Sacred and Spectacle
Article by Samantha Gorelick
The Mayan Medicine Museum occupies a small part of the grounds of the Organization of Indigenous Doctors of the State of Chiapas (OMIECH). About ten minutes walking north of the market, the pavement on the road comes to an end, and the walls of OMIECH come into sight. Amid the dust kicked up by combis and camionetas, OMIECH is a comparative oasis of herbal fields, gardens, and a temescal, or sweatlodge.
The grounds are also home to the museum, the administration offices, and a pharmacy that prepares and sells herbal remedies. The Mayan Medicine Museum spreads knowledge of the practices of indigenous Mayan doctors, and actively functions as a place of spirituality and healing.
Most weekday mornings, indigenous patients wait by the museum's front doors for a consultation with Don Victorio, the in-house Tzac'bak, the Tzotzil for word for bone healer (huesero in Spanish). The huesero prays to heal patients, often using various herbs and other plants (and occasionally animals).
The museum houses a number of exhibits dedicated to different aspects of Mayan medicine. One is a small church, or sacred place, with lifesize figures of a huesero and patient kneeling in prayer in front of a cross. In this room, Don Victorio also practices his healings. There's no separation between the exhibit and his practice. While tourists come and go, a healing may be taking place.
For the six weeks that I've been working at the museum, no tourists have asked me or Miguel (the museum director) about the man praying. They pay twenty pesos for admission about $2 US or 1.5 Euros. Frequently they request a discount, sometimes repreatedly, sometimes aggressively. Typically, these are privileged people from the Western world.
The patients, in contrast, don't enter the lobby without asking permission. It's the difference between how someone regards a sacred space and a public space; with respect, or with sense of belonging or ownership.
I've wondered how Don Victorio can work in this environment. Sometimes when large tour groups pass through, Don Victorio does stop and wait. The museum hasn't built another space for consultations partly because of lack of funding. Meanwhile, the sacred and the spectacle remain thrown together, analagous perhaps to similar clashes in the world beyond the doors of OMIECH.
The Mayan Medicine Museum occupies a small part of the grounds of the Organization of Indigenous Doctors of the State of Chiapas (OMIECH). About ten minutes walking north of the market, the pavement on the road comes to an end, and the walls of OMIECH come into sight. Amid the dust kicked up by combis and camionetas, OMIECH is a comparative oasis of herbal fields, gardens, and a temescal, or sweatlodge.
The grounds are also home to the museum, the administration offices, and a pharmacy that prepares and sells herbal remedies. The Mayan Medicine Museum spreads knowledge of the practices of indigenous Mayan doctors, and actively functions as a place of spirituality and healing.
Most weekday mornings, indigenous patients wait by the museum's front doors for a consultation with Don Victorio, the in-house Tzac'bak, the Tzotzil for word for bone healer (huesero in Spanish). The huesero prays to heal patients, often using various herbs and other plants (and occasionally animals).
The museum houses a number of exhibits dedicated to different aspects of Mayan medicine. One is a small church, or sacred place, with lifesize figures of a huesero and patient kneeling in prayer in front of a cross. In this room, Don Victorio also practices his healings. There's no separation between the exhibit and his practice. While tourists come and go, a healing may be taking place.
For the six weeks that I've been working at the museum, no tourists have asked me or Miguel (the museum director) about the man praying. They pay twenty pesos for admission about $2 US or 1.5 Euros. Frequently they request a discount, sometimes repreatedly, sometimes aggressively. Typically, these are privileged people from the Western world.
The patients, in contrast, don't enter the lobby without asking permission. It's the difference between how someone regards a sacred space and a public space; with respect, or with sense of belonging or ownership.
I've wondered how Don Victorio can work in this environment. Sometimes when large tour groups pass through, Don Victorio does stop and wait. The museum hasn't built another space for consultations partly because of lack of funding. Meanwhile, the sacred and the spectacle remain thrown together, analagous perhaps to similar clashes in the world beyond the doors of OMIECH.
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