Saint George in Rafah

In this week's Camino a Ítaca, a rebranding of the global icon, the dragon slayer, with an eye on a population that desperately needs someone's help, anyone's help. Even a mythical knight. Click over to read the originally published version in Spanish in el HOY or read the English translation below. (PDF en castellano abajo)

At what point does a procession become a parade? Just when does this transformation happen? Is there a certain amount of solemnity and decorum needed to remain the former before converting into the latter? Is there some limit of mirth that needs to be crossed before it evolves into a cavalcade? Is it similar to the transformation that happens when stories become myths?

Caceres has always been a city of dragons. Long before HBO landed here with their reptilian soap opera, the city venerated the Cappadocian Roman soldier come Christian martyr, Saint George. And this past week saw perhaps its biggest celebration ever. 3200 people marched through the streets of the city accompanying 22 dragons, in what would have been called a parade given that it’s focus was a legendary dragon slayer and wasn’t celebrating semi-mythical kings of the Orient or depictions of last suppers and resurrections.

Are dragons somehow less believable than the other myths and therefore are demoted to parade status? Whatever the case, it, whatever ‘it’ truly represents, ends up in expiatory flames in the Main Square.

Like neighboring Portugal, the UK, Albania, Bulgaria, Ethiopia, Romania and even the beaches of Ipanema, Caceres looks to this medieval myth as a figure of triumph, even if he never visited their lands. Rather than choose King Arthur, Robin Hood or Achilles, they all choose to identify with this tale.

In the storied annals of Christian martyrdom, few figures conjure a more potent blend of chivalry, faith, and cultural resonance than him. But peel back the layers of history, and one uncovers a narrative rich with complexities, where myth intertwines with geopolitics, and the legend of this supposedly valiant saint intersects with the soil of a land now facing a genocide, Palestine.

In the ancient town of Lydda, nestled amidst the sun-baked hills of present-day Palestine, the legend of Saint George finds its earthly anchor. Here, it is said, George, a Roman soldier of noble birth, defied the tyrannical decree of Emperor Diocletian, refusing to renounce his Christian faith. His steadfast refusal led to his gruesome martyrdom, his blood mingling with the dusty earth of his homeland.

Yet, beyond the hagiographic veneer, Saint George's tale becomes entwined with the broader narrative of Palestinian struggle and resilience, of people who refuse to just disappear, no matter how inconvenient for Zionists, they just won’t go away.

Delving into the layers of historical memory, tracing the evolution of George's cult from local hero to global icon, we find a symbol of defiance against oppression and not necessarily one that some choose to see as a facile view of good versus evil. The far-right who try to appropriate his myth read him wrongly. This is the migrant refusing to give up his identity.

The story of Saint George transcends mere folklore, becoming a poignant meditation on the enduring bonds between faith, identity, and resistance. For in the figure of this Palestinian martyr, we find echoes of a timeless struggle, where the courage of one man continues to inspire hope in a land fraught with turmoil.

With the tens of thousands being buried under western bombs, it’s time to celebrate the legend a new way to protect the unprotected.

Leaps of Faith

In this week's Camino a Ítaca leaps of faith, both physically and metaphorically. Anthropology in action as people create their own faith. Click over to read the original version in Spanish in el HOY or read the English translation below. (PDF en castellano abajo)

The bonfire was lit in a way that seemed entirely fitting with this part of the world, vodka. It had been a rainy turn of seasons and the wood piled up in the decaying square was still damp. After several attempts, a suspicious looking bottle with ‘Matador’ emblazoned on the cheap label, complete with a rather unsanitary aluminum foil lid, was produced. After glasses were poured all around, one was thrown onto the pile to propitiate Prometheus, Hephaestus, Vulcan or whoever was the current god of fire on the oily shores of the Caspian sea and suddenly the fire caught.

It was the spring festival of Nowruz and after the inequal thaw of decades of Communism, my Azeri students were mining the past in search of their religious roots. Competing mosques financed by Saudi Arabia and neighboring Iran vied for questioning souls but the deep underlying myths of the Caucasus could not be vanquished and they were infused into an amorphous syncretism with the standard dogmas.

This was anthropology in action, the very creation of belief before my eyes. It was a popular celebration of Islam, Spring, Vodka, fake Gucci track suits and uncomfortable looking pointy shoes all at once.

A shot of vodka and then a running leap over the cleansing flames and you had somehow garnered more points in the afterlife. This was a popular act of people taking agency of their beliefs and molding them to their convictions. It didn’t matter what the imams from Riyadh or Tehran were preaching, they were taking their own vision of faith to the streets on their own terms.

Here in Spain when the incense fills the air and the desolatory sounding drumbeats begin to ricochet up the narrow streets and the moldering icons and morbid statues get their springtime airing, something similar takes place. The people sidestep the ecclesiastical authorities and stake their claim to their heritage by taking it to the streets.

The church may have illegally registered more than 100,000 properties in its name over the years, but with their processions, the people indirectly tell the Vatican who these really belong to. On paper they may belong to a foreign entity, but here on the ground they belong to the community.

The vast majority of the people thronging the streets hadn’t attended church since their cousin’s wedding a few years ago, eat meat on Fridays and carry condoms in their wallets. The costaleros were jumping over their own metaphorical fires while the penitents were atoning back to something more primeval. The only real dogma were the stories represented.

These seem to me to be the Greatest Hits of the Bible, like the entry into Jerusalem and the last supper while avoiding some of the more uncomfortable scenes. It’s true there is often reference to the flagellation but there are no good old fashioned stonings of adulterers or fortunetellers and the likes. Not even the part where Matthew tells of the earthquake and all of the other dead coming out of their tombs and entering into the city. But it seems resurrection was somewhat of a banality at the time and so many other resurrections would take away from the uniqueness of Sunday’s big magic trick.