Tag Archives: Mexican History

San Miguel de Allende

The Legacies of Emiliano Zapata: Apparently, the Personal was NOT Political

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By Deborah Van Hoewyk—

Even if you don’t know much about Emiliano Zapata (1879-1919), you’ve probably heard of the Zapatista movement he inspired. Dedicated to the proposition that land should be returned to the people, Zapata, as commander of the Liberation Army of the South, is one of the best-known heroes of the Mexican Revolution (1910-20). When Francisco Madero successfully ousted the dictator Porfirio Díaz and made himself president in 1911, however, he failed to implement any of the land reforms Zapata and like-minded revolutionaries expected.

Zapata went home to Ayala in Morelos (south of Mexico City) and wrote his “Plan de Ayala,” castigating Madero and ensuring that the peasants of Morelos would benefit from land reform. The Plan de Ayala was instrumental to creating Article 27 of the 1917 Constitution, which establishes indigenous land rights in communal holdings (ejidos and comunidades agrarias); it is considered a fundamental text for the Zapatista movement.

The Mexican Revolution was marked by chaos: coups, assassinations, hostilities between northern and southern factions in what was basically a civil war within a civil war. Zapata was a thorn in the side of Mexico’s various presidents – none of whom implemented any meaningful land reform, despite the 1917 Constitution. The Constitution had been promoted by Venustiano Carranza, governor of the state of Coahuila; in the wake of the Constitution, Carranza became president of Mexico.

Once in office, he was determined to get rid of Zapata, who took his ragged peasant soldiers into battle whenever his demands were ignored. On April 10, 1919, Carranza’s military organized an elaborate ruse to get Zapata to a supposedly secret meeting at Hacienda Chinameca (about 18 km, or 11 miles, south of Ayala). He arrived on horseback and saluted the military lineup; they promptly murdered him in his saddle.

Zapata’s Political Legacy

Politically, Zapata left behind a peasant movement that lives on today, mostly in Chiapas. The lengthy dominant-party role of the PRI (Partido Revolucionario Institucional) left many people, especially younger people, feeling there was no political avenue open to them except Zapata-style resistance. As the Revolution faded (it took quite some time for the fighting to stop), the Zapatistas began a long and complicated history of representing the indigenous peoples of southern Mexico, often clashing with northern anti-government groups

Three events crystallized the Zapatista identity and firmly located it in the Lacandon jungle area of Chiapas as the Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (National Zapatista Army of Liberation, or EZLN).

· In 1992, reforms to Article 27 of the Mexican Constitution fundamentally changed the country’s agrarian system, ending the longstanding process of land redistribution and allowing new forms of ownership and transfer of ejido land.

· On January 1, 1994, the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) went into effect, leading the EZLN to declare war on the Mexican government. The EZLN occupied four towns in Chiapas, including San Cristóbal de las Casas; after 11 days of bloody fighting, during which 300 people died, the Mexican government started negotiations with the EZLN. It took two years, but in 1996, the Mexican government and the EZLN signed the San Andrés Accords, granting autonomy, recognition, and rights to the indigenous peoples of Mexico. In other words, the Accords ostensibly restored some portions of Article 27 of the 1917 Constitution.

· Also in 1996, the EZLN convened an Intercontinental Meeting for Humanity and against Neoliberalism, becoming the de facto leader of leftist activists around the world.

As time has passed, the Zapatistas have had less impact on political issues; the EZLN still exists, and still fights for indigenous rights, but their activities are mostly confined to Chiapas. They are opposed to mega-infrastructure projects in the region and maintain ties with European activists. Drug cartels have used violence against local Zapatista governments, causing the EZLN to reorganize in more local collectives aligned with broader Assemblies of Collectives of Zapatista Autonomous Governments” (ACGAZ).

Zapata’s Personal Legacies: Men???
Zapata, an icon of machismo, had twenty or so kids with either 9 or 14 women (he only married one of them); he may also have been bisexual, a possibility that has recently been reexamined because of a painting.

A Controversial Painting.
On Tuesday, December 10, 2019, protesters stormed the usually staid and monumental Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City’s historic center. Many of the protesters were indigenous farmers – those for whom Zapata had fought. Their target was one particular painting in the exhibition Emiliano. Zapata Después de Zapata (Emiliano. Zapata after Zapata), held to mark the centennial of Zapata’s death.

It wasn’t this one …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nor was it this one, odd as it may be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was this one.

Note that the stilettos seem to be revolvers, Zapata’s sombrero is pink with painted flowers, and the horse is – um – aroused. The title is La Revolución.

Antonio Medrano spoke for the protesters: “This isn’t freedom of expression, it is debauchery! It’s degrading. They can’t exhibit our history that way … they can’t permit this kind of mockery.” Perhaps the strongest protests came from Zapata’s descendants, who said they would sue to have the painting removed. Jorge Zapata Gonzalez, Zapata’s grandson, asserted that “We are not going to allow this! For us as relatives, this denigrates the figure of our general – depicting him as gay.”

The artist, Fabián Cháirez, says he was surprised by the cries to take it down, hide it away, or burn it. Cháirez, gay himself, shows a number of similar paintings on his website – La Revolución was painted in 2014. At the time of the exhibition, the artist told the BBC he conceived of the painting as a counterpoint to the predominant image of masculinity as a white fortachón (strongman – Zapata was called el caudillo del sur, another way to say “strongman”); he said he thought issues of sexuality “had already been overcome or [were] under control: inclusion, respect for diversity or difference. Issues such as machismo, misogyny, homophobia.” Those who disagree with the protesters see the painting as an exercise in artistic freedom, or as an effort to quell the negative Mexican attitude towards anything effeminate.

The Palacio de Bellas Artes continued to show the painting for the duration of the exhibition.

Any truth to the rumors? While academic historians say there’s nothing to the rumors about Zapata and other men, that all the evidence is second-hand, others believe that at least two instances of same-sex behavior are plausible.

In 1906, four years before the Mexican Revolution began, Zapata, 27, met Ignacio de la Torre y Mier (“Nachito”), 40, who had been married to Porfirio Díaz’s daughter Amada since 1888. Rumors of Nachito’s homosexuality had been circulating for years. In 1901, the Mexico City police had raided “The Dance of the 41,” a private ball for 41 men, 19 of them dressed in women’s clothes. Word had it that there were 42 men involved, and that Nachito was #42, but somehow the “son-in-law of the father-in-law” was not arrested. The event was described extensively in the Mexican press, leading to open discussions of homosexuality – and to the notion that the dissolute lifestyle of the elite classes represented a moral failing. Not a good look when Revolution is imminent (you can find the 2020 film Dance of the 41, which covers the political aspect of the raid, on Netflix).

Nachito met Zapata at the hacienda of San Carlos Borromeo in Cuernavaca, where Zapata was working in the stables. As the story goes, Nachito invited Zapata to his house on Plaza de Reforma in Mexico City, ostensibly to take care of his horses. Amada spent little time with Nachito, was well aware of his sexual preferences, and kept a diary. Therein she recorded that she found Nachito and Zapata “wallowing” together in the stables.

Zapata’s personal secretary, Manuel Palafox (“The Black Bird”), was a closeted gay; he made cryptic references in his records to behavior that indicated Zapata had other homosexual relationships.

Zapata’s Personal Legacies: Women and Children

Emiliano Zapata may well have had relationships with any number of women that did not produce children, but the record shows he did have children with 9 and maybe 10 women.

Some children died young – a boy of five was bitten by a rattlesnake, a girl of three succumbed to a scorpion sting, several died at birth or shortly after, and a girl of 16 died of meningitis. Of those who lived long lives, only Ana María Zapata Portillo (1915-2010) followed in her father’s footsteps by working for agrarian rights.

On August 20, 1911, after the fall of the Díaz regime, Zapata married one of the women with whom he had children, Josefa Espejo Merino (1879-1968). There is no evidence that he ever divorced her – she died in Ayala. He had successive relationships with the Zúñiga Benítez sisters, Gregoria and Luz, who were soldaderas in the Mexican Revolution.

The role of women, and their children, in Emiliano Zapata’s life is unclear. He was never without one (or more), and there certainly were a lot of them. That Mexicans are interested in his relationships with women as well as with men can be seen in a new play, Emiliano Zapata’s Women, which premiered at the National Museum of Mexican Art in June 2023. The play presents women in his life – a midwife, his mother and sister, a lover – building up or tearing down Zapata’s image by sharing their intimate thoughts about him.

Deborah Van Hoewyk wrote and copy edited for The Eye for over a decade. She passed away in 2025 and is greatly missed.

San Miguel de Allende

1968: The Massacre Mexico Was Supposed to Forget

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By Estefanía Camacho Jiménez—

When you visit the Plaza of the Three Cultures in Tlatelolco, Mexico City, on a quiet afternoon, when the old trees are almost the only sound amplified by the plaza’s peculiar acoustics, you can feel something like a stifled scream. It has always astonished me that so many tragedies could have taken place there.

The plaza contains traces of three major tragedies. In 1521, a massacre followed Cuauhtémoc’s defense of Tlatelolco against Hernán Cortés. “It was neither a triumph nor a defeat; it was the painful birth of the mestizo people that is Mexico today,” reads a monumental plaque. In 1968, students were massacred only four years after the inauguration of Mario Pani’s modernist housing complex.

Then, during the magnitude 8.1 earthquake of September 19, 1985, the Nuevo León building collapsed, killing many of its residents. Each tragedy has its own memorial in a plaza where beautiful apartments still stand, some seemingly frozen in the 1960s.

That Afternoon

That afternoon was confusing. According to the immediate accounts of journalists, residents and survivors, there was no way to determine how many people had been killed on October 2.

Tensions had been building throughout the summer of 1968. Mexico’s authoritarian government, controlled by the Institutional Revolutionary Party, or PRI, used a clash between students from schools affiliated with UNAM and the National Polytechnic Institute as justification for intervening in educational institutions across the capital. The riot police known as the granaderos beat, tortured and detained students and, at times, teachers. As the students organized against the repression and demanded the release of political prisoners, every new protest brought further arrests. The government accused them of trying to sabotage the Olympic Games, and the conflict escalated when the Army entered UNAM preparatory schools with tanks, military trucks, artillery and a bazooka.

In the United States, some press coverage repeated unsubstantiated allegations that Fidel Castro and communist agents had infiltrated the protests. These claims reflected the Cold War obsession with preventing the alleged spread of Cuban communism throughout the continent.

What the public did not know in 1968 was that President Gustavo Díaz Ordaz was one of the CIA’s highest-level contacts in Mexico and had been assigned the cryptonym LITEMPO-2. His government shared information about the protests, student leaders and political opponents, while the agency closely monitored the movement. Documents declassified decades later also showed that Mexican officials misled the CIA about the origins of the violence and the government’s responsibility for it.

By mid-September, approximately 10,000 soldiers had occupied University City, UNAM’s main campus, while the arrests of high school and university students continued. UNAM Rector Javier Barros Sierra publicly sided with the students, infuriating Díaz Ordaz. Under intense government pressure, he submitted his resignation in late September, although the university’s Governing Board refused to accept it.

Much of the mass media had been co-opted by those in power. Newspapers, television programs and magazines were expected to follow the government’s version of events. Only a handful of journalists dared to criticize its actions, particularly after October 2, knowing that doing so could lead to censorship, persecution or even death.

International progressive movements, feminism, the counterculture, foreign music, the Cuban Revolution and protests against the Vietnam War were also influencing young Mexicans. This was a generation awakening to its dissatisfaction with an established order controlled by a repressive party that elected and reelected itself through processes bearing little resemblance to democracy. Those who questioned the system were branded as enemies and persecuted.

On September 30, the Army withdrew from UNAM’s main campus, leaving destruction behind. Students then prepared for an October 2 rally at the Plaza of the Three Cultures, followed by a march toward the Polytechnic’s Casco de Santo Tomás campus.

The Day

Despite the peaceful nature of the gathering, the Plaza of the Three Cultures had become a trap. The esplanade was enclosed by the Church of Santiago and the tall buildings of the housing complex. Government agents had infiltrated the crowd in civilian clothes, while troops, tanks and armored vehicles surrounded the area. The gathering included not only students but also families, children, teachers, workers and Mexican and international journalists. Estimates place the crowd at as many as 10,000 people.

Two movement leaders spoke briefly, but tense and cautious. The second announced that organizers feared a provocation and had therefore decided to cancel the march. The gathering would disperse as soon as the speakers had finished.

Above them, two menacing helicopters circled the plaza. Flares were fired into the sky.

The Italian journalist Oriana Fallaci, who was present that day, later recalled that her experience covering the war in Vietnam taught her to recognize the flares as an unmistakable signal that an attack was about to begin. She was alarmed, but it was already too late.

Troops moved into the plaza carrying machine guns and high-caliber weapons. Gunfire erupted from the surrounding buildings, and the soldiers opened fire. Armed men in civilian clothes, identified by a white glove or handkerchief, moved through the crowd and entered the Chihuahua building. Some belonged to the Batallón Olimpia, which had been assigned to capture the student leaders; later evidence indicated that a separate group of snipers linked to the Presidential General Staff fired on both the crowd and the Army. Amid the confusion, plainclothes agents shouted, “Batallón Olimpia! Don’t shoot!” to keep soldiers from killing members of their own side.

People ran into the surrounding buildings and pounded desperately on apartment doors, begging residents to hide them. Some did. But hiding proved futile. Security forces forced their way into the apartments, violating the homes of residents and killing or detaining people who had simply been going about their daily lives. Photographs documenting some of these acts would not become widely known until decades later.

Decades Later

It was not until 2000, when the PRI lost the presidency after more than seven decades in power, that Vicente Fox came to office promising to clarify what had happened. By then, writers, journalists, intellectuals and filmmakers had spent decades pursuing the same questions: How many people were killed? Where and under what circumstances did they die? How many disappeared? Was it possible to remove the bodies in a single night and then claim that only 20 or 30 people had died?

The Díaz Ordaz government never officially acknowledged the Batallón Olimpia’s role. For years, the evidence consisted mainly of survivor testimony and fragmentary footage, as government agents had confiscated film from some journalists. In 2002, journalist Sanjuana Martínez anonymously received an archive containing 35 previously unpublished photographs taken by Manuel Gutiérrez Paredes, who had worked for the government. The images showed detainees, torture, bodies, weapons and men wearing white gloves, further undermining the official account and its implausibly low death toll.

Fox knew the wound Mexico was carrying. By then, the slogan “October 2 will not be forgotten!” had echoed across the country for decades, particularly during the annual march commemorating the massacre. The demonstration traditionally begins in Tlatelolco and proceeds to Mexico City’s Zócalo. High school students, university students, young people and workers gather every year, with some traveling from other states to participate.

A presidential decree issued in 2001 ordered federal agencies to transfer records concerning past political repression to the General Archive of the Nation. The following year, Mexico’s intelligence service delivered more than 4,000 boxes containing approximately 58,000 files produced by the former Federal Security Directorate and the General Directorate of Political and Social Investigations. The Defense Ministry transferred a separate military collection.

International correspondents who had arrived to cover the Olympic Games inevitably noticed what was happening to students, teachers and workers. Despite government censorship, the information crossed Mexico’s borders. Díaz Ordaz may have feared that the country would be portrayed as sliding toward communism; instead, he became internationally associated with authoritarianism and grave human rights violations.

We remember the date because public protest is a right.

Because the declassification and opening of government archives happened only recently.

Because photographic and documentary evidence can expose lies repeated for decades.

Because alarms go off whenever military convoys, soldiers or armed deployments appear on streets where they do not belong.

Because police forces are not supposed to enter university campuses, and when they do—as they still have—it must be regarded as reprehensible and unacceptable.

Because, in theory, no event as grand as the Olympic Games should ever be considered more important than human rights.

And because when students from other states organize and travel to the annual October 2 commemoration, their lives should not be placed in danger—as happened to the 43 students from Ayotzinapa who were forcibly disappeared on September 26, 2014. Mexico, you could say, has an extraordinary capacity to remember.

Estefanía Camacho Jiménez is a freelance Mexican journalist working across media and digital magazines. She is a specialist in gender, SMEs, economics, and business.

San Miguel de Allende

José Mojica: The Man Who Chose a Greater Stage

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By Roger D. Jones—

One of Hollywood’s biggest stars gave it all up to become a Franciscan friar—and spent his final years in San Miguel de Allende. José Mojica lived two extraordinary lives. First, he became one of Mexico’s most celebrated singers and one of Hollywood’s earliest Latin stars. Then, at the height of his international fame, he walked away from it all to become a Franciscan friar.

Born in San Gabriel, Jalisco, on September 14, 1895, Mojica rose from humble beginnings to captivate audiences throughout the Americas and Europe. His exceptional tenor voice attracted the attention of the legendary Enrico Caruso, who recognized his talent and encouraged the young singer’s career.

With the advent of talking pictures, Mojica’s handsome screen presence and powerful voice made him one of Hollywood’s first successful Latin actors. Alongside Dolores del Río, Ramón Novarro, and Lupe Vélez, he helped introduce Mexican talent to international audiences.

His recordings—including María Grever’s Júrame—became classics and secured his place among the most admired performers of his generation.

Chicago and International Fame
Before Hollywood embraced him, Mojica was a principal performer with the Chicago Opera, where he appeared before large audiences and earned international recognition. His recordings circulated widely, expanding his popularity throughout North and Latin America.

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A Home in San Miguel
In the 1930s, Mojica discovered the quiet colonial town of San Miguel de Allende. Captivated by its beauty, he purchased and restored the estate now known as Antigua Villa Santa Mónica, intending to create a peaceful home for his beloved mother.

Over time, the villa became a gathering place for artists, musicians, writers, diplomats, and filmmakers. Mojica helped introduce many artists and cultural figures to San Miguel, adding to the town’s growing reputation as a center for the arts.

Solamente Una Vez
Among Mojica’s close friends was composer Agustín Lara. When Lara learned that Mojica intended to leave the stage and enter religious life, he composed Solamente Una Vez, a song that would become one of the enduring classics of Latin American music.

A Different Calling
The death of Mojica’s mother marked a turning point in his life. Soon afterward, he left behind his successful career in opera, film, and recording to enter the Franciscan Order in Peru, where he became Fray José de Guadalupe Mojica.

For the rest of his life, he devoted himself to religious service, charitable work, and music. He later reflected on his remarkable journey in his bestselling autobiography, Yo pecador (I, a Sinner), offering readers a deeply personal account of his transformation from international celebrity to Franciscan friar.

The Children of Mexiquito
One chapter of Mojica’s life is especially meaningful here in San Miguel. He helped establish the orphanage in Mexiquito, just outside the city, where he worked with children and shared his love of music.

For my wife, Rosana, this history is deeply personal. As a young girl, she sang there under Fray José Mojica’s direction. That memory reminds us that history often survives not only in books and buildings, but in the lives of those who experienced it firsthand.

A Lasting Legacy
José Mojica achieved a level of fame few people ever experience. Yet he is remembered not only for his accomplishments on the opera stage and in Hollywood, but also for the life he chose afterward.

His legacy lives on in San Miguel de Allende through Villa Santa Mónica, the orphanage at Mexiquito, his recordings, and the memories of those whose lives he touched.

His remarkable journey reminds us that success can be measured in many ways. For José Mojica, the greatest legacy was found not in applause, but in a life devoted to service.

Continuing Fray José Mojica’s Legacy
More than 60 years after Fray José Mojica helped establish the children’s home in Mexiquito, the Santuario Hogar Guadalupano (Casa Hogar Mexiquito) continues its mission of providing a safe home, education, and support for vulnerable boys and young people in San Miguel de Allende. The organization describes its guiding principle as: “To love, protect, and offer a home to our beloved children.”

Community members and visitors can support the orphanage in several ways:

Make a financial donation, either online through PayPal, by bank transfer, or in person.

Donate needed supplies, including food, clothing, personal hygiene products, cleaning supplies, and school materials.

Volunteer by helping with homework, leading art or recreational activities, assisting with maintenance projects, or sharing professional skills. The home also welcomes university students completing community service.

For more information or to make a donation, visit:
http://www.shgmexiquito.org.mx

Roger D. Jones is a longtime resident of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, and co-founder of Casa Angelitos Boutique Hotel and EcoParque La Joyita. A writer, designer, and advocate for regenerative living, he is passionate about creating places and experiences that celebrate beauty, nature, music, community, and the enduring spirit of Mexico. He also supports the regenerative agriculture and educational mission of Vía Orgánica. Learn more at http://www.casaangelitos.com
http://www.ecoparquelajoyita.com
and http://www.viaorganica.org

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

Mexico’s ‘Little Cornwall’: Cradle of Mexican Football

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By Sharron Schwartz—

Nine minutes into the opening game of the World Cup 2026, Julián Quiñones scores the first goal of the tournament to give Mexico, one of the three host nations, the lead against South Africa.

The iconic Azteca Stadium in Mexico City erupts in joy, and I shoot from my seat in a bar at Gatwick Airport, arms aloft, punching the air with a loud cheer. I am undaunted by the bemused looks of onlookers, for I have skin in this game.

I am Cornish and for over two centuries, my people have played a significant role in Mexico’s silver mining industry. In 1824, the first Cornish mineworkers arrived at Real del Monte, a small town in the picturesque Sierra Madre Oriental in the State of Hidalgo. They were employees of the British-capitalised Real del Monte Mining Company and one of those men was a distant cousin to me.

The Cornish did not just bring their innovative high-pressure steam engine technology and mining know-how, which helped to revive the flooded mines of Real del Monte, but also their culture.

This included their Methodist faith, Cornwall’s signature dish – the pasty – and sports, including cricket and football.

All of these left an indelible imprint on the mining settlements of the Comarca Minera de Hidalgo, also known as Mexico’s ‘Little Cornwall’.

Along with the humble pasty, adapted to suit the Mexican palate and now a dish as famous throughout Hidalgo as barbacoa, the Mexican people embraced football. Mexico is the first nation to host the World Cup three times.

With the spotlight firmly on Mexico’s footballing pedigree, attention has turned to the history of the sport in the country, with several places claiming to be the cradle of Mexican football.

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Prior to the late 1880s, the game was not mentioned in the Mexican press. In 1887, the employees of the General Offices of the Central (a railway) in Mexico City, were reportedly trying to set up a football club.

In November 1891, a match was played at San Cristóbal between ‘Pearson’s Wanderers’ (of the British construction firm S. Pearson & Sons) and the ‘San Cristobal Swifts’. The Swifts were defeated 1-0. The game was still relatively unknown in Mexico at this point:

“Many of the Swifts had never played at football before, and consequently were at a disadvantage, but they played remarkably well considering that the Wanderers had just returned from a trip to Europe where they had practiced for some months.” Daily Anglo American, 3 November 1891.

In September 1892, The Two Republics newspaper reported that a football match was being arranged in Mexico City for the inauguration of the Mexican Athletic Club’s ground on the Paseo, “the first game between two organised clubs ever played in the vicinity”.

British schools in Mexico City undoubtedly played the game at this period, but it did not take off due to lack of competition.
However, competitive football was being played in Mexico’s Little Cornwall several years before the abovementioned games.

It is only by chance that a report of one of those matches, the earliest documented in Mexico, found its way into El Minero de Pachuca in May 1889.

A football match between men from El Rosario Mine in Pachuca (managed by Cornishman, Richard Rule) and those from La Joya Mine in neighbouring Real del Monte, was abandoned.

The game, played on the sport’s field of the Railway Racetrack in Pachuca, descended into a free fight when the referee awarded a penalty to El Rosario, which was winning 7-4.

The players from La Joya disagreed with his decision and attacked their opponents, causing serious injuries to two players. Fourteen people appeared in court for involvement in the brawl.

In the mid-1860s, one quarter of all British subjects in Mexico were resident in Hidalgo’s mining settlements. This critical mass of people and the ‘friendly rivalry’ between Cornishmen in Real del Monte and Pachuca, echoing the fierce sporting rivalries in Cornish towns such as Camborne and Redruth, undoubtedly led to the success of football in Hidalgo.

Pachuca had established a football club by late 1892, as an anonymous letter in Mexican newspaper, The Two Republics, revealed. The Pachuca Football Club had lately degenerated to a great extent and was being reorganised. This was due to a schism between the players at Pachuca and the “mountain men” (the Realmontese):

“This must be attributed to the lack of energy of certain members of the above-named body. We may in particular refer to certain so-called football players who live in the mountains and who are so egotistical as to imagine that without their mighty efforts the club would not but expire.”

Besides the deep rivalry between the two mining settlements which made competitive football attractive, was the fact that organised sport already existed in the form of cricket.

In August 1888, Cornish newspaper, the Cornishman, reported that the Pachuca Cricket Club was over 20 years old. Mining entrepreneur, Frank Rule, Pachuca’s most famous Cornish resident, had served with the club for 21 years. Crucially, the Pachuca cricket team played against established teams in Real del Monte and Velasco.

Pachuca’s first football squad was built from its cricket team and included William Retallack, Sydney Ludlow, Charles Grenfell, John Mayne Rule, W.C. Rule, and some enthusiastic recent arrivals from Cornwall.

By the early 1890s, football was growing in popularity throughout Mexico’s British enclaves. Clubs had been formed in Mexico City, Orizaba (State of Veracruz) and Puebla. In 1894, Mexican newspaper El Nacional explained that football was a team game played with a rubber bladder covered in leather.

In 1895, a meeting was held at Hacienda La Luz in Pachuca to agree on the amalgamation of the Pachuca Cricket Club, the Velasco Cricket Club and the Pachuca Football Club, to create a stronger competitive entity: the Pachuca Athletic Club.

A large field belonging to Hacienda La Luz was given over for a sports field. The officers and committee were all Methodist Cornishmen, so no games were to be played on Sundays. The team chose as its strip, the historic dark and light blues of Oxford and Cambridge, with blue shorts.

In February 1902, a hotly contested international between Scotland and England was played on the Reforma Club’s grounds in Mexico City, watched over by the British Consul, which England won 3-2. The game between the two ‘auld foes’ was not without controversy, with Scotland claiming the referee had made an error that awarded the game to England!

This galvanised interest throughout the expat communities and later that year, several Scottish footballers involved in establishing the Orizaba Club, suggested setting up an Association League. In 1902 the Liga Mexicana de Football Amateur Association was formed among the English-speaking community.

The teams of the new league were the Reforma Athletic Club, the Mexico Cricket Club, The British Social Club (all three based in Mexico City), the Pachuca Athletic Club and the Orizaba Athletic Club.

League football benefitted from the Porfiriato’s improved communication and transport links, particularly the railways, which made it easier to travel to opponents’ grounds for matches. English language newspaper, The Mexican Herald, published upcoming fixtures and devoted column inches to detailed reports of the various matches.

Pachuca’s first league game was played at the Velódromo Pachuca against the Reforma Athletic Club. The game began at 4.00pm and was well supported and hotly contested, watched by the Hidalgo state governor, Pedro L. Rodriguez, and all the principal families of the area.

The only drawback was the strong wind that interfered with kicking, which occurs each afternoon in Pachuca, La Bella Airosa!

“The scene on the ground was made picturesque by the presence of a large number of ladies in most beautiful costumes, many of them wearing the colours of the Pachuca club, dark and light blue.” Mexican Herald, 2 November 1902.
Both teams played “with dash”. The game ended in a tie: three goals apiece. Orizaba won the first league of 1902.

Pachuca AC won its first amateur title in the 1904–05 season and also won the Copa Tower twice (1907–08 and 1911–12).

Football was deemed modern, encompassed British cultural imperialism, and became fashionable in societies wishing to emulate the British sense of fair play. In 1908 the first Mexican, David Islas, became a Pachuca club member.

Alfred ‘Fred’ C. Crowle (1889-1979), the Pachuca-born son of Alf Crowle, a Cornish miner from St Blazey, was a key player during this era. He was eventually promoted to team coach and freely admitted Mexicans from all backgrounds to the team, blurring class and ethnic boundaries.

Under Crowle, Pachuca won two more amateur league titles (1917–18 and 1919–20). He later went on to found Club Necaxa before becoming the national coach in 1935, enjoying a 100 per-cent record during the year he was in charge.

The Mexican Revolution (1910-20) and WW1 affected the team, as players moved away. Pachuca-born Johnnie Vial, a cousin of mine, signed on as a gunner with the Royal Field Artillery. He died at the Somme. In the 1920s, the club folded.

The Pachuca club, ‘Los Tuzos’ (The Gophers, honouring the city’s mining legacy), was successfully revived in the 1960s and currently plays in Liga MX. Pachuca prides itself on being the spiritual home of Mexican football and boasts the interactive museum, Mundo Fútbol.

I will continue to follow ‘El Tri’ with gusto during this year’s World Cup. Next time you see La Ola (the Mexican Wave) ripple through a stadium, remember the role that Mexico’s ‘Little Cornwall’ played in popularising the beautiful game in this football-mad nation.

Born and bred in Redruth, Cornwall, Sharron Schwartz completed her PhD at the Institute of Cornish Studies, University of Exeter. She is the pre-eminent authority on Cornish migration to Latin America and is a Bard of Gorsedh Kernow.

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