue backdrop to it all.


It was truly a magical place. "Es mi tierra" he spoke out loud to Papaya as he patted her on the head. He could not imagine living anywhere else. He would do all in his power to keep the land for his family and fellow villagers, as it should be; and more, he thought to himself. He would get back that which was taken also. There will be lots of work to do, and no doubt some fighting, and sadly, some will die.

* * *

At the next meeting, the group addressed the fact that, if there was to be big changes, it would be necessary to go to the top. They agreed that they must try and meet with the Presidente de México, Porfirio Diaz. Such a thing would not be easy.

"Presidente Diaz is not just a president, he is a dictator," someone was heard to say. "He will not talk to us."

It was true. Diaz had ruled México for the past thirty years. He was selfish, ruthless, and plainly ignored the struggle of the campesinos. He was a friend of the elite, the rich folk of mostly European blood--those that came from across the oceans to exploit and take advantage of the abundance of land and resources and people, while most those of indian or mestizo heritage that were born on the land and kept poor and subservient.

Word was out about a man named, Francisco Madero who lived in the northern part of Mexico, and had been making speeches about changes in the government. He spoke of justice and the democratic way, fairness to all people living in Mexico, and more importantly, the removal of President Díaz.

"I heard Madero will be in the area soon, campaigning," a gentleman in the group exclaimed.

Emiliano spoke up. "It would be a good idea to meet with this man. We will talk to him and explain our situation. Perhaps we are on the same side, no?"

End part one

PPG