An offering to the respected fire and to the ancestors: Honouring the lives of those who came before us

An offering to the respected fire and to the ancestors: Honouring the lives of those who came before us

By Javier

Every March 13th, in the area called Pak’oxom in the community of Río Negro, community members, students, activists, spiritual leaders known as Ajq’ijab’, and elders gather to commemorate the March 13th, 1982 massacre of 107 children and 70 women. This past March 13th was the 43rd year since the massacre in which members of the Civil Defense Patrols (PAC) arrived in the community of Río Negro, gathered up the women and children, raided their homes and then proceeded to take them up to the mountain to Pak’oxom, prior to committing sexual violence against the women and then massacring all of the women and children present. This was just one of many massacres that took place in Rabinal and in Guatemala as a whole during the Internal Armed Conflict (IAC) and genocide.

The view of the sunset over the mountains on the way back up to Pak’oxom.

The day started out with an early departure from the town centre of Rabinal in a car that dropped off our group in the community of Chitucan, approximately 90 minutes from Rabinal. Upon arriving in Chitucan, we walked over the mountain and then descended into Pak’oxom. We set up camp and then walked down to the community of Río Negro to have lunch and visit the dam that inundated the area where the community was previously located. Following that short boat trip, we returned to the community where we visited the community centre and museum to learn more about the difficult history of the area. After the sun started to go down, we began the steep climb back to Pak’oxom, admiring the sunset over the picturesque mountains and river.

When we arrived in Pak’oxom once again, there were a lot more people present than when we first arrived. There were dozens of children playing, elders sitting by the ceremonial site, families preparing food and starting fires, as well as community members gathering to share some words about why we were all there. After taking some time to rest, we prepared the materials we had taken with us to Pak’oxom in preparation for the Kotz’i’j, Xukulem or Maya Ceremony, led by the Ajq’ijab’ present. We ate dinner and then proceeded to the ceremonial area where we were led through the Kotz’i’j by four Ajq’ijab’. A Kotz’i’j or Xukulem is an ancestral practice in which daykeepers known as Ajq’ijab’ count through the 20 days of the Cholq’ij, a 260 day count that goes through all the possible permutation of the 20 days in 13 day cycles.

In the Kotz’i’j, the Ajq’ijab’ welcome the ancestors through processes of invocations to the respected fire prior to invoking the 13 days of each day in the Cholq’ij. This ancestral practice uses materials such as pinewood, candles, tobacco, copal, cuilco, sesame seeds, sugar, and alcohol as offerings to the respected fire and to the ancestors. As the Ajq’ijab’ invoke the reflections of each day in the Cholq’ij, they interpret how the fire moves as indications of what the ancestors are communicating to them. After invoking the 20 days of the Cholq’ij and counting from one to 13, the Ajq’ijab’ close the ceremony by expressing immense gratitude to each of the 20 days and to the ancestors for joining them.

The Maya ceremony to commemorate the victims of the Rio Negro massacre.

That night of March 13th, the Ajq’ijab’ presented three different Kotz’i’ij to the ancestors. One for 10 Kan (which was the day that March 13th fell on), one for 11 Kame (the day we were transitioning into on March 14th) and then a separate Kotz’i’j down the mountain at a newly inaugurated altar known as Lajuj No’j (ten No’j), where the skulls of ten girls were unearthed. The first Kotz’i’j began at 10pm on March 13th and the third one ended at approximately 4am on March 14th. I remained present for all three. I mention this because it is important to understand that for those Maya people that practice the ancestral practices of the Kotz’i’j or Xukulem, the ancestors are present in the natural elements: in the fire, in the water, in the earth, and in the wind. Those women and children that were brutally massacred in Pak’oxom in 1982 were present with us through the fire, as all of us went before the respected fire to offer our candles, sesame seeds, pine wood, copal, tobacco, and cuilco. The practice of offering to the respected fire and to the ancestors is an act of reciprocity in which we honour the lives of those who came before us by communicating, interpreting, and recognizing the privilege we have to be alive thanks to the sacrifices they made.

The Ajq’ijab’ walks around the sacred fire during the Maya ceremony.

As I walked up the mountain to Pak’oxom, I imagined myself in the shoes of those women and children who were walking towards the final moments of their lives exactly 43 years prior. I remembered them as those who were no longer with us, but as those who opened the path for us to remember who they are, who we are, and who we may become. I felt the wind at my back, guiding me up the mountain, as if to say, “come join us”. Despite the fact that the experience was full of sadness and pain, as I walked around the last bend to reach Pak’oxom, I distinctly remember hearing the children play and laugh. I remember seeing the families gathering to eat food. I remember seeing the elders converse with each other. I remember the people lighting the candles at the ceremonial site. I remember feeling that we walked into a place full of life, rich in interpersonal connection and care.

The descendants of those who experienced unimaginable violence are still present honouring their lives for future generations.

Though the reason we were all there was tied to violence, melancholy, and pain, the experience itself was a reflection of a community rooted in connection and hope. Though there were many tears, there were also lots of smiles. Most impactful was seeing how many different generations of people were present, from babies to children and adolescents, to people in their forties and fifties, to elders over the age of 70. It was a testament to the importance of remembering those people who experienced unimaginable violence but whose descendants are still present honouring their lives for future generations.