Semana Santa Understood Better, Beneath The Surface, Bit By Bit: More Spanish Nationhood Than Pure Catholic Devotion

People Make Sacrifices, Ask For Miracles, Men Seek Out Discomfort, Boys Become Men, Men Bond For Life, Prisoners Are Released, and More

Málaga, Holy Week, Wednesday: We met a wonderful family, of 3, who helped up find our way. Luis' wife and young daughter, were both Flamenco dancers, as was her father, and three of her brothers (IG link) --all quite famous in Spain. In this clip above, Luis Muñoz explains the local tradition of one chosen prisoner each year who is released from prison and walks in the procession, welcomed back into the community after being repentant, rehabilitated, and morally re-born.  

 [Later he sent us a news clip that, turns out, Malaga released two this year—but they were twin brothers. Their crime was drug trafficking.] 

In this clip, Luis also tells the story of his sister in law prayed and made a sacrifice in hopes of healing her brother, in a wheelchair after a motorcycle accident. His sister in law, the oldest of the sisters (important) walked on her knees in the procession for hours, until her knees bled.

And what happened after?

As Luis tells us in the clip, his brother in law is now fully restored, a father of five, who dances, lives a full life, and shows no sign of injury.

This was all from one man we met on the street, who approached us, asking if we need help with directions!

Luis said something else that was very clarifying. (Not in the clip.)

I asked him how much of Semana Santa is an expression of Catholicism, and now much is Spanish culture (admittedly inextricable.)

“About 70-30,” he said. “70 percent Spanish culture and 30 percent Catholicism.”

I had wondered about this for six years.

You would think, witnessing your first Semana Santa, that no population you ever saw was this Catholic, this devoted and passionate—but in fact it’s very mixed up with national, cultural traditionalism.

‘Costaleros’ carry the immense floats—the ‘pasos.’

I used to wonder why they wanted to do this punishing work, carrying these floats on their shoulders that can weigh thousands of pounds, for up to 12 hours, under a hot sun, etc. Luis explained that they seek it out, even pay for the privilege. They join these “brotherhoods” (Cofradías) and it actually becomes the most important thing in their whole lives. They know they will get to see their brothers, once a year.

The fraternity. The bond. The sacrifice. The chosen pain and discomfort.

I had lost sight of the entire phenomenon of male bonding and initiation rites, when I had these banal thoughts, centered on notions of comfort-ism, such as it it perhaps only fully realized in the United States? You see young men walking with towels over their heads, with red marks on their shoulders, flushed faces, and once their pasos carrying duty is over after up to 12 hours— they beeline into the Cervezerias with a certain intensity that becomes part of the street choreography.

I was watching them, and honestly, at my first Semana Santa 6 years ago I assumed they were supposed to represent Biblical characters of some sort. It was only this week that the penny finally dropped.

Oh! Those are the guys beneath the floats!

“Tom, step back!” I yelped, when we stood loitering in front of a beer bar, sort of in the way, as some red faced sweaty costaleros approached, already calling out for beer from out on the street. “They need beer, now!”
They deserve it!

Clip here about Costaleros, who I refer to in English as “the carriers.”

Like Zbigniew Herbert describes Atlas, in King Of The Ants, one of the few books I know that you truly can’t buy a copy of.

On a lighter note, also in Málaga, I bought this stuffed purple Nazareno as a toy for the cats, and I also thought it would be a good way to ease us into our understanding of the Nazarenos. I experienced my first Semana Santa 6 years ago in Granada, and stalled out. Will people (Americans) get “triggered” by the Nazarenos?

That’s an absurd worry, I now see.

Why should anybody worry about that? (KKK anxiety)

But still, this little guy can be our cultural diplomat and bridge:

This clip below, from Palm Sunday 6 years ago, was a fluke stroke of beginner’s luck, when my son at the time was renting a small attic apartment with a balcony that looked down onto La Catedral. This was how I got this angle to film.

I was so stunned I almost fainted.

What was I looking at and what was I hearing?

Was I dreaming?

(Musically advanced friends, do chime in about the music. What do you hear?)

More to come, and Happy Easter to all!

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