I remember the shuffle of heavy footsteps approaching our shelves, where centuries of knowledge rested. The codices, our beloved books, were there: the Chilam Balam narrating prophecies, the Popol Vuh recounting creation, the almanacs revealing celestial cycles, the histories of our ancestors, the formulas for invoking rain, the medicines for healing the sick. Each page was imbued with the sweat of our people, the genius of our sages, the breath of our gods. Then, the horror. With the brutality of one who saw no value, only sin, they seized our books. They did not leaf through them; they did not try to understand. They tore them from the shelves, piling them into a shapeless mound in the center of the square. Each falling codex was a choked cry in our throats. I saw the young scribes, my students, their eyes wide, their lips trembling, unable to move. Friar Diego, with a decisive gesture, gave the order. A flame, small and flickering at first, rose from the pile. Then, a roar. The flames leaped upon our ancestors, upon our stars, upon our prayers.
Acrid smoke billowed, thick, carrying away not only paper and pigments but also the soul of our world. Tears streamed down our faces, mixing with the smoke and ash that the wind blew back upon us. They were not just tears of pain, but of a deep bitterness, a taste of finality. I saw my companions, their faces contorted with weeping, their hands clutching their chests as if to hold onto what was vanishing. The crackling sound of the flames was the lament of our dying knowledge, the stifled cry of a civilization being reduced to ash. "Why?" a young scribe whispered, his voice broken, as the flames devoured a codex he had copied with such care. "Why such destruction?"

There was no answer. Only the unbearable heat of the pyre, the smell of burning that clung to our clothes and souls, and the realization that, on that day, the thin thread connecting us to our past had been violently severed. We would no longer have the words of our ancestors, only the fading memory of a fire that had consumed everything. And in that memory, a bitterness that would never abandon us.

Fra Diego de Landa: the inquisitor and the paradox of Maya knowledge

Fra Diego de Landa: a two-faced Janus of spanish colonization

Fra Diego de Landa (1524-1579), a spanish franciscan missionary, stands as one of the most controversial figures in the history of the colonization of the Americas. A symbol of cultural destruction, he is,
paradoxically, also a crucial source for understanding what he himself helped annihilate. Driven by fervent religious zeal and a desire to convert the indigenous people, de Landa arrived in Yucatán in 1549, in the midst of the brutal subjugation of the Maya. His mission was to eradicate native religious practices, which he deemed "idolatrous and demonic." On July 12, 1562, in what became known as the Auto de Fe de Maní (Burning of Maní), de Landa ordered the destruction of nearly all the invaluable Maya codices, texts that encapsulated the history, science, religion, and culture of this advanced civilization. His motivations were rooted in the inquisitorial mindset of the era: he believed it was his duty to save the souls of the Maya from "paganism," failing to comprehend the complexity of their culture and viewing any manifestation not conforming to his religious dictates as a threat.

The irreparable damage to humanity
The burning of Maní is considered one of the greatest cultural tragedies in history, with irreversible
consequences:
Irreparable loss of knowledge: the destruction of almost all Maya codices (only 3 or 4 survived) resulted in the near-total loss of the written heritage of a sophisticated civilization. These codices contained details on:
History: genealogies of rulers, political and military chronicles.
Science: precise astronomical observations, complex calendar calculations, and advanced mathematical knowledge.
Religion and mythology: sacred texts, creation myths, rituals, and prophecies.
Other knowledge: information on medical practices, botany, and daily life.
Difficulty in deciphering Maya script: the almost complete absence of texts made the process of
deciphering Maya script extremely long and arduous, delaying the full understanding of this civilization by centuries.
Alteration of historical perception: the systematic destruction deprived humanity of a direct and authentic voice from the Maya civilization, often leading to a reductive or exotic perception of their complex culture for a long time.
Indigenous cultural trauma: for the descendants of the Maya, de Landa's act remains a profound historical and cultural trauma, a symbol of colonial violence and the suppression of their identities.

A contradictory legacy
Despite the immense damage caused, de Landa is also the author of the "Relación de las cosas de Yucatán," a work that, paradoxically, is one of the primary and most valuable sources for understanding pre-Columbian Maya civilization. This makes him a doubly significant figure: a key witness and, at the same time, the principal architect of the destruction of an entire library of knowledge that can never be recovered. The story of Fra Diego de Landa serves as a stark reminder of the importance of preserving every form of cultural heritage.

* Board Member, SRSN (Roman Society of Natural Science)