“Why the obsession with these processions?? You don’t even
go to Church.” That was the sentiment coming out of John, the kids and I’m
sure many of those who know me.
How can we not? We chose Seville to be our adopted
‘residence’ for our year away so I felt we should at least understand what it
means to be a Sevillano. To do that means to understand and experience two
things – Semana Santa (Holy Week) and Feria de Abril (April Fair).
In the months prior to Semana Santa we were already getting
a ‘feel’ for the city and its culture. It quickly became obvious that religion
and religious tradition is a big part of their culture. Several shops selling
religious paraphernalia and beautiful dresses for the Catholic Sacraments of
Baptism and Holy Communion existed. Practically every street has some kind of
church or chapel. We learned that these were called ‘Hermandads’ – religious
brotherhoods – fraternity-like associations that one becomes a ‘member’ of by
paying an annual fee.
Later, we learned of one of the most popular ones – La
Macarena – an image of the Virgin Mary with one of the biggest and most
passionate followers. So popular that when we visited her in the Basilica de la
Macarena she took pride of place at the altar – not Christ or the crucifix –
which admittedly I found a bit unnerving. Also, being situated in the back
streets of Seville, the La Macarena procession is the longest procession of the
entire Semana Santa lasting 13 hours (from 12 midnight to 1pm) to make it to
the Cathedral – and one of the hardest ones to get close to. To see her up
close would require you to pick your spot along the procession route at least 2
hours before it was scheduled to arrive.
We also learned that the La
Macarena has a ‘rival’ in the form of Esperanza
de Triana – another image of the Virgin Mary with a large and equally
passionate following as La Macarena –
but from across the river in the gypsy neighbourhood of Triana. These two images
of the Virgin Mary are the most venerated in Seville and the rivalry between
their followers is said to be so strong that it can split families.
So strong that it can split families. That thought stayed
with me for a while as I tried to comprehend this. Why?? It goes against the
very essence of what Virgin Mary is all about – Isn’t she about love?
Compassion? Family?
Then the processions started… and we watched one after the
other taking thousands of photos to capture the event. At the same time, I was
also soaking up the atmosphere. Trying to understand what makes Semana Santa in
Seville the spectacle that it is. Procession after procession, like pieces of a
puzzle slowly coming together, I was starting to get a picture of what Semana
Santa really means.
After watching 4 days’ worth of processions, watching Nazareno after Nazareno walk by, watching Paso
after Paso go by, spending countless
hours in the crowds observing and talking to people, waiting for and watching
the processions, often times watching the entire procession from the Cruz de Guia (Guiding Cross – the crucifix
that marks the start of the procession) down to the cleaning trucks that come
at the rear of a procession… Semana Santa is not just about religion. It is SO much
more.
It’s kinship.
The whole concept of a Hermandad connotes kinship – a sense
of belonging, a community of individuals united with a common purpose. One of
their key purposes is to organise events to keep the Catholic religion alive
within the community – such as the Semana Santa processions – a mammoth
logistical task that takes most of the year.
There were also many other processions we came across prior
to Semana Santa. Throughout the Lenten season, there were processions in the
streets every weekend – including a ‘Battle of the Bands’ type performance
featuring marching bands from the different Hermandads. Needless to say, these
Hermandads have quite a visible presence and certain status in Sevillano
society.
It’s pride.
Given the profile the Hermandads have in society, being part
of one carries with it a sense of pride. Participating in Semana Santa – in
whatever role – comes with a sense of pride.
From the time we saw them practicing in the streets weeks
before Semana Santa, I took a particular interest in the Costaleros (the men carrying the floats). What would drive a man,
along with 35 – 60 others, to bear the weight of a 2 – 2.5 tonne float on the
back of their necks, as they walk in coordinated step – with choreography to
music – on the cobble stoned streets of Seville practically blindfolded? This
task is usually carried out by 2 teams of 35 - 60 men for each float, depending
on the size and weight of the float. The teams alternate every 30 – 45 minutes
for the duration of what usually is an average of a 10-hour procession to and
from the Cathedral.
We were lucky enough to spend a few hours with a Costalero and his family in the
sidelines as a procession went through. Little kids aged 4 and 6 caught my eye
and, after we had been settled in next to them for about 15 minutes or so, I
asked their mother if I could take a photo of her kids. She obliged, one child
did not, but that started the conversation with their family. Despite their
little English and my horrible Spanish we were still able to communicate.
Their father, standing next to me in his Costalero gear, was part of the relief
team for the changeover that was scheduled to take place close to where we were
standing. The rest of his Costalero
buddies had already crossed the road in anticipation but he chose to stay with
his family for as long as possible. We asked him how and where they carry the
weight of the float. He showed us exactly where on the headdress of his kids they
are meant to rest the metal beam of the float. Then he told us exactly where it
needs to sit on the vertebrae you can feel on the back of the neck. We were
shocked. I thought it rested on their shoulders somehow! I asked if he iced it
after a day of carrying the float. He said no, he takes Ibuprofen!
The first float with Christ had already gone by. After I had
taken a video of the float carrying Christ, out of the corner of my eye I
noticed that he was standing at attention with hands clasped low in front of
him, his body faced towards the float that was now disappearing in the distance
down the street while everyone else had gone back to what they were doing
before the float arrived. I couldn’t help but admire the reverence that he
showed towards the float carrying Christ until it was a respectable distance
away. The best way to describe it is similar to the reverence one would give to
a flag while singing a national anthem. It was in that moment that I understood
why he does what he does.
I asked him if he was going to ‘carry’ that afternoon as the
procession from his Hermandad was already in front of us. He signified yes,
now. I was confused. Why was he still standing there? Around 30 minutes later
the second float carrying the Virgin Mary came into view. He said goodbyes to
his family, said his goodbyes to us, and we wished him luck – feeling that he
needed every bit of it given he was about to carry that weight on the back of
his neck!
There was another procession right after the one we were
watching on the same route so we held our places – which was great for me as I
was able to get an ‘insider’ view into Semana Santa.
The lady I was talking to (the mother of the kids who I
asked to take a picture of and wife of the Costalero)
told us that the kids and their father were also Nazarenos the night before for La Macarena – which was a 13-hour
procession. So effectively, her husband, the Costalero who had just left us to take his place under the Virgin
Mary float, had just come from walking a 13-hour procession the night before
and was now here, just 24 hours later, taking his part for the next 8-10 hours carrying
a float with Virgin Mary. If that doesn’t give one bragging rights, I don’t
know what does.
With this relatively brief encounter with a Costalero and his family, what I
understood was that, as an ultimate sign of their devotion to Christ and/or
Virgin Mary, it is an honour for them to be able to perform such an important
role on such an important occasion for their Cristo (Christ) or Virgen
(Virgin). Without the strength, skill and willingness of a Costalero, there would be no Semana Santa. Likewise, for the thousands
of Nazarenos, Penitensos, band
members, important looking ‘men in black’, and support personnel such as the
medical team, water boys, and parents and grandparents who walk alongside their
participating kids that all play a part to make this event what it is.
It’s identity.
Participating in such a highlighted event for the city is a
symbol of their Sevillano roots. It’s something that seems to be done from one
generation to the next. Sevillano kids grow up either watching or participating
in these processions – from the kids building ‘wax balls’ to keep them
entertained as they wait and watch the processions, to the 3-month old baby carried
in the arms of her Nazareno father,
to the two kids dressed up as Costaleros
just like their dad, to the hundreds of Nazareno
kids handing out lollies or little images of their Cristo or Virgen to
fellow kids in the crowd.
This event seems to be so ingrained in the Sevillano psyche
and way of life that it would be hard to separate one from the other.
It’s family.
Not only is a Hermandad literally a brotherhood of
like-minded people but, often, belonging to a Hermandad is passed on from one
generation to the next, similar to how which school a child goes or which rugby
team a child supports is determined by the generations before them.
Grandparents, uncles, aunties, cousins often belonging to a common Hermandad.
Also, with the exception of the processions in La Madrugada which take place from
midnight into the early morning of Good Friday, all the processions involved young
kids – usually as Nazarenos giving away lollies. The Esperanza de Triana – a procession that lasted 12 hours - had
entire families walking together in the streets to provide support during the
home stretch crossing the bridge back to Triana – among them a Nazareno father with his wife and baby
in a pram walking alongside. Other processions had parents walking alongside
their kids providing them with food and drink as they walked or refilling their
kids’ or grandkids’ pockets with lollies to hand out to other kids in the
crowd.
Entire families watched processions together, many watching
and supporting those participating. This meant that the atmosphere during the
day had quite a different vibe to it from those late at night. There was almost
a party-like, family-friendly atmosphere amongst the crowd despite the
sorrowful occasion of Christ’s passion and death. It felt more like a parade
down George Street in Sydney than a religious procession. This is what sets the
El Silencio procession apart from the
rest and made it my favourite – it was the most sombre and solemn procession I
thought.
It’s economics.
We had an interesting conversation with a gentleman who was
quite passionate about Semana Santa when he offered to share his outdoor table
with us at a tapas bar. (Disclaimer: I haven’t verified the truth behind this
information but what he said makes sense).
Apparently, each participant in the procession pays a fee to
the Hermandad to be able to participate in the Semana Santa procession. So the
thousands of Nazarenos and Penitensos not only have to walk for
hours, they actually have to pay for the privilege. Why do they need to pay?
Because the Hermandad needs to have funds in their coffers to support such an
event. With an average of 6-7 processions each day involving hundreds, sometimes
thousands of Nazarenos and Penitensos, making their way to the
Cathedral and back through tiny streets of Seville, a strict schedule needs to
be followed to ensure that all the processions don’t all converge at the same
point at the same time. If a procession is not in the designated location as indicated
on the schedule, the Hermandad gets fined. If the procession arrives late at
the Cathedral, they get fined. If a procession is underway and they encounter
rain and need to cancel, they get fined.
As the gentleman shared with us, one year La Macarena and Esperanza de Triana had to stay in the Cathedral due to rain
(centuries-old antiques and rain don’t go well together) resulting in both
Hermandads having to pay hefty fines.
For someone watching the processions, the fines are great
because it almost guarantees that the processions run on time and you can plan
where you want to catch them at different parts of the day. This was pretty
much the case with all the processions we watched.
Then there’s the matter of contributing to the city services
required to host such an event - the clean-up crew, the people that set out and
fold chairs in cordoned off key areas before and after each procession, and the
extra police force that needs to be brought into the city. This means that the further the distance to travel to and
from the Cathedral, the longer the duration of the procession and possibility
of delay, therefore the more Nazarenos
needed to ensure the available funds.
So behind the religious celebration comes the economic
reality. Someone has to foot the bill… and it’s the Nazarenos and Penitensos who
seemingly don’t mind getting punished twice (or thrice) for it.
It’s business.
Not only do Nazarenos and
Penitensos have to pay for the
privilege, but the outfits they wear need to be made at their own expense.
Several weeks prior, we walked into a little shop to enquire
about Flamenco dresses. The conversation turned to one about Semana Santa and
the Feria and the lady pointed to what would’ve been around 20 full paper bags sitting
in a corner of her shop – “Para Semana
Santa” (For Semana Santa), she told us. She was a seamstress and had made
some of the outfits for Semana Santa. On a separate occasion I noticed a tiled
sign outside a shop announcing their service making Nazareno outfits. I thought it was odd that such a business would
exist for a single one-week event in the year. At this stage I clearly didn’t
understand the scale of Semana Santa processions and wondered why people would
have garments specially made for each year’s Semana Santa. I naively thought
this was just something borrowed that they would wear – like an acolytes robe
at mass.
Do the math – approximately 60 processions between Palm
Sunday and Easter Sunday – with an average of 2,000 Nazarenos in each. That’s a lot of outfits that generate a lot of
business for these little shops around Seville. Then there are the candles that
the Nazarenos hold, the crosses that
the Penitensos carry… you start to
get the picture that it’s an industry onto itself that supports a lot of small
businesses.
During Good Friday and Easter Sunday I was also surprised to
see cafes, restaurants, and even some grocery stores open, obviously
capitalising on the crowds that each of these processions move around the
streets of Seville – and I’m not just referring to the touristy areas around
the Cathedral and Real Alcazar. This came as a surprise because in Sydney, a
city that is nowhere near as religious as Seville, almost all shops close on
either Good Friday or Easter Sunday.
Add to that the more obvious tourism dollars the whole event
generates for the city with the influx of millions of people into the city
boosting demand for transportation and accommodation, so much so that property
owners can charge double their normal rent during this period – as we
experienced.
It’s disruptive.
A few of the Sevillanos we’ve made acquaintance with thought
we were crazy for wanting to come back during Semana Santa. They would rather
leave the city and be at the beach, or catch up on much needed sleep at home.
For them there are simply too many people in town, too many processions going
on, making it too difficult to move about the city during this time. Our
Spanish school had to cancel classes for the full week as they are on one of
the main procession routes in the city centre. Businesses along the key routes
had to close during the procession hours. So I wasn’t naïve in thinking that
all Sevillanos embraced Semana Santa. I knew they found it disruptive and that
this sentiment was lurking within the many residents of Sevilla. Unfortunately I
had to witness it rear its ugly head first hand during one of the many
processions.
During the procession when we were standing beside the Costalero and his family, several people
were cutting through where we were standing in order to get to the other side
of the street. There was a constant stream of people cutting through us and crossing
the street – and the procession – regardless of whether it was moving or not. This
was one of the first things that stood out when I saw my first procession. I found
it rude to the people in the procession (sometimes carrying heavy crosses) and
since this was Day 3 and Procession 552, I was getting annoyed. I could tell
that the Spanish lady in front of me who was taking photos was also getting
annoyed with the stream of people. I had
had enough.
A lady came up from behind, partly pushing her way through
while excusing herself. I moved aside but said “Hay procesíon.” (There’s a
procession) - with a tone and gesture as if to say ‘Are you kidding me? You
want to cross here in the middle of this??’ motioning to the moving procession in
front of me. She ‘mouthed off’ in Spanish – which I understood to be about how,
as a local, she should be able to carry on and go about her business and pass
when and wherever she wanted to. She was
the local, I was the foreigner in her city, so I kept quiet. Besides, I didn’t
have enough Spanish in me to answer back even if I wanted to. The Spanish lady
in front of me who was now standing in this lady’s way from crossing said
something back to her in Spanish which I understood as ‘You can go about your
business but there’s a procession here so go find another way.’ as she continued
to take photos and ignore the other lady’s request to pass. WELL… that didn’t
go down well, did it? And now it was Spanish vs Spanish. So ‘lady who wanted to
pass’ mouthed off again. ‘Lady taking photos’ continued to ignore her. ‘Lady
who wanted to pass’ got fed up with being ignored and challenged ‘Lady taking
photos’ asking her if she was going to let her pass or was she going to
continue to stand in the way of a “Sevillana
autentica” (authentic Sevillana). When she didn’t get a response, she barged
her way through and continued to cross the procession to the other side in
front of walking Nazarenos.
It’s divisive.
The arrogance of the lady using the words Sevillana autentica (authentic
Sevillano) stayed with me. Not only because it’s a slap in the face to anyone
who is an outsider to the city (which it was), but because by identifying
herself as a Sevillana autentica she
felt entitled to ignore what was going on in front of her and cross in front of
a religious procession of her fellow Sevillano
autenticos. And no doubt she is not alone in this sentiment as she was not
alone in crossing the procession at any given point. People were even weaving
in between the crosses carried by the Penitensos
to get from one side to the other (those guys deserved to be whacked in the
head with the back of the cross, I thought), one couple going as far as to
manoeuvre a pram dodging the walking Nazarenos.
I watched in disbelief. Whether people crossing were locals, tourists, students,
clueless human beings, who knows – but what was clear was that they all saw their
need to get from A to B in the quickest possible way (probably to get to their
next procession) as more important than showing a little respect and waiting
for a few minutes for a pause in the procession before crossing. In short, I
found it selfish and self-centred, but what I thought wasn’t really important.
I turned to the Costalero
next to me. “Es normal?” (Is it normal?) I asked gesturing to the people
crossing. He confirmed it was because processions can sometimes last several
hours (the longest one being 3 hours from the Cruz de Guia - the crucifix that marks the start of the procession –
to the last person in the procession), they need to allow people to pass. I
asked if it was OK with him (since he was both a Nazareno and Costalero) and
he said it was fine, brushing it off as something that he’s quite accustomed
to. Then I told him that, as a foreigner, I felt it wasn’t right for them to
cross in front of the people during the procession. That they could at least
wait for one of the many pauses in the procession when the Nazarenos and Penitensos weren’t
walking, and then cut across. He totally agreed that would be the best way but
it’s not done. I said it was sentido
común (common sense). I went on to say I felt they could at least show un poco respeto (a little respect). After
all, I didn’t want him to think that no one respected what they did and that
everyone felt like the arrogant ‘Sevillana
autentica’ he would’ve witnessed. He and his wife totally agreed but thought
that I meant it as a sign of respect to the Cruz (Cross) and Virgen (Virgin), which is true, but I
actually meant it as a sign of respect to people like him – their fellow
Sevillanos who have either walked or will walk for hours, and the Costaleros who literally risk paralysis
by carrying the weight of the floats on their neck. Despite his acceptance of
the way things are, he did indicate that it was particularly distasteful to cut
in front of the Penitensos carrying
the cross because of what they symbolised.
So just as Semana Santa unites Sevillanos with their Hermandads, it equally has the power to
divide - locals vs outsiders; Sevillanos
embracing the tradition vs Sevillanos who feel it’s a nuisance; followers of La Macarena vs followers of Esperanza de Triana.
It’s tradition.
Regardless of what one thinks of it - whether one agrees
with it or not, whether one is Catholic or not, whether one even understands it
- the undeniable fact is that celebration of Semana Santa with processions of
grandeur is as ingrained in the Sevillano way of life as Santa Claus and
gift-giving is to Christmas.
Similar to how other traditions are preserved, generation
after generation kids are born into it and grow up doing the same as the
generation before them – quite possibly not even understanding the origin or
meaning behind it all. I was surprised to see kids as young as 4 or 5 years old
walking through the processions dressed as Nazarenos
when in reality Nazarenos are
there to repent for their sins. From a Catholic standpoint, to do that would
require these kids to be at an age of understanding and consent – this is why
all Catholic Sacraments, except Baptism, are delayed until the child is older.
So for these kids, the meaning behind the actual tradition is lost and it simply
becomes a time to be involved in the activities of their parents, to dress up,
walk in the streets like their parent/s, and give away lollies.
The thing that I feel makes the tradition so unique and strong
in Seville (and possibly other parts of Andalucia) is the existence of
Hermandads and their prominence and, to an extent, power that they have across
Sevillano society. One of their ‘reasons for being’ is to keep Catholic
traditions alive in society and that they are certainly doing very well.
I wanted to experience and understand Semana Santa in
Seville like a true Sevillano – warts and all. While I brought an outsider’s
lens to it, I feel like I was still able to achieve that. Chasing procession
after procession through all hours of the day and night determined to see them
all - an impossible feat I might add – coupled with curious conversations with
people ‘in the know’. I’m exhausted, my feet are sore and I can still hear the
drums. Can you imagine how the Nazarenos,
Penitensos and Costaleros are all
feeling?
With every procession I think John was hopeful that I was
slowly returning to my Catholic upbringing. Meanwhile, the kids must have
thought I had lost my marbles insisting we leave the apartment at 11pm to watch
a procession that didn’t start until 1am, only to get caught in a deadlock
crowd until 3am, continuing on without them until 5am, then waking them up at
9am asking if they wanted to see another procession. Other times I wondered if
I was being a hypocrite wanting to watch these processions given some of my
‘controversial’ views on Catholicism.
In the end, there are only 2 things that matter to me:
first, that I have a deeper understanding of what makes Semana Santa in Seville
the spectacle that it is and what that means to Sevillanos. In doing that, it
is no longer simply a collection of ostentatious floats and creepy looking
costumes. Second, that the kids have experienced a different kind of Easter and
Holy Week celebration for what it actually represents – the passion, death and
resurrection of Christ – not simply the Easter Bunny and chocolate eggs version
that they know. What they take out of all of that is entirely up to them.
