Sitting on a mound a few meters away from a sinkhole that since last Saturday has been causing consternation among the population of Santa María Zacatepec, in Mexico’s Puebla State, Magdalena Xalamihua looks on with sadness as she witnesses several years’ work on the verge of being swallowed up by the earth. Xalamihua, her husband and their two children had only just moved into the house they had put their bodies and souls into building when they were forced to abandon it. At 6.30pm on May 29, a strange hole started to form to the side of the house, as if a monster from a science fiction movie was sucking the ground down from the Earth’s corre. Initially it measured eight meters but it continued to expand quickly until, just hours later, it had become a massive cavity from which sprung water like a Biblical miracle. “We heard something like a rumbling,” says Xalamihua. “We thought it was fireworks, but we looked outside and saw the earth moving and water coming up, like waves. We ran.” Xalamihua still remembers what happened that afternoon with horror. She looks bitterly toward her house, a brick construction that is teetering on the edge of an abyss. “Where are we going to live now?” she asks. Over her head, a huge dark cloud threatens a storm, adding another layer to the chilling scene in Zacatepec.
Local and federal authorities have been curious onlookers at the site of the phenomenon, where the National Guard have cordoned off a wide area around the sinkhole and are patrolling the perimeter to ensure nobody approaches the chasm. Dozens of people have made their way to Zacatepec, drawn in by the media interest in the event, with the press as eager as the scientific community to give answers as to just what happened in this small farming community. Until May 29, life here passed with little more on people’s minds than the coming of the rain and the sun to nurture the fields of corn and legumes.
Xalamihua explains that on May 15 the family had been living in their house for a year and on May 16 her daughter, María Lisbeth, turned 13. The family decided to hold a double celebration with lunch and a cake. Their home was the fruit of more than a decade of hard work. Heriberto Sánchez had worked as a bricklayer’s assistant and his wife in a nearby restaurant to buy the land and build their long-awaited family home. A migrant from an indigenous region of Veracruz, Xalamihua had been excited to start a new life, in a promised land rich in fertile volcanic soil and free from the violence afflicting her native state. “Together we earned up to 3,000 pesos a month to finish the payments on the land,” says Heriberto. There were many hardships, because almost all of the money was set aside to achieve their dream. But now it has turned into a nightmare and the distressed family are now hoping the state authorities will help them in their hour of need.
At time of writing, Puebla State Governor Miguel Barbosa had not visited Zacatepec but he had admitted that the situation is a “matter of enormous risk.” Barbosa has told his constituents that he will “remain vigilant” to prevent a human tragedy from unfolding. “It’s a geological fault that must be treated with the utmost caution, technically and with all preventive measures in place,” the governor said. A team of geologists from the Meritorious Autonomous University of Puebla are working on a report as to what occurred in Zacatepec, using their years of experience studying the sulfuric eruptions of the Popocatépetl volcano that dominates these vast plains. The authorities have said that a technical report could be ready by the end of June. But the university team are not the only experts who have cast their gaze over the Zacatepec sinkhole.
Delfino Hernández is a geological engineer at the Geological Hazards Laboratory of Mexico City’s Metropolitan Autonomous University (UAM). Hernández and his team were due to arrive in Zacatepec at the weekend to look into the sinkhole after following developments closely in the media. Before examining the situation on the ground, Hernández said that the most likely explanation was a natural phenomenon, an active fault line that was waiting for a push from nature to display its power. “These faults are already present within the soil. They may have existed for 5,000 to 10,000 years before being reactivated. It just needs nature to provide the impact so that they appear on the surface. This phenomenon, as far as I can see, was going to happen sooner or later,” Hernández says. These phenomena occur, adds the geologist, because in certain areas the ground has “weaknesses,” places where the soil is in constant movement. It is not something that occurs without “warning,” he noted: geologists can keep watch on small fractures and fissures that can later lead to incidents like the Zacatepec sinkhole. “A fault is a zone of fractures along which there has been a displacement of blocks of rock in the crust. It is a discontinuity that forms due to the breaking up of large rocks in the earth. If this fault is said to be 20 meters deep, which is how it appears, it is likely that is far deeper underneath.”
What could have triggered the sinkhole in Zacatepec? “Puebla State commonly has earthquakes that occur before they reach Mexico City. We don’t know with certainty if there were after-effects from the 2017 earthquake, but taking into account the size of the fracture it could be that the soils have been weakened and it would only require humidity for them to become detached,” says Hernández, adding that the sinkhole has filled with water due to subterranean filtration. Hernández points out that in Puebla there have been no geotechnical studies or mapping of geological risks carried out, which is why the Zacatepec incident came as such a surprise. “What needs to be done is to stop looking at the sinkhole and start looking in the area surrounding it, to see if there are other fractures of a similar size or smaller ones. A study needs to be carried out immediately, cartographical mapping with aerial photographs and continuous monitoring to see if they are moving on a daily basis,” the geologist states.
While scientific experts continue to investigate, Santa María Zacatepec has become an attraction for residents of Puebla. Local police have been forced to close the dusty side street that leads to the sinkhole to prevent a traffic jam on ground that has already proven itself to be fragile. Whole families descend on the site to witness the phenomenon first hand. Many are disappointed on arrival, because the area has been sealed off and from a distance all it is possible to make out is a large splash of black.
Nicasio Torres, 62, has lived in Zacatepec all his life. He says he has never seen anything like this before and shares the fears of his neighbors. “We worry that it will continue to get bigger,” he says after arriving at the sinkhole on an old bicycle. “What is going to happen to us? Are they going to evacuate us? We don’t have anywhere to go!” he stresses, while nearby a woman with her children offers candy to curious day-trippers. Standing next to Torres is Jorge, a portly resident of the area. He adds there is a general preoccupation among neighboring communities over the sinkhole. “Where I live people are asking what is happening over here. They’re worried. We don’t know what to do. We can only wait an see what the authorities’ report says.” The day-trippers have similar questions for the journalists covering the incident, eager to satisfy their own curiosity. What do you know? Has there been a study? Have you spoken to the experts? Are the authorities doing anything? A reporter flies a drone over the area and men, women, children and senior citizens gather around, desperate to see images of the huge sinkhole.
Xalamihua finds so much rubber-necking distasteful. She asks that people think about her situation because she is fed up with being asked so many questions as she and her family have been the most-affected by the geological fault. She knows she has lost her house, her children’s inheritance, for good and her concern now is where they are going to live. She asks that the local mayor, the state governor and the president of Mexico do something to help. “It’s tough to take and it’s sad. Our whole life was there,” she says through red eyes. The dark cloud over her head begins to spit out fat drops of rain that form small puddles on this treacherous soil while, in the distance, the wind whips furiously across the surface water of the new lake of Zacatepec.
English version by Rob Train.
Margot Robbie’s self-confessed ambition has made her the highest paid actress of the year | Culture
Self-doubt is Margot Robbie’s greatest motivator, and competes with ambition in the Australian actress’s psyche. She couldn’t believe her own eyes when she first saw herself on a giant ad for the Pan Am TV series in New York’s Times Square. “I still have the photo,” she told EL PAÍS a few years ago, somewhat wistful for the days when she was still a nobody. The script of The Wolf of Wall Street (2013), the Martin Scorsese film that put her on the map, touted her as “the most beautiful blonde in the world,” but she didn’t believe the hype. “I remember saying to a friend, ‘I haven’t worked in six weeks.’ I’m sure there’s nothing out there for me,” laughed Robbie. But Hollywood didn’t share her skepticism. In July, Variety magazine ranked Robbie as the highest paid actress of the year when her US$12.5 million salary for the upcoming Barbie movie was announced.
Margot Robbie may be this year’s highest paid actress, but 17 men made even more money, led by Tom Cruise who was paid US$100 million for Top Gun: Maverick. Her Barbie love interest, Ryan Gosling, was paid the same as Robbie, even though she has the titular role, more evidence that pay parity in Hollywood is far from being a reality. Robbie ranked ahead of Millie Bobby Brown (US$10 million for the Enola Holmes sequel); Emily Blunt (US$4 million for Oppenheimer); Jamie Lee Curtis (US$3.5 million for Halloween Ends); and Anya Taylor-Joy (US$1.8 million for Furiosa).
Robbie’s misgivings about her career aren’t shared by other industry giants. Martin Scorsese compared her to Carole Lombard for her comedic genius, Joan Crawford for her toughness, and Ida Lupino for her emotional range. He described Robbie as having a surprising audacity, and recalls how she clinched her role in The Wolf of Wall Street by stunning everyone with a tremendous, improvised slap of Leonardo DiCaprio during her audition.
Robbie showed the same boldness when she lobbied director Quentin Tarantino for another role opposite DiCaprio in Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood (2019). She sent the director a letter telling him how much she admired his films, especially her all-time favorite, True Romance (1993). The letter probably wasn’t necessary, as Tarantino already had the I, Tonya star in mind to play Sharon Tate in his new movie, describing her to EL PAÍS as an actress with a visual dynamism and personal qualities that you don’t see every day.
Robbie has wanted to work in movies ever since her start in Neighbours, the long-running Australian TV series that is coming to an end after 9,000 episodes and 37 years on the air. “Of course I’m ambitious. My career motivates me. I came to the United States with a plan, and I’m always looking ahead,” she told us. Even as a child growing up in Queensland (northeastern Australia), Margot Elise Robbie displayed her business smarts and drama queen chops when she decided to sell all her brother’s old toys from the sidewalk in front of the family home.
She jokes about her childhood, but part of that little girl always comes out in the wide variety of characters she plays. She has had all kinds of roles in little-known films like Suite Française and Z for Zachariah, and also in box-office hits like Suicide Squad and Birds of Prey. She won Oscar nominations for playing driven women in I, Tonya (2018) and Bombshell (2020). “Yes, many of the women I’ve played share my ambition – this is a tough industry. But I’m full of doubt like anyone else. You never know how things will turn out,” she said.
Seeking more control over her films, Robbie founded production company LuckyChap Entertainment in 2014 with her husband, British filmmaker Tom Ackerley, and some friends. She hopes to use LuckyChap as a vehicle for herself and other actresses, as she did with Promising Young Woman starring Carey Mulligan, a black comedy thriller film that won writer/director Emerald Fennell an Oscar for best original screenplay. “Margot is an extraordinary person,” said Fennell. “That’s why she’s doing so well as a producer who is determined to try different things and give women a voice.”
Robbie met British assistant director Tom Ackerley on the set of Suite Française in 2013. They began a romantic relationship the next year and moved in together right after attending their first Golden Globes gala for The Wolf of Wall Street. Married since 2016, the couple and co-workers in LuckyChap have a bright future ahead, judging by all the work that is piling up for Robbie. In addition to Barbie, she will appear in Amsterdam, directed by David O. Russell; as silent film star Clara Bow in Babylon, directed by Damien Chazelle; and has a role in Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City. As if that wasn’t enough to keep Robbie busy, a remake of Ocean’s Eleven awaits her; she will play opposite Matthew Schoenaerts in the post WWII drama, Ruin; produce a remake of Tank Girl; and play a female Jack Sparrow in another installment of Pirates of the Caribbean. Surely Margot Robbie doesn’t have any more doubts about her career.
Salem’s last witch regains her honor | Culture
As statues of slave owners and slave traders continue to fall in the United States, the embers of the bonfires that burned women accused of committing spells and witchcraft are also being extinguished. In the umpteenth revision of history to try to exonerate the victims, the most recent episode concerns the last official Salem witch, Elizabeth Johnson Jr., from the massive 1692 and 1693 trials in the English colony of Massachusetts. Thanks to the initiative of a middle school teacher and her students in Andover, located in the same county as Salem, her spirit can now roam free. The enthusiastic students began the vindication process in 2020 and persuaded Massachusetts state senator Diana DiZoglio (D), who took up the cause and pushed for Johnson’s pardon, which was announced last week.
It has taken 329 years for Elizabeth Johnson Jr.’s name to be cleared definitively. She was the last of the Salem witches to be exonerated. While Johnson was spared a death by hanging, she was stigmatized until she died at 77, an uncommonly long life for the time. Historians say that Johnson showed signs of mental instability and was single and childless, all of which were signs of witchcraft during that period. She pled guilty before the court of inquisitors. Almost 30 members of her extended family were also implicated, as if witchcraft were contagious, hereditary, or both. Johnson, her mother, several aunts and her grandfather, a church pastor, were tried as well. According to historian Emerson Baker, the author of a book about the Salem witch trials, her grandfather described Johnson to the judges as a “simplish person at best.” Most likely, the judges would have equated “simplish” with different during that superstitious and pre-scientific period.
The fact that Johnson didn’t have any descendants deprived her of anyone to vindicate her good name, as relatives of the other defendants did. The first attempt to do so happened at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Then, in the 1950s, Massachusetts passed a law exonerating those found guilty, but it failed to gather all the names. A 2001 attempt at justice excluded Johnson because, after her conviction in 1693, she was formally presumed to be dead (executed).
The social hysteria against everything that deviated from the norm, against the minimal exercise of free will, was implacable against women, as Arthur Miller’s play The Crucible (the playwright adapted it for the big screen in 1996) and recent variations remind us. The theme lends itself very well to artistic creation, but in real life it amounted to opprobrium for those who suffered it and represented a cause for scorn among puritans.
Salem was more than a witch trial. According to historians, it was a collective exorcism fueled by a puritanical inquisition based on paranoia and xenophobia, a gratuitous auto de fe that unleashed people’s worst instincts: fear and the human tendency to blame others for one’s own misfortunes. At least 172 people were indicted in the 1692 trial. About 35% confessed their guilt and were spared the gallows; according to sources, around twenty insisted on claiming their innocence and did not escape that fate. The rest of the detainees were acquitted or sentenced to prison. The Salem witch trials represented a collective bogeyman through which one can foresee the later threat of the Ku Klux Klan. It is hard not to wonder what bonfires would have burned today on the pyre of social media and extreme polarization.
The great Salem witch hunt can be re-read through the prism of gender. As the adage goes, se non è vero è ben trovato (Even if it is not true, it is well conceived). Witches, like those in Salem and the woman in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel The Scarlet Letter (made into a film in the 1950s), were demonized for going off the rails. The dominant society’s puritanical stance against any kind of heterodoxy or freestyling, against rebels with or without a cause, led people to be targeted for dressing exotically by puritanical standards or for daring to drink at a tavern, a sacrilege for the morals of the day. It’s not difficult to draw a straight line from the bonnet of a witch on the gallows to the handmaid’s white bonnet in Margaret Atwood’s novel: all were women who were demonized, objectified, and scapegoated for deeper ills.
Beyond gender, other historians emphasize the socioeconomic dimension of the Salem witch trials, which combined a deep-seated inequality with racism, the United States’ original sin since well before the Declaration of Independence. The trials targeted colonial society’s most vulnerable during a period of economic instability that unleashed fierce rivalry among Salem families. According to historian Edward Bever, society was permeated by interpersonal conflict, much of it stemming from competition over resources. People did whatever they could to survive, from physical aggression to threats, curses, and insults. One of the first women accused, Sarah Osborne, was a poor widow who dared to claim her husband’s land for herself, defying the customary laws of nature, which granted the inheritance to sons. The accusation of witchcraft ended Osborne’s claim. Tituba, an indigenous slave, was accused of being a witch because her racial origins differed from the norm. Sarah Good was also poor, but she defended herself against the humiliations of her neighbors, which led her to the gallows; her daughter, Dorothy Dorcas Good, was Salem’s youngest victim: she was arrested at only four years old and spent eight months in prison.
Since then, history has not changed the fact that vulnerable women pay the price for circumstances beyond their control. That the Puritans of the time considered women—the evil heirs of Eve —prone to temptations such as the desire for material possessions or sexual gratification was only an added factor. Poor, homeless, and childless, these women in the shadow of society’s dominant morality were fodder for the gallows. But Elizabeth Johnson Jr. didn’t just manage to save her life; 329 years later she recovered her honor as well.
Meridian Brothers: A fake salsa band ignites the rebirth of an old New York record label | Culture
A new album will land on the salsa dance floor by the end of this week; one that fuses rhythms from the 1970s with the technological dystopias of the future. Behind it is Ansonia Records, a label that, after its creation in 1949 among Latino immigrants from New York, would produce several merengue, jibara, bomba, guaracha, mambo, and boogaloo albums, before stopping altogether in 1990. This Friday, after more than 30 years, Ansonia Records will return with a salsa album.
Hermano del futuro, vengo buscando iluminación; brother from the future, I come looking for enlightenment. So says one of the songs from the new album, called Metamorfosis, by the old salsa group Renacimiento. But there is a catch: Renacimiento does not exist. It never did. It is a fake group, and this is a fake cover, explains musician Eblis Álvarez, founder of the Colombian group Meridian Brothers, who had already experimented with various genres, from cumbia to vallenato. A group that practices “tropical cannibalism,” says Álvarez. This year, Meridian Brothers decided to launch a group of salseros straight out of fiction: Renacimiento.
“Renacimiento [rebirth] is the typical name that musicians would give a salsa group in the 1970s,” Álvarez tells EL PAÍS. “For example, in the Nueva Trova movement there was talk of a political rebirth, but at the same time they combined this with a spiritual factor: when one listens to groups like La Columna de Fuego [from Bogota] or Los Jaivas [from Chile], there was a common pattern: everyone was waiting for a rebirth of the soul, and of society.”
Although on stage Renacimiento is made up of five artists — María Valencia, Alejandro Forero, César Quevedo and Mauricio Ramírez, besides Álvarez — when the album was recorded it was the founder who played all the instruments, besides doing the voice of the salsero that accompanies the songs. The album has nine tracks, some similar to the older, slower salsa, and others to the faster, contemporary style. Between the piano, the timbales and the percussion, we find verses with the concerns of the 21st century: love that “communicates by algorithm,” or the threats of atomic bombs that “take us to the cemetery.” Metamorfosis, the single that has already been released, begins with a man who wakes up turned into a robot and longs for a time “when nightclubs really had an atmosphere, not like now, full of cameras, full of drones.”
“I wanted it to sound like salsa from the 1970s,” says Álvarez. “There is no originality, or the originality of this lies in being able to replicate the music as best as possible, but in terms of the material there is nothing original, as it is made with the collective unconscious of Latin America, of Colombia, of Latinos. This is an extrapolation from the 1970s to today, and it speaks of transhumanism, like the matter of highest concern that everything, absolutely everything, is now packed inside the damn cell phone.”
The rebirth includes both the album and the label, as this is the first recording in more than 30 years to be released by Ansonia Records, a company created in 1949 and later forgotten, despite having been one of the first labels founded by a Latin migrant in the United States. Puerto Rican Rafael Pérez, its founder, brought Dominican, Puerto Rican and Cuban musicians from Latin Harlem or the South Bronx, who had not found a home among American record companies, to several studios. He produced his records before the time of the powerful Fania, which made New York salsa famous.
To Liza Richardson, an American radio host who was also a music supervisor on series like Narcos or the movie Y tu mamá también, Ansonia Records is a gem. In the early 1990s, she found an Ansonia album in the station’s archives and, fascinated by the label’s production, became close to the heirs of Pérez. In 2020, she bought the record label with the intention of reactivating it. She, with the help of a small team, has begun to digitize more than 5,000 Ansonia-produced songs; an eighth of them can already be found on streaming platforms like Spotify.
Souraya Al-Alaoui, manager of Ansonia Records, explains that most of the artists chosen by the label were focused on the Latin American diaspora. That was their base; they valued the traditional sounds from islands like Cuba or Puerto Rico, and were not looking to become westernized.
“Johnny Pacheco, founder of La Fania, started with Ansonia Records, and Ansonia was an inspiration for what would later become La Fania,” says Al-Alaoui. “Ansonia was also a pioneer as a label owned by a Latino, an independent label with a founding message: ‘this is from us and for us.’ That’s why it was an inspiration for what came after.”
Over the years, La Fania grew and the seed of Ansonia Records faded away. The label never managed to promote its musicians in concerts like La Fania did, and after the arrival of the digital world, they did not set up a website or try to upload their music to any streaming platforms. Thus, it became a label that was only known by a small group of music lovers, like Liza Richardson and Eblis Álvarez.
“Now, we are hoping to release a new record every year, and we are thrilled to start with this one by Meridian Brothers,” says Richardson. “This is an album that looks to the past but tries to move towards the future, and that is exactly what we are trying to do: look to the past to, at some point, be able to grow again, to thrive.”
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