Song of the Hummingbird

In the wake of the Spanish conquest, Huitzitzilin grapples with the challenge of Navigating Loss in a Colonized World and the constant reminders of the devastation wrought upon her people and their way of life. She witnesses the brutal destruction of her city at the hands of the Spanish conquistadors, the systematic dismantling of her people’s way of life, her capture, and the execution of her king—this shatters Huitzitzilin’s sense of security and belonging. Against this backdrop of collective loss, her first son died from smallpox, a disease brought by the colonizers, and this sent her into a spiral of despair. Her self-inflicted injuries externalize her grief; they are fueled not only by the loss of her child but also by a future that has been stolen from her people. She blinds herself, mirroring the scarring of her spirit and the larger cultural and spiritual devastation inflicted upon her people.

Huitzitzilin’s involvement with Baltazar is a product of the complex emotional vulnerability and cultural dislocation she experiences. Devastated by the loss of her first child and surrounded by a world in ruins, a connection with Baltazar, however fraught, provided a flicker of comfort and intimacy. By virtue of Baltazar’s race and position, he provided a sense of security. However, this initial openness curdled as the harsh realities of her subjugation and shame of her involvement with a colonizer sunk in. Baltazar is unhappy about her pregnancy and labels it “the result of [her] weakness” (168). Huitzitzilin expresses a sense of alienation from her own offspring—the unwelcome merging of her Mexica heritage with the colonizing Spanish culture bars her from forming a connection with them. With time, however, she overcomes these emotional barriers and loves them despite her initial hesitation. Her children become “her flesh and spirit” (187), and raising them becomes Huitzitzilin’s act of defiance against the cultural erasure enacted by the colonizers. Thus, her forced separation from her children constitutes the ultimate act of violence against her, severing the last link between her and her Mexica heritage.

The potential existence of a lost account, chronicled by a Spanish priest who had integrated himself into Mexica society, furthers the theme of The Power of Narrative. Immersion in Mexica life may have allowed Father Benavente to produce a more balanced and potentially sympathetic account, and the existence of his account suggests the potential for cultural exchange and even empathy amidst the brutality. However, Father Anselmo’s skepticism regarding such a record reflects the prevailing distrust between the Spanish and the Mexica people, revealing his own bias. Anselmo’s assumption that the Mexica people wouldn’t value historical preservation exposes his perception of them as inferior, uneducated, and “uninformed” (173). By contrast, Father Benito’s evolving perspective prompts his astonishment at the omission of Mexica narratives in his education, underscoring the pervasive dehumanization present in colonial teachings.

As Huitzitzilin shares her story, Benito begins to see the common threads of love, grief, and loss that bind humanity together, regardless of culture or origin. Benito “wondered why […] no one had explained that [Mexica’s] natives loved and grieved as did his people” (188). Benito’s journey from blind acceptance of Eurocentric doctrine to a more empathetic understanding mirrors Father Benavente’s. Both characters, through their immersion in Mexica culture, move beyond the limitations of their upbringing and develop a deeper appreciation for the Mexica people, Recognizing Bias Through Human Connection.