The Power of God Against the Guns of Government: Religious Upheaval in Mexico at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century

by Paul J. Vanderwood

In the early 1890’s, an armed rebellion fueled by religious fervor erupted over a wide area of northwestern Mexico. At the center of the outburst were a few hundred farmers from the village of Tomochic and a teenage folk saint named Teresa, who was ministering to thousands of people throughout the area. When the villagers proclaimed, “We will obey no one but God!,” the Mexican government exiled “Santa Teresa” to the United States and trained its guns and bayonets on the farmers. A bloody confrontation ensued―God against government―that is still remembered in song, literature, films, and civic celebrations. The tangled roots of the conflict reach into Mexico’s Indian past, stretch through its colonial experience, embrace the peculiar temperament of its Northerners, and encompass the ambitious program of rapid modernization launched by the government at the end of the nineteenth century. The government and its supporters had one vision of what they wanted Mexico to be; many villagers had a different view of what was right for them. Tomochic was split along fissures that had long marked local society, with religious dissenters reveling in the inspiration of Santa Teresa while others stood aside to await the government’s resolution of the upheaval. After suffering several humiliating defeats by the faithful, more than a thousand army troops placed Tomochic under siege. Fighting was fierce, and as the military tightened the noose on its prey, an image of Santa Teresa was seen rising to glory into the heavens above the burning village. In the minds of many, Tomochic has come to symbolize a people’s unending search for justice. Santa Teresa, in her day internationally known for miraculous healings, is still invoked by Mexican communities to help cure their social ills. Small wonder that only recently a young peasant rebel in Chiapas “I seek a decent life―liberation―just as God says.”

Genres: History, Religion, Latin American History, Nonfiction

444 pages, Paperback

First published April 1, 1998

About the author

Paul J. Vanderwood is Professor Emeritus of Mexican history at San Diego State University. He is the author of several books including Satan's Playground: Mobsters and Movie Stars at America's Greatest Gaming Resort; Juan Soldado: Rapist, Murderer, Martyr, Saint; The Power of God against the Guns of Government: Religious Upheaval in Mexico at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century; Disorder and Progress: Bandits, Police, and Mexican Development; and Border Fury: A Picture Postcard Record of Mexico’s Revolution and U.S. War Preparedness, 1910–1917.

Reviews

[Czarny Pies · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Power of God Against the Guns of Government (which won the Thomas F. McGann Memorial Prize for Latin American history in 1998) is an absolutely outstanding book that is of enormous assistance to anyone trying to understand the society, political cultural, and religious beliefs of Mexico at the turn of the Twentieth Century.

The book's subject is a peasant rebellion that occurred in Chihuahua in 1891. In telling the story, Vanderwood does an outstanding job in describing the nature of the syncretic religious practices of rural Mexico. At the same time he provides a masterful explanation how camarilla politics (i.e. the infighting between cliques for local political power) functioned. He also paints a very revealing picture of the workings of the government and army of Porfirio Diaz.

On top of everything else Vanderwood is a masterful stylist. His excellent narrative skills and wonderful descriptions of the people involved make this book a great joy to read.

[Rick · Rating 4 out of 5]

The story of the rebellion in Tomochic has not been told often in English. It tends to be seen primarily as a precursor of the Mexican Revolution (which it is) instead of in its own right. And the religious character of the uprising has often been seen as a side issue, or as a measure of the villagers' backwardness, instead of a central part of understanding it. Vanderwood takes all parts of the story seriously. For me, it helped make sense of the difference between clerical and popular Catholicism and of the latter's role in forming a critique against all secular power.

[Miriam · Rating 3 out of 5]

I admired Vanderwood's desire and ability to include details from the historical record that have no resolution. The details themselves are important, whether or not we can know the outcome.

As much as the conclusion hints at the importance of religion in daily life (and its transcendent possibilities), the book itself felt fairly flat to me--battles, intrigue, lists of people who participated and got killed. Maybe that's the only place that larger speculations and generalizations can fit in a monograph. But even with Cruz Chavez's and Teresa Urrea's statements, the bulk of the book is dry.

I'm glad I read it. It fills in some historical gaps in my knowledge of the period and the specific incidents, and also suggests that Urrea who wrote The Hummingbird's Daughter had at least some reasons for writing it the way he did.

It's good to remember that people have agency, that they make their own choices, even when circumscribed, and that they find ways to set their own priorities. Much of the Porfiriato story is about the crushing of common people and how they paid the costs of modernization. It's not that this story doesn't show that part--there's plenty of exploitation and inequality and government repression here--but it also shows people holding onto their lands in the face of strong public and private challenges, stubbornly pursuing their own religious beliefs and practice, and using distance and heritage to make their choices their own. It reaffirms the idea that historians may have to generalize about a particular time period in order to say anything about it, but that individual case studies add immensely to our understanding of the complexities of history.

[Lis · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a good book on an important part of Mexican history.