As an argentinian arrived in Caracas, the tropical atmosphere was overwhelming. It started at walking down the stairs of the plane into the hot tarmac. It was 1978, and if connection tunnels between airplane and airport existed, they were not used for us plebes. The air of Venezuela, at stepping out of the plane and into the blinding sun of the tropic, was hot and humid, as if a warm towel would embrace you. Strange, profoundly foreign for a kid coming from the cold Argentina and not unwelcoming. And so the rest of the country. Profoundly foreign, yet welcoming.
The most foreign of it all, and strangely enough also welcoming were the religions.
Venezuela, as any other Caribbean country, has a strong undercurrent of african beliefs intertwined with the standar catholicism of the conquistadores. In a way it is like all the other tales of colonialism. The colonial power subdues, mistreats and eventually murder populations and cultures, obliterating their traditions and making them slaves. Yet in the slaves and in their descendants the beliefs are strong, perhaps even stronger in face of submission and genocide. Generations pass and perhaps a couple of centuries and the very official adoration of catholic saints is actually a covert adoration of old african deities. Each of the important african gods and goddesses have a catholic equivalent. So when a venezuelan pray to the Virgin Mary, he very well knows that is also praying to Yemaya.
This covert take over is likely to have happened when showing your original beliefs would get you prison, but not before passing through the lashes of a whip that would take away all your skin. Today no such covering is needed, and another of the marvelous things that meet my unbelieving eyes of just arrived in Venezuela, was the diversity of the altars that populated the houses of our neighbors. Of course, in Argentina pretty much every other house would have the figure of a saint, or a virgin. But in Venezuela... in Venezuela there were spaces dedicated to many figures. A cross with Christ, of course. And a virgin, logically. And then one or two representations of Orishas, perhaps Obatala, perhaps covered Babalu aye, the healer. And every other figure with flowers or coins or whatever other offering. So to enter a venezuelan house was to be confronted with a colorful, diverse and overpopulated corner, full of deities and colors. And in the middle of it all, another small figure, of a little man in a blazer or in a doctor coat, with a homburg hat and a little mustache and a serious face. So Jose Gregorio, the healer.
Jose Gregorio Hernandez, the circumspect and modern neighbor of such ancient deities as Christ or Shango, was a humble newcomer to the group, rather sober at that. As a matter of fact, he was a real person, a doctor that treated many many humble persons at the turn of the previous century. Hearing again and again how prayers to him were answered, saving dear ones from all sorts of health issues was like a ritual in itself. Pretty much every other neighbor had his or her Jose Gregorio tale. You could buy his statuette not only in the santeria shops, but in the farmacy, from all places. A really accesible god, Jose Gregorio. And so he is being canonized, as a “man of universal service” to use the words of pope Francis. Catholics will now be able to address him formally, since that is what saints do, argue for our human concerns with the bigger, and I suppose further away, catholic deity.
So here I am, an uprooted latino that if believe in anything at all, is in some form of zen buddhism, thinking about the unbelievable diversity, pain and joy transmitted across centuries of genocide, by beliefs that I respect but don’t share. And somehow, I am smiling, I am somehow happy, for my friends that actually believe in the healing powers of Jose Gregorio. I read what I write, and I know it does not make any sense whatsoever. I am a biologist and I don’t believe in miraculous cures. And yet, I smile. Perhaps that meaningless machine that we call the Vatican has done, for a change, a good thing. Or perhaps it has done what it always does, it has appropriated the beliefs of the people in order to extend their oppresion.
But who am I to judge?
Tema que me intrigó y encantó de Venezuela, tengo presente todas sus deidades y conservo la misma actitud de afecto y respeto a sus creencias