Of all secular holidays, Columbus Day is most under attack. A new Leyenda Negra has been created, painting Columbus as a villain, rather than the hero he actually was.
From One Peter Five
By Theresa Marie Moreau
Editor’s note: in honour of the 4th annual “Thanksgiving for Columbus Day,” we continue our Cristero series from Miss Theresa Marie Moreau as a part of our Hispanidad content. These holy martyrs laid down their lives in thanksgiving for the Christendom that was made possible by Columbus. (Columbus Day is a Marian Feast Day.) Happy Columbus Day (and Thanksgiving in Canada)!
Only government is capable of tyranny.
– Ronald Wilson Reagan, September 28, 1965.
After careful planning and preparation, the day finally arrived.
Joaquín de Silva y Carrasco (1898-1926) pulled on a blue sweater, knee-length corduroy pants, heavy boots and a jacket with several pockets to hold bullets. After saying goodbye to friends, he then sought out Father Joaquin Cardoso (Society of Jesus, 1881-1967) to make a Confession, perhaps his last.
Following his Act of Contrition, he explained to the priest that in one hour he would be leaving Mexico City for Michoacan. After much contemplation, he had decided to take up arms against the anti-Christian, anti-clerical, Revolutionaries wreaking hell throughout the nation, wielding guns, tying nooses, even chopping off the heads of political foes: Catholics.
But the priest reminded him that he would be leaving behind his mother and sisters.
“Oh, Father!” Silva responded,
They are the ones who have encouraged me the most in my project! No, no. If we young Catholics don’t fight for Christ the King, the wicked will soon finish off Catholicism in Mexico. They have already taken our churches from us. They have already forced our bishops to suspend worship. Our schools are being closed. Our hospitals are being secularized. Priests are being murdered after being tortured. And under the leadership of a Jewish rabbi, Martin Zielam, numerous bands of Russian immigrants are arriving to replace our peasants fleeing to the United States, escaping the persecution here. No. Enough! We don’t want to be Catholics in name only. I’m going to join the army of Christ the King! My poor mother and my good sisters? Don’t be afraid. I’m leaving them in good hands.
“Who will take care of them?” asked the priest.
“God! Do you think there are better hands than His?”
Receiving a final blessing from the priest, the 27-year-old left and visited his mother.
“Look, Mama, it’s better for us to die before achieving success, because, perhaps, money and honors might divert our righteous intentions,” he tried to convince her, and then thinking about his brother to whom he hadn’t been able to say goodbye, he added, “Mama, tell Pepe that I’ll be waiting for him in heaven.”
Born on November 5, 1898, in La Presa, Guanajuato to Guadalupe Carrasco and Luis de Silva, an engineer, Joaquin had a Christian upbringing, in a very religious, prosperous family that valued education. He attended La Casa de los Mascarones School, home to the Instituto Cientifico de San Francisco de Borja, established by the Society of Jesus, in 1897. However, in 1914, the Mexican Revolutionary government – led by de facto head of State, First Chief Jose Venustiano Carranza de la Garza (1859-1920) – grabbed control of the religious school and turned it over to the National School of Teachers.
Forced to enroll in the secular National Preparatory School, Silva soon fled after conflicts arose with teachers over religious matters. It was then that he welcomed the responsibility of managing the in-home chocolate factory that his father had established and entrusted to him.
Each day, he sold chocolates encased in pink wrappers stamped with the Silva factory seal. In the morning, the dutiful son carefully packed his sweets into a well-worn briefcase that he carried, as he walked from business to business, stall to stall, selling his family’s sugary treats.
During his off hours, he devoted most of his time to the Church: he spent countless hours with the Catholic organizations he had joined, received daily Communion, taught catechism on Sunday mornings, during the evenings instructed workers to be good Christians and dedicated himself to yearly Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius of Loyola (born Inigo Lopez de Onaz Loyola, 1491-1556).
Blessed with a determined character, he leaned toward sacrifice and self-denial. Virtuous and without vice, he revered the spiritual and reviled the material. Wise beyond his years and a devoted Christian, he fought against the attacks that threatened the Church. At one point, he was even arrested.
Two days after the Palace of the Archbishop was blasted by dynamite, on February 6, 1921, he and other Catholics protested the attack on the historic structure in Mexico City, constructed in 1530, under the direction of the first Archbishop of New Spain, Friar Juan de Zumarraga (1468-1548), who belonged to the Order of the Friars Minor, and who became known as the “Protector of the Indians.”
Counterprotesters – consisting of Socialists and secret police agents – attacked the Catholic protestors and verbally insulted the Archbishop Jose Mora y del Rio (1854-1928).
“Death to Benito Juárez!” Silva shouted back, in retaliation, uttering a blasphemy against the 26th president of Mexico, a zealous anti-clerical ideologue revered by the anti-Church, anti-clerical Socialists for his sociopathic attempts to obliterate the Church.
Silva was thrown in jail for his hate speech against Benito Pablo Juárez García (1806-72) – known affectionately by Revolutionaries as the “Father of Modern Mexico” and the “Meritorious of the Americas.”
Once released, Silva immediately resumed his Catholic activities with the religious groups he belonged to, including the Catholic Association of Mexican Youth, with its motto of Prayer, Study, Action. The Association – established in 1913 by French Jesuit Father Bernardo Bergöend (1871-1943) – battled the de-Christianizing of the faithful for the ultimate goal of the un-Christianizing of Mexico.
In the parish of Candelaria, under the auspices of the Association, Silva established the Gabriel Garcia Moreno Study Circle, so-called as a tribute to Gabriel Gregorio Fernando José María Garcia Moreno y Morán de Butrón (1821-1875), the Catholic, conservative president of Ecuador, who was assassinated on the steps of the National Palace, in Quito, on August 6, 1875, by anti-clerical, anti-religion zealots, including Faustino Rayo who slashed away at the President with a machete, and who was killed on the spot by retaliatory gunfire.
“God does not die!” Garcia cried, his dying words.
One of the members of that Catholic study group was Manuel Melgarejo Nápoles (1908-1926), a native of Mexico City. When Silva revealed his plans to him about starting an uprising against the regime, Melgarejo asked his parents – Manuel Melgarejo and Maria de Jesus Nápoles – for permission, and they readily granted it.
Another who agreed to join the battle was Armando Ayala (1905-27), from the Coyoacan parish, where he rose to the presidency of the Association’s Jaime Balmes Study Circle, named in honor of Jaime Luciano Balmes y Urpiá (1810-48), a philosopher and theologian, who, at the age of seven, entered the minor seminary in Vic, Catalonia, Spain, where he studied three years of Latin grammar, three years of rhetoric, three years of philosophy and then, after many more years of scholarly work, received the Sacrament of Holy Orders, on September 20, 1834.
With hopes of recruiting more Catholics to the Cristero cause, Silva, Melgarejo and Ayala boarded a train in Mexico City and headed for the state of Michoacan, on September 6, 1926, in the very early, fetal stages of the Cristero War.
Their first stop: Los Reyes, Michoacan. But when they sadly found no one interested in joining their little band of brothers, Silva then decided they should travel farther, and the three hopped on a train to Tinguindin, where they planned to continue on horseback to their final destination: Cotija.
The railcar they traveled in had only one other passenger: a farmer, Francisco Zepeda Salas (1870-?). An old general, he had fought in the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) under Alvaro Obregon Salido (1880-1928), a Revolutionary general who killed his way to the top, eventually grabbing the presidential throne of Mexico (1920-24). Retired from the military, Zepeda purchased farmland with the money awarded to him for his loyalty to Obregon – who had stolen and accumulated all his wealth during his Revolutionary, militaristic campaigns throughout the cities, villages and countryside of Mexico.
While chatting with the trio, Zepeda proudly opened his shirt to show off a battle scar on his chest, adorned with scapulars, relics and religious medals hanging from around his neck.
“Are you Catholic, General?” Silva asked.
“Yes. You see.”
“And what do you think of the government’s attitude toward religion?”
“Well, it has no right to persecute the Church.”
Despite Ayala’s gestures to keep quiet, a naïve and unsuspecting Silva spoke openly with Zepeda during the train ride and invited the old general to join them in the Catholic Cause. But once they arrived at the rail station in Tinguindin, Zepeda went his way, and the trio went theirs for the next leg in their journey; however, unfortunately, they were unable to find horses to rent for the 20-mile ride to Cotija.
“God is showing us the way. Let’s go find Zepeda,” Silva coaxed his companions.
After they located the old general overseeing workers on his farm, Silva tried to convince Zepeda to assist in the seizing of Zamora with the 200 men he had at his disposal. But nothing was decided. Later that evening, Silva returned to speak again with Zepeda and, at the same time, ordered Ayala to return to Mexico City to reveal their plans to the National League for the Defense of Religious Liberty. As Silva instructed Ayala, including names, addresses and other pertinent information, Ayala noticed that Zepeda quietly wrote everything down in a notebook.
Upon his return to Mexico City, Ayala met with the Association’s General Committee and briefed them about everything that had happened. Alarmed at the news, committee members issued immediate orders for all to go into hiding to prevent mass executions. They also gave a heads-up to the president of the League. And, in a last-ditch effort, they sent Manuel Velazquez, a director of the General Committee, to find the two mavericks and force them to return.
But it was too late.
On September 11, Zepeda seized Silva and Melgarejo and transported them to the town hall, where a report was written with their statements: that they had arrived on the 8th to investigate war resources to foment a counterrevolution against the government.
In an attempt to shield Melgarejo from any responsibility, Silva declared, “I, myself, am solely responsible, and you can shoot me if you deem it appropriate, because if you let me go, I will rise up in arms against the government of Plutarco Elias Calles.”
“He was not the only one responsible,” countered Melgarejo, “but I was, as well, because we both defended the same ideas and the same Cause.”
During a quick search of their luggage, authorities found a .38-caliber pistol, 50 rounds of ammunition and also several maps. In Melgarejo’s coat, they discovered two .32-caliber pistols and nearly 150 rounds of ammunition.
Escorted to the train station the following day, September 12, a guileless Silva shared his parting words with a deceitful Zepeda: “You are handing me over to death, but I offer you that when I stand before God, I will pray for you.”
Transported to Zamora, the two were locked up in the former Colegio del Sagrado Corazon, a Catholic school expropriated by the regime and converted into barracks occupied by the 50th Regiment, under the command of General Tranquilino Mendoza Barragan (1892-1959).
Upon their arrival, federal soldiers confronted them.
“Friends, you’re lost,” one of the soldiers told them.
“Kill me, or do whatever you want to me, but this young man is only 17 years old. Set him free,” Silva demanded.
“No, Joaquín. I want to die with you,” Melgarejo argued.
Mendoza, the general in command, told Silva: “Nothing will be done to you, if you declare in writing that you renounce your membership in the Mexican Catholic Youth Association and its activities.”
The two refused.
“I am not like those who are threatening me, because I have convictions,” Silva answered.
Seeking orders from above, Mendoza sent a telegram to Plutarco Elias Calles (born Francisco Plutarco Elias Campuzano, 1877-1945), the president of Mexico, informing him about the two Catholics.
“Shoot them,” a cold-blooded Calles responded, simply.
Sometime after noon, on September 12, 1926, the two prisoners were then promptly escorted from the barracks – under heavy guard led by Captain Epigmenio Medrano Calderon (1890-1969) – to the Zamora Municipal Cemetery. It was a Sunday, a Holy Day of Obligation for the Unbloody Sacrifice of Calvary.
“We are going to die for Jesus Christ, and we will soon be in Heaven,” Silva said to Melgarejo, as the two held their rosaries and began praying out loud during the forced march.
“Take those away,” Medrano ordered one of his soldiers.
“As long as I live, no one will take my rosary from me!” Silva responded.
“Are you going to the gallows?” asked one of the many curious gathered around, following the doomed.
“No. We are going to Calvary,” Silva answered.
At the cemetery, Silva faced the firing squad first. As he clutched his rosary in his right hand, his lips moved in prayer. When soldiers attempted to blindfold the two, Silva refused.
“Don’t betray me, because I’m not a criminal. I, myself, will give you the signal to shoot. When I say, ‘Viva Cristo Rey! Viva la Virgen de Guadalupe!’ then you can shoot.”
Silva then tossed his hat upon the ground and encouraged Melgarejo to do the same, “Let’s uncover our heads. We are going to appear in the presence of God.”
Raising rifles. Racking bolts. Chambering rounds.
“Viva Cristo Rey! Viva la Virgen de Guadalupe!” Silva shouted.
Rifles discharged, with explosive reports.
Silva fell upon the ground.
Melgarejo stood, pale, and looked down at his friend as a soldier strode over, pointed the rifle’s barrel and discharged a single tiro de gracia into Silva’s skull, as human matter and blood spattered all around. Melgarejo was then escorted to the left side of the cemetery entrance gate, with his back to the closed original entrance, about forty feet from Silva’s remains.
Holding his rosary in his right hand, he lifted his eyes to Heaven, straightened his body, offered his chest and cheered, “Viva Cristo Rey!”
A second round of gunfire.
Melgarejo collapsed.
With unconstrained courage, Silva and Melgarejo had completed their short-lived uprising against the tyrannical regime for freedom, a great and noble ideal.
Ayala may have escaped execution alongside his two fellow Catholics in Zamora, but he did not escape death. On November 17, 1927, as a stalwart Cristero soldier, Ayala was gunned down in the Battle of Palmira, in Zacatecas.
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Miscellanea and facts were pulled from the following:
Letter to Senorita RMR, by Manuel Melgarejo, father of Manuel Melgarejo Napoles.
“Los Cristeros del Ajusco,” by Victor Miguel Villanueva.
“Mejico Cristero: Historia de la ACJM 1925 a 1931,” by Antonio Rius Facius.
“Semblanza del Martir Joaquin Silva,” by Anonymous.
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