Tultitlan Mexico is a pretty tough area, see photo below, and in hind sight I probably shouldn't have even been here. The fact that the taxi would only go to a certain point, and no deeper inside should have been a tip off for me. But I feel that in order to understand "the other side" you have to walk in the other side's shoes. But as the picture above of the stunning, twisted blooming tree show's, even among depression, poverty and no hope you can find some beauty.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Tultitlan, Mexico
Tultitlan, Mexico--Santa Muerta--Keeping it fair and balanced, the other side of the story.
Jonathan Legaria's mother, the new Panther of the order claims in various reports that her son had nothing what so ever to do with drug's or drug dealers. You have to wonder how he financed the Cadillac SUV the he was driving when he was killed? My 4 host's/guide's mentioned below all claimed Jonathan had been killed by the Federales(Mexican Federal Police) in retaliation for providing spiritual sanctuary for drug lords. There are both sides. You decide..... Devotion to a religion. Go figure........
The Economist
Jan. 7, 2010
DEATH IN THE HOLY ORDERS
Syncretism in the era of the drug baron
The statue looks at first like a narrow, windowless office building towering over the skyline of Tultitlán, a working-class suburb of Mexico City. In fact it is of Santa Muerte (“Holy Death”), the image of a skeleton, clad in hood and tunic and bearing a scythe and globe, that some 2m Mexicans are said to worship. Surrounding it are three small altars, one placed there after the man who paid for the statue, Jonathan Legaria, murdered in 2008 aged just 26.
Some anthropologists link the cult to Aztec underworld gods. David Romo, the priest at the One and Only National Sanctuary of Santa Muerte—thus called because there are two rivals—insists the image originated in Italy during bubonic plague. Either way over the past decade the cult has grown rapidly.
Mexico has a rich syncretic tradition. Its patron, the Virgin of Guadalupe, is venerated by many Mexican Indians as an Aztec goddess. Santa Muerte is even more accommodating: she accepts offerings of beer and tequila, and is thought by believers to protect criminals and the law-abiding alike and to be amenable to all petitions. “Death to my enemies” is inscribed on the candleholders in Mr Romo’s church. She is very popular in jails. She is sometimes portrayed smoking a joint.Mexico’s Catholic bishops have denounced Santa Muerte as a satanic cult that promotes violence. The government withdrew official recognition from Mr Romo’s church after he incorporated her into its rituals. Last March the army destroyed some 30 Santa Muerte altars in the northern state of Nuevo León, saying they were linked to drug traffickers. In response, devotees staged rallies in Mexico City demanding religious freedom, and insisting that they come from all walks of life. Indeed, some police and soldiers fighting the narcos ask Santa Muerte to bless their weapons.
Santa Muerte has become a good business. A biweekly magazine devoted to the cult is sold at most news-stands. Mr Romo’s church sells Santa Muerte books and paraphernalia, and collects tithes. “Tuesday is my birthday,” he declared at the close of a recent mass, “and I need special new glasses that cost $500. Here’s my basket.”
TULTITLAN, MEXICO — The police officer knelt reverently in the flowered shrine to Holy Death, his right hand blessing himself, lips moving with silent pleas.
"She has taken me and protected me," Marco Antonio Olvera, 28, said of the guardian spirit, whose tiny skeletal likeness hangs from his neck as an amulet, along with a .38-caliber bullet he offers in homage. "Many policemen depend upon her."
Dating to the native religions before the Spanish Conquest, the cult venerating death has made a strong comeback in a Mexico awash with drug-related violence.
Mexicans from all walks of life — but especially policemen, soldiers and criminals caught up in the country's drug wars — have flocked to the folk saint, beseeching delay of their life's one certainty or favors of love or money while they still draw breath.
Shrines to Holy Death — La Santa Muerte — adorn Mexico City's rough Tepito neighborhood, notorious for smugglers, drug dealers and thieves. Vendors hawk varied-colored statues of the spirit — looking like the Grim Reaper in drag — in kiosks around the city, even in the streets outside the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe.
Fiberglass skeleton
But perhaps the biggest shrine stands here, inside a 1-acre compound tucked behind iron gates along a busy boulevard in this gritty suburb on the north side of the Mexican capital. A tire repair shop sits next door to the shrine, an 18th-century Roman Catholic church and a recently installed Domino's Pizza outlet stand a few blocks away.
Dominated by a 65-foot-tall fiberglass statue of a shrouded skeleton, the compound serves as a beacon to hundreds of devotees from central Mexico.
"Oh, Holy Death, body and blood of your children," intoned a dyed-blond priestess as she led Olvera and about 100 other devotees in prayers at the compound one Sunday morning. "Join my voice to your voice, join my being to your being."
The faithful — black-clad and nose-ringed youths, Sunday-best dressed families — mumbled the incantations in response, some kneeling in the grass, others' clutching their own statues of Holy Death.
'Commander Panther'
"This is the moment when we ask the Most Holy Death for her favor," the priestess, who calls herself Professor Constantine, continued, in a service that mixed such prayers with the Lord's Prayer and Hail Marys from the Roman Catholic creed. "We beg her to be with us today."
The compound was the life's work of Constantine's common-law husband, Jonathon Legaria, 26, the self-styled high priest of Holy Death International, a flourishing enterprise that included radio programs, esoteric shops and spiritual services.
Legaria, who dubbed himself "Commander Panther" and "Godfather Endoque" — a name he reportedly adopted while studying voodoo in Haiti — had erected the huge statue and smaller shrines on the lot in January. His congregation was growing, likely enticed by written promises on the lot's outside wall promising wealth, health and other good fortune.
"He was my spiritual guide, a gentle soul," said Abraham Gil, 42, a former soldier who began attending the services last fall at Legaria's invitation. "I wouldn't call it a religion. It's a faith. My faith is with her. Whatever you call it, death is always with us."
Gunned down
Legaria got what he prayed to shortly after midnight on July 31.
Assassins with automatic rifles intercepted him as he drove with two female friends in his Cadillac SUV on the boulevard that cuts past his shrine. He was hit by more than 45 bullets, dying instantly.
Local newspapers reported that Legaria's killing was due to the gangland war raging in the Mexican capital's suburbs. The battle pitted the Zetas, gunmen linked to the drug smuggling cartel based in the cities bordering South Texas, against a growing gang from Michoacan state called La Familia.
At least 15 men — including several police officers — have been killed in and around Tultitlan this summer in the struggle for control of street drug sales and other vice.
"We've had some trouble, but nothing like what they are talking about," said Juan Marcial Paredes, a state investigator who looked into Legaria's killing. "It's nothing like along the border or those kinds of places."
Investigation of the murder, usually a state crime, has been taken over by the federal Attorney General's Office.
That's often a signal that a crime has ties to drug traffickers or other organized criminals
Legaria's mother, Enriqueta Vargas, said she has received calls from local mobsters since offering a reward for information about her son's death, assuring her that they had nothing to do with his murder.
"Unfortunately, in Mexico it's always going to be the same story," Vargas, 49, said after attending a Sunday service. "When they can't solve anything, they always put the blame on organized crime. They've investigated nothing.
"My son didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't take drugs," she said. "He couldn't have had dealings with drug traffickers. If they sought him out, it was for spiritual help."
Centuries of belief
Still, gangland connections to the supernatural are far from unusual in Mexico. Belief in witchcraft and indigenous deities has survived nearly 500 years after the conquering Spanish brought Roman Catholicism here.
It remains strong among the working-class and rural poor, from whose ranks spring many of the gangsters.
In a grisly signal of Holy Death's gangland following, police say 11 men who were decapitated and stacked like cordwood in late August outside the Yucatan city of Merida may have been sacrifices to the faith.
The still-missing heads may have been burned in sacrifice, police speculated.
Several men with alleged ties to the Gulf Cartel, including two Cuban nationals, have been arrested for the crime.
Olvera, the state police officer who works as a security guard contracted to businesses, said he became a follower of Holy Death to avoid that fate.
Too many police are dying, Olvera said. Perhaps one-third of the officers he works with are devotees as well.
"It's because of the constant danger we face in the streets," Olvera said, as he stood next to a pile of artificial skulls inside the Holy Death compound. "Our work is very risky.
" You are always asking Holy Death for protection for yourself and those you love
Tultitlan, Mexico--Santa Muerta--Keeping it fair and balanced, the other side of the story.
The people of Mexico are tired of the wave of killings that has swept the country, and they're making their voices heard.
Everyday, newspapers tell of violent crimes like the one that took the life of Jonathan Legaria.
Ironically, Legaria publicly promoted the cult of death --a rapidly growing phenomenon in Mexico. Legaria's family allowed CBN News access to this property which has been turned into a shrine.
Although his mother did not share Legaria's beliefs, she had reached an understanding with him.
"We believed in different things," she said. "We talked very little to avoid having problems. We talked little about his beliefs. He believed in God, he believed in the Saints, but he also believed in Saint Death."
Believing in Saint Death
And where does she thinks her son is now?
"I believe he's with her. He said he was the son of Saint Death," she said.
We asked his widow who calls herself Professor Constance, why so many people believe in Saint Death.
"Because she has performed so many miracles," she said. "Simply that people want results, and especially also they look for a reason to live. A reason to feel good."
Pastor Natanael Pascual de Deous explains that the cult of death attracts followers because people are really looking for quick solutions to their problems.
"We know very well from the Bible that death came through Satan, and when people make a pact with death they're making a pact with the devil," he explained. "For a period of time they receive material benefits, but on the other hand the nightmares begin, and family problems, emotional breakdowns, sicknesses. A series of problems."
For Mexico, the problem has become deadly. This year, assassinations are up 47 percent.
Worship of Death
Pastor Antonio Pavòn believes the core cause is the worship of death.
"The latest reports of drug trafficking deaths, the great number of executions, the enormous pain Mexican families are experiencing because of kidnappigns and killings," he began. "I believe comes from two things. First, that cult, that has exalted death, that has been glorifying death and has been giving death all authority over our country."
Pavon says a second factor is the death of unborn infants. Over 12,000 women have sought early term abortions in mexico city since the laws changed last year. But Mexico's Christians believe they have the solution.
"It's to talk with people involved in the idolatrous cult of death. Talk with them about the real nature of death," Pavon said. "The Apostle Paul in I Corinthians 15 says that death is the enemy of God. People don't realize that."
The Drug Trade Connection
Although skeptics reject spiritual explanations, former drug dealer Julio Cesar Cortès says that the death cult is popular in the drug trade.
"There were times the Federal police or judicial police would come to search our house. And they searched and the drugs were under the Saint Death statue, and they searched from top to bottom with dogs and all and didn't find the drugs," he said.
But Julio saw things differently after he began to follow Jesus.
"Death came only to destroy," he said. "That's why it's death. But Jesus is life."
The lady in the red hat and shoe's is Jonathan Legaria's mother the new Panther and spiritual leader of her son's church conducting the Sunday outdoor service. When I initially entered, I was met with steely stares and was approached by 4 big, covered with tattoo's, tough looking skin head types, who wanted to know my business there. After reassuring them they were quite friendly, explaining the religion to me, and permitting me to take pictures of the facility and services. I would like to think it was my charm and grace that won them over, but that probably wasn't true. The fact is, I think they had heard of Ben Davenport and the Dailey Show and when I explained that I was with the circus, because this is a religion practiced by drug dealers, murderer's, prostitute's, pimps, and various other "unseemly types", they graciously grand fathered me in, and welcomed me.
Tultitlan, Mexico--Santa Muerta--Keeping it fair and balanced, the other side of the story.
Santa Muerte - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
These are exterior pictures of the church of Santa Muerta. I'm thinking the concertino wire is to make the parishioners feel comfortable and welcome. Before anyone scoff at the validity of Santa Muerta, note the shadowy figure at the feet of the statue in the second photo!!!
Tultitlan, Mexico--Santa Muerta--Keeping it fair and balanced, the other side of the story.
Above is the "shrine" to Jonathan Legaria mentioned in the story below, at his church in Tultitlan
La Plaza/Jan. 10, 2011
It was a hard fall for the formerly high-riding "bishop" of the most famous Santa Muerte "church" in Mexico City, David Romo.
Romo, pictured second from right in the top row of the official photo above, stands charged along with several others with participating in a kidnapping and money-laundering ring. His name is familiar to reporters in Mexico City. Romo founded and led a prominent "sanctuary" dedicated to the Santa Muerte death saint. The skeletal "little white girl" figure, as she is affectionately called, is venerated by drug traffickers in Mexico but also by regular people on the margins of society.
Romo's church has had several name changes over the years; currently it's known as the National Sanctuary for the Angel of the Holy Death. Usually wearing a frock, he spent years at the forefront of the growing cult, giving interviews to foreign reporters (including your blogger) as a self-proclaimed bishop.
He oversaw syncretic Roman Catholic-Santa Muerte services several times a week in the Colonia Morelos, a rough neighborhood east of downtown Mexico City. The bishop had plans to drastically upgrade and expand the church building, and shared impressive-looking floor plans with reporters.
But more than anything else, Romo remains known as a combative and controversial figure. Leaders or caretakers of other well-known Santa Muerte altars in the city insisted, usually off the record, that Romo was a fraud because no one could "lead" a cult generated by its believers.
In 2005, when the government attempted to strip his church's recognition as a religion, Romo led followers in protests before government buildings. At one point in 2009, he even called for a "holy war" among Santa Muerte followers to defend the cult from condemnations by the Roman Catholic hierarchy in Mexico (link in Spanish).
"Nothing can stop us," Romo said to one interviewer.
The church leader often traded barbs with a leader of a rival Santa Muerte sanctuary in the north Mexico City suburb of Tultitlan. That spiritual leader, Jonathan Legaria, also known as "the Panther," turned up dead in July 2008. He was killed by a high-powered weapon in a drive-by shooting.
Legaria's Santa Muerte sanctuary was home to what he claimed was the largest known representation of the "holy death," a statue towering more than 70 feet (see photo here). His followers said at the time that jealousy and religious differences with others were to blame for his killing, but they stopped short of naming names. Local authorities washed their hands of the investigation, citing their own "incompetence" and handing the case over to federal authorities in a formality that all but ensured Legaria's killing would never be solved.
Last week, with Romo behind bars, the leader who has taken over Legaria's Santa Muerte church in Tultitlan spoke out. Enriqueta Vargas -- Jonathan Legaria's mother -- told La Prensa in an interview (link in Spanish): "David Romo is not the Santa Muerte, and not the whole church, and if he made a mistake he should pay for it."
"It would be like saying all Catholics are pedophiles, and that's not the case," Vargas added.
Mexico City's attorney general presented a comprehensive string of evidence implicating Romo in a kidnapping ring led by a gang figure known as "El Aztlan." When asked if Romo and his crew were targeted for being tied to the Santa Muerte cult, Atty. Gen. Miguel Angel Mancera said he initially had no idea that "the señor had anything to do with any church" -- a slight that surely stung the fallen bishop.