Saint George in Rafah
In this week’s Camino a Ítaca, a rebranding of the global icon, the dragon slayer, with an eye on a population that desperately needs someone’s help, anyone’s help. Even a mythical knight. Click over to read the originally published version in Spanish in el HOY or read the English translation below. (PDF en castellano abajo)
At what point does a
procession become a parade? Just when does this transformation happen? Is there
a certain amount of solemnity and decorum needed to remain the former before
converting into the latter? Is there some limit of mirth that needs to be
crossed before it evolves into a cavalcade? Is it similar to the transformation
that happens when stories become myths?
Caceres has always been a
city of dragons. Long before HBO landed here with their reptilian soap opera,
the city venerated the Cappadocian Roman soldier come Christian martyr, Saint
George. And this past week saw perhaps its biggest celebration ever. 3200
people marched through the streets of the city accompanying 22 dragons, in what
would have been called a parade given that it’s focus was a legendary dragon
slayer and wasn’t celebrating semi-mythical kings of the Orient or depictions
of last suppers and resurrections.
Are dragons somehow less believable
than the other myths and therefore are demoted to parade status? Whatever the
case, it, whatever ‘it’ truly represents, ends up in expiatory flames in the
Main Square.
Like neighboring Portugal,
the UK, Albania, Bulgaria, Ethiopia, Romania and even the beaches of Ipanema,
Caceres looks to this medieval myth as a figure of triumph, even if he never
visited their lands. Rather than choose King Arthur, Robin Hood or Achilles,
they all choose to identify with this tale.
In the storied annals of Christian martyrdom, few
figures conjure a more potent blend of chivalry, faith, and cultural resonance
than him. But peel back the layers of history, and one uncovers a narrative
rich with complexities, where myth intertwines with geopolitics, and the legend
of this supposedly valiant saint intersects with the soil of a land now facing
a genocide, Palestine.
In the ancient town of
Lydda, nestled amidst the sun-baked hills of present-day Palestine, the legend
of Saint George finds its earthly anchor. Here, it is said, George, a Roman
soldier of noble birth, defied the tyrannical decree of Emperor Diocletian, refusing
to renounce his Christian faith. His steadfast refusal led to his gruesome
martyrdom, his blood mingling with the dusty earth of his homeland.
Yet, beyond the
hagiographic veneer, Saint George’s tale becomes entwined with the broader
narrative of Palestinian struggle and resilience, of people who refuse to just
disappear, no matter how inconvenient for Zionists, they just won’t go away.
Delving into the layers of
historical memory, tracing the evolution of George’s cult from local hero to
global icon, we find a symbol of defiance against oppression and not
necessarily one that some choose to see as a facile view of good versus evil.
The far-right who try to appropriate his myth read him wrongly. This is the migrant
refusing to give up his identity.
The story of Saint George transcends mere
folklore, becoming a poignant meditation on the enduring bonds between faith,
identity, and resistance. For in the figure of this Palestinian martyr, we find
echoes of a timeless struggle, where the courage of one man continues to
inspire hope in a land fraught with turmoil.
With the tens of thousands
being buried under western bombs, it’s time to celebrate the legend a new way to
protect the unprotected.
