After bearing Cortés a child, Malinche was perceived as a depraved woman who betrayed her people and even today she is still viewed with ambivalence by many Mexicans.
The daughter of a noble Indian family, some accounts suggest that she was of Mayan descent, others that she was the daughter of an Aztec nobleman. Whatever the truth, crucially she was fluent in various Mayan dialects and understood Nahuatl. Following the death of her father, her mother remarried and after giving birth to a son, she sold or gave her daughter to some passing traders. Malinche was taken to Tabasco where she wound up as the slave of the cacique, a tribal leader. By the time she was given as a gift to Cortés, she was a natural linguist. Doña Marina, as she became known, was hailed as the “silver-tongued translator” of the Spanish conquistador and later bore him a son. It is still widely disputed whether she willingly became the lover of Cortés, and so betrayed her people, or was raped and forced to capitulate. By all accounts she was respected by the conquistadores. In a letter preserved in the Spanish archives, Cortés wrote: “After God we owe this conquest of New Spain to Doña Marina.”
Malinchismo Malinchismo seems to have entered the Mexican lexicon sometime in the late 1940sseems to have entered the Mexican lexicon sometime in the late 1940s. It refers to the taste for something foreign or exotic. More often than not it is used in a pejorative sense against Mexicans who enjoy the company of foreigners and prefer their outlandish ways and ideals over homegrown culture. Octavio Paz suggests the term is linked to foreign intervention, born out of “the curse that weighs against La Malinche.”1
In 1968, President Diaz Ordáz gave a speech where he scolded the Mexicans: “Our malinchismo is holding us back. We must get over it.” The term gained currency in the 1990s when Mexico opened itself up to outside spheres of influence and began importing goods. Those who encourage Mexico’s involvement and trade with the outside world (for better or for worse) are referred to as Malinchistas.
ManyMany believe that attitudes towards Malinche began to shift with the rise of globalisation in Mexico believe that attitudes towards Malinche began to shift with the rise of globalisation in Mexico. In the 1980s, there was an attempt in Mexico City to erect a statue of Malinche, Cortés and their son Martín, in front of the main church in Coyoacán’s pretty central plaza. (At the end of the 1520s, Coyoacán was a small, thriving town, where Cortes set up residence whilst his palace was being built on the site of Moctezuma’s original one.) The monument was meant to celebrate the Mestizaje (mixed-race Mexicans), but was greeted by outrage by nationalists who evidently still think of Cortés as “the invader” and Malinche his “whore. So the statue disappeared overnight and was presumed to have been destroyed.
It is not listed in any of the guidebooks and most contemporary accounts of the relationship between Cortés and Malinche fail to mention the statue.2 But I learned from friends that it resides in a small park on the outskirts of Coyoacán, concealed behind bushes and trees. Intrigued I set off to see for myself one of Mexico’s best kept secrets. Situated in the pretty, little-known Parque de Xicotencatl, it did not take me long to find the life-sized monument. There appears to have been another change of heart. The undergrowth has been cleared and the statue sits on its original pedestal. Made of brass, burnished in places, I am stuck most of all by its unexpected grandeur. The lion represents the conquistadores and the eagle was once a potent Mexica symbol. The three figures have open hands; whether in supplication or symbolising openness and truth, it lends them an air of nobility. Like the Mona Lisa’s eyes, the gaze of the little boy is disconcerting and it seems to follow you as you walk around the base.
It is perhaps because of the reverence with which she is held by the Spaniards that Malinche continues to be seen as a traitor by Mexico’s nationalists. She bore Cortes a son, but brought death to her people and her image remains one of “both fecundity and death”.3 The sculptor’s identity remains a mystery to this day.
In Mexico, it seems, monuments can come and go as quickly as the six-year term of government officials. At some point, someone, somewhere, thought that the historic union of Cortés and Malinche was worthy of artistic expression. I tend to agree. Who knows, perhaps in a few years the monument will be restored to its former glory and appear in a major exhibition. Malinche’s interpreting skills and her well-documented diplomacy helped to prevent a more widespread slaughter of the indigenous people. Her son, Martín, rose like a phoenix out of the ashes of Moctezuma’s reign. When all is said and done, he is irrefutably the first true Mexican.
1 Octavio Paz, Labyrinth of Solitude, Grove Press, Inc, 1961
2 To this day, there is no other monument to Cortés in Mexico City. His remains are in Hospital de Jesus, in line with his wish to be buried in the capital, and are marked by a discreet plaque.
3 Octavio Paz, Labyrinth of Solitude, Grove Press, Inc, 1961
