Glorious Saint John of God, charitable protector of the sick and helpless!

While you lived on earth there was no one who disconsolate departed from you:

the poor found shelter and refuge; the afflicted, consolation and joy;

trust, the desperate, and relief in their sorrows and pains, all the sick.

Oration to San Juan de Dios, patron saint of pyrotechnicians

The Catholic population in the State of Mexico is 91.2%.

There are approximately 8,200 churches, and

in each of them, fireworks are used in fiestas patronales […]

Instituto Mexiquense de la Pirotecnia

A high-speed buzzing fire passes near my ear; it’s one of hundreds of buscapiés, literally, feet seeker fireworks, that shoot in every direction from the main plaza in Tultepec, Mexico’s self-proclaimed Pyrotechnic Capital [1], during the toritos or pyrotechnic bulls [2] burning event that takes place every March 8th to honor San Juan de Dios, patron saint and protector of pyrotechnicians. The event begins in the early afternoon when the more than 300 toritos are carried in a procession through the streets of the town. Traditional Mexican food and alcohol can be bought everywhere. One-liter spicy micheladas on cardboard Corona or red plastic cups, prepared using a wide variety of condiments, including gummy bears, are ubiquitous. Liqueur, especially tequila, can also be bought on the streets on this permissive day; but it is far more common for the teams of pyrotechnicians to carry their own communal bottles of their favorite liquor to share, while they carry or push their toritos through the streets. Many of them find imaginative ways of drinking; for example, I once drank tequila from the testicles of a monumental torito using a plastic tube. The drinking starts early and continues through the evening. The smell of cannabis fills the streets as people pass el porro. Some also carry estopas with solvents like thinner or glue and get high with la mona o el chemo… anything that helps numb the senses and increase the courage. As the evening and the procession progress, the number of participants grows. We all walk alongside the bulls, drinking micheladas, tecates and liquor shared by the teams, dancing and singing to the music played by traveling bandas norteñas with trombones, trumpets, flutes and drums, as the toritos also “dance” and spin, led by colorful smoke bombs and fireworks. This communal moving, festive, intoxicating, and aesthesic experience expands over several hours and, as people get drunk and high, the atmosphere heats up in preparation for the climatic pyrotechnic spectacle.

The toritos burning event is organized by the community through a complex cargo system of stewards called mayordomías, in which community members have annual cyclic responsibilities for the organization of fiestas patronales, that stem from raising funds to logistics [3]. This autonomous organizational system, despite its sanctioned colonial origin, allows this wild and disorderly total sensory phenomenon to remain outside of the regulation of the State, as any intent to control it would be faced with harsh communal opposition. In this resistant regulation, there aren’t any guidelines regarding the type or number of fireworks that can be used, a prerogative of the pyrotechnicians’ creativity, or of the distance between the fireworks and the audience, so it is up to each attendee to decide where they want to position themselves and the amount of risk that they are eager to take [4].

A few hours before sunset, the first toritos in the procession enter the Dantean space of the main plaza, and they traverse through imaginary concentric circles, marked by different levels of participation from the audience, to the stage, the inner circle of fire, where the burning takes place. Toritos are lit in hierarchical order: starting from the smaller and simpler (usually the work of children or young apprentices) and culminating with the larger bulls dangerously loaded with pyrotechnics. As the evening advances the event becomes more and more excessive. By the time the monumental toritos make it to the plaza, usually by sunset, both the pyrotechnicians and the audience have been drinking for many hours. Some pyrotechnicians are so wasted that they might not even make it to their own torito burning, but for the people who do make it until this time of the evening, the true cathartic amusement begins.

An adrenaline rush sobers-up the pyrotechnicians carrying the toritos as they approach the plaza. Nervousness replaces joy when thoughts about the outcome of the burning and its dangers come to their minds. They stop and “kneel” their torito in front of the Parroquia de Nuestra Señora de Loreto, the main Catholic church in town, in a devotional grateful gesture to offer their ephemeral creations to San Juan de Dios for his protection. They continue to traverse the crowd, approaching the inner circle of fire as thousands of people [5] shout at unisonous “fuego, fuego, fuego!!” and nervousness rises to its maximum. The very brief intervals between the winding-up of the previous torito and the ignition of the next one, give the audience a breather… but if the next torito is not lit up immediately after entering the stage, the crowd will unforgivably shout “ese toro es puto! ese toro es puto!” in a problematic chant that equates homosexuality with cowardice. Each team of pyrotechnicians shakes the tension off with a porra, a cheer to San Juan de Dios, to their barrio or to their team. But nervousness is evident as they unsuccessfully try to find a knife to uncover the fuse, and end up using their teeth to tear its plastic cover, and finally ignite it with a lighter or a cigarette… When the fuse starts to spark, everything changes: nervousness dissipates and enjoyment begins. The perception of time of both the pyrotechnicians and the audience in the inner circle of fire, shifts as adrenaline kicks in. Falling sparks, people jumping, fireworks exploding, spinning, shooting out and whistling, the fuse cracking… are perceived in visual and aural slow-motion. Each monumental torito incorporates hundreds of fireworks. Different pyrotechnic effects are triggered in sequence as the fuse burns: colorful pyro-wheels turn around with the help of propulsors, some of them launching to the sky and colorfully exploding; chifladores whistle and spark, luces de castillo trace silhouettes and give color to the structures in the dark and, most importantly, hundreds of buscapiés shoot out and leave a trace of sparks in random directions at very high speeds while they loudly whistle. The torito chases the participants resembling a massive corrida de toros or, more precisely, a running of bulls in the style of the Pamplonada. Participants in the inner circle ­–mostly male teenagers and young adults, but also the occasional tourist that wants “a taste” of the adrenaline rush— have to torear the sparkling toritos. They cover their heads with their hoodies and use scarfs, bandanas or even gas masks to cover their faces and protect themselves from sparks, flying parts and smoke. They jump rhythmically with high knees and move around, resembling a choreography, so that the sparks don’t stick to their clothes or skin and burn them. Excitement and fear mix while attention is focused on the moving source of heat, fire and danger that shoots dangerous “projectiles”. Buscapiés—despite currently being forbidden by the Department of National Defense (SEDENA)—are responsible for most of the accidents that happen during the burning event. It is typical to have around 500 people hurt on the torito evening, mostly with minor but also with more serious burns. But the adrenaline rush plus the numbness provoked by the consumption of alcohol and drugs, frequently prevents participants from sensing when they get burn. The scars left by the buscapiés become trophies on the participants’ skin: a proof of their manliness and bravery.

The chaotic communal experience is jarring: sparks and fire everywhere, people running, shouting, laughing, stumbling into each other, pushing each other in a friendly but malicious manner. “Puto el que no brinque! Puto el que no brinque!”, can be heard as people jump, in a once again problematic reference to male homosexuality and cowardice. Others watch from further away, and can see the also startling aerial spectacle more clearly. Cell phones and cameras can be seen everywhere, as participants document the explosive event while dodging the buscapiés, which, according to experienced participants, are more dangerous from the distance due to their incremental speed as they leave the stage. Other intensities take place on further external concentric circles, where people are packed together, drunk and also euphoric. As fights escalate, shouts, heated arguments, and sounds of bottles breaking can be heard. “¿What are you doing here, güerita. I’d be careful with that camera if I were you.” As the stage burns for over five hours, the smoke fills up the plaza as does the distinct smell of gunpowder that will remain for many hours after the last torito is burnt.

The culminating part of each performance is marked by the shooting of the voladoras [the flyers], the torito’s final act: spinning wheels of fireworks that, if all goes according to plan, rise to the sky (as people look up and shout) and then explode, tearing the last cry of recognition from the audience. The exhilaration of this last cry will depend on the success—and excess—of the pyrotechnic display and spectacle of each torito. For the pyrotechnicians, this ovation is essential, as they see their work as both a pyrotechnic ofrenda [offering] to San Juan de Dios, and as a work of art, a competitive display of artistic mastery. The toritos event on March 8th brings no profit to the teams of pyrotechnicians as they actually need to invest on their creations. They employ their creativity and labor for the sake of communality and the preservation of traditions and their innovation, but most importantly, for a shared sensorial overload that unifies, liberates and indulges their desire for delirium. Participants prepare months in advance: raising funds, designing their structures and communally building them. This tradition brings family, friends, and neighbors together for the sake of communal enjoyment and artistic creativity. After the burning of their torito, the pyrotechnicians reunite with their families and friends, thankful for having left the ritual without major injuries, feeling renovated, and ready for another year of hard and risky work. The following day, they get rid of the hangover together, drinking micheladas, recounting the adventures of the previous night, laughing at each other, and, already planning the torito for the following year.

Fireworks were introduced to Nueva España (now México) in the 16th century, both as an integral aspect of sanctioned religious and political celebrations, and as a tool to frighten Indigenous populations of hell and sins through the Franciscan catechizing theatre, in which pyrotechnic effects and fire were used as spectacular allegoric illustrations of punishment. But the intended use by the priests of the intrinsic violence of pyrotechnics to colonize the minds of Indigenous peoples was based on a Western and colonized notion of the senses. They thought that the sensations triggered by fire and explosions would be conducive of fear, and consequently, could be used as tools to make minds docile and implant Catholicism. But precisely due to their extreme sensorial character, fireworks were easily decolonized by Indigenous populations, and integrated into their own and much vaster sensorium. The incorporation of pyrotechnics to syncretic rituals undermined and subverted their use as sensorial and semiotic tools of oppression, transforming them into tools for sensorial and epistemic liberation. Nowadays, it would be impossible to imagine any fiesta patronal without fireworks: pyrotechnic traditions are an essential aspect of these communal socio-religious events that remain outside of governmental regulation despite –or due to– their chaotic character. The toritos burning event at Tultepec is a paradigmatic and extreme example of pyrotechnic traditions in México, a cathartic ritual, a total sensory phenomenon that, through sensorial excess, strengthens communal identity and makes visible other forms of sensing and perceiving, of decolonial subjectivities disdained or rejected by the Western canon.

[2] Tultepec (Náhuatl for: on the hill of the tule [cypress])—a municipality in Estado de México located only 30kms north of Mexico City and originally the land of Chichimeca and Hñähñü peoples—became an important location for the establishment of pyrotechnic workshops back in the late XVIII or early XIX century because of the abundance of saltpeter in the area, from which essential materials for pyrotechnics are extracted (potassium nitrate, sulfur and clay carbon). Today approximately 65% of Tultepec’s mostly mestizo population is directly or indirectly involved in the production of fireworks—handmade in small family-run factories or workshops—that account for almost 80% of the country’s production (Instituto Mexiquense de la Pirotecnia, https://imepi.edomex.gob.mx/)

[2] Toritos are traditional metal, wood, reed and papier-mâché structures resembling bulls that fire up with fireworks. This tradition can be traced back to incipient corridas de toros in 13th century Spain, when, as part of agricultural festivities of fertility, real bulls were prompted to run through the streets of villages and towns at night after greasing their horns with resins and setting them on fire[1]. A similar event was documented in Nueva España (now México) in 1585, when bullocks with tar fire balls and fireworks in their horns were solicited for the celebratory greeting of the new archbishop at Plaza Mayor in Mexico City. The celebratory use of fireworks expanded since then, and by 1622 rudimentary toritos—basic wood structures decorated with horns and faces of bulls and covered with simple fireworks—were a common staple of sanctioned religious-political celebrations (as were also corridas de toros). The structures for these toritos (and also for castillos) were many times commissioned to Indigenous populations in the outskirts of Mexico City, which lead to a syncretic integration of these pyrotechnic traditions into Indigenous rituals, as can still be seen in the states of Oaxaca, Guerrero, Michoacán, Veracruz and Estado de México.

[3] In Latin America, the colonial assignment of a patron saint, emanating from the abundant Catholic santoral, conferred pueblos originales [Indigenous peoples]—and those founded by the Spaniards themselves—, not only an image of devotion, but a particular occasion and a festive date recognized both inside and outside of the communities: the fiesta patronal. Arias, “Significados y…” [translation is mine]

[4] For a pyrotechnic event to take place, the only requirement is the issuance of a permit by the municipal authority (with a format established by SEDENA) and an approval regarding the location of the burning, issued by the local Protección Civil [Civil Protection]. With the purpose of contributing to reduce the risks during pyrotechnic activities, the Centro Nacional de Prevención de Desastres [National Center for Disaster Prevention] published a list of recommendations for the outdoor use of pyrotechnics that specifically reference castillos, toritos, and Judas (another traditional burning event of Catholic origin that takes place during Easter). The guide’s recommendations to the audience include: to respect the security barriers—non-existent at the toritos burning in Tultepec—, to not approach the place where the fireworks are being launched—which clearly is not followed—and to keep children as far as possible from the burning or launch zone.

[5] The Feria Internacional de la Pirotecnia [International Pyrotechnic Fair] in Tultepec, attracts around 150 thousand visitors each year, at least 30 thousand people each day. Chávez González, “Queman más…”

© 2023

Bibliography

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