“My father was a sheepherder, and his home was the hills.” The opening to Robert Laxalt’s Sweet Promised Land resonates with so many of us, capturing not only the sheepherder life of his own father, but the experience of many Basque immigrants who made new homes in the American West. I discovered Laxalt’s books when I was in college and they spoke to me; they gave voice to some of the cultural context I didn’t quite realize I was missing.
Laxalt was born on September 25, 1923, in Alturas, California. His parents, Dominique Laxalt and Theresa Laxalt (nee Alpetche), were both from the Basque Country. Dominique was from Zuberoa and Theresa from Nafarroa Beherea. Dominique had immigrated in 1904 to the United States, becoming a sheepherder while Theresa, arriving in 1920, ultimately managed the French Hotel in Carson City, Nevada.
After high school, Laxalt attended Santa Clara University. He left school to enroll in the military, serving in the Belgian Congo, where he contracted multiple illnesses that almost led to his death. Upon his return to the United States, he enrolled in the University of Nevada, Reno, where he began his pursuit of literature. When he graduated, he began working for the United Press International. He married Joyce Nielsen in 1949 and together they had three children.
In 1951, he accompanied his father Dominique on a visit to his home in Zuberoa, the first time Dominique had returned since immigrating. It was a life-changing experience for Robert, leading to his 1957 novel Sweet Promised Land which told the story of his dad and, in some way, every Basque-American sheepherder. It is by far his most famous work of the more than dozen books he wrote. Many of his novels are semi-biographical, based on his family and documenting the life of the Basque sheepherder in the American west.
Perhaps my favorite of Laxalt’s novels is A Man in the Wheatfield, which, as described by David Rio, explores the nature of evil and how the perception of evil often arises from our own fears. In all, Laxalt wrote seventeen books. I’ve been lucky enough to find a few signed editions in used books stores.
Robert’s impact on Basque-American culture extended beyond his books. In 1961 he founded the University of Nevada Press, which still publishes many books related to Basque culture. In 1966, along with William Douglass and Jon Bilbao, he founded the Basque Studies Program at the University of Nevada, Reno.
Laxalt was honored for his work numerous times over his career, including two nominations for the Pulitzer Prize, Nevada Distinguished Author Chair at the University of Nevada, Reno, and the State of Nevada Art Commission of the Decade Award. In 1986, he received the Golden Drum from the city of Donostia.
Robert was the second of six children and he wasn’t the only Laxalt sibling to find success. His brother, Paul, became first Governor of Nevada and then a United States Senator, and was a good friend of Ronald Reagan.
Robert died on March 23, 2001, at the age of 77 in Reno.
Maite awoke with a bit more of a resaca than she had hoped for.
“When we were kids,” she thought to herself, “a gau pasa wouldn’t affect us at all.” She groaned as she sat up in bed. “But now…”
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
“I will never understand the human desire to flood their delicate circuitry with chemicals that disrupt their connections,” Garuna said in the back of her head.
“Great,” Maite thought. “Now I have critical commentary in my head.”
She shook it off and went to the bathroom. She could hear some puttering in the kitchen and looked forward to seeing her parents. While for them it had only been a couple of weeks, for her it seemed like an eternity.
Sure enough, she found her aita in the kitchen, ready with a cup of coffee which he handed to her.
“Egun on!” he said cheerfully.
“Egun on,” groaned Maite, giving her aita a kiss on the cheek. She glanced around, scanning the living room. “Where is ama?”
“She went out to buy groceries. She should be back any moment.”
Almost as if on cue, Maite heard the front door click open. A moment later, her ama appeared in the living room, clutching a few bags in each hand.
“Egun on!” Rosario always had a cheerful disposition and, as opposed to her daughter, never looked like she had just gotten up. She always seemed put together and freshly awake. Her aita had a similar demeanor. Sometimes, Maite wondered if she must have been adopted, or swapped at birth.
“Egun on, ama,” replied Maite, giving her ama her own kiss on the cheek before sitting at the small table in the kitchen.
“So?” asked Rosario as she handed a bag to Fulgencio and they started unpacking. “How did the interview go?”
Maite stared down at her coffee. “Fine, I guess.”
“Zer?” asked Fulgencio. “Did you not get the position?”
Maite looked up. She could see the expectation in both of her parents’ faces. She was sure if they were excited for her or terrified by the prospect of her leaving. She imagined both.
“I mean, the interview went well. I think I did well. Baina…”
Fulgencio and Rosario paused putting away the groceries and sat next to Maite at the small table. “What is it?” asked Rosario.
“I don’t think I want to go,” replied Maite, almost in a whisper.
“I know it is a big change…” began Fulgencio.
Maite shook her head, interrupting him. “It isn’t that. I know I will do well. And it is a great opportunity. I’m not worried about there.” She looked first at her aita and then her ama. A tear fell down her cheek. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Rosario reached over and pulled her daughter close. “Oh Maite,” she said, giving Maite a hug. “And we don’t want you to go.”
Fulgencio nodded before adding. “But, this is an amazing opportunity. Are you sure? What will you do instead?”
“There is an amazing group in Donostia,” replied Maite. “Maybe not with the reputation of Berkeley, but still world class. I can do my work there.”
“Will it be the same kind of work?” asked Rosario.
Maite shrugged. “Close enough. And the people there are excellent. Most importantly, it isn’t so far from you.”
She could see the tears welling in her normally stoic aita’s eyes. “It will be good to have you close,” he said.
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
Bertsolaritza is the art of Basque improvisational poetry. Every four years, the best bertsolaris come together to crown a champion. (It has been five years since the last competition because of, you know, COVID.) The latest edition of the championship, called the Bertsolari Txapelketa Nagusia, just wrapped up, with the final taking place on December 18, 2022, in Iruñea/Pamplona, Nafarroa, in front of some 13,000 spectators. At the end of the day, Maialen Lujanbio had won her third txapela. Only Andoni Egaña Makazaga has won more titles.
Maialen Lujanbio receives the applause of the finalists after winning the Bertsolaris Absolute Championship. EFE/Villar Lopez. Photo from EFE.com.
Maialen Lujanbio Zugazti was born on November 26, 1976 in Hernani. She was part of the first generation of school children who were exposed to and taught improvisational poetry as part of their curriculum. Even as a student, she was recognized as an outstanding bertsolari, winning numerous accolades at the local and provincial level, both individually and as part of teams.
She became part of the bertsolari school of Jose Mari Gabiria. She later moved to Bilbo, attending the University of the Basque Country and obtaining a degree in Fine Arts. Her career as a bertsolari took off soon after. In 2003, she became champion of Gipuzkoa. She was a finalist for the national competition in 1997 and 2005, and the runner-up in 2001 and 2013.
Her participation in the 1997 event was the first time a woman had competed. In 2022, for the first time two other women also joined her in the finals – Alaia Martin and Nerea Ibarzabal. When Alaia and Maialen performed together in a joint verse, it was also the first time two women competed onstage together in the history of the championship.
In 2009, Maialen became the first woman to win the Bertsolari Txapelketa Nagusia of the Basque Country, held that year in Barakaldo. She followed with wins in 2017 and, most recently, 2022, making her a three-time champion. She has appeared in 7 finals, tying Andoni Egaña Makazaga for the most.
In the bertsolaritza championship, each poet is given themes they must compose their poem against. Many of the themes in the 2022 finals touched on social issues, including sexual abuse, low-paying jobs, emigration, and transgender issues. Some of Maialen’s verses had these themes:
With Alaia: you have a shop together on the seafront. The effects of climate change are becoming more and more apparent. Alaia, you want to change the location of the store; Maialen wants to stay there.
With Beñat Gaztelumendi: You are two friends who have gone to lunch together. Beñat has a habit of taking pictures of all the dishes before he starts to eat. Maialen, Beñat takes charge of you because you started eating before he took his picture.
With Sustrai Colina: You are two service managers of a hospital. You do not agree with the management of your political authorities.Sustrai suggests that you both submit your resignation together.
You gave each other a complicit smile.
Maialen has brought a new perspective to the art of bertsolaritza, with references to film and the creation of stories in her verse. In addition to her improvised verse, she has written lyrics for numerous Basque musical groups. She has also become a specialist in the transmission of Basque culture, completing a post-graduate degree on the topic in 2008.
The rest of the evening flew by as Kepa and Maite celebrated with their friends. The town only had three bars, but they bounced from one to the next all night. It was early in the morning before they finally found their way home. Kepa drove Maite home to her parents’ apartment in Gernika before returning to his own home, the baserri he shared with his mom. He had considered asking Maite to stay over since it was so late, but decided his mom might not be ready for that quite yet.
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
The next day started late. Kepa could hear his ama puttering around downstairs, but he simply groaned and turned over in his bed, pulling his pillow over his head. It wasn’t until early afternoon that he finally pulled himself out of bed and made his way downstairs. He found his ama in the kitchen, a cup of hot coffee waiting for him.
She smiled at him. “Have a good time?”
Kepa returned her smile. While he didn’t go out like this very often, whenever he did, his ama always just smiled at him. It always made him wonder about her younger days, what she got up to.
“How was California?” she asked. While he had stopped by after landing, he had only had time for a brief hello before rushing out.
“It was great,” replied Kepa as he savored his first sip of coffee. “Maite’s interview went very well.”
A slight frown flashed across Mari Carmen’s lips before disappearing like a ghost. “When would she leave?”
Kepa shrugged. “She isn’t sure she wants to go.” He took another sip of coffee. “You know, her parents and all.”
“They would want her to go, I’m sure.”
Kepa nodded. “Bai, but she isn’t ready to leave them.”
“Is that all?”
“What do you mean?”
“There isn’t another reason for her to stay?”
Kepa blushed. How could she possibly know?
He took a bigger sip this time, trying to delay his response as long as he could, wishing she might forget what she just asked, knowing she wouldn’t let it drop.
“Maite and I are dating,” he finally said.
Mari Carmen’s face beamed. “Azkenean! At last!” She pulled grabbed her son’s head, pulling it close and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m so happy for you!”
Kepa pulled back. “We are just dating, ama! Don’t expect any grandkids any time soon.”
Mari Carmen just smiled as she went back to the stove.
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
Happy holidays! Merry Christmas! Feliz Navidad! Hanukkah Sameach! However you celebrate, the holidays are upon us. In Basque, it is traditional to say Gabon Zoriontsua! or Eguberri On! Sometimes you’ll hear the ubiquitous Zorionak! But where does this word, used in so many situations, come from…?
“Txori onak” to you and yours this holiday season. Photo by the Uberuaga/Van De Graaff family from the Bosque del Apache.
It is very clear that Zorion and Zorionak – literally many zorion – come from the compound words zori and on, and that zori, at least today, means omen or luck. So, Zorionak means “good luck” or “good fortune.” Similarly, zoritxar and zorigaitz mean “bad luck, misfortune” from zori+txar (txar=bad) or zori+gaitz (gaitz=harm). What is a little less clear is where zori comes from.
Larry Trask, and many other Basque linguists as well as the Euskal Hiztegi Historiko-Etimologikoa, say that zori originally meant bird. It took on the meaning of omen or luck from the practice of looking to the flight of birds as an omen, as a way to tell the future. So, Zorionak then means, in its most literal and ancient sense, “good birds.”
That a word for birds could shift to mean something like luck is not without parallel. Trask notes that the Latin word avicem, meaning bird, became the old Castilian auçe, meaning luck or fortune. So, other languages have also experienced this evolution in meaning.
There is another proposed etymology in which zori comes from the Latin sors, meaning luck. However, the recent discovery of the Hand of Irulegi, in which the word sorioneku appears, maybe puts this theory to rest (though I’m no linguist).
A number of other interesting words come from txori (the modern word for bird):
txori-negar: tree sap, or literally bird tears.
txoriburu: bird-brained (same as in English). It can also mean a thread that has a lump in it. Txori-lepo, or bird’s neck, also refers to an uneven thread.
txolarte: literally “between birds,” txolarte means free time.
txori-kaka: literally “bird poop,” used to refer to someone of little importance.
For Christmas, it is more traditional to say Eguberri on. Eguberri is another compound word meaning, literally, “new day,” so Eguberri on means “good new day.” It seems this came from marking the solstice, though I haven’t found much information about the origin of this phrase.
If you are curious about the birds of the Basque Country, check out txoriak.eus. They have maps of where you can find the various species that fill the Basque skies.
“So,” asked Koldo as they stood around a high table in one corner of the bar, “how did the interview go? You’ve got to tell us all about it.”
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
“Interview?” asked Maite. “Oh, right! Berkeley. It feels so long ago…”
“What do you mean?” asked Idoia, taking a sip of her gin and tonic. “It was just last week!”
Maite looked over at Kepa, a combination of a twinkle and panic in her eyes.
Kepa sighed. “The flight back…” he began. “It was so long. So many delays, canceled flights, and bad service. California feels like forever ago.”
Maite nodded, surpressing a smile. “Bai,” she added. “I’m just so glad to be back and hanging out with you guys.”
“But what about the interview?” asked Koldo again.
“The interview went well,” replied Maite. “I mean, I haven’t heard back yet, so I don’t know if I got the position, but I think I did well.”
Koldo’s shoulders slumped a little. “When would you be leaving?”
Maite looked up at the faces around her, all looking at her expectantly. She picked up her zurito and took a sip, savoring the cold on her tongue while letting it draw out a bit longer than normal.
“I’m not sure I’m going,” she finally answered. “Even if I get it.”
“Zer?” exclaimed Itxaso. “What? How could you pass this up?”
“Well,” began Maite. She looked over at Kepa.
A voice popped in her head. “It does not make sense to reject the offer,” echoed the deep voice of Garuna.
She scrunched her eyes. It had only been a day since they got back, and she had not gotten used to having Garuna in her head. For the most part, it was silent, but once in a while it would chime in with some commentary, almost like a second conscience. Maite had her hands full enough with her own.
Ignoring Garuna, she turned to Itxaso. “My parents,” she began. “And you guys…” She swept her hand in a grand gesture around her. “All of this. I’m too Basque to give this all up, even for just a little while.” She looked over at Kepa. “And I would miss this guy…”
Koldo raised an eyebrow. “Did something else happen in California?” he asked.
Kepa blushed as Maite answered. “Kepa and I are dating.”
Cheers went around the table.
“About damn time!” exclaimed Koldo as he raised his glass toward the center of the table, joined in moments by everyone else.
Maite couldn’t resist, pulling Kepa in for a kiss as everyone cheered again.
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
The holidays are upon us. Time to gather with family and friends, to take a break from all of the worries and responsibilities of work and school. And to eat! There always seem to be tables full of food everywhere we go, especially desserts! My mom always has a flan and often rice pudding on her table. In addition to the myriad of other wonderful things she makes, my wife has made natillas and the ubiquitous burnt Basque cheesecake a few times. If you are looking for something just a little different, here is a list of traditional Basque desserts, originally compiled by El Diario Vasco. What is your favorite Basque dessert?
For the record, I love most every dessert, which is a blessing and a curse. Whenever we visit the Basque Country, everyone is so full at the end of each meal that they struggle with the dessert, except for me. I always have room. And the desserts all find their way to my end of the table…
Mamia is made from raw sheep’s milk, typically in a clay jar called a kaiku. Originally, the milk would be heated directly in the jar on the fire until it coagulates. A recipe for mamia by renowned chef Martín Berasategi can be found here.
Talo is sort of a corn pancake, like a corn tortilla. Normally not sweet, it is typically paired with txistorra or chorizo or cheese. However, talo with chocolate – with a chocolate filling – has become popular. Reminds me of my aunt in Amorebieta who served chocolate with bread one evening for dessert!
Cheese with membrillo is a classic. My dad, before we could get membrillo easily (my mom now makes her own), missed this so much that he would often make jam and cheese sandwiches. Membrillo is essentially a quince jelly and is ideally paired with a Basque cheese like Idiazabal. Walnuts complete the trifecta for an ideal post-dinner treat.
San Blas cakes originated in Eibar, but are now common throughout the Basque Country. Typical of the festival associated with Saint Blaise on February 3, these cakes have a touch of anis. They have a harder glaze and are about the size of a cookie or donut.
Tejas y Cigarrillos de Tolosa – Tiles and Cigarettes of Tolosa, though maybe a better, less literal translation would be Biscuits and Roles – are small pastries from that same Gipuzkoan city which first appeared in the twelfth century. These almond-based pastries are an ideal accompaniment with coffee. I couldn’t find a recipe in English, but here is one in Spanish.
Can you get more Basque than a dessert called literally Basque Cake, or Pastel Vasco? Or, as it is more commonly known, Gateâu Basque. Originally from the province of Lapurdi in Iparralde, this cake can be rather dry, motivating fruit and, more recently, cream filling. However, as with any popular recipe, there are many, many variants, including some that add rum or almonds. Martín Berasategui has a recipe for this dessert as well.
One last dessert to highlight is Pantxineta. A dessert that arose from the Otaegeui pastry shop in Donostia in 1915, it is a puff pastry dough with almonds and filled with a secret pastry cream. To enjoy the crispy crust, it is typically eaten warm. Casa Otaegui shares their recipe for pantxineta on their website.
Maite looked around. This time, she was certainly back in her own time, standing at the end of the hallway in the airport in Bilbao. She looked out the window where she was greated by the rolling green mountains and the baserria speckling the hillsides. There were no throngs of people dressed in strange garb, nor massive skyscrapers surrounding her in every direction. She was home.
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
Kepa stood next to her, also soaking in the moment. He looked over at her and smiled. “Ongi etorri etxera,” he said.
She returned his smile. But it was immediately replaced by a frown. She hesitated a moment before whispering, “Garuna?”
A voice popped in her head, as if coming from a back corner of her mind, somewhat faint and distant. But there was no mistaking the emotionless tone that responded to her. “I am here,” it said.
Maite sighed. She had hoped that the magic of the zatia would somehow have purged Garuna from her as she traveled back in time. But, she wasn’t so lucky.
“Is it there?” asked Kepa anxiously.
Maite nodded. “It is.”
“What do we do now?” asked Kepa.
“What do you mean? We’re home now, until the next adventure,” replied Maite.
“I mean, about Garuna. You have this massive intelligence from the future in your head. Won’t that disrupt the timeline?”
“How do you mean?”
“Doesn’t it know things we aren’t supposed to know? How history unfolds? What discoveries are to be made? Even how to make nuclear fusion a reality?”
“I guess that is true.” Maite paused. “Garuna?” she asked. “Who created you?”
The flat voice popped back in her head. “I was created by…” The voice fell silent. “I cannot remember.”
“What did it say?” asked Kepa impatiently.
Maite held up a finger, indicating him to sush. “Garuna, what year was it that we just came back from?”
“It was…” Again, the voice was silent. “I cannot remember.”
Maite turned to Kepa. “Garuna has lost all memory of its own time.”
“Wow. Ok,” replied Kepa. “I guess that isn’t a concern, then.”
Maite nodded. “While the zatia didn’t erase Garuna from my mind, it did strip Garuna of all knowledge of the future. It will only know what it experiences from now going forward.”
“So, what now?” asked Kepa.
Maite smiled. “I could really use a nice warm bath and then a night out with friends.”
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
John Ysursa is near-omnipresent in the Basque community of the United States. He’s seemingly at every festival, he’s a central part of Boise State University’s Basque program, and he has authored a book on Basque dance. His enthusiasm for all things Basque – particularly how to get others excited about the Basque culture – is infectious. A few years ago, I had the pleasure of hearing him speak about how we can make being Basque cool for the next generation. I had so many questions… it’s taken a while, but I’m happy to present this interview with John.
Buber’s Basque Page: Let’s start with a bit of introduction. Who is John Ysursa? What is your backstory, or your Basque story, if you will?
John Ysursa is a Boise native, and a graduate of Boise State in 1985. Soon after this his pursuit of history took him to southern California for nearly three decades until he had an opportunity to return to the City of Trees. At Boise State he has taught in the Basque Studies program, Global Studies, and the University Foundations program in addition to history. (Description from BSU’s website.)
John Ysursa: I was born in Boise, Idaho to Basque parents: Ramon Ysursa and Begonia Ormaetxea. My youth was very much connected to Basque identity and I followed a common path shared by other American born Basques: hearing different languages at home (Spanish and Basque); a world of friends populated by Basques, going to learn Basque folk dance at age seven, etc. Oh and our school lunches were always a bit different from the other kids 😉
BBP: In your recent talk Got Basque? you discussed Basque identity in the United States. In particular, you described how identity is more and more a choice, particularly for the grand and great-grandchildren of those original Basque immigrants. How do we make being Basque “cool” so that they choose that as part of who they are?
John Ysursa: It’s one thing being born and raised Basque and another to decide as you get older to want to remain connected to this as a thick (vs. thin) identity; i.e., choosing to make being Basque a bigger rather than smaller part of one’s identity. In my case though I heard it often, I didn’t really know much Euskara/Basque at all beyond some words and phrases; I couldn’t really speak it. So I learned the language as an adult. It was a choice therefore to connect with one of the key elements of Basque identity–the language Euskara which is how historically Basques identified themselves since the name for themselves isn’t Basque/Vasco (which derive later from French and Spanish) but Euskaldunak which means those who speak Basque. Note that this is not to say if someone doesn’t speak Basque that they are not Basque: there are many ways of making being Basque a thick identity. It can be Basque dance, Basque sports, playing the card game mus, Basque music, Basque food, etc.
The reference to “cool” derives from the ever elusive element we all sought as teenagers. In the Basque case, it came from a friend saying to you “aren’t you Basque?” When you replied yes they responded gushing “that’s cool because I went to a Basque festival and it was great!” Bingo. Right there the teenager had a part of his/her identity validated and being Basque was cool. Basque culture affords those kinds of moments in different ways, and not just for the parties. Many are struck, for example, by the multi-generational aspect of Basque gatherings in a society such as ours that is regimented by age; i.e., many hang out with only people their own age. Basque culture demonstrates connection with something quite old and that’s striking to most Americans where things here are relatively much younger.
John is the author of Basque Dance.
BBP: Was there a particular point in your life which made you decide that you wanted a “thicker” Basque identity? And how has your choice impacted your life beyond being Basque?
John Ysursa: I think my story follows that of many other young people, who when given some responsibility, take on a greater degree of ownership and interest. For me it was my senior year in high school when I was elected the boy’s dance director for the Boise Oinkari Basque Dancers. That set in motion about three decades of involvement with formal Basque dancing.
BBP: Related to that, without the influx of immigrants, we are in danger of losing any real connection to the Basque Country. The elements that we emphasize here, such as dance and music, are relatively small components of Basque identity over there. How do we keep Basque culture in the United States from becoming purely folkloric?
John Ysursa: Basque migration to the United States slowed to a trickle in the 1970s. Today many Basques come over but as tourists or students and they return. No doubt that changes things for the Basque community here, but there are ways to compensate for this broken connection (migration) with others (internet). A game-changer has been the explosion of virtual Basque communities in cyberspace, as illustrated by buber.net. And the Basques who come here for a time also serve as a great infusion of energy. As to the point of a folkloric Basque identity, this is pronounced throughout the Basque Diaspora (those who live outside the Basque Country but identify as Basque). It’s fine actually as long as it doesn’t get locked into a single understanding of being Basque. We get plenty of the “new” from our everyday modern culture, so this can keep us rooted and connected to something much older. And some of that new is brought to us by the visiting Basque friends. So we can meld the old and the new.
BBP: Are there elements of the modern Basque Country that you find particularly interesting, that you try to incorporate in your own personal Basque identity?
John Ysursa: I know I’m not alone is seeing the Basque Country as a great place. I was born in Idaho, but had a chance as an adult in 1983 to go live in the Basque Country for six months, courtesy of an invitation from the Bieter family. Initially I wasn’t too keen on learning Euskara the Basque language. I spoke some Spanish and considered it was enough. But it was my time in Onati, meeting the people there, that I came to realize that if I really wanted to know Basque people, I had to learn Basque. That’s been the biggest element that I incorporated into my Basque identity–to become Euskalduna (“One who speaks Basque”).
John was awarded the North American Basque Organization’s Bizi Emankorra Award in 2015 for his efforts in promoting and maintaining Basque culture in the United States. Photo from Euskal Kultura.
BBP: You described specific elements that tended to define the identity of the United States Basque. I was struck by the generally conservative tilt those elements have, which makes sense given the type of work that brought many of those original immigrants to the US west. At the same time, it seems that the Basque Country is, if anything, going the other way: more urban, less religious, generally more liberal in many ways. Do you see this as an extra challenge in keeping Basque identity in the US connected to the Basque Country of today, that the gulf will widen even more?
John Ysursa: I’m not making the case here to be a modern Conservative or Progressive: I want to stay away from that cat-fight. It shouldn’t be too controversial to acknowledge, however, that most Basque immigrants brought with them a conservative mindset that included elements such as emphasis on family and community, religion, work ethic, perseverance, a rural outlook, etc. There’s no doubt how quickly things have shifted in a couple of generations. Interestingly, in a good many of our Basque clubs politics has been forbidden–sometimes formally. Most recognized how political differences could quickly erode unity, so the formal and informal prohibitions have largely been successful. Most are willing to suspend discussions about current politics and focus instead on renewing friendships. It works!
BBP: Fair enough! I also don’t want to wade into a controversial subject. But, let me ask my question in a slightly different way. Basque-American culture is overwhelmingly rural while life in today’s Basque Country is, in large part, urban, though of course with rural elements. Do you see this difference as leading to new challenges in each side relating with the other? Do we at some point drift far enough apart that we have little in common?
John Ysursa: Just a bit ago (July 2022) there was a visiting Basque Country artist who was interviewed about her time here in Boise. One thing she noted was surprise in how she saw the Boise Basque community almost stuck in time. She commented how we were still dancing like our grandparents, but this was not complimentary but more critical that Basques here were stuck in the rural context. The observation is spot on. While many of our grandfathers were involved in the sheep industry, today hardly any Basques remain. Yet here we celebrate the sheepherder legacy. In a similar fashion (though not the same since sheepherding was more of a dynamic for the American West but not New York City which is our oldest US club), most all the Basque communities of the Basque Diaspora (those who live outside the Basque Country but still consider themselves Basque) celebrate our legacy. That doesn’t mean that modern elements aren’t present, but that’s not our primary focus. The artist made the case of how in the Basque Country their Basque culture was largely modernizing. True enough. But the context is very different for most of us here in the Diaspora. Our society is overflowing with the new, modern, innovating, etc. That metaphorical cup is full. In contrast, we find in Basque culture something of permamence and endurance. We crave the old because in this country we’ve got plenty of the new.
BBP: Your wife also has Basque roots. What steps, if any, have you and her taken to instill a sense of Basque identity to your children? How have you balanced the desire to pass something along without forcing something they may not (yet) appreciate?
John Ysursa: While we raised our two boys in a Basque context, and they danced and attended Udaleku, went to the Basque Country, etc. But now that they are young adults in their early 20s, the jury is still out how much or how little they’ll “be” Basque.
The Basques have always enjoyed a high level of rights and autonomy, at least relative to their neighbors. These are embedded in the revered Fueros. However, as European nobility became more powerful, the common man lost more and more autonomy and rights. In France, the centralization of power in the hands of the king led to the loss of rights, land, and money, causing more than a little discontent in the populace. It was only a matter of time until that anger erupted…
The place where Bernard Goihenetxe was beheaded, in Maule. Before the traffic circle was constructed, there was a commemorative white cross. Photo Bernardo Estornés Lasa, 1971.
Once Louis XIV became king of France, France began centralizing power, removing it from the localities that once enjoyed significantly more autonomy. In Zuberoa, this manifested itself in the suppression of the popular election of representatives, increases in taxes, and the change in ownership of communal lands to nobles. In particular, the edict of March 1639 allowed the crown to sell communal lands for its own benefit. This included Jean-Armand du Peyrer, famous for being the inspiration for the Monsieur de Tréville in Alexandre Dumas‘s The Three Musketeers, becoming Viscount of Zuberoa.
Not much is known about Bernard Goihenetxe, now popularly known as Matalas or Matalaz. He was born in the town of Mitikile and studied for the priesthood in Bordeaux. However, it was his actions at the end of his life that gained him notoriety.
Meetings between the nobles and the third estate – the peasantry and common folk – went no where in resolving the tensions brought about by the changes in power. Matalaz stepped forward, advocating for revolt and gaining the support of the assembly – all minus the ecclesiastical class.
The revolt started in June 1661. The nobility – primarily the Count of Iruri and the bourgeoisie of Maule-Lextarre – was attacked by between 4,000 and 5,000 rebels. The rebels burned houses and besieged the city of Maule (Mauleón). Their numbers had swelled to some 7,000.
Overwhelmed, the nobility called to the army in Bordeaux for help. On October 12, 1661, the army – consisting of 100 horsemen and 400 foot soldiers – confronted the rebels in the town of Sohüta. The army defeated the rebels, but not before Matalaz escaped to Urdiñarbe, where he was later captured.
Matalaz was taken back to the castle of Mauleón where he was tried and condemned to death. On November 8, he was beheaded in the plaza of Lextarre. His head was hung from one of the cannons as a warning to other would-be rebels. Others were also condemned to death, but escaped to the other side of the border.
The nobility further reduced the local rights of the people, consolidating more power and land into their own hands. While the Fueros of Zuberoa were not yet completely abolished, they were significantly weakened.
