Song of the Hummingbird

Silence, in its various forms, serves as a powerful symbol throughout the novel for the profound losses endured by the Mexica people under Spanish rule. The symbol first manifests in the aftermath of the Mexica people’s surrender to the Spanish. Huitzitzilin describes the chilling stillness that grips the Mexica people, which is a manifestation of the collective shock and disbelief they experience; she says: “After that we all stood in silence, and that stillness has reigned in this land since then” (97). Their inability to articulate a reaction symbolizes their subsequent loss of agency, the smothering of dissent, and the crushing weight of an uncertain future. Huitzitzilin uses silence as a permanent strategy for dealing with Navigating Loss in a Colonized World. She describes it as a “silence of the living that are dead” (97), alluding to the extinguishing of Mexica traditions and cultural expressions, like the forced replacement of Mexica gods with Christian iconography and the manner in which Mexica “shrines were […] desecrated” (103).

The symbol of silence also becomes a marker of the violence inflicted upon Mexica women, which is an often overlooked aspect in historical accounts of colonization. The arrival of the Spanish shatters the security Mexica women experienced. The “vile” comments and “lustful” looks Huitzitzilin describes are a constant reminder of the threat of sexual violence that the Mexica women faced. Even Huitzitzilin’s relationship with Baltazar Ovando, though consensual, is shadowed by his ever-present “persistent gaze,” highlighting their power imbalance and the underlying threat of coercion. King Moctezuma’s inaction in the face of such predatory behavior and the Mexica women’s resulting sense of impotence symbolize a loss of agency and their relegation to the status of spoils of conquest.

The pervasiveness of silence extends beyond the immediate aftermath of the conquest to also symbolize the silencing of Mexica voices in historical accounts. Colonizers’ self-serving records present a version of the conquest that is designed to glorify their efforts while downplaying the brutality of their actions. This historical erasure is a testament to The Power of Narrative and is yet another facet of the symbolic silence that blankets the Mexica people under Spanish rule. Huitzitzilin recognizes the devastating impact of this silencing on her people’s identity and history. She explains how narratives shape the world’s understanding of a people, telling Father Benito that “[his] people […] [had] gained by such a lie” (135). By controlling the narrative, the Spanish not only silenced the Mexica voice but also effectively controlled the historical memory of the conquest. This strategy justified the brutality of the conquest and the subjugation of the Mexica people.

This silencing is further amplified by the power dynamics at play within the Church. Father Anselmo’s dismissal of Huitzitzilin’s account as the fabrications of a “sly old woman” exemplifies the colonizers’ attempts to discredit Mexica experiences (126). This practice ensured that Spanish accounts were presented as the ultimate truth while Mexica voices were dismissed as unreliable or even deceitful. Furthermore, Father Benito’s initial hesitation to challenge Anselmo’s claims underscores the pervasiveness of the colonial narrative and the pressure to conform, highlighting yet another layer of silence within colonial institutions. Benito urges Huitzitzilin not to “speak blasphemously” or “slander the brave missionaries” who helped the colonization efforts (103). In turn, Huitzitzilin’s account opposes this project of erasure. Shocked to learn about how the Spanish portrayed her people, she speaks “shrilly” and her words “slurred” as she feels the urgency of undoing the historical silencing of her people.

However, the discrepancies between Huitzitzilin’s story and the official accounts Father Benito has been indoctrinated with are not lost on him. His growing empathy leads him to suspect manipulation within historical narratives, particularly concerning Captain Cortés, whose interest in aggrandizing his exploits was known even among his own countrymen. This newfound awareness exposes the limitations of the written record and of how it had distanced Benito from the human cost of the conquest. Through Huitzitzilin’s firsthand account, the priest develops a deeper understanding of the Mexica people and their plight, and “in his heart, he would have wanted the woman’s world not to have been destroyed” (120). In these moments of connection, silence becomes a conduit for connection and change. By allowing Huitzitzilin’s voice to take center stage, uninterrupted, Benito highlights the need for empathy in Recognizing Bias Through Human Connection, providing a counterpoint to the historical silencing she has endured.