Reflections on the Mexican Revolution
| P A R T T W O In all revolutionary situations everywhere there wells up as from the volcanic depths of the human spirit. |
It is evident historically that the peoples-in-revolution who have produced poets or other prophets
capable of evoking the national spirit, in such a way as to cast off the inner degradation imposed by
alien rulers, have made astonishing and sudden progress in the development of their nation — all its
development, including roads and schools and industries. In most places this consciousness has been
achieved in a nationalist form; in others, nationalism in¬cludes social ideals reaching toward all
humanity.
In Mexico in the Twenties, we did not know any of this. Who did, in the Twenties? There was a
Secretary of Education, Jose Vasconcelos, an inspired man, concerned that Mexico be a living entity, but
with only cloudy formulations of his love. Intuitively, his procedures were brilliantly simple. He called
Mexico's artists, poets, writers, all the talented people, from wherever they might be, and said "Here.
Do it." Do what? "Do whatever you think should be done"... and the most extraordinary flowering and
fruiting in centuries of Mexican history forthwith began. Looking back, one is able to spot, remembering
the feel of it, what released the creative forces that gave birth to a new people, and gave the Mexican
of today his pride of self, his confidence, his agile attack of his own problems, and his spectacular reach
in solving them; as well as his consciousness of the necessity of true social justice, and die inner motor
that keeps his country pressured and moving along this route, despite the brakes and tangents
maneuvered by whatever present entrenched interests.
First, there were no directives. No doctrine, blueprint, program, no authority's recipe of any kind. There
was a general idea… Be Mexico, the people of; Find Mexico, the spirit of; Free Mexico, the act of; Sing
Mexico, the love of; more or less coinciding with the Mexico for the Mexicans! revolutionary cry that had
become working policy for the new guerrilla-cum-intellectual administrators of the victorious
revolutionary government. The contracts signed with the painters to make murals in many of the
principal government buildings, beginning with the Ministry of Education, were at so much per square
meter, and the rates set by the artists were the same as those of a sign painter or skilled plasterer.
Other "artistic and intellectual workers" were "commissioned" to do this or that task, also at proletarian
rates.
Things went more or less like this: Siqueiros said Communism? All right, paint it; let's see what you
mean and what this contributes. Best-Maugard says the primal elements of line and form must be
taught to the children so that they may express themselves, finding their foundations in their own way?
By all means, start a program of this in the primary schools; let's see what comes of that. Ramos
Martinez says get them outdoors, make them see the beauty of the world with their fingers as well as
their eyes? Certainly, set up a string of outdoor schools of art at once. Carrillo Puerto down in Yucatan
says he's all for Socialism, but will somebody please send him a book explaining exactly what this is and
how you go about it? Quick, some-body. Research that book, and if it doesn't exist, start writing it.
Perhaps in a country like Germany this modus operandi would produce nothing but a pileup of anxiety
neuroses. Or perhaps man everywhere is (like all Mexicans indubitably) an inventor and artist at heart,
and would find utter happiness in taking a whack at whatever problem, his own way. Mexicans, it is
true, have a naive, direct way of taking things in hand literally and concretely. One distinguished
economist, Dr. Edmundo Flores, sums it up as, "We have the simple-minded idea that if there's a
revolution to be made, why the thing to do is to make it." Methods are invented as one goes along,
without much reference to tradition, authorities, or dogma.
It is nevertheless true that in all revolutionary situations everywhere there wells up as from the
volcanic depths of the human spirit, a white-hot joy in doing for others, a forgetfulness of self, a free
and exultant dedication, that truly plugs into the common consciousness and gives to all artists a
scope, liberation, and dimension not experienced in any other time. They — we — function as if like
prophets, and with the hands, as if like the humblest workmen, and happiest to be exactly this. It is to
be sure a general feeling at such times. Human beings perform miracles of coordinated achievement
then, unmatched in any other situation except, perhaps, natural catastrophe or danger that has to be
fought in common.
Such peoples as have, in our time, visibly tapped the measureless energy within us that makes us
happier to live with and for, rather than against, others, have performed astonishing things, and the
world continues to be astonished at the obvious. In close-up, what the creative people of Mexico did in
the Twenties (the Maya astronomers made accurate calendars with only inner instruments) is even
more impressive when you see how far the impetus they gave to the spirit then has taken the
vigorously building nation of today.
Most immediately perceptible then was the enrichment and growth of each person in the process of
working together for a purpose that we cared about. None of the painters had previously had so much
as a gleam of what they as individuals were to produce; their talents had meandered in many
directions, none yet tall. But now they discovered themselves as new men, with new tastes and
capacities and styles. In the midst of work in common they all grew gigantically in artistic stature.
Indeed, once the Twenties were over, few went beyond the language and strength they reached in
common; and the artists' mission of "making the Revolution" in the fighting sense flowed into the
immense tasks of engineering that absorb Mexico's major creative talents today.
Today everything that is built in Mexico is done within the mystique that was born, fired, or melded
then; and everything that is built bears the visible imprint of the style discovered and set by the artists
of the Twenties. People's homes have changed. Even the wealthy interiors are no longer richly French;
they are richly, glowingly Mexican. The consciousness of self as Mexican is in everything that is done,
and is taken for granted, not only as a good thing to be, but also as one of the reasons why further
productive and creative things must be done. "The Revolution" now is a phrase used as routinely and
often as demagogically and emptily, as "Leninism" in the Soviet Union; but also with the same inner
push in the common consciousness of commitment; of national and human obligations to be
acknowledged and worked at, demagogy aside.
capable of evoking the national spirit, in such a way as to cast off the inner degradation imposed by
alien rulers, have made astonishing and sudden progress in the development of their nation — all its
development, including roads and schools and industries. In most places this consciousness has been
achieved in a nationalist form; in others, nationalism in¬cludes social ideals reaching toward all
humanity.
In Mexico in the Twenties, we did not know any of this. Who did, in the Twenties? There was a
Secretary of Education, Jose Vasconcelos, an inspired man, concerned that Mexico be a living entity, but
with only cloudy formulations of his love. Intuitively, his procedures were brilliantly simple. He called
Mexico's artists, poets, writers, all the talented people, from wherever they might be, and said "Here.
Do it." Do what? "Do whatever you think should be done"... and the most extraordinary flowering and
fruiting in centuries of Mexican history forthwith began. Looking back, one is able to spot, remembering
the feel of it, what released the creative forces that gave birth to a new people, and gave the Mexican
of today his pride of self, his confidence, his agile attack of his own problems, and his spectacular reach
in solving them; as well as his consciousness of the necessity of true social justice, and die inner motor
that keeps his country pressured and moving along this route, despite the brakes and tangents
maneuvered by whatever present entrenched interests.
First, there were no directives. No doctrine, blueprint, program, no authority's recipe of any kind. There
was a general idea… Be Mexico, the people of; Find Mexico, the spirit of; Free Mexico, the act of; Sing
Mexico, the love of; more or less coinciding with the Mexico for the Mexicans! revolutionary cry that had
become working policy for the new guerrilla-cum-intellectual administrators of the victorious
revolutionary government. The contracts signed with the painters to make murals in many of the
principal government buildings, beginning with the Ministry of Education, were at so much per square
meter, and the rates set by the artists were the same as those of a sign painter or skilled plasterer.
Other "artistic and intellectual workers" were "commissioned" to do this or that task, also at proletarian
rates.
Things went more or less like this: Siqueiros said Communism? All right, paint it; let's see what you
mean and what this contributes. Best-Maugard says the primal elements of line and form must be
taught to the children so that they may express themselves, finding their foundations in their own way?
By all means, start a program of this in the primary schools; let's see what comes of that. Ramos
Martinez says get them outdoors, make them see the beauty of the world with their fingers as well as
their eyes? Certainly, set up a string of outdoor schools of art at once. Carrillo Puerto down in Yucatan
says he's all for Socialism, but will somebody please send him a book explaining exactly what this is and
how you go about it? Quick, some-body. Research that book, and if it doesn't exist, start writing it.
Perhaps in a country like Germany this modus operandi would produce nothing but a pileup of anxiety
neuroses. Or perhaps man everywhere is (like all Mexicans indubitably) an inventor and artist at heart,
and would find utter happiness in taking a whack at whatever problem, his own way. Mexicans, it is
true, have a naive, direct way of taking things in hand literally and concretely. One distinguished
economist, Dr. Edmundo Flores, sums it up as, "We have the simple-minded idea that if there's a
revolution to be made, why the thing to do is to make it." Methods are invented as one goes along,
without much reference to tradition, authorities, or dogma.
It is nevertheless true that in all revolutionary situations everywhere there wells up as from the
volcanic depths of the human spirit, a white-hot joy in doing for others, a forgetfulness of self, a free
and exultant dedication, that truly plugs into the common consciousness and gives to all artists a
scope, liberation, and dimension not experienced in any other time. They — we — function as if like
prophets, and with the hands, as if like the humblest workmen, and happiest to be exactly this. It is to
be sure a general feeling at such times. Human beings perform miracles of coordinated achievement
then, unmatched in any other situation except, perhaps, natural catastrophe or danger that has to be
fought in common.
Such peoples as have, in our time, visibly tapped the measureless energy within us that makes us
happier to live with and for, rather than against, others, have performed astonishing things, and the
world continues to be astonished at the obvious. In close-up, what the creative people of Mexico did in
the Twenties (the Maya astronomers made accurate calendars with only inner instruments) is even
more impressive when you see how far the impetus they gave to the spirit then has taken the
vigorously building nation of today.
Most immediately perceptible then was the enrichment and growth of each person in the process of
working together for a purpose that we cared about. None of the painters had previously had so much
as a gleam of what they as individuals were to produce; their talents had meandered in many
directions, none yet tall. But now they discovered themselves as new men, with new tastes and
capacities and styles. In the midst of work in common they all grew gigantically in artistic stature.
Indeed, once the Twenties were over, few went beyond the language and strength they reached in
common; and the artists' mission of "making the Revolution" in the fighting sense flowed into the
immense tasks of engineering that absorb Mexico's major creative talents today.
Today everything that is built in Mexico is done within the mystique that was born, fired, or melded
then; and everything that is built bears the visible imprint of the style discovered and set by the artists
of the Twenties. People's homes have changed. Even the wealthy interiors are no longer richly French;
they are richly, glowingly Mexican. The consciousness of self as Mexican is in everything that is done,
and is taken for granted, not only as a good thing to be, but also as one of the reasons why further
productive and creative things must be done. "The Revolution" now is a phrase used as routinely and
often as demagogically and emptily, as "Leninism" in the Soviet Union; but also with the same inner
push in the common consciousness of commitment; of national and human obligations to be
acknowledged and worked at, demagogy aside.
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By Anita Brenner | Part One
A classical text that served as the introduction for the Idols Behind the Altars book published a few
decades ago brings echoes of a revolution that reaches its centennial in 2010.
decades ago brings echoes of a revolution that reaches its centennial in 2010.
From porfirismo to the Revolution.
The Revolutionaries, 1957-1966
A mural by David Alfaro Siqueiros.
The Revolutionaries, 1957-1966
A mural by David Alfaro Siqueiros.
Published by the Hispanic Institute of Social Issues in Phoenix, Arizona
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