TY - JOUR
AU1 - Carrete, Andrés A
AB - Abstract José Fuentes Mares’ La joven Antígona se va a la guerra (‘Young Antigone Goes to War’) is a Mexican adaptation of Sophocles’ Antigone written and first performed in 1968. The play, full of unique accomplishments, demonstrates a deep engagement with the Sophoclean original and has a complex original performance context. It premiered a week after the biggest student massacre in Mexican history, the Tlatelolco Massacre of 2 October 1968. In this article, I bring attention to Fuentes Mares’ work as an exceptional contribution to the Latin American reception of Sophocles’ Antigone. I detail the play’s explicit invitations to be read against Sophocles’ original and highlight the playwright’s choices to reframe Antigone’s resistance by reworking long-standing dualisms. I argue that Fuentes Mares’ adaptation of Antigone advises introspection, compassion, and endurance in the face of violent oppression. This function differs from other Latin American adaptations of Antigone, which tend to give a voice to the marginalized with calls for organized social action or pleas for the acknowledgment of ongoing abuses. This analysis should help expand our understanding of the reception of Sophocles’ Antigone as a multifaceted instrument varying in its response to oppressions throughout Latin America. La joven Antígona se va a la guerra (‘Young Antigone Goes to War’) is a Mexican adaptation of Sophocles’ Antigone written and first performed in 1968.1 The play was written by Mexican author José Fuentes Mares (1918–86), a historiographer of nineteenth century Mexico who was also an essayist, short story writer, and playwright.2 His works are characterized by an interest in politics, government, and Mexican identity.3 As we shall see, these factors are all present in his adaptation of Antigone.4 Like its ancient model, Fuentes Mares’ play raises questions about extremism, the ethics of resistance, and the human cost of revolution. The play, full of unique accomplishments, demonstrates a deep engagement with the Sophoclean original and has a complex original performance context. It premiered a week after the Tlatelolco Massacre of 2 October 1968.5 Tlatelolco, the deadliest student massacre in Mexican history, marked a brutal end to months of organized student protests at the hands of the state. As the historical context to the first production of this play, it prefigures many of the themes explored therein and shades the play’s reception. In this article, I bring attention to Fuentes Mares’ work as an exceptional contribution to the Latin American reception of Sophocles’ Antigone. I will detail the play’s explicit invitations to be read against Sophocles’ original and highlight the playwright’s choices to reframe Antigone’s resistance by reworking the long-standing dualisms found in its ancient model. I argue that Fuentes Mares has created an adaptation of Antigone that is sceptical of revolution and advises introspection, compassion, and endurance in the face of violence and oppression. In this, it differs from other Latin American adaptations of Antigone, which tend to give a voice to the marginalized with calls for organized social action or pleas for the acknowledgment of ongoing abuses. Fuentes Mares instead gives us a heroine whose desire for change is grounded in caution — a caution born from an acute awareness of loss and the seemingly unavoidable replication of the abuses of power. It is my hope that this analysis will expand our understanding of the reception of Sophocles’ Antigone in Latin America as multifaceted and varied. In what follows, I provide a plot summary of Fuentes Mares’ adaptation before turning our attention to its unique qualities. This discussion will go some way towards situating Fuentes Mares’ adaptation in the broader context of the Latin American Antigone tradition. In the rest of the article, I analyse Fuentes Mares’ play through the lenses of class and power dynamics. I explore Fuentes Mares’ selection and usage of Sophoclean themes and excerpts along with the play’s historical context. Finally, I examine the play’s prescriptions and its distinctly Mexican cultural components. Fuentes Mares’ play in two acts reimagines the character Antigone as the newest member of a fringe political organization seeking to overthrow the government by destabilizing its institutions. This reimagined Antigone is the protagonist of Fuentes Mares’ adaptation. However, her real name is never revealed. Instead, we learn that this organization has given her the pseudonym of Antígona. Though she will be the central figure for this narrative, she does not appear until part way through the first act. Act I of this adaptation allows us to peer into what seems to be a typical evening in the organization’s headquarters, a dimly lit basement in an unspecified Mexican city.6 We first meet Pedro and Juan, two rank and file members, who are killing time while playing dominos. Their dialogue provides some exposition about the structure and proceedings of their organization. We learn that they think of themselves as revolutionaries and refer to their organization as a partido, the word used for political parties in Mexico. They receive commands from some unseen centralized entity. Juan and Pedro abstractly converse about revolution, and then turn their attention to Antígona’s recruitment. Though neither man has met her, Pedro speaks of Antígona as a religious convert who will adhere to the tenets of their revolution like a zealot. Juan is not as enthused with her recruitment and expresses his opposition to her involvement. Their conversation intensifies as they debate the proper background for a revolutionary. It is at this point that Antígona enters their headquarters. Juan is quick to begin questioning her motives and background, and we get a glimpse of Antígona’s stance on the topics they had been discussing. Her response is our first indication that Antígona has joined this organization with a fundamentally different idea of what revolution entails and what its end goal should be. Antonio then enters the basement. He is the leader of this revolutionary cell and the person responsible for recruiting Antígona. Upon entering, he reveals the details of their newest assignment from the partido. In assigning this mission, he tasks Antígona with setting a bomb on a train full of elites and government officials. Antígona is obviously shaken by this command. Nevertheless, she departs resolutely after saying that she will carry out her orders. It is important to emphasize that the tenets of this organization are never explained or laid out in detail. We can surmize from the dialogue that most of the members of this organization come from marginalized communities or low socio-economic backgrounds. Early on, Juan speaks of experiencing hunger. He marks this as a necessary experience for a revolutionary. As a group, the organization members condemn luxury and general socio-economic oppressions throughout the play. And yet, little is said about the world beyond their revolution. The closest we get to a mission statement is found in these words spoken by Antonio: Por lo pronto nos interesa la revolución, no la moral, y para llegar a ella todos los caminos son buenos (Fuentes Mares 1969: 98–99). For the moment, we are interested in revolution, not morality, and to get to revolution all paths are good. In addition to this statement, we have a brief moment in which Juan refers to the partido as the ultimate good. He states, Y ahora seré yo quien recuerde, con Sócrates, que el Partido no es bueno por la revolución si no al revés: que la revolución es buena por el Partido. ¡Sin el Partido la revolución no valdría tres cominos! (Fuentes Mares 1969: 67). And now I will be the one remembering, via Socrates, that the Party is not good by virtue of revolution, but on the contrary, revolution is good by virtue of the Party. Without the Party, revolution would not be worth three cumin seeds! This strange turn to a Socratic ideal gives us the clearest indication of the revolutionaries’ ideological position.7 For them, the partido is the greatest good, and whatever it dictates must be obeyed without question. We will learn that it endeavours to violently destroy the status quo, but there is no discernible description of what will ensue thereafter. The stern commitment to the partido paired with a myopic vision for the future give birth to the ideological conflict of this play. Act II begins with a choral passage adapted from Sophocles’ Antigone, which introduces on stage the character Antigone from Sophocles’ play (more on this below). Once the chorus is finished and Sophocles’ Antigone leaves the stage, the action takes us into the organization’s basement as Juan and Pedro, later joined by Antonio and Adán (another member of the organization), discuss Antígona’s failure to set the train bomb.8 We hear from Adan’s eyewitness report that she initially went through with her orders, but turned back and retrieved the bomb before it was detonated.9 As the members speculate on the reasoning behind her failure, a defiant Antígona returns to confront an enraged Antonio and his followers.10 The seeds of ideological disparity sown in the first act of the play bear tempestuous fruit in this second act. Both parties steadfastly adhere to their ideas of revolution, agency, and humanity. The partido maintains that casualties are inevitable in a revolution, and they are worth accruing for the sake of dismantling the status quo. Antígona argues that no revolution can succeed if it does not honour the inherent value of human life. With neither side faltering in their ideology, Antígona is dismissed and forced to leave. She has disobeyed her orders and defied the partido. To ensure her silence, Antonio and the organization force Antígona to sign a fake confession in which she claims responsibility for a failed terrorist act. The play ends as a defiant Antígona is shut out of the organization’s basement while the remaining members mock her words and begin a new game of dominos, thus ending the play as it began. The edited volume containing Fuentes Mares’ adaptation includes a foreword in which he provides his thoughts on this play.11 When discussing his Antigone, Fuentes Mares strongly suggests that he had expectations about the play’s transmitted message. He expresses dissatisfaction at the reception of his play, and at the public’s critique that his Antigone’s message [mensaje] is ‘unclear’ or ‘insufficient’.12 As I will show in my analysis, Fuentes Mares seems to champion the idea that a true revolution cannot come about until humanity overcomes its self-imposed stratifications and oppressions.13 This scepticism about revolution helps situate Fuentes Mares in the broader Antigone tradition. The tradition of adapting Antigone in Latin America is rich, varied, and extraordinarily complex. In the most comprehensive survey of Latin American Antigones, Romulo Pianacci observes that Antigone adaptations are as varied as the circumstances and personalities of their playwrights.14 However, those who endeavour to characterize the tradition tend to agree on a few commonalities. In discussing these commonalities, I hope to bring attention to Fuentes Mares’ exceptionality. This survey is not meant to be exhaustive. I merely wish to situate our author against the backdrop of the Latin American tradition and to offer a brief meditation on this category. The Latin American Antigone tradition is heavily influenced by the Antigones of Jean Anouilh and Bertolt Brecht.15 Antigones in Latin America are often, and I would say accurately, characterized as socio-political plays tackling distinct forms of oppression. Latin American Antigones tend to cast the marginalized in the role of Polynices, and Antigone in the role of the heroine.16 As is the case with any sweeping model, however, there are exceptions to these observations.17 María del Carmen Bosch notes that until 1968, there is greater variance in the politics and aesthetics of adaptations of Antigone in Latin America than after 1968.18 Bosch does not give a reason for this change, but her observation supports Edith Hall’s argument which marks 1968 as a turning point towards progressively positioned adaptations of Greek tragedy.19 For Hall, the monumental global changes of 1968 (the American Civil Rights Movement, student movements in France and Mexico, etc.) lead to a shift in consciousness in which a younger generation breaks with the politics of its predecessor. This shift is reflected in productions of Greek drama a year later. Hall argues that the ensuing productions of Greek drama tend to be progressive in their politics, though she makes room for exceptions.20 Bosch and Hall’s arguments are useful for situating Fuentes Mares’ adaptation. La Joven Antígona is staged in the middle of this shift in consciousness, and acts as an exception to some of the generalities attributed to the Latin American tradition.21 La joven Antígona se va a la guerra is the first Mexican adaptation of Antigone, or at the very least, the first to be published in any sort of edition. As such, it is significant and foundational.22 It is difficult to ascertain whether it is influenced by other Latin American adaptations.23 Discerning its legacy and influence is equally complicated, even if we limit our scope to Mexico alone.24 The diversity of Latin American adaptations makes establishing causal links precarious interpretative territory. Fuentes Mares’ himself only flags Anouilh and Brecht as literary influences, and so I will limit my discussion to their presence in Fuentes Mares’ adaptation. Like Anouilh, Fuentes Mares also makes use of extra-dramatic prologues and ends in a similar fashion — with men playing dominoes. In his foreword, Fuentes Mares mentions Brecht specifically as he offers a meditation on theatre and its cultural importance.25 When read against Brecht, we will see that Fuentes Mares also makes use of parallel narratives to some degree. Both Brecht and Fuentes Mares use their prologues to stage parallel action with thematic bearing on the ensuing drama. In contrast to Brecht, however, Fuentes Mares inverts the temporality of his extra-dramatic prologues. Whereas Brecht resituates the ancient material by providing a sobering contemporary context via his prologue, Fuentes Mares invokes the ancient model in his prologues in order to set the interpretative context for his adaptation. Fuentes Mares’ prologue takes us back to Sophocles’ Antigone, thereby marking the ancient text as its privileged predecessor. Fuentes Mares’ engagement with Sophocles’ Antigone is striking and paraded throughout his adaptation. We will see that he quotes Sophocles directly in a manner that invites us to read his work with and against Sophocles’ original.26 Fuentes Mares has privileged certain themes and dynamics from Sophocles’ Antigone at the expense of others. If we look for direct parallels with Sophocles’ Antigone, we will find that there is no character who corresponds to Ismene. Furthermore, Antígona does not mourn the death of a loved one.27 Consequently, ideas of kinship, burial rites, and a desire to reunite with the dead do not feature prominently in this adaptation.28 The gender dynamics and religious diction of Sophocles’ original are preserved and foregrounded, but they are further complicated by notions of class. Though the Antigone characters in Fuentes Mares and Sophocles both rebel, the rebellion in Sophocles consists of a very pointed action. In contrast, rebellion in Fuentes Mares consists of an equally powerful inaction, namely her refusal to detonate the train bomb. In addition to these differences, the most marked departure from the Sophoclean model is the object of the Antigone character’s resistance.29 Though Antígona hopes to rebel against the state when joining the revolutionaries, her rebellion is ultimately one against the very anti-state group she has joined. This unique choice allows Fuentes Mares to explore political resistance from a perspective that we do not find in other Latin American adaptations.30 Fuentes Mares’ exceptionalities highlight the limitations of our broader models. To speak of the Antigone tradition in Latin America risks drawing too broad a stroke. Nevertheless, thinking in terms of a larger geographical context allows us further to appreciate the particularities of each adaptation. In what follows, I provide an in-depth analysis of Fuentes Mares’ play by first turning our attention to its central conflict. I then advance a reading of the text which asks us to observe the seemingly inevitable cycles of abuse and Antígona’s humanist resistance to that violence and political oppression.31 The central conflict of this adaptation revolves around notions of human value. Within the play’s revolutionary context, we see two parties striving to change the status quo. However, the parties are split. Where one party pursues revolution to destroy and usurp longstanding power structures, the other hopes revolution will end human misery and suffering. For one party, humanity has an intrinsic value. For the other, revolution is born of necessary sacrifices, casualties, and self-objectification.32 These positions are necessarily polarized given that the latter intends to kill people to accomplish its goals. Fuentes Mares establishes the adaptation’s conflict through the reimagined roles of Antigone and Creon. Like Sophocles’ character Antigone, Fuentes Mares’ Antígona takes a stand against a political entity. The role of Creon is relegated to the revolutionaries, but is most potently embodied by Antonio and Juan. Splitting Creon into two characters is unique to this adaptation in Latin America, and to my knowledge unique to the Antigone corpus.33 As leader, Antonio closely resembles Creon’s authoritarian characteristics. As a lower ranking revolutionary, Juan is a vocal embodiment of Creon’s more combative attributes. He is especially insistent on the notion that being a revolutionary demands blind obedience. Antígona regards this demand as reductive. In Act I, when Antígona and the revolutionaries first debate man’s role in revolution, Antígona states the following: ¡El hombre no ha de ser instrumento del hombre!34 En el mundo de dónde vengo son las cosas de ese modo, y por eso estoy aquí. ¡Pero no estoy dispuesta a salir de ese mundo para caer donde mismo! (Fuentes Mares 1969: 72). Man should not be man’s instrument! That is the way things are in my world, and that is the reason I am here now. But I am in no way willing to leave that world only to fall into the same pit! Antígona’s words, along with the surrounding discussion, reveal the ideological break in the narrative. The revolutionaries see themselves as dehumanized instruments of the partido and conduits of revolution against the oppressive state. Antígona believes in the inherent value of humanity and thinks revolution should abide by this value. Though dismissed by the revolutionaries, these words serve to establish the core of Antígona’s ethical stance. The passage also marks Antígona as an outsider infiltrating a world that is not her own. She hopes for a different order, but her ideas seem foreign even among the revolutionaries. This ideological clash will prove persistent throughout the play. Questions of humanity and an individual’s worth and potential are pervasive and interwoven through the adaptation’s direct use of Sophoclean passages. Act I uses a Sophoclean excerpt to provide a dramatic and ethical framing and to evoke sympathy for Antígona. The adaptation opens with a choral ode that draws closely from but condenses Sophocles’ original. Instead of the chorus, a Greek warrior from ‘the days of the Peloponnesian War’ appears before the curtain and addresses the audience from a physically and temporally removed space. He states: De cuantas maravillas Of the many marvels which Pueblan el mundo, la mayor el hombre. populate the earth, the greatest is man. […] […] a cuanto cabe imaginar rebasa whatever one imagines within reason, su fértil inventiva, his fertile inventiveness surpasses, that que inspira el bien, o que en el mal fracasa. which inspires good, or fails when in evil ¡De cuantas maravillas Of the many marvels which pueblan el mundo, la mayor el hombre!35 populate the earth, the greatest is man! De cuantas maravillas Of the many marvels which Pueblan el mundo, la mayor el hombre. populate the earth, the greatest is man. […] […] a cuanto cabe imaginar rebasa whatever one imagines within reason, su fértil inventiva, his fertile inventiveness surpasses, that que inspira el bien, o que en el mal fracasa. which inspires good, or fails when in evil ¡De cuantas maravillas Of the many marvels which pueblan el mundo, la mayor el hombre!35 populate the earth, the greatest is man! Open in new tab De cuantas maravillas Of the many marvels which Pueblan el mundo, la mayor el hombre. populate the earth, the greatest is man. […] […] a cuanto cabe imaginar rebasa whatever one imagines within reason, su fértil inventiva, his fertile inventiveness surpasses, that que inspira el bien, o que en el mal fracasa. which inspires good, or fails when in evil ¡De cuantas maravillas Of the many marvels which pueblan el mundo, la mayor el hombre!35 populate the earth, the greatest is man! De cuantas maravillas Of the many marvels which Pueblan el mundo, la mayor el hombre. populate the earth, the greatest is man. […] […] a cuanto cabe imaginar rebasa whatever one imagines within reason, su fértil inventiva, his fertile inventiveness surpasses, that que inspira el bien, o que en el mal fracasa. which inspires good, or fails when in evil ¡De cuantas maravillas Of the many marvels which pueblan el mundo, la mayor el hombre!35 populate the earth, the greatest is man! Open in new tab These lines paraphrase Sophocles’ Antigone 332–375, verses commonly known as the ‘Ode to Man’. The language in Fuentes Mares’ ode is optimistic about man’s potential.36 Fuentes Mares works from a translation which speaks of humanity with a sense of reverence.37 The ambiguity present in the Greek δεινὰ, namely its simultaneous signification of terrible or wondrous, is absent from maravillas. 38 Maravillas is overwhelmingly a positive word, most accurately translated to ‘marvels’ or ‘wonders’ in Spanish usage. In addition, man’s potential for evil is downplayed. This is most evident if we contrast Fuentes Mares’ phrasing with that in the original Greek. σοφόν τι τὸ μηχανόεν τέχνας ὑπὲρ ἐλπίδ᾿ ἔχων τοτὲ μὲν κακόν, ἄλλοτ᾿ ἐπ᾿ ἐσθλὸν ἕρπει (Soph. Ant. 365–67). Possessing an inventiveness in his craft which is skilful beyond hope, he advances sometimes to wickedness, other times to good. Whereas Sophocles presents wickedness (κακόν) as one of two equally possible paths for humans (as implied by τοτὲ… ἄλλοτ᾿), Fuentes Mares characterizes humanity’s evils as mistakes which result from failed inventiveness. The fall into evil is thus not simply one of two equally probable outcomes built into the human condition. It is instead a state of failure found at the limits of human inventiveness. Furthermore, the word order of evil and good is inverted as we move from Sophocles to Fuentes Mares. An equivalent for the Sophoclean lines which are more clearly pessimistic regarding the human condition (Soph. Ant. 361–64 describing man’s inability to escape death and 368–75 discussing the fate of those who do not abide by the laws) are also entirely omitted. To emphasize its optimism further, the adaptation repeats its praise of man as it closes the choral ode with an exclamation. Framing Act I through this adapted Sophoclean ode privileges questions about potentiality and the value of human life. The audience is reminded of humanity’s potential to achieve its marvellous ideal. Consequently, the revolutionaries’ failure to honour this potential implicates them in humanity’s fall into evil. This in turn marks their plan as unethical. The drama of the remainder of this first act does not bear an obvious resemblance to Sophocles’ original, but it lays the ideological foundations for the Sophoclean themes of resistance and stratification present in the second act of the play. Act II is devoted to Antígona’s resistance. It opens with selected excerpts from Sophocles’ Antigone, which I discuss below.39 Like in the first act, the same Greek warrior who opens the play provides a summary of the struggle between Antigone and Creon. Here, he allows for passages from Sophocles’ original to be interwoven into the summary narration. In a pointed moment of meta-theatricality, Sophocles’ Antigone comes on stage. She is neither introduced nor directly acknowledged by the characters in the play. She simply appears amid the Greek warrior’s narration and vocalizes her excerpts (Soph. Ant. 450–60, and 914–24) removed in space and time from the events surrounding Antígona. The casting notes for this play suggest that Sophocles’ Antigone and Antígona were played by the same actress.40 This decision, unique in Latin American adaptations, invites us to take a step back from the ongoing drama and to think about this production in terms of a history of Antigones.41 It stands as the play’s most potent plea to be read alongside Sophocles’ original. Furthermore, this choice further associates the two characters and implicates their struggles. Fuentes Mares stages a continuity of character and thus suggests that an element of both Antigone characters is fundamentally the same while inviting us to appreciate their differences. This is especially important, given that their struggles will come to a head in what follows. Antígona’s resemblance to Sophocles’ Antigone is strongest as she confronts Antonio and Juan, Fuentes Mares’ Creon referents. Their discussion initially revolves around Antígona’s choice to disobey a direct command. Their exchange inevitably becomes an ideological debate in which Antígona’s valuation of human life is pitted against the abstractions of revolution and command structures. The composition of this exchange mirrors the Greek soldier’s narration of the struggle between Antigone and Creon. Sophoclean excerpts are here used to create a structural near-symmetry. Amid the Greek soldier’s narration, Creon’s edict is put at the forefront. It states, ¿Conociste el pregón que lo prohibía? ¿Y osaste quebrantar tan graves leyes? (Fuentes Mares 1969: 84). You were aware of the proclamation which prohibited it? And you ventured to break such grave laws? This exchange corresponds to Soph. Ant. 446-449, ΚΡΕΩΝ - σὺ δ᾿ εἰπέ μοι μὴ μῆκος, ἀλλὰ συντόμως, ᾔδησθα κηρυχθέντα μὴ πράσσειν τάδε; ΑΝΤΙΓΟΝΗ -ᾔδη· τί δ᾿ οὐκ ἔμελλον; ἐμφανῆ γὰρ ἦν. ΚΡΕΩΝ - καὶ δῆτ᾿ ἐτόλμας τούσδ᾿ ὑπερβαίνειν νόμους; CREON – But you, tell me, not at length, but briefly. Were you aware of the edict forbidding this? ANTIGONE – I was aware. How could I not be? For it was well known. CREON – And yet you dared to transgress these laws? The language in Fuentes Mares combines two questions which are separated in the Greek by Antigone’s affirmation. The separation heightens Creon’s incredulity at the fact that Antigone unapologetically chose to defy his command. Fuentes Mares’ Antígona likewise appears before an awestruck group of revolutionaries, and she openly defies them, claiming a moral high-ground.42 The next passage, in which Sophocles’ Antigone speaks, presents a fragment of her speech to Creon in which she prioritizes divine law over the edicts of a mortal ruler. No fue Zeus quien a mi me las dictara, It was not Zeus who decreed them for me, ni es esta la justicia que entre hombres nor is this that justice which establecen los dioses de la muerte. the gods of death establish among men. No pensé yo que los pregones tuyos, I did not think that your proclamations, siendo el hombre mortal, vencer pudieran since man is mortal, could topple la ley no escrita y firme de los dioses. the stern and unwritten law of the gods. […] […] No iba I was not about to a exponerme al castigo de los dioses open myself up for punishment from the violando yo esta ley, por arredrarme gods by violating this law, by cowering ante ningún mortal (Fuentes Mares 1969: 85).43 before any mortal. No fue Zeus quien a mi me las dictara, It was not Zeus who decreed them for me, ni es esta la justicia que entre hombres nor is this that justice which establecen los dioses de la muerte. the gods of death establish among men. No pensé yo que los pregones tuyos, I did not think that your proclamations, siendo el hombre mortal, vencer pudieran since man is mortal, could topple la ley no escrita y firme de los dioses. the stern and unwritten law of the gods. […] […] No iba I was not about to a exponerme al castigo de los dioses open myself up for punishment from the violando yo esta ley, por arredrarme gods by violating this law, by cowering ante ningún mortal (Fuentes Mares 1969: 85).43 before any mortal. Open in new tab No fue Zeus quien a mi me las dictara, It was not Zeus who decreed them for me, ni es esta la justicia que entre hombres nor is this that justice which establecen los dioses de la muerte. the gods of death establish among men. No pensé yo que los pregones tuyos, I did not think that your proclamations, siendo el hombre mortal, vencer pudieran since man is mortal, could topple la ley no escrita y firme de los dioses. the stern and unwritten law of the gods. […] […] No iba I was not about to a exponerme al castigo de los dioses open myself up for punishment from the violando yo esta ley, por arredrarme gods by violating this law, by cowering ante ningún mortal (Fuentes Mares 1969: 85).43 before any mortal. No fue Zeus quien a mi me las dictara, It was not Zeus who decreed them for me, ni es esta la justicia que entre hombres nor is this that justice which establecen los dioses de la muerte. the gods of death establish among men. No pensé yo que los pregones tuyos, I did not think that your proclamations, siendo el hombre mortal, vencer pudieran since man is mortal, could topple la ley no escrita y firme de los dioses. the stern and unwritten law of the gods. […] […] No iba I was not about to a exponerme al castigo de los dioses open myself up for punishment from the violando yo esta ley, por arredrarme gods by violating this law, by cowering ante ningún mortal (Fuentes Mares 1969: 85).43 before any mortal. Open in new tab In Fuentes Mares, the revolutionary Antígona makes no mention of divine law. Like her ancient precedent, she privileges a concept above the commands dictated by those in power. However, instead of upholding divine law over mortal edicts, Antígona holds an abstract ideal of humanity over personal relations, familial piety, and societal and revolutionary obligations. As we see throughout the play, Antígona repeatedly refers to an ideal of humanity, and her arguments revolve around a concept of intrinsic human value. At first, she has difficulty expressing this view to the other revolutionaries. Her initial acquiescence to the planned attack signals Antígona’s failure to defend her humanist ideology. She cannot refute the partido’s command because there is an element missing from her ideation, the human potential for change and growth. Antígona’s choice to defy her orders is motivated by what she sees in the train station. Among a group of children playing, an innocent child smiles at her, diffusing her resolve and compelling her to retract her actions. The children’s innocence becomes the crux of her later argument in defence of her actions. She states, ¡Si, fue por ellos! Cuando dejé el bolso y me retiraba, uno de aquellos niños me miro y me sonrió… ¡Jamás podré olvidar aquella sonrisa inocente!… Era la de un niño que no tenía por qué morir. ¡Y no lo dejé morir! (Fuentes Mares 1969: 97). Yes, it was for them [the children]! When I had set down the purse and was leaving, one of those kids looked at me and smiled…I will never be able to forget that innocent smile!… it was the smile of a child that did not deserve to die. And I did not let him die! Antígona sees humanity’s origins and potential embodied in a single instance. The children come to represent humanity’s value and its potential for change and growth.44 Recognizing this potential emboldens Antígona’s ideology. If humans can change, their life always has value and should be regarded as sacred. In contrast, Antonio and Juan deny this potential and maintain that social restructuring is necessary for a ‘new man’ to emerge. In their view, this necessitates a violent uprooting of the current system. Antígona refutes this reductionist claim stating, ¡La única novedad del hombre es la de ser hombre y no utensilio! (Fuentes Mares 1969:100). Man’s only novelty is that of being man and not a tool! In her view, a realization of shared humanity must precede any attempt for social change. Antígona the would-be terrorist is now replaced by an Antígona who defends the intrinsic value of human life. Though she espoused humanist ideals from the beginning, Antígona seemed ready to cast her values aside for the sake of revolution. This faltering Antígona disappears once she defies her orders. She can no longer fathom ideas of objectification, reduction, or devaluation. Antígona’s transition is crucial for framing the play’s final prescriptions. It contrasts starkly with her opponents and their actions of objectification and oppression. The reframed object of Antígona’s rebellion here becomes especially important. Though supposedly opposed to the abuses of the status quo, the revolutionaries end up engaged in equivalent actions of repression and reduction. This replication of faults is striking if we look at the class and gender dynamics on display in Antígona’s main confrontation. In their ideological attack, Juan and Antonio treat Antígona with dismissive language that suggests a replication of abuse, namely a perpetuation of class and gender discrimination. We will see that Fuentes Mares appropriates some of the dynamics of Sophocles’ original and compounds them with contemporary cultural ideas about class and gender.45 Juan is more obvious in his disdain for Antígona. Upon meeting Antígona, he calls her naïve, a ‘sentimental revolutionary’, and proceeds to discredit her revolutionary fervour by ascribing to her a desire for cocktail parties and bourgeois excess (Fuentes Mares 1969: 69). Though we can ascribe a general misogynistic demeanour to Juan, his antipathy towards Antígona would seem to be motivated most prominently by class resentment.46 His qualms about Antígona are centred around her social provenance. He has created an image of Antígona that is confined to a limited set of possibilities based on his expectations. For Juan, Antígona’s place is not among the revolutionaries. She is in a rebellious stage of adolescence and in truth desires nothing more than to enrage the people who raised her.47 Once Antígona refuses to set the bomb on the train, Juan explodes into a tirade which exemplifies his perception of Antígona. En lo que a mí toca la verdad es que no me convenció nunca. Pero… ¿Cómo iba a convencerme una señorita de tan buenas familias? …pura basura, una niña burguesa, buena cuando más para ir a misa de doce con el novio (Fuentes Mares 1969: 86).48 As far as I’m concerned, the truth is she never convinced me. But…How was a little lady from such good families ever going to convince me? …pure garbage, a bourgeois girl. At most she is good for going to mass at noon with her boyfriend. Juan’s demeanour reveals that he is hyper-aware of apparent social dynamics and refutes anything which may challenge his worldview. His depiction of Antígona as a socialite, girlfriend, or daughter all place her in a very specific gender and socio-economic frame. These roles all exist in relation to a man or family unit. With this characterization, Juan attempts to dehumanize Antígona and to explicate her actions as a result of her social standing, thereby reducing her agency and potential. By contrast, Antonio’s willingness to bring Antígona on board would suggest a different perspective. However, his ultimate repudiation of Antígona employs the same reductive elements. Antonio’s identity is entangled with his revolutionary status. He sees himself and his colleagues as instruments of the partido, but even within this context of self-objectification, Antígona’s role is limited and stifled by his intervention. His command to set the bomb on the train is intended to force Antígona to abandon her old life, her alternative ideas of revolution, and her humanity. This is evident from the fact that the task was originally given to another member.49 When Antígona refuses to abide by his commands, her speech and thought become intolerable to him. Upon Antígona’s defiant return, Antonio threatens violence and dismisses her arguments. Fuentes Mares preserves some of the gender and class dynamics of Sophocles’ original and has his Creon equivalents operate in a manner reminiscent of their ancient model. The revolutionaries’ final act is that of silencing Antígona. It is here that they force her to sign the fake confession as a form of ‘insurance’. This note details her supposed involvement in a failed terrorist attempt, and describes her change of heart in a manner that disregards her preceding explanation. The note is intended to suppress any action she may take against the organization, be it legal or ideological. From that moment, Antígona is politically silenced. To enforce the class and gender divides, and to give the revolutionaries the appearance of an ideological victory, the false confession fabricates a scenario in which Antígona turns back solely because of what the revolutionaries call ‘her father’s miraculous intervention’. We are not told what the revolutionaries mean by this, and the wording of the confession is never revealed. This false scenario in which her father dissuades her actions confines Antígona to the imagined roles Juan has crafted for her. She functions within a bourgeois family unit, and she does so only in direct relation to a man. Contrary to what we might expect, this confession is written by Antonio and not Juan. This goes to show that Juan and Antonio’s actions amount to the same thing. They are both active when the revolutionaries inflict a coerced silence upon Antígona. As is the case in Sophocles’ original, masculine authority figures first attempt to delegitimize their opponents. When their ideas prove persistent, they respond by enforcing silence. Forcing Antígona to sign the confession is ultimately an act of violence analogous to the moment in which Sophocles’ Antigone is walled off from society. Fuentes Mares’ reflection on the class and gender dynamics within this organization is essential to the main pursuit of the play. It exhibits a caution of revolution and an awareness of power’s tendency to replicate and stratify. A group which claims to seek societal change finds itself perpetuating the same stratifications it claims to despise. Their desire for change will not prove conducive to a better society. Their success would lead only to a shift in the seats of power. This is most evident if we consider that these anti-state revolutionaries are cast in the role of Creon, a role typically, in other adaptations, occupied by the state or the oppressor. In rebelling against the group, Antígona is not upholding the status quo. She is instead revealing the broken nature of power systems and their replication of abuse. She is rebelling against their reductive conception of humanity. The class and gender divide inflicted by society and perpetuated by the revolutionaries causes yet another fundamental problem, as the failure to recognize a shared humanity ultimately sows the seeds of violence and oppression. The imprint of class resentment in Fuentes Mares’ narrative demonstrates one of the many challenges which must be surmounted before a genuine revolution, one where man overcomes his own misery, can be achieved.50 These notions permeate Antígona’s final exclamation as she departs at the end of the play. The play concludes as Antígona is forced to leave the revolutionaries’ basement. Her final words are a refutation of their violent methods. She screams, ¡Olvidáis que el hombre existe! (Fuentes Mares 1969: 103). You forget that man exists! Antígona’s words are met with ridicule by the revolutionaries, who mimic them as they laugh at their supposed banality. Nevertheless, these words cut to the core of an ideological struggle very present in Mexican culture. What are we to do when our attempts for change are met with violent repression? To better understand this struggle, it is essential to think of Tlatelolco and remember that this play was first performed following a government sanctioned massacre of civilians. The Tlatelolco Massacre of 2 October 1968 was the violent culmination of months of conflict between a student movement and the Mexican government.51 The student movement aimed to pressure the national government to enact a more open and transparent democracy.52 It sought to capitalize on the limelight cast on Mexico as it hosted the 1968 Olympics to amplify its demands and attract international attention.53 Violent suppression was a constant throughout these protests. This violence reached a climax on 2 October when students and community members were beaten and gunned down by police forces. The death toll of the massacre remains unclear but is estimated by the foreign press and human rights groups to range between 300 and 400 casualties.54 The massacre signalled an abrupt end to the student protests. In the end, there was widespread acknowledgment that an organized, peaceful movement, which sought to make the government acknowledge the agency of its human subjects, was extinguished with violence and impunity.55 The anger and disillusionment born from this incident deeply affected Mexican thought and identity for years to come.56 It is impossible to know for certain how much of Fuentes Mares’ script was written or modified in response to the massacre before opening night (eight days later). What is clear is that the political context would undoubtedly have shaped the production’s reception. The anxieties surrounding the protests, their perceived futility, and the constant threat of violence were all percolating before the culmination of Tlatelolco’s tragic events. Tlatelolco marked a concrete shift in consciousness.57 The repression-filled months leading to the massacre would have certainly fostered the anxieties present in Fuentes Mares’ adaptation.58 Tragedies and abuses of power like those seen in Tlatelolco have continued to occur in Mexico.59 It is my view that the constant violence and the impunity with which it is carried out have desensitized the public and made it wary of organized efforts for change.60 It is heartbreaking to repeatedly see peaceful movements and congregations met with deadly force, when all they seek is a fair shot at life. Consequently, the desire for change present in the minds of many Mexicans is stifled by a fear of violence and a collective consciousness which is very aware of revolution’s human cost. Antígona’s final exclamation, ‘you forget that man exists’, compels us to remember this cost. We now arrive at an impasse. If Antígona is disassociating herself from this anti-state organization, what exactly is the play’s prescription in the face of oppression? Are we simply to grit our teeth and bear abuse? In her final act of defiance, Antígona screams of the existence and importance of man as she leaves the revolutionaries. The group is undaunted and returns to their usual dynamic. Antígona’s frustration in these final moments mirrors the earlier words spoken by Sophocles’ Antigone as she exits Fuentes Mares’ play. Here in their exits, the two Antigone characters are once again entangled. The text reads as follows, ¿A quién imploro Whom can I beg que socorra mi afán, si mis piedades to ease my toil, if my pious acts/mercies sólo el nombre de impía me han valido?61 have gained me only the name of impious? ¿A quién imploro Whom can I beg que socorra mi afán, si mis piedades to ease my toil, if my pious acts/mercies sólo el nombre de impía me han valido?61 have gained me only the name of impious? Open in new tab ¿A quién imploro Whom can I beg que socorra mi afán, si mis piedades to ease my toil, if my pious acts/mercies sólo el nombre de impía me han valido?61 have gained me only the name of impious? ¿A quién imploro Whom can I beg que socorra mi afán, si mis piedades to ease my toil, if my pious acts/mercies sólo el nombre de impía me han valido?61 have gained me only the name of impious? Open in new tab Sophocles’ Antigone expresses sorrow concerning her fate and family, her unrecognized piety, and the unfulfilled potential that will be cut short by her impending death. In this passage, ‘piedades’ has an added valence which is not necessarily present in the Greek or English. ‘Piedades’ has a more common meaning of ‘mercies’ or ‘pities’, and it is only via its apposition to ‘impía’ that the meaning of piety is evoked. The common meaning of the word appears to prefigure Antígona’s sparing of the train passengers and her newly affirmed perception of humanity’s inherent value. As this passage marks the somber end to the introduction of the second act, it also prefigures Antígona’s position at the end of the play. She has claimed a moral standpoint but must pay to abide by its consequences. Although she does not pay with her life, Antígona is left without a community. She has left her family, rejected the upper-class society which saw her grow, and she has been ostracized by the revolutionaries who cannot swallow her ideological stance. Though she entered the revolutionaries’ ranks in a certain state of liminality, by the end of the play Antígona is alone. She exits in a state of social death.62 The question of whether she will remain in this state is left to the audience. Like her Sophoclean model, Antígona suffers because of her adherence to her beliefs. She does not seem to sway the revolutionaries. Presented with this apparent futility, what is it then that the play advises? Is it simply inaction and resilience to oppression? The historical context of the play tells us that humanity is not properly valued, and as such violence will continue so long as ideological confrontations lack the baseline of inherent human value. This is a rather pessimistic reading. However, if we reconsider Antígona’s newly found status as an outsider, we can read her actions as a personal triumph — a revelation of potential and shared humanity born from empathy and compassion. As we reach the end of Fuentes Mares’ work, Antígona is endowed with a potential that is not afforded to her ancient predecessor. Antígona is alive. She is alone and isolated, but she is also restored and empowered by her reinforced ideology. She will continue to be challenged, as she now sets off to face a world which continuously fails to acknowledge what now seems undeniable to her.63 Antígona initially joined this organization due to her anger and disillusionment in the status quo. These feelings do not disappear. Her dialogue in Act II is marked by unmistakable anger and frustration. However, Antígona does not allow her anger to erase the humanity of her opponents. If anything, we can interpret this anger as a sign of life and as a promise of Antígona’s future struggles. Whatever suffering may accompany her new solitude is dwarfed by her realization of shared humanity. As the culmination of Antígona’s ideological triumph, her final exclamation is a call for self-actuation, a measured yet poignant effort for change which asks us to see ourselves in others. This reflection goes beyond simple empathy and asks us to see also what we could become if given the opportunity to change. This idea is crucial. It explains her desire to return to the basement, her anguished pleas at the play’s conclusion, and it directly corresponds to the sentiments felt by those protesting oppressions in times of turmoil. Even in times of intense loss, life affords us the possibility of change. Like the Mexican people, the characters in this play acknowledge the problems of a deeply broken system. Understandably, they desire radical change. However, the mechanism through which this is to be accomplished creates a rift between seemingly allied ideations. It is here that Fuentes Mares’ adaptation shines. It forces the audience to wrestle with questions of revolution, violence, and power dynamics as it is compelled to pit them against the human cost of enacting change. It is not a clear call for action, nor is it simply an anguished plea for acknowledgment of a destructive situation. It is a demand for self-realization and for a recognition of the elements which bind us to each other, regardless of the distinctions impressed on us by the society we live in. Footnotes 1 Text in Fuentes Mares 1969. There is no working translation of this adaptation. All translations from Spanish and Greek (Griffith 1999), as well as any errors, are my own. Anglophone and Latin American scholarship have largely overlooked Fuentes Mares’ adaptation. I was first alerted to its existence via Mee and Foley (2011), where a brief summary of its plot, written by Moira Fradinger, is relegated to an appendix. In Latin American scholarship, this work is summarized and briefly discussed. See Bosch (1999), Pianacci (2015), and Fradinger (2018). For an English summary, see also Weiner 2015. 2 El País 1986. Mexico’s national council for arts and culture reports Fuentes Mares’ death as occurring in 2014. This seems to be erroneous. Most publications agree that Fuentes Mares died on 8 April 1986. 3 Fuentes Mares’ bibliography is extensive. Major works include Juárez: los Estados Unidos Y Europa (1962), La Revolución Mexicana (1971), Servidumbre (1983), and Las mil y una noches mexicanas (1982). For a full bibliography see Muro (1986) and Ordóñez Burgos (2014). For an analysis of major themes see Ordóñez Burgos (2011). 4 The Mexicanity of the adaptation is also apparent in its language and its use of colloquialisms. 5 Fuentes Mares’ adaptation premiered on 10 October 1968 in the auditorium of the Universidad Autónoma de Chihuahua (UACH) to a university and public audience. The play was acted by the Universidad de Chihuahua Theatre Group and directed by Fernando Saavedra. 6 The varied mentions of police presence, the existence of political events held by an elite class, and the existence of a highly frequented train station all suggest a well-populated city as our broader setting. 7 Fuentes Mares (1969: 63). Pedro paraphrases the argument in Plato’s Euthyphro that states that the gods cannot help but love the Good because it is good. He then offers a contrast by claiming that for the revolutionaries, the Good is revolution and the Partido has replaced the gods. 8 Adán acts as a sort of chaperone for Antígona. He was her guide to the basement when she first enters in Act I. 9 Like the messenger reports in Sophocles’ original, Antígona’s actions happen off-stage and are described by eyewitness account. 10 It is not clear that Antonio is motivated name. Though not etymologically related, the ‘Ant’ in Antonio parallels the ‘Ant’ in Antígona. Both characters seem to share characteristics, interests, and intellectual pursuits, even if their answers to the questions of revolution differ. The similarities between the name may be hinting at their relationship and upbringing, things that are not explicitly stated in the text. Antonio is a very common name in Mexican culture, so the name parallel could be coincidental. 11 Fuentes Mares (1969: xi). This volume includes La joven Antígona se va a la guerra, La emperatriz, Su alteza serenísima, and La amada Patidifusa. In discussing his Antigone, Fuentes Mares states that detractors of his play’s message were looking to turn the theatre into a classroom, and he refused to allow this. Considering that the play was staged in a university, his statement is especially striking. 12 However, the published version of his play appears as it did when first performed, without modifications. I have yet to discover any additional materials (reviews, newspaper articles, etc.) that deal with the play’s immediate reception. We are left to speculate about the play’s initial audience and their reactions. 13 Pianacci and Bosch remark on a single passage from Fuentes Mares. I here offer my translation of the passage as spoken by Antígona: ‘I do not know when it will be, but the day when man overcomes his own misery, on that very day the greatest of all revolutions will be completed. And that day will come!’ (Fuentes Mares (1969: 99)). Both scholars agree that this is the message Fuentes Mares wished to transmit, but as I hope to demonstrate, this play is more complex and richer in meaning. 14 Pianacci (2015: 315). 15 Our ‘Latin American tradition’ label is already problematized. The tradition does not exist in a vacuum and is heavily indebted to these two European playwrights. 16 Pianacci (2015). 17 For the Latin American adaptations listed in the notes, the initial date of staging is given in parentheses. Staged in Argentina, Leopoldo Marechal’s (1992) Antígona Velez (1952) is the first Latin American Antigone. Pianacci reads this play as a pro-Perón adaptation with social politics that run contrary to most other Latin American Antigones. In 1968, Franklin Dominguez (1968) breaks with the tragic conventions of Antigone and stages his Antígona-humor in the Dominican Republic as a comedy with a happy ending. 18 Bosch (1999). Bosch offers a survey of ‘Ibero-American’ Antigones in the second half of the twentieth century. 19 Hall, Macintosh and Wrigley (2005). See also Rabinowitz (2008). 20 A few works precede Fuentes Mares’ version in Latin America: de Zavalía’s (1973) El Limite (1958) is distinctly anti-Perón. Using Thebes to discuss Nicaragua, Steiner’s (1968) Antígona en el infierno (1958) denounces an oppressive regime and its brutal tactics. Helfgott’s (2010) Antígona (1964) reflects the political reality of Peru with meditations on colonialism and economic and class disparities. Rengifo’s (1989) La fiesta de los moribundos (1966) sees Antigone fighting a multinational corporation as she seeks burial for Ismene instead of Polynices. These Antigones can all be considered revolutionary in their character and progressive in their politics, thus complicating Boch and Hall’s models. 21 A reminder: though first staged in 1968, La joven Antígona was published as part of a collection in 1969. 22 In making this claim, I exclude Spanish philosopher María Zambrano’s philosophical writing La Tumba de Antígona (1967). Written in France and published in Mexico and Spain in 1967, Zambrano’s interpretation of the Antigone myth is read as a reflection on the human condition in the aftermath of the world wars and twentieth century dictatorships from a primarily European perspective. See Bush (2004) and Moretton (2010). I do not believe labelling Zambrano’s Antigone as Mexican would be accurate. Nevertheless, her adaptation demonstrates the limits of our categories. 23 For Latin American adaptations that precede Fuentes Mares, see notes 17 and 20. 24 Following Fuentes Mares, evidence exists for seven major Mexican Antigone adaptations. Again, the parentheses specify the date in which each adaptation was originally staged. Olga Harmony’s La Ley de Creón (1984) is set in revolutionary Mexico during the 1910s. Harmony (2001) deals with issues of class and gender stratification, leaving its women in a subservient role with little to no hope for change. Andrade Jardi’s Los Motivos de Antígona (2000) is staged in an ambiguous setting as an extended monologue in which the Antigone character meditates upon the arbitrary nature of law, duty, and morality before committing suicide. Perla de la Rosa’s Antígona: las voces que incendian el desierto (2004) transports the Antigone myth to ‘Ciudad Tebas’ (Thebes), a stand-in for Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua. De la Rosa denounces the border city’s epidemic of femicides and the state and media’s incompetence in addressing the issue (see Weiner 2015 and 2020). Gabriela Ynclán’s Podrías llamarte Antígona (2009) denounces the state’s failure to help its people. The play is a reaction to the state’s negligence following a tragic mining incident in Coahuila, Mexico (see González Vaquerizo 2014). Bárbara Colio’s Usted está aquí denounces desensitization and acceptance towards violence in Mexico (see Nelli (2012) and Vargas (2013)). Alicia Pacheco’s (2012) Antígona, habibi (2011) transports the myth to the Middle East to explore the abuses levied against Mexican and Middle Eastern women. This adaptation makes gender its primary concern while also delving into issues of American interventionism. Finally, condemning the wave of violence and destruction caused by the state’s drug war, Sara Uribe’s Antígona González (2012) uses the Antigone myth to express the unfathomable grief of those searching for disappeared loved ones in Mexico (for a description of this work’s theatrical origins, see Zamudio Rodríguez 2014). It is difficult to ascertain what (if any) impact Fuentes Mares had on his successors. The fact that the political climate of post-2000 Mexico is drastically different from that of the 1960s further complicates this matter. Fuentes Mares’ most likely successor, Perla de la Rosa, shares a region and intertexts with Fuentes Mares (Anouilh and Brecht), but no evidence points to direct contact with his work. 25 Fuentes Mares’ foreword and his use of the prologue suggest that he also wished to be read with and against Brecht. 26 Fuentes Mares is most likely using as basis for this adaptation the widely available Spanish-language translation of Antigone by José Alemany Bolufer (Sophocles 1921). To the best of my knowledge, Fuentes Mares did not read Greek. The language in both works is nearly identical. In his own foreword, Fuentes Mares addresses that the Sophoclean excerpts in his adaptation are taken from Sophocles’ text (meaning Bolufer’s translation). Fuentes Mares has slightly modified the text in his adaptation. For related Mexican scholarship from the era, see Granero (1965). 27 Though Latin American adaptations of Antigone often cast the marginalized in Polynices’ stead thus resituating the object of mourning, we get no comparable substitution in Fuentes Mares’ work. See Pianacci (2015: 315). 28 See Söderbäck (2012), especially the introduction. Fanny Söderbäck observes that adaptations of Antigone have three elemental components: the narrative revolves around kinship burial rites, Antigone is always a woman, and she always fights against state power in some way. Given this model, the absence of burial rites is especially noteworthy. 29 This adaptation is indebted to readings of the Antigone which see a dualism between the state and the individual or the divine. For alternative readings discussing the Antigone’s ethical considerations, see Cabrera Sánchez ( 2016) and Berge (2017). 30 Betancur and David (2010) provides a brief, but helpful, overview of the political significance of Antigone’s character in Latin American theatre. For a brief analysis of Greek theatre and representations of violence from a broad Latin American perspective, see Flores Farfán (2014). 31 With these cycles of abuse I am referring to the stratification promoted and enforced by those in power. Discrimination, explored by Fuentes Mares in terms of class and gender, promises to create stratification and oppression so long as those who hold power maintain discriminatory views. This holds true for both the state and the revolutionaries. 32 With ‘self-objectification’ I refer to the revolutionaries’ tendency to devalue themselves in favour of their organization’s interests. 33 As an embodiment of the state or oppressive system of power, Creon takes many forms in Latin America. Though there tends to be a singular referent to Creon (identified by his name, speech, or edicts in relation to the Sophoclean original), one could argue that Creon is split in any adaptation in which Antigone confronts a systemic force, thereby complicating this claim. Creon can be represented in a person or in a system. Perla de la Rosa’s Antigone (2005), for example, stages a direct Creon referent while also combatting a systemic form of oppression. Fuentes Mares’ exceptionality in dividing Creon is born from the absence of a single direct referent. 34 Throughout this play, we will see Antígona and her opponents use the word hombre. Though this word literally translates to man, it is used in this play as a referent to humankind. I would discourage too literal a gendered reading of this word. Though Mexico is gradually shifting towards more inclusive language, this use of hombre is still employed and understood today. A more gender neutral word like humano may have read as slightly awkward, especially in the 1960s when the masculine was understood as a general plural for abstractions of this sort. 35 Fuentes Mares (1969: 59). 36 For more on the Sophoclean ode and its importance and literary legacy, see Crane (1989) and Staley (1985). 37 See note 26. 38 Soph. Ant. 332. 39 In order of appearance, Fuentes Mares incorporates excerpts corresponding to Soph. Ant. 26–30, 446–449, 450–460, and 914–924. 40 Lack of evidence withholds certainty, but I presume the Antigone characters differed only in costume. 41 The presence of Sophocles’ Antigone on stage is, to the best of my knowledge, unique in Fuentes Mares. 42 On stage, Antigone confronts four revolutionaries, although Juan and Antonio act as her main speaking opponents. 43 Corresponds to Soph. Ant. 450–460. 44 Children in tragedy tend to symbolize the future. In Latin American adaptations, Antigone is often cast in the role of a mother or a potential mother. See Fradinger (2018). 45 Fuentes Mares’ play has moments that are ripe for a discussion of gender as an added dimension to main pursuits of this play. On gender dynamics in Fuentes Mares, see Carrete, forthcoming. 46 In Act I, Juan had unambiguously voiced his distaste for female revolutionaries, regardless of their social background. Juan’s prejudiced perspectives on class and gender reinforce one another, though class seems to be his most pressing concern. 47 Antígona’s parents are vague presences in Fuentes Mares’ play. The text suggests that they are part of the state apparatus or are at least favoured by the state. The shadow of Antígona’s parents looms over her identity as does the shadow of Antigone’s older relatives in Sophocles’ original. 48 The phrase ‘de tan buenas familias’ often refers the socially elite with a generational history of power and influence. So-called ‘good families’ are socially visible, if not political influential, and are entrenched in the status quo. See Pérez Domínguez (2012). Read against the Sophoclean text, this phrase is highly ironic considering Antigone’s incestuous origins. 49 The task was originally assigned to an unseen revolutionary named Fausto. 50 See note 13. 51 See Poniatowska (1998). Poniatowska’s work is hailed as one of the most culturally important accounts of the events of Tlatelolco. For more on her narrative structure and cultural impact, see Harris (2005). 52 Allier-Montaño and Crenzel (2015) details the political climate of Latin American countries in the second half of the twentieth century. 53 For a list of the student demands and the government’s response (or lack thereof) to each, see Pineda Villalpando (2020). 54 See Moore (2020) and ‘The most terrifying night of my life’ (2020). 55 See Aguayo (1998). 56 Martínez (1972) marks Tlatelolco as the harbinger of a new era of oppression in Mexico. 57 See Young (1985). Young marks the massacre as the singular moment in which a long-standing truce between twentieth-century intellectuals and the government was shattered. 58 For more on the events of Tlatelolco and the days and events preceding the massacre, see Hernández Gómez (2014). In discussing these ‘same anxieties’, I am referring to the anger born from widespread inequality and corruption coupled with the fear of violent repression deployed against organized, peaceful, efforts for change. 59 Sunnucks, Isaac, and Marsh (2018). In 2014, 43 students from the Escuela Normal Rural Isidro Burgos of Ayotzinapa, Guerrero were ‘disappeared’ after an altercation with the municipal police of nearby Iguala. Despite media attention, this incident remains unresolved. Though cries for justice have remained constant, the students are presumed dead, and the public suspects government involvement in their disappearances. 60 For more modern Antigone adaptations tackling such issues, see Vargas (2013), Weiner (2015), and Schoorl (2017). 61 Fuentes Mares (1969: 85–86). Corresponds to Soph. Ant. 923–24. 62 See Weiner (2020). Weiner notes this similar stage of liminality in Sophocles’ Antigone with a relevant discussion of Antigone’s self-fashioning as a metic (resident alien) in Soph. Ant. 850–52. He observes the evolution of this liminality in Perla de la Rosa’s Antígona: las voces que incendian el desierto (2004). 63 Honig (2013). Honig does not address Fuentes Mares, but she is useful for thinking through Antigone’s humanism. As opposed to the ‘mortalist humanism’ that Honig sees in Sophocles’ Antigone, Fuentes Mares’ humanism seems to be grounded on life and the potential for change. His reimagining of Antigone carves out a space in which the figure of Antígona seeks to establish a widespread concept of shared humanity before meaningful change can be enacted. Opposing sovereignty is not yet a concern, as doing so with a faulty foundation would lead to a reversal and replication of abuses. 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TI - Humanity and revolution in José Fuentes Mares’ ‘La joven Antígona se va a la guerra’
JF - Classical Receptions Journal
DO - 10.1093/crj/claa036
DA - 2021-02-02
UR - https://www.deepdyve.com/lp/oxford-university-press/humanity-and-revolution-in-jos-fuentes-mares-la-joven-ant-gona-se-va-a-g6aCWB4zwM
SP - 1
EP - 1
VL - Advance Article
IS - 
DP - DeepDyve
ER -