Officer Tracks Down His Huichol Identity

When Jose Vargas arrived at the small Mexican village in search of his Indian ancestry, he left his police badge in the car. A tin plaque would be of no use to him in this poor, out-of-the-way place with its own language, laws and way of life.

Being a Santa Ana cop for the past 25 years may have earned him respect among his fellow immigrants, many of whom actually consider him their police chief. But among the inhabitants of Mexico’s rugged Sierra Maestra on the Pacific coast, his only standing was as a stranger.

Officer Vargas had no rank in the land of the Huichol.

Jose, along with his wife, Leticia, would have to stand with souls bared before this tribe, notoriously suspicious of outsiders. Unarmed and uncertain, the couple was quickly surrounded by almost two dozen Indians who poked and sniffed at them.

Understandably, they felt afraid. Still fresh in their minds was word of the U.S. newsman who had been killed the month before, allegedly by two Huichol men who didn’t want the American taking pictures.

The Vargases realized that their quest to reconnect with their ancestral roots would first require a rite of passage. Ironically, the experience would mirror their earlier struggle for acceptance as Mexican immigrants in another alien culture, that of the United States.

This time, the crossing was in reverse.

By now, many people in Orange County know the Vargas success story. Half a century ago, Jose was a typical immigrant teenager who repeatedly crossed the border illegally, and was repeatedly deported. Eventually, he settled in Southern California, became a citizen and a cop, first joining the force in Stanton in 1969.

He raised seven sons, three of whom also went into law enforcement. Today, he has 23 grandchildren, all of whom have one thing in common. None speaks Spanish.

Jose felt his heritage slipping away through the generations. He had lost his own father when he was just 11. Now in semiretirement, he worried that his bloodline was being diluted by his children’s intermarriage with other ethnic groups. Before it was too late, he wanted to finally define his Indian heritage, which he had gleaned as a child from his grandfather, Salvador Diaz, a full-blooded Huichol.

Diaz is Jose’s primary surname. Vargas was his mother’s name. As is the custom in Mexico, he was known by both. But Jose Diaz Vargas couldn’t hold on to his paternal identity in California, where authorities kept using his maternal surname on official forms and documents.

“They took away my name, but they couldn’t take away the Indian in me,” Jose told me this week over breakfast at Norm’s, a favorite Santa Ana hangout. (“Me quitaron el nombre, pero lo indio no me lo quitaron.”

Jose, 64, said he yearned to learn who he really was and leave his family a legacy: the knowledge of where they came from.

He undertook his roots journey 18 months ago, shortly after marrying his new wife, Leticia, 44. She went as soul mate in the search, since she, like Jose, also hails from Jalisco in Huichol territory.

Leticia offered a photo album of their trip. The pictures show them with a shaman, or holy man, inside a circular temple with a thatched roof. The sacred place has a syncretic mix of Catholic and Indian symbols: The God of Corn and the Virgin of Guadalupe, the God of Fire and the cross of Christ wrapped in a Mexican flag.

It’s remarkable they were allowed to take photographs at all.

Journalist’s Death Prompted Caution

Some news reports say a camera cost the life of Philip True, 50, Mexico City correspondent for the San Antonio Express-News. In December 1998, True was found dead in an isolated mountainous area where he had been hiking alone while pursuing a story on Huichol culture.

Two Indians who allegedly confessed to the murder later recanted, claiming they had been tortured. But Mexican authorities recently told a delegation of U.S. newspaper editors that a conviction in the case is expected next month.

According to one report, the suspects had first told authorities that they were angered when the journalist took pictures without permission. Some Indians believe the photographs and flash weaken their aura, Leticia said.

So at first, the Vargases left the camera in their vehicle.

The Huichol are known as peace-loving but fiercely independent people. They retreated to inaccessible mountain areas to escape Spanish colonization. As a result, experts say, they don’t exhibit the vanquished attitude of conquered tribes. Recently, many have been forced by hard times to migrate to cities like Guadalajara, where they can be seen selling their colorful crafts and embroidered clothing.

The Vargases flew to that state capital but had trouble finding someone willing to take them to a Huichol settlement outside Tepic, Nayarit. When a relative finally agreed to be their driver, they had no idea what awaited them.

Like other Mexican tribes, the Huichol have their own leaders, judges and jails. When Jose and Leticia arrived at one village by dirt road in a red truck, word quickly spread: Strangers are here.

Faces appeared in windows. Then a man came out to greet them. He spoke slow, deliberate Spanish and became their unsolicited interpreter.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why have you come?”

Jose explained: “My grandfather always told me that I am Huichol. My wife and I are both said to be from this same tribe. And we have come to find out if we are indeed part of you or not.”

The translator literally ran off. He returned with the tribal judge, and soon others gathered around. Eventually, the regional Huichol governor was summoned from his home farther up the hill.

Suddenly, Jose and Leticia found themselves surrounded. The Indians stared at them, touched them about the head and shoulders, rubbed feathers over their bodies. Some uttered tones that sounded like chants. They even smelled the visitors, as dogs would, to get a scent.

“It was like a screening they were doing,” said Leticia.

Jose closed his eyes, partly out of respect and partly as strategy. He didn’t want them to see in his face that he was afraid or nervous.

“I know when it’s not wise for me to move,” Jose said. “I just stayed very still.”

The screening ritual finally stopped. The Indians stepped away to confer. They spoke in their native language. They pointed at the couple. They seemed to argue.

When the translator returned, he touched Jose on the arm. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he spoke.

“Bienvenido a tu casa,” he said. “Welcome home.”

Jose felt tears flowing down his cheeks. During the interview this week, his eyes again welled with emotion while retelling the experience.

Leticia was also deeply moved: “I felt I was having the greatest mystical experience of my life.”

Inside the Huichol temple, the shaman sang a song taken from the tribe’s oral tradition. Leticia returned the gesture by singing in tongues, an ability she acquired as an evangelical Christian.

Later, at the couple’s request, the Indians made individualized costumes for Jose and Leticia, each with symbols representing their personalities.

Jose’s hat had feathers because he is a communicator like the mockingbird. The brim had extra dangling items to protect him from bullets. His shirt had a rabbit on the shoulder so he wouldn’t lose his comical side. And butterflies were also embroidered on the costume so he would continue fertilizing other community leaders back home.

When they returned to Santa Ana, Jose and Leticia put on their outfits and stood in front of the mirror.

“This is the real Jose Vargas,” the officer said.

Agustin Gurza’s column appears Tuesday and Saturday. Readers can reach Gurza at (714) 966-7712 or [email protected]