It’s the late 1300s. The Castilian Civil War just ended and families in the Basque Country are jockeying for political power in the vacuum left behind. Old feuds that have simmered for centuries ignite. Families build towers to fortify their lands and their surroundings. The aide (or ahaide) nagusiak, the leading kinsmen, gather strength. War erupts between two families and their associated allies. This is the War of the Bands.
The war began as a series of street fights, first in Bilbao in 1362 and later in the markets of Bermeo in 1413, between the Legizamon and Zurbarán families. Other actors joined in and fighting continued in earnest until at least 1433. Other families fought each other, including an alliance of the Gamboas, the Alzates, and the Baldas in Gipzkuoa who fought Juan de Saint Pedro and his allies the Oñaz and the Lezcano. As men died and fortresses burned on both sides, new feuds developed.
The main source we have about the War of the Bands comes from one Lope García de Salazar and his Las Bienandanças e fortunas — Book of Luck and Happy Chances. Written near the end of his life, this 25-volume work traces the history of the world, from the creation through Israel, Greece and Rome, to Spain, and ultimately to the events of his own life. He played a large role in the War of the Bands and his accounts are one of our best sources for medieval Basque history.
The war, or maybe more properly blood feuds, was an attempt by the aide nagusiak, the leading kinsmen or elder relatives, to exert that status to consolidate power and form a local nobility. By leveraging ties of kinship through land and its production, these elders tried to create their own fiefdoms, but were only moderately successful, becoming, at best, “lords without lordships,” or lords without formal titles.
While the Wars started out as inter-family fighting, as the self-proclaimed lords tried to exert power over surrounding towns, it seems to have evolved into a rural-vs-urban conflict. As these lords tried to control their neighboring towns, those towns, which had a very different view of social order and commercial development, pushed back. This ultimately led to the governing boards, or juntas generals, gaining authority within the cities.
It can be argued (as it is by José Ángel Achón Insausti) that, through this process of first men exerting power and then cities responding by establishing their own authority, the Basque concepts of universal nobility and self-government that are central to the fueros came to be.
This week, a little bit of whimsy. Ideophones (also known as onomatopoeias) are words whose sound invokes the idea of the meaning of the word. Some examples in English are bang, boom, and splish-splash (and yes, I already took a bath). These are often used in comics as their sound conveys action, like Batman’s pow! and bam! Basque is full of these types of words. In a recent research article, Iraide Ibarretxe Antuñano analyzed some Basque ideophones, particularly from the point of view of their structure, meaning and function. Here are some of my favorites.
A comic by Alai Zubimendi highlighting a few Basque ideophones.
The Basque Country has always been known for its industriousness, from master shipbuilding and navigation to the steel industry that made Bilbao so famous. Transitioning into the 21st century, the Basque Autonomous Community has pushed hard to establish a more modern base to the economy, including investing in and promoting basic science. One of the more visible consequences of that push are the Cooperative Research Centers.
Image from CIC nanoGUNE’s Facebook page from an article in the journal Science showing how graphene — atomically thin layers of carbon — can be used to bend light.
The CICs — Centros de Investigación Cooperativa or Cooperative Research Centers — are research labs that each focus on a particular scientific domain. The goal is to bring together researchers in a given area to enhance the scientific productivity of the group as a whole. Originally, there were seven such centers around the Basque Autonomous Community (the provinces of Gipuzkoa, Bizkaia, and Araba) focusing on research in areas such as batteries, nanotechnology, and biomedicine. Today, four CICs are still going strong.
CIC nanoGUNE, located in Donostia, was founded in 2006 with the mission of promoting nanotechnology, both fundamental science and the transfer of ideas and technology to industry. Nanoscience is the science of the very small: from 0.1 to 100 nanometers. At this scale, matter starts to behave differently, with quantum mechanical effects becoming ever more important. The goal of nanoscience is to harness those effects to develop new materials for use in our every day lives.
CIC bioGUNE is located in Bilbao and has the goal of developing more precise and specialized medicines. They do this by exploring the interface between chemistry and biology with a focus both on host-pathogen interactions and the metabolism of cells. Their scientific activities “concentrates on discovering the molecular bases and mechanisms of disease to create new diagnostic and prognostic methods, promoting the development of advanced therapies.”
CIC biomaGUNE is another bio-focused center, this one located in Donostia. However, biomaGUNE focused more on biomaterials, the intersection between materials science and biology. They have a diverse portfolio of scientific activities, ranging from bionanoplasmonics and glycotechnology to various experimental facilities that focus on characterization of these materials.
CIC energiGUNE is focused on energy materials. Located in the Alava Technology Park outside of Vitoria-Gasteiz, they are developing new materials for energy storage. Think of batteries. But energiGUNE is studying other types of energy storage as well, including supercapacitors and thermal storage devices. The ultimate goal is to develop new materials that can help us distribute the energy that powers our modern world.
Three other centers, CIC marGUNE, CIC tourGUNE, and CIC microGUNE, were part of the original initiative to create these centers of excellence but seem to have been closed. marGUNE was focused on manufacturing while tourGUNE was dedicated to tourism and mobility of people. microGUNE was focused on microtechnology.
My dad’s favorite sport to watch was boxing. I never asked him why (so many questions were never asked…) but I always assumed that it was because, of the sports on our American TV, boxing was the most straightforward, something he didn’t have to grow up with to understand, unlike American football. However, I recently learned about Paulino Uzcudun and now I wonder if maybe my dad had known about him and that is where is love of boxing came from…
Paulino Uzcudun, the “Basque Woodchopper.” Photo from Wikipedia.
Paulino Uzcudun was born in the Gurutze baserria in the town of Errezil, Gipuzkoa, in 1899. Even as a child, he was known for his immense strength. When his father died, he left home, eventually becoming a butcher in Donosti. In his youth, he became known as an excellent aizkolari, or woodchopper, hence his eventually boxing nickname.
In 1923, after completing his military service, he went to Paris to begin his professional boxing career. During his career, he became heavyweight champion first of Spain, in 1924, and then latter of Europe, in 1926. He began boxing in the United States in 1927.
He had many memorable bouts during his career, facing off with heavyweight champions including Max Baer (who he beat) and Primo Carnera (who he lost to twice). Perhaps the pinnacle of his career occurred in Yankee Stadium on June 27, 1929. Uzcudun lost a semi-final bout for a chance at the world title, losing in points after 15 rounds, to the German Max Schmeling, who later won the title. He would go on to fight Schmeling two more times, drawing once and losing their last bout.
The newspaper writer Grantland Rice wrote these stanzas about Uzcudun in 1929, emphasizing Uzcudun’s stocky and rugged stance:
This axman from the Pyrennees Is tougher than his native trees. And no man yet has made [him] run, I mean Paolino Uzcudun.
He has a large and hairy paw, They break their fists upon his jaw; For socking rock is not much fun, I mean Paolino Uzcudun.
He has a chest built like a cask, This heavy, thick-set, burly Basque, Who grins to see his claret run, I mean Paolino Uzcudun.
Paulino’s last fight, in 1935, was with Joe Louis, the famous “Brown Bomber”. Louis was a brutal fighter and Uzcudun was at the sunset of his career. Louis stopped Uzcudun in the 4th round with blows that Columnist Jim Murraylater described: “Louis knocked Uzcudun’s gold teeth in so many directions, the ring looked as if somebody had stepped on a railroad watch.” It was the first time, in his 70 professional fights, that Uzcudun had been knocked off his feet.
Thanks to Eneko Sagarbide for introducing me to Paulino.
Basques like to lift and carry heavy things. Basques like to cut up logs. Basques like to pull on ropes. And some Basques like to throw things. Perhaps the best thrower of things in Basque history was Félix Erausquin Erausquin. Born in Zeanuri, Bizkaia in 1907, Erausquin was one of the most decorated athletes of his time.
In his prime, Erausquin was champion of Spain in multiple sports that involved throwing objects. From 1932 to 1957, he won a total of 27 championships in shot put, discus, Basque bar, and the javelin. He is only one of only four athletes (the other three being García Tuñón, Ignacio Izaguirre and Miguel de la Quadra-Salcedo) who held Spanish titles in 3 out of 4 of the throwing events.
He was set to attend the 1936 Olympics, held in Berlin, but due to political upheavals ongoing in Spain at the time, he was unable to go. His first international competition didn’t come until 1948, when he competed in the London Olympics in discus, finishing 14th out of 28 at an age of 41. He continued to compete into his 70s and won the senior World Championship in discus in 1979. At an age of 72, he threw it 39.44 meters.
He is perhaps most famous for developing an entirely novel way of throwing the javelin, a style that became known as the Erausquin style. Based on how he threw the Basque bar, in this new technique, the thrower spun around, giving extra heft to the javelin. In 1956, when he was 48 years old, he set a new Spanish record in the javelin with relative ease using his new technique. Also using this new style, Migual de la Quadra Salcedo beat the world record and, for the first time, threw the javelin more than 100 meters. However, within a year regulations were changed to ban this new technique, because of the dangers it posed by inexperienced throwers facing the audience as they spun. None of the records using the Erausquin style became official.
Palanka jaurtiketa, or metal bar throwing and often referred to as barra vasca, is a traditional Basque rural sport inspired by miners in which a heavy metal bar (8-25 kg or 17-55 pounds) is thrown as far as possible. While multiple throwing techniques exist, one is to turn or spin as it is thrown.
Erausquin was also an accomplished boxer and his large hands led to the nickname “la coz de mula” or “mule kick.” His hands were so large that, when he played the piano, he had to use the sides of his fingers or he’d hit two keys at the same time.
Thanks to Eneko Sagarbide, Félix’s great nephew, for educating me about Félix.
The tree of Gernika is easily the most famous tree in the Basque Country. Once the gathering site where important decisions were made and kings had to take oaths to preserve Basque liberties, it has remained an icon and cultural symbol of the Basque people. However, it is not the only important tree in the country. Trees are intertwined in the politics, history, and culture of the Basques from pre-historic times.
The tree of Gernika is only one of several trees that served as gathering points for politics. In Bizkaia alone, there are at least four other trees where meetings were held and sovereigns received. The people of Encartaciones met under the oak of Abellaneda while those of the Duranguesado met under the oak of Gerediaga. According to the Fueros of Bizkaia, the people were to receive the Lord of Bizkaia under the tree of Aretxabalagana.
Living in such a mountainous and wooded terrain, the Basques clearly had a close relationship with trees. This is exemplified by a phrase recorded by Basque priest, musician, writer and academic Resurrección María de Azkue at the beginning of the 20th century: “Guk botako zaitugu eta barkatu isuzu” (“we will cut you down; forgive us”).
While not a lot is known about pre-historic Basque beliefs, mostly because they didn’t write much down, a little comes to use from the times of Aquitaine. The Aquitaines are now thought to be a cultural ancestor to the modern Basques. In inscriptions left in what is now Gascony, they mention a number of gods related to trees. These includeSexarbori (six trees in Latin), Fagus (beech in Latin), Abellion (apple tree in Gaulish), Areix(o) (oak in Basque), Artahe (evergreen oak in Basque) and Leheren (pinein Basque). Not much is known about these deities.
Trees are also connected to the legends of the Basque Country. For example, way back in the 9th century, the Basques, under the leadership of the mythical Jaun Zuria, were fighting the Leonese army. In the battle of Padura, they chased the Leonese to Luyando, in Araba. There they stuck a sword in a tree and promised to follow Jaun Zuria there whenever needed. That tree, Árbol Malato (in Basque, Malato Zuhaitza) or Árbol Gafo, marks the boundary of the Lordship of Bizkaia.
People, particularly boys and young men, have an almost uncontrollable impulse to leave their mark on their surroundings. Whether the graffiti that decorates the hearts of large cities or the now-preserved etchings of Spanish conquistadors on the rocks of El Morro, we have to show others we’ve already been there. The same is true of the lonely Basque men who wandered the back country of the American West with their flocks of sheep, though their canvas was the aspen trees that dotted the landscape.
Basque arborglyphs, as carvings in trees are called, have been found all over the western United States, stretching north-south from Washington state to Texas and east-west from North Dakota to California. Wherever Basque shepherds found themselves in groves of aspens, they made their mark on the soft bark of the trees.
No one has done more to study these arborglyphs than Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe, a former professor at the University of Nevada, Reno. Joxe has written extensively about the arborglyphs, most prominently in his book Speaking Through the Aspens.
The carvings span topics and themes from simply recording names to renderings of people (including female forms in various states of undress) and animals to ruminations on life. Often, they complained about the work and loneliness: Joxe and his colleagues have found carvings saying that the camp tender was a “lazy donkey with a sombrero,” “Sheep, you are killing me,” and “If [sheepherder] life is what these damn oldtimers told me it was, my balls are carnations.”
The trees also served as a way to communicate. Herders would carve messages that others would follow up on. For example, on one tree, one herder wrote “Wine and women both are good.” Several years later, another responded “Yes, but they are hard on your pocket.”
Of course, carving into trees isn’t a uniquely Basque activity. Irish sheepherders also made their marks on the aspens and everyone is familiar with the lovers who carve their initials onto trees. However, tree carvings go back much further. Both Native Americans and the Maori carved onto the surfaces of trees, marking astronomical events or recording their ancestry.
The Basques, in their never-ending quest for new fishing and whaling grounds, pushed ever west, encountering Iceland, Greenland, and ultimately what would become Canada. At the same time, they were a large part of the Spanish conquistadors that pushed through South and Central America. It thus should come as no surprise that some of the oldest documents in the Basque language come from the Americas or that some of the oldest documents in the Americas are Basque.
The back page of Domingo de Luça’s will. Image from Canada’s History.
The oldest letter in the Basque language was written by Juan Zumarraga Laritz, the first bishop of Mexico, where he ultimately died. Zumarraga was born in 1468 in Durango, Bizkaia. As bishop, he was very influential in the development of the Catholic Church in Mexico. He made ultimately vain attempts to protect the native peoples against the abuses of Spanish authorities. He is also credited with making chocolatea popular drink for Europeans.
He wrote his letter, dated 1537, to Kattalin Ruiz Muntsaratz of Abadiño, Bizkaia. Kattalin was the lady of the castle of Muntsaratz, and Zumarraga was trying to arrange a marriage between his nephew and Kattalin’s daughter, Mari Inigez. While much of the letter is in Spanish, at some point, the bishop began writing in Basque. As described by Joxe Mallea Olaetxe, there are a number of reasons Zumarraga might write in Basque. There were sentimental reasons to write in his first language. But, more importantly, he was trying to smuggle silver from Mexico to Bizkaia and wanted to avoid scrutiny as much as possible. And so, he wrote in the “forgotten language,” as he called it.
Much further north, in Newfoundland, Basques were also active on the coast, fishing and hunting whales. The dangers of this journey and the occupation itself meant many Basques spent their last days on the Canadian coast. This was the case for Joanes de Etxaniz (1584), the inspiration for Guillermo Zubiaga’s Joanes comic; Juanes de Larrume (1577); and Domingo de Luça (1563). Each left behind their will and de Luça’s will, discovered some 450 years later by Dr. Michael Barkham, is now thought to be the oldest civil document we have that was written in Canada.
De Luça got sick not long after arriving in the Americas. Knowing how ill he was, he dictated his will and requested that he be buried in “this port of Plazençia in the place where those who die here are usually buried.” He left everything to his wife, María Martín de Aguinaga of Hondarribia. He also laid out the debts he owed and those that were owed him, in an effort to reconcile his accounts after his death.
Whenever I would visit my aunt and uncle in Munitibar, when they ran the Herriko Taberna, my breakfast always consisted of a pastry, often a bollo de mantequilla, and coffee. However, in the baserris they grew up in, breakfast was very different. I can only imagine that, even if food was plentiful, ingredients were limited. In the old days, breakfasts in the Basque countryside often consisted of porridges made from cornmeal.
One typical breakfast was morokil. Usually made from cornmeal, water and salt, it was cooked until it turned into a cream. When it is served, it is usually mixed with hot milk. In the richer houses, they made it directly with milk, making it creamer from the beginning. The paste could also be used to make what were called “hormigos” which would be served with a syrup. Here are video-recipes of morokil and hormigos. And here is a more modern twist on morokil.
Another variant of this type of breakfast is aixe. Made in a similar way, instead of using cornmeal, aixe is made with wheat flour and sugar, and using milk instead of water. For each liter of milk, about 60 grams of flour and 300 grams of sugar were added. It was often topped off with cinnamon when served. So, it is much sweeter and considered a more special treat, often reserved for Sundays.
Of course, similar foods are eaten all over. Way back in Roman times, they ate a similar porridge, so much so that a typical insult for Romans was “porridge eaters.” The modern Italian polenta is essentially the same type of food.
Corn, however, is a relatively recent addition to the Basque diet, coming by way of the Americas in the 1600s. Thus, foods such as morokil weren’t part of the diet before then. Millet was one of the primary foods. In fact, one Basque word for corn, arto, used to refer to millet. Seems like the word was simply transferred to the new crop once it became plentiful.
Nor Naiz, Gu Gara (Who I Am, We Are) is a series aiming to explore the meaning of Basque Identity around the world, both within Euskal Herria as well as in the diaspora. For an introduction to the series, look here, and for a list of the previous entries, look here.I started this series back in 2010 and am reviving it. If you are interested in contributing, let me know.
Basque identity from a well-traveled, second-generation Basque living in Idaho.
By P.J. Mansisidor
Let’s start this off with a poke right in the eye. Humans desire meaning and purpose to their lives so not having an identity is like missing part of one’s soul. Identity gives us clarity to where we come from, who we are and where we are going. Each identity, like the soul, is unique but Basque heritage provides a foundation that provides a unique bond. It’s a bond that transcends generations, distance and backgrounds. All great stories come in three Acts so let’s roll right into this.
Act I – Where I come from
I grew up in a Basque family on a small farm in a small town. That sentence is an identity right there, but it could be anywhere in the world. However, Homedale, Idaho has the benefit of having a Basque population and is less than an hour from Boise, Idaho, a large population of Basque people. Every parent tells their child that they are special. Being told you are Basque was the same thing in my family. Both my parents were 1st generation children to Basque immigrants that owned and worked their own sheep camps and boarding house. I based my background on stories of family work ethic, honorable nature and superhuman endurance to work as long and hard as the world required to uphold the family name that represented those values. Interestingly enough, this wasn’t just a trait of being a ‘Mansisidor’, it was also the general trait for Basque people. I was fortunate to be surrounded by those hard-working Basque people in Homedale and Boise. I was born Basque, however, I didn’t identify as ‘Basque’ as much as I was related to them. That identity wasn’t mine yet and I feared I wasn’t good enough or strong enough to live up to my ancestors.
Act II – Who am I
Developing an identity without a background is difficult. I was fortunate to be born Basque, but I didn’t yet believe I was ‘Basque’. Don’t understand my meaning? Ok, go to church and ask a teenager, “Do you believe in God?” They’ll pause, look worried and answer ‘Yes’. Doubt is the biggest obstacle to faith of any kind. Faith in God, faith in yourself, faith in others. I didn’t know myself well enough to have faith I even knew what my identity was or should be.
My parents involved me and my siblings in the Basque community and festivals. We took Basque dance lessons and performed at festivals. However, by the time I reached Jr. High School (7 & 8 grade) dressing up and dancing around became a liability in front of my non-Basque school friends and sports. It was hard to explain why I was dancing when I didn’t own or believe in that identity yet and my friends certainly didn’t get it. At 14 years old Jay Hormechea changed that path when I told her I wasn’t joining the Oinkari Basque dancers in Boise. She grabbed my arm, hauled me away from my mother and looked at me: ‘Your father danced, your sister and brothers danced… you will dance!’ Now that my mind had been made up for me, I joined the Oinkari. (Turns out, Jay used the same tone when she met my Dad outside the Basque dance hall in 1960 and said ‘Are you Basque? Then get in here!’)
PJ with the ikurrina.
The Oinkari practice each Sunday in Boise so I went with my siblings and happily met new friends in the same boat as me. We were all able to reinvent ourselves in the Oinkari and transcend our fragile school identities (Version 1.0) and begin our improved self-identities (Version 2.0). Among this group I found that people my age valued and aspired to the values of being Basque. I became a better dancer and was appreciated for it. I gained confidence and faith in myself. This led to my identity epiphany. Confronted by friends at school being teased about a photo of me dancing in Basque costume I suddenly found myself snapping back saying “Yeah, I’m Basque, we work hard, play hard and celebrate by dancing!” I looked at each of them, “What have you got?” The biggest one of them was the first to recover from his shock and with a head hung in shame he quietly said, ‘I don’t have anything, I’m actually jealous you have something so fun to be a part of.” Faith in identity earned, I’m definitely Basque.
Act III – Where am I going
After that epiphany, the veil that clouded my path lifted. I’m not saying I knew where I was going exactly but I did know that I’d get there by improving my work ethic, honorable nature and superhuman abilities – being Basque. I traveled with the Oinkari Basque Dancers across the country, making new, life-long friends and creating enduring memories attributed to being part of the extended family of Basques around the world. No matter the language, dialect, background, we all had a common connection that we are Basque. We shared dances steps, card games and all learned what it meant to be Basque from other places. We found value in being Basque but also the type of Basque we were as individuals. I was separated from the Basque community for about 7 years working out of Spokane, Washington, and traveling around the world for work. When I traveled to other parts of the United States, I had to remember to explain the history of Basque to everyone. That’s right, not everyone knows we exist. Europe was more aware of Basque but still just as curious about meeting a Basque from the U.S. I eventually moved back to Homedale and joined the Oinkari again. I became President of the club and during one “new-kid” introduction where new 14-year-old dancers come to practice and introduced themselves I found my next path. These kids were shy already but then standing up they explained a little of their lineage, “I’m only 1/2 Basque from my Dad/Mom”, “I’m only 1/4 Basque from my Grandmother”. After the third time of hearing an ‘only’ and a fraction I stopped the group. “Just so you all know, we are the ‘Basque’ dancers. If you are here, you are Basque. You can save the fractions for math class.” I like to think I gave some 14-year-old a bit more faith in their identity that day. Since that time, I have enjoyed welcoming visitors from the Basque Country and showing them how we celebrate our heritage. I even had one girl say, “I had to come to the United States to understand what it means be Basque.” We not only like and take pride in ourselves, we celebrate and share it with others. It’s been eye opening to have non-Basque people come to our community and they, themselves volunteer, support, celebrate, donate, work hard and emulate all the traits I associate with Basque. Though they are not Basque by blood they have endeared themselves to our community and been accepted into our village.
Curtain Call
Work takes up a lot of my time now. I’m no longer dancing with the Oinkari but I still remain active in the Basque community. I’ve been dating a non-Basque woman with two young teenagers. It’s not easy being a teenager or dealing with them as they search for their own identity. But then I think about the teenagers I’ve taken around the country and the world with the Basque Dancers. I took my two teenagers to the Sheepherder’s ball in Boise not long ago. Their fascination and awe in the large group of people but all the friendly interactions and dancing reminded me that even a little example of who we are can have a positive impact on others. It’s too bad that not everyone can benefit from having a village behind them to guide them to find their identities. Many are left to dig up something from YouTube, Instagram and any other random outlet they can find to try and define where they come from, who they are and where they are going. Now, my Basque may be different from your Basque, but I think we share a common pride that we are Basque and there are Basque traits we seek to see in ourselves. I hope to continue to share my heritage with others to provide them with some background they can identify with and have faith in themselves as I do because I have faith that I am, because we are.
PJ Mansisidor was raised on his family’s farm in Homedale, Idaho. He earned a B.S. Mechanical Engineering degree from University of Idaho and an MBA from Northwest Nazarene University. PJ has traveled extensively in the U.S. and abroad. He spent one summer living in Donostia (San Sebastian) studying at Esquela De Pais Vasco. PJ currently works at POWER Engineers in Boise, Idaho as a Sr. Packaging Engineer. He is active in the Boise Basque Ezukaldunak club as we all the Homedale Txoko Ona club. He continues to play pala and esku and is the Expo Idaho Chairman for Jaialdi 2015 and Jaialdi 2020.
