Autor: mendocinomx

  • Violencia eclesiástica: una lectura girardianaIván Gardea, Lynching, Cuernavaca, 2020

    Ecclesiastical violence: a Girardian reading

    By Carlos Mendoza-Álvarez

     

    A few days ago we learned about the Father Alberto Anguiano García resigned from the rectorship of the Pontifical University of Mexico, in the second year of his second term as rector, as a protest against the “workplace harassment and institutional violence” he suffered at the hands of the Vatican Curia and the authorities of that ecclesiastical university, which has been in existence for barely forty years.

    The reasons given by the rector for his unilateral removal from office, an act that led to his resignation, are revealing, as they reveal a systemic problem in ecclesiastical institutions, which frequently act as if they had their own jurisdiction, impervious to civil jurisdiction, with labor rights at stake, as well as to public opinion in modern societies.

    While, like every educational institution in Mexico, the UPM is subject to civil law regarding labor and education, the procedures in this case reveal a systemic violence that must be addressed in order to dismantle and make way for other methods of action, in keeping with the Gospel and the freedom of individuals, especially when it concerns the common good that education represents. Even more urgently, we must reflect and act when it concerns a religious institution destined to communicate the contents of Christian revelation and the tradition that constantly arises from it. Ultimately, this is a matter of addressing the credibility crisis of the Roman Catholic Church in these dire days.

     

     

    I met Father Alberto as a student at the University of Madrid thirty years ago, when he was pursuing a postgraduate degree in theology in 1995, during a course I taught on Emmanuel Levinas and his concept of revelation rooted in the Hebrew tradition and in dialogue with "the philosophy spoken in Greek." He was the most brilliant student of those generations, not only for his high academic standing, but also for his theological ability to update the theological knowledge of the great Christian tradition in the midst of contemporary questions arising from science, psychoanalysis, and the challenges of secular culture.

    Already as rector, his first term began in 2021 It was marked by a clear project to modernize the university, both in its curricula and in the urgent strategic planning to open up to new disciplines in the civil world and not be limited solely to the clerical sphere. Ecclesiastical faculties had to overcome their ostracism and enter into dialogue with other civil disciplines. Furthermore, according to the diagnosis, it was essential to promote institutional efficiency that would make a domestic institution viable in its vision, uses, and customs, to make it a credible interlocutor in the academic and ecclesial context, both nationally and internationally.

    But internal resistance seems to have created a climate of aversion to these reforms which, due to the typical rivalry of any group protecting its interests, deployed a mechanism of expulsion against its main promoter. In order to maintain the unanimity of "all against one," proceeding like a true mimetic contagion, a typical scapegoat process was brewing. It was thought that by expelling the person singled out as the source of the collective evil from the group, the evil would be expelled from the institution, which would regain its tranquility once purified of its poison. As we can see in the engraving by Iván Gardea that accompanies this reflection (The Plot of Engraving), the talented Mexican engraver managed to masterfully capture this mechanism of rivalry, contagion and collective lynching to delineate with the force of his strokes the mimetic desire that gives rise to human culture based on sacrifices since we have historical memory as a human species.

    Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how the crisis is resolved, we know that the victimizing mechanism is the satanic lie that hides "things hidden since the foundation of the world," as René Girard said (Things hidden since the foundation of the world) quoting the Gospel of Matthew: “That it might be fulfilled which was spoken through the prophet, saying, I will open my mouth in parables, and will utter things hidden since the foundation of the world” (Matthew 13:35). The parables of the Reign of God that Jesus told in Galilee evoked ways to overcome the violence that lurks in the human heart precisely as a mimetic desire that engenders rivalry and fratricide. If the community involved does not internally dismantle the mechanism of rivalry and hatred, the poison will continue to infect its internal relationships and will continue to create new processes of self-protection, unanimity of all against one, expulsion and lies, producing new victims.

    From this fund anthropological that appears as a cause systemic Of the institutional violence suffered by Father Alberto, what is important now is to emphasize the need for accountability from ecclesiastical institutions, both internally and externally. Moving forward, a process of collective healing of memory will be necessary, with justice and truth first for the victims, and with accountability for the perpetrators.

    Unfortunately, given the prevailing clericalism, as a structure systemic which is perpetuated precisely by making victims invisible, it is necessary to bring this institutional distortion into the public sphere so that paths of memory can emerge, with justice and truth, that restore the scant credibility of a university institution founded in 1982 to serve the Roman Catholic Church in Mexico and Mexican society as a whole.

     

     

    The institutional complicity that led to Father Alberto's expulsion is similar to other instances of clerical violence in today's world.

    Such systemic clerical violence can be traced to similar crises, such as that of the Roman Catholic Church in Chile, which has produced victims of sexual abuse committed by clergy against adult women and minors for half a century. They have been subjected for decades to systemic psychological, sexual, and spiritual violence, which has left its mark on the victims and has protected the perpetrators of these crimes from impunity, protected by what Rita Segato (The war against women) called it "the masculinity pact." There's talk of reparation, but it revictimizes the victims and leaves no substantial changes in institutional life such as schools, religious congregations, parishes, and dioceses.

    A brilliant doctoral thesis in progress on this topic, prepared by Soledad del Villar Tagle (Abuses in the Church. Concilium. International Journal of Theology, (402)), will document with compelling testimonies and a rigorous interdisciplinary analysis, this abuse of clerical power that requires, of course, restorative justice for victims and survivors, along with a new theology of the Church. This feminist theology from women survivors of sexual and spiritual abuse by clergy will shed light on promoting the necessary changes to overcome this systemic violence characteristic of patriarchy, in its version of clericalism, as a religious expression of the war against women.

    The feminist theology that emerges from the abuse crisis proposes a spirituality that springs from the wounds of Christ's wounded social body, going beyond pious considerations that venerate the wounds of the Crucified One but render invisible the victims of yesterday and today, desecrated in their bodies, minds, and souls by this systemic clerical violence.

    Pope Francis' invitation to live a Holy Year in 2025 (Do not confuse. Bull of Invocation of the Ordinary Jubilee of the Year 2025) in order to learn to be pilgrims of hope in times of despair, addresses the Roman Catholic Church. Throughout the year, Pope Leo XIV has continued this initiative, particularly calling young people to be part of this journey of conversion to sow hope in today's world.

    But these calls will only make sense if they are rooted in attentive listening to survivors of any systemic violence, including ecclesiastical violence, which unfortunately continues to wield its predatory power as a religious caste of clericalism, unsustainable in our times.

     

    Mexico City, July 26, 2025

  • Voces del extremo sur de ÁfricaJane Tully Heath, Still Life. National Gallery of South Africa, 1998

    Voices from the southern tip of Africa

    By Carlos Mendoza Álvarez

     

    Nora is a migrant woman from eSwatini, the former kingdom of Swaziland, which was a British protectorate until 1968 for the "legalized" exploitation of minerals, and later became a post-colonial kingdom. She had to flee her homeland after leaving her husband, who humiliated her. Due to the tradition of the Swazi people, once she separated, her family abandoned her to her fate, and she would be unable to remarry if she ever wanted to return to her homeland. Her only option would be to return to her husband and ask for his forgiveness. Nora represents hundreds of thousands of refugees in South Africa fleeing a variety of forms of violence; in her case, it wasn't war or famine, but what they call "domestic violence" here. In our brief but intense conversation, I told her something I learned from the African-American poet and musician Mykki Blanco (Queer black french dance empowerment feat. poetry by Mykki Blanco) about how queer communities live vulnerability with dignity and hope, beginning each day singing: “I am strong because I have no choice, but I am fragile.” Nora cries inconsolably because, in addition to the pain of having lost her baby a few months ago, her sorrow is even deeper because she hasn't been able to bury her in her homeland, as is the custom of the Suasi people. In the middle of our conversation, I share some bread with her, and she sobs in thanks. I tell her to take it on behalf of the people of Mexico, who also know about this and other forms of violence. And I say goodbye with a hug, telling her that something good will come from that open wound in her heart, especially if it opens to the wounds of other women, who for thousands of years have woven networks of mutual care.

    A different story in today's world, coming from refugees who, in the shadows of the shadows of the shadows, reinvent their lives.

     

     

    During that same visit to the Suasi kingdom, ruled by a king with many wives and numerous children, a custom persisted that left me speechless. Women must serve food by kneeling before their husbands while serving at the table. A middle-aged woman I met during a meal, a spiritual leader in the community that hosted us, told us that sometimes she herself has to play this role when visiting her husband's family, because if she betrayed this custom, it would be perceived as contempt and would exclude her from the family. During our conversation, I noticed that another younger woman remained silent, smiling skeptically, but without saying a word. And then another diner commented that there is a social movement in the Suasi nation seeking to transition to a republic, to overcome these and other customs that denigrate people, but it has suffered repression. At that same table, I perceived three different perspectives on domestic traditions. Perspectives that are also political and spiritual. Everyone survives as best they can, and there are some forms of resistance that persist without changing the age-old patriarchy, while others resist by overcoming fear and dreaming of other "possible worlds." I then think of our America and its resistances of yesterday and today.

    The next day, when I presented my talk on collective healing and possible hope in times of catastrophe to a large and diverse audience, I carried the stories I had heard the day before in my mind and heart. But, in order to avoid passing judgment on a reality I don't understand and only grasped in glimpses, I mentioned the importance of listening to those who live in the shadows today to discover their power, moving from being victims to survivors, as a key criterion for collective healing.

    The silence I perceived in the audience regarding the public naming of these acts of violence revealed to me a degree of fear, perhaps prudence and ancient wisdom to resist, but creating paths to freedom in secret. The public comments were general. Then, in private, some attendees pointed out to me that the Suasi people know what they face and what they want for their nation. Others came forward at the end to share personal stories of grievance due to sexual discrimination, like micro-stories of vulnerability and resistance.

    Some seeds of hope planted in a small kingdom in the far south of Africa.

     

     

    After a month-long stay in South Africa and Swaziland, visiting six cities in both countries, I gradually discovered another face of Mother Africa. Many years earlier, I had visited countries in the north of the continent, with a different demographic profile and social challenges more closely linked to religious violence than interethnic violence. A couple of years ago in Kenya, I met for the first time Black Africans with a living memory of the burden of modern slavery created by European colonial metropolises that built wealthy and powerful empires through genocide and cultural plunder, such as that carried out by the Belgian empire in the Congo.

    But these subjugated peoples fought to free themselves in the 20th century until they achieved political independence, but not autonomy from the coloniality of power-knowledge-being that the great Peruvian Aníbal Quijano analyzed (Coloniality of power, Eurocentrism and Latin America). Unfortunately, many post-colonial states remain subject, as is the case with the rest of the countries in the Global South, to the economic colonialism of the powers in power in their extractive capitalist form.

    Thus, in the far south of the African continent, listening to and conversing with heterogeneous groups of people of various ages, made up of Black, white, and "people of color"—as they call what we in Mexico call mestizos, who are a minority in these lands—I have many stories to continue telling in my travel notes. These are communities that still suffer the scourge of segregation, even after their independence. In South Africa, for example, the communities I visited are aware of the challenge of moving from the process that overthrew apartheid to one day achieving nations of coexistence with an independent and pluralistic state.

    Internal migration within the subcontinent today is massive, driven by wars, famine, and social, ideological, and religious repression, not to mention gender-based violence against queer people, whose lives remain criminalized. As Achille Mbembe recalled a few years ago in Cologne (Bodies and Borders) when talking about deglobalizationThe challenge of the Africanization of the world lies, among other factors, in helping the planet's youngest population transition to democratic, just, and egalitarian societies.

    In my opinion, one of the long-range challenges that Mother Africa gives us today lies in exploring new ways to unite the spiritual tradition of the ancestors and the wisdom of Ubuntu as proposed by Professor Jacob Mokhutso (Ubuntu is under siege: a reflection on the challenges of South Africa then and now) with the predominant Western world. It is about creating other modernities that make room for a ecology of knowledge, according to Boaventura de Sousa Santos's classic decolonial expression. In the midst of these resistances, new forms of Christianity and Islam, Judaism and Hinduism, ancestral religions and queer spiritualities will emerge, beyond their current ideological avatars that produce the annihilation of the different other, such as the Zionism we discussed earlier.

     

     

    Following a similar route, next August the Zapatista communities (Call for the meeting of resistances and rebellions "Some parts of the whole") from Chiapas, in southeastern Mexico, call us together to tell each other stories of rebellion against the crumbling hegemonic world system. But above all, to think together about how to build the pyramid of resistance that has homeland, heart, dignified rage, and the imagination of new katuns or cosmic temporality of the Mayan world.

    There I will undoubtedly find a challenging moment to continue “weaving voices for the common home”, as we dreamed of with Pablo Reyna, inspired by the vibrant thought of Gustavo Esteva (Weaving voices). Since then, we began to explore the process of decolonizing the university, thanks to the action promoted in those years by David Fernández at the Universidad Iberoamericana in Mexico City.

    And next September, I'll tell you other stories from an intercultural and interreligious meeting to be held in Guadalajara. This time, it was organized by a group of colleagues from Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Americas who are working with collectives in resistance and hope amidst contexts of systemic violence against women, people in forced migration, families of missing persons, and indigenous peoples in defense of Mother Earth. The name of the event, “Re-exists: The Spirit connecting peripheries”, summarizes our way of contributing to sowing seeds and reaping fruits of resistance that have been nourished by a powerful spiritual and political background as spiritualities of the peoples.

    As I conclude this series on the South African journey, I once again thank you, Mother Africa, for continuing to give birth to new worlds.

     

    Mexico City, July 19, 2025

     

  • ¿Quiénes heredarán la tierra robada y gentrificada?Lucky Madlo Sibiya (South Africa, 1942), Untitled

    Who will inherit the stolen and gentrified land?

    By Carlos Mendoza-Álvarez OP

     

    The wars of yesterday and today are brutal rituals of territorial control as a space of privilege for a powerful group over the rest of the beings that inhabit it.

    Modern expansionism, which began in the late 15th century with interoceanic voyages financed by European kingdoms that became nascent empires, was an enterprise of control of routes and territories that expanded throughout the world in a brutal manner as an unprecedented colonization project. libido dominandi The conquistador found in this "civilizing" enterprise his perfect justification in the religious armor that accompanied the wars of conquest: those lands had to be conquered in the name of God.

    This is happening today in Palestine because of the greed of the Israeli state and the powers that support it to seize the territory of the Palestinian people, both Muslim and Christian. Such colonizing libido fuels the unbridled fury of Jewish settlers eager to seize more and more land in the West Bank and Gaza. This perverse logic leads a people who were victims of Nazism to now commit genocide against a brother nation.

    A similar, but even more perverse, greed fuels the transnational war industry for the benefit of corporations that enrich themselves exponentially by creating armed conflicts to fuel the war machine that generates trillions of dollars in profits each year around the world. In this case, it involves the control of financial and industrial territories to feed the arms industry in every corner of the planet.

    Israeli Zionism and Christian Zionism are two sides of the same coin. They write another disastrous page in the history of the greed for land as property, cynically manipulating the biblical promise of the land. Since the 19th century, this Zionism born in the United Kingdom was the one that paved the way for the later creation of the State of Israel, under the pretext of the Shoah. That same Zionism, in its version of perverse political messianism represented by the State of Israel, has now invented a criminal scenario with a Muslim enemy to be defeated in order to impose its military power in the Middle East, annihilating the Palestinian people and humiliating neighboring peoples, through the blatant manipulation of the Bible, as Mitri Raheb has shown in his essential book Decolonizing Palestine. The Bible, the land, the peopleThe Israeli machinery of drones, tons of missiles and millions of bots or automated accounts flooding social networks, has been spreading fake news throughout the virtual world that has left the entire world stunned, producing a “collective cognitive dissonance,” as analyzed in Brazil by João Cezar de Castro Rocha based on Leon Festinger's theory.

     

     

    And, strange as it may seem, the ongoing gentrification in many cities around the world, from Barcelona to Mexico City, is another expression of that same colonizer's will to dominate, now in its gentle version. hipster. Only this time, it's not about conquering territories to govern them through military occupation armies with the aura of an imperialist religious flag. I'm referring to the digital nomadic colonizers who take advantage of the power of their currencies, emboldened by their dreams of white and technological primacy, to inhabit residential neighborhoods in vibrant cities at a much lower cost than they would have in their countries of origin. Thus, these hipster herds nurture their cosmopolitan illusions enclosed in their urban bubbles, without coming into close contact with the population of the place they inhabit, but rather displacing them or subordinating them to their tastes and interests. This phenomenon represents the most recent and perverse version of settler colonialism that displaces previous inhabitants from their land.

    For the past five years, I've spent a period of time each year in Mexico City's Hipódromo Condesa neighborhood, where the Dominicans have for almost a hundred years animated a parish that was a religious center for the Mexican middle class with aspirations for urban modernity, though not so much religious ones. Every year I return, I'm surprised to see that the former residents have left, selling their homes, converting them into Airbnbs, or outright opening hipster-trendy businesses, ranging from vegan restaurants and light ice cream shops to bistros with Mexican fusion menus. But what has surprised me most is the proliferation of businesses specializing in angels, candles, Tarot readings, physical therapy, Bikram yoga, and other types of yoga, as well as countless spas with massage menus ranging from reflexology to tantric, not to mention, of course, Reiki mixed with "ancestral" techniques from the heart of Mexico.

    On the other hand, the Catholic parishes in that area of the city collapsed financially due to the lack of alms, but above all, their traditional religious population was aging. To the surprise of many religious ministers, in recent decades, La Condesa has become a laboratory for new religious expressions, as Hugo Suárez has documented (Images of Faith. Audiovisual Sociology of the Condesa neighborhood), a sociologist from Guadalajara, in a recent comparative study of the religious practices of residents of Condesa and Ajusco in Mexico City, one a hipster neighborhood and the other a working-class one. To complete this quick overview, it's important to note that in recent years, there has been an upswing in the number of believers in Catholic churches, especially in South America, characterized by a traditional Catholicism of intense and highly moralizing individual piety. This is an unexpected effect of gentrification in those parts.

     

     

    What criteria could help us understand the meaning spiritual From these old and new territorial control processes? Could humanity's religions pull from the vault of their memories some precious talisman that sheds light on us?

    The second beatitude of Matthew's Sermon on the Mount captures the poetic message of Christ as He preached in Galilee in a provocative way. This beatitude literally says: "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth" (Matthew 5:5). The Greek word for the meek is πραΰς (praus). This term is associated with those who resist the powers that want to push them aside because they are considered redundant in the community. In Galilee in Jesus' time, these meek They were those who resisted the Roman power of taxes or military occupation.

    It is not, first and foremost, a question of understanding the meek as peaceful people according to the traditional reading of this text. Rather, it refers to those who resist violence without making a fuss, appearing invisible to the eyes of the world, because they deploy what today we might call strategies of resistance as survivors of many forms of violence.

    On the streets of our cities, we see some of these people out of the corner of our eyes, passing by us like shadows lying on a sidewalk, or living in cardboard houses under a bridge, or even lurking in the garbage looking for a piece of bread, a cigarette butt, or a can of beer with a drink to take. They are the disposables of consumer society, the ones surplus to requirements in a shopping mall, and whom we might bump into by chance or carelessness when entering the subway or when rolling down our car window at a stoplight at any urban intersection. When we approach these peripheries very close to us, we discover that, despite the subhumanization that surrounds them, these people organize, care for, and support one another.

    The promise of the land that Jesus announces to the meek It is subversive because it does not refer to the people of Israel, as imperial Davidic theology had previously intended and repeats today with its genocidal narrative. It is not about “possessing the land,” much less exploiting it, but about inherit it, that is, to receive it as a gift from the Abba who “makes his sun rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (Matthew 5:45). Jesus thus subverts the dominant narrative of his time, which consisted of distributing land according to religious strata that marked the economic and social scale, with the Temple playing a central role in Jerusalem as the religious capital of Judea.

    Therefore, the Galilean's greatest audacity lay in saying that the "meek" will inherit the earth, thus opening the promise of the earth to the most vulnerable in society. A world reversed from that produced by gentrification.

    To conclude these reflections, let us allow the Colombian poet José Eustasio Rivera to whisper that uncertain hope of those who resist colonization because they sense that, at the heart of their resistance, they are beginning to inherit the land:

     

    XIV

     

    I am a son of the mountain! For its coolest place
    I search, always singing, for the resounding hive;
    and in the silent caves my throat fills
    of nectarean honeycombs and of stone almonds.

    As I leave the waves, I fall asleep with pleasure
    on the dead leaves that my dog gleans;
    and through the branches, on my brown face
    the afternoon sun sets its moving arabesque.

    Inspired by a dream of distant tenderness,
    I caress the flowers; I crown myself with vines,
    and I embrace the trunks with deep emotion;

    that later, when I concentrate my thoughts alone,
    I seek the prize of the mountain, and in my spirit I find,
    the flowering shoot of a sweet illusion.

     

    Promised land, Bogotá, 1921.

     

    eSwatini, July 12, 2025

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