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opinion

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Honoring the lost songs

by Silvio Sirias

We find greatest joy, not in getting, but expressing what we are. Men do not really live for honors or for pay; their gladness is not in the taking and holding, but in the doing, the striving, the building, the living. It is a higher joy to teach than to be taught. It is good to get justice, but better to do it; fun to have things, but more to make them. The happy man is he who lives the life of love, not for the honors it may bring, but for the life itself.

R. J. Baughan

Among all men on the earth bards have a share of honor and reverence, because the muse has taught them songs and loves the race of bards.

Homer

I have never thought of writing for reputation and honor. What I have in my heart must come out; that is the reason why I compose.

Ludwig van Beethoven

It was the most amazing funeral I’d ever witnessed. The stands of the baseball stadium were packed, and the police struggled throughout to keep those who were not friends, family, or important dignitaries off the field.

One by one, the eleven coffins entered, carried on the shoulders of adoring fans. One team of pallbearers was comprised of Diablos Sucios, donning, of course, their colorful --- and to me sometimes frightening --- costumes and masks. Others wore the traditional, and more solemn, montuno outfits. Women dressed in polleras danced alongside, stepping elegantly to the irresistible rhythms of a live band that played cumbias.

People from all walks of life --- from the raspado vendor to Martín Torrijos, President of the Republic --- congregated in La Chorrera that day to pay their last respects. And mostly everyone sang and danced as tears streamed down their faces.

I’ve never witnessed anything like it.

To be honest, though, I didn’t actually see the funeral. But in my mind, the picture --- as I listened to the live report transmitted over RPC Radio --- was absolutely clear. The following morning, the photographs of the event that were published in La Prensa confirmed that what I imagined had been right on target.

On Friday, January 13, Panamanian folklore suffered a tragic loss as Carlos Issacs, better known by his stage name, Ñato Califa; the long-time singer of his band, Lucía Chia Ureña; and nine other musicians died in a traffic accident while en route to a playing engagement.

Ñato Califa was the inventor of La Cumbia Chorreana. In life, he had requested that his funeral be a celebration of that which he most loved: Panamanian folk music. His musician friends, his family --- in fact, all of Panama --- complied. And in spite of the high spirits of the music being played during the services, it was impossible, even while listening over the radio, not to shed a few tears.

Later that afternoon, Alvaro Alvarado, one of the RPC Radio’s most noted reporters, lamented that Panamanians had waited until after Ñato Califa’s death to honor him.

“We need to bestow such honors on our artists while they’re still alive,” Alvarado stated emphatically.

He then went on to declare that with the sudden passing of Ñato Califa, Panama was losing, irreplaceably so, a glorious representative of its folklore. Alvarado then made an impassioned plea for the government to intervene on behalf of the preservation of Panamanian musical traditions, to fund and implement programs that teach young ones to play the melodies of artists such as Ñato Califa.

Is it really the place of government to fund exclusively imitative forms of artistic expression? Other than comforting adults who yearn for the certainty that something of their era will endure the passage of time, is it fair to train a culture’s youth to parrot the artistry of previous generations?

True artists always strive to improve upon the work of previous generations. This is how art grows and flourishes.

Ñato Califa did just this. He surpassed those who taught him. Thus, it seems to me that the best way to pay tribute to his memory would be not only for Panamanians to remember his work, but to pay homage to his life by allowing new musical expressions to grow out of it. (For fans of American folk music: think of Woody Guthrie and the heights to which Bob Dylan took his legacy.) To have a brigade of Ñato Califa clones might be reassuring for some, but it would add nothing to the evolution of Panama’s folklore.

Although I am a newcomer to Panamanian culture, this nation’s folk music excites me. It is beautiful, charming, lively, and highly diverse. And we do, somehow, need to preserve what is being created today. Thus, a better alternative to Alvarado’s proposal would be for the government to seek international as well as private funding for Panama’s ailing museums. After all, these institutions are, in theory, responsible for safeguarding a nation’s past, including its folkways.

The modernization of the isthmus’s museums is imperative, now more than ever. At present, they are passive depositories of artifacts where visitors walk around to stare at “stuff.” Panama’s museums need to become research centers, where archives are available for those interested in studying the contributions of artists such as Ñato Califa. (The Smithsonian would be a perfect model --- on a much smaller scale, of course.) In such an environment scholars can spend days, weeks, months, or even years studying recordings and ensuring that future generations have an authentic and emotionally fulfilling grasp of the evolution their folklore.

While I agree with Alvarado that the government should promote the development of future artists, it should also give them the freedom to express what’s in their hearts, without imposing a preservation agenda.

Lastly, revisiting Alvaro Alvarado’s claim that Panamanians had waited too long to honor Ñato Califa: what took place in Chorrera’s baseball stadium that mournful day, the overwhelming outpouring of affection, clearly demonstrated that this musician had thoroughly loved his craft as well as his fans. And everything about that morning --- every song, every dance step, every tear --- indicated that, in life, Ñato Califa’ passion for his music and the people it touched had been fully reciprocated.

There can be no greater honor than that. We should all be so blessed.

Silvio Sirias is the author of Bernardo and the Virgin (Northwestern University Press --- Latino Voices Series). Copies of his novel are now available for purchase at Exedra Books. Sirias resides in Panama. For more information, visit his website at http://www.silviosirias.com