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| The Cultural Passion For the Charro Tradition |
| Ed Hutmacher - March 9, 2003 |
 Puerto
Vallarta played host to its "First National Charro Championship" competition
recently (February 20 - 23). It was billed the "First" in anticipation
of it becoming a recurring annual event. Let's hope this happens. The
Charreria is one of the most authentic cultural encounters that foreign residents
and tourists here get a chance to experience. And if you think "cultural"
might be too strong a word to use for describing a sporting event, let me explain.
I could spend time describing things about language, religion, the arts, and on
down the list of stuff that make up culture, but who would disagree that "sport"
is a major identifying characteristic of society? Much of it deals with how people
socialize and have fun. Americans have baseball, Canadians
their hockey, and Great Britain has rugby (dare I say, cricket?). These sporting
events are original, national inventions and are popular with folk back home.
The Charreria is the original "Wild West"
version of what is called the Rodeo up north of the border, and the Mexican Charro
was the first cowboy. Long before Texas was Texas and had venerated the western
wrangler, there were the upper class Charros of the vast haciendas and the working
class ranch hands (the vaqueros) who had incorporated their riding, roping, and
ranchero skills into competitive events. The Charreria was officially made the
National Sport of Mexico in 1933. But, over time things
do change.  In
America, baseball has been replaced by football to become the national pastime.
Hockey might remain Canada's most popular sport, but its players and teams have
flown the coop to such an extent that Europe and the U.S. are now the bastions
of the game. In Great Britain, soccer is by far the prevailing sport.
For that matter, soccer is the most popular sport in the world, and Mexico is
no exception. You can't go anywhere in Puerto Vallarta, for instance, without
seeing kids kicking a ball around or a pick-up game being played. In practically
every restaurant-bar, store, and home you'll find a television tuned to a futbol
game featuring the favorite teams of the locals. So,
what has happened to the Charreria and the Charro, the oldest sporting tradition
and cultural icon in Mexico -- the modern day vaquero and his horse, the sombrero,
the lariat? Are they in the twilight of a four hundred year-old tradition, fading
in much the way of America's baseball, Canada's hockey, and Great Britain's rugby:
still around but relegated to a list of sub-popular sports?
In a modern world that's caught up with technology, trendy images and the acculturation
of lifestyles, yesterday's customs are often transformed into lore. I suppose
we could wonder how long it took for the sport of jousting to disappear from the
medieval scene or when the Mesoamerican ball game of tlachtli died (perhaps literally,
by sacrificing too many of its players). But that would be asking the wrong question,
which is why some things fade away while others don't?
Sociologists suggest an answer: cultural substitution.
 Until
one thing is freely exchanged for another, it will persist. The Charro tradition
carries on in Mexico, regardless of the ascent of soccer, because Mexicans are
not psychologically inclined to turn loose of it. Indeed, they relish and celebrate
all their traditions with fervor. This passion is an admirable attribute, generally
speaking, and I find it impressive. By comparison, Americans
seem more fickle toward their traditions. Professional baseball is dying a slow
death because its fans have become weary of the game. They are abandoning the
sport in growing numbers because it's become infested with mega egos and greed
(perhaps a reflection of that sport's culture). What used to be an affordable,
enjoyable few hours at the ballpark has become a grin-and-bear-it experience that's
scarcely entertaining. Baseball parks are more like exclusive
preserves that accommodate corporate sponsors, luxury booth owners, and leisurely-oriented
fans. The average guy can hardly afford to take his family out to enjoy a game
let alone find someone nearby who is knowledgeable enough to talk about its nuance.
Not so with the Charreria. Puerto Vallarta's Lienzo Charro can accommodate about
3,000 spectators, and on the final day of competition it was filled to capacity
(many were turned away at the gate). The cost was $50 pesos per adult the first
three days and $100 for the finals, and children into their teens were admitted
free. No reserved seating, VIP booths or other trappings of exclusivity. Once
there, Mexican families joined together to cheer the Charros, be thrilled by their
talents, and enjoy the day in their typically enthusiastic manner.
Festive music was constantly played during the events, which often elicited mass
sing-a-longs to popular songs. Children scurried about the concrete and metal
bleachers seemingly without a care in the world. Men gathered along and on top
of the arena walls to get better views and be showered by the dirt thrown up by
the horses and livestock as they raced by, a literal horse's breath away. When
they weren't gulping down all sorts of beverage and an equal variety of spicy
food hot off open-pit grills, Mexican fans passed along perceptive comments on
the Charros' skill, to one another and uninformed foreigners.
Witnessing a Charreria affords an opportunity to experience several aspects of
life in Mexico. The first is the sport itself. The second is how Mexicans get
together to enjoy it. And a third is the depth of significance the two combined
can mean. Much like the way they are about everything
else -- singing, dancing, making love -- Mexicans are passionate about the Charreria.
They have a deep infatuation with the Charro tradition and are unabashed about
displaying it publicly. While we Anglos could stand back
and marvel at this exhibition of Mexican culture, maybe there's something to be
learned from it. Ed Hutmacher Archives
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