Pox July 21, 2021
“Dos Equis are also the eyes of a dead man.”
For some, the critical message is in the RNA; for others, it is in a bottle. The alcoholic drink is pronounced Posh, with a hard O, and it is considered by many Amerindians around here to be the only proven prevention against Covid19. A prayer to a patron saint of Chiapas, San Lorenzo, is also said to boost one’s resistance. However, since I have been accused of insincere prayer in the past, I pass on Lorenzo’s generous offer and head straight to the nearest Poshería, on Real de Guadalupe.
I enter the small establishment through a dangling web of colorful wellness beads. It seems like a Tarot joint for tourists. The copal fumes promise to cleanse the room, their suspended carbon particulates notwithstanding. I expect to see an assortment of herbal remedies and paraphernalia, but this Poshería sells just one thing, stacked three shelves high—bottle after one-liter bottle of a clear fluid labeled The Pox. The woman behind the bar wears a mask, due either to city ordinance or perhaps a lack of faith in the power of the booze and copal.
Pox is an Elote-based liquor, often home-made, and believers consider it to be a sort of life elixir, distilled from the Milpa stalks, good for whatever ails you, or whatever. The stuff is made and bottled in Cruztón, a little village just east of the city, not far from Arcotete, and it is supposed to sell for a very affordable 11 pesos (about 50 cents) per liter, to reach all of the people. The price of one shot on Real de Guadalupe—50 pesos—indicates that this batch of medicine is supporting more than just healthy immune systems.
The chilling fact is that Chiapas has the lowest vaccination rate in Mexico, 20%, and in the hinterlands anti-vax sentiments are high. Indeed, in San Juan Chamula, the mere mention of it to locals is against the law, punishable by public humiliation and a fine of 100 pesos. The stated sentence involves an escort to the main plaza with a noose around the perpetrator’s neck, a common (and barely non-violent) punishment that is levied on politicians as well (see Juan Salvador Camacho, our new mayor).
To many, the religious cures—a shot of pox and a prayer—are working just fine. While there have been numerous viral outbreaks throughout the country over the past 18 months, Chiapas has remained steady at level-green on Mexico’s stop-light warning system. There have been only 13,000 confirmed cases since the start of the pandemic, but this state eschews rigorous testing in the same way it soft-pedals the vaccination program, leaving state health officials in an anxious bind. The actual death toll is certainly underreported and unknown, but I have seen many long lines at the indigenous clinics and a shortage of cubrebocas among the unvaccinated. More than half the cases in the country are now the virulent Delta strain, and this region would seem to be just one tourist-arrival away from a devastating super-spreader event. However, mention none of this in San Juan Chamula.
Juana Bárbara Vásques, described by Milenio as a local artisan, says, “We thought there were going to be a lot of infections (last summer), but thanks to San Lorenzo nobody got infected. Many people said they dreamed it – that if we celebrated the feast nothing would happen but if it wasn’t celebrated [a coronavirus outbreak would occur]. Thanks to him we’re alive.” The next Feast of San Lorenzo is still scheduled for August 8th.
My anonymous source sips her shot of the 78 proof magical prophylactic—“La Bebida Maya Que Calienta y Acaricia”—and embraces its warm exhilaration. She is cured, certainly of apprehension. It is notable that the same people who resist a double-blind-tested cocktail will swallow a glass of tainted hydroxylated corn-juice called—wait for it!—The Pox. I am permitted to respectfully abstain, having demonstrated my preference for a single straight shot of Johnson and Johnson.