Zihuatenejo or Ixtapa-Zihunatenejo is the fourth largest city in the Mexican State of Guerrero. It was known by 18th century English sailors as Chequetan or Seguataneo. It is a resort town, located on a well-protected bay popular with private boat owners.
The area was a sleepy fishing village until the 1970’s when the federal government decided to develop resort areas. A considerable development took place in the late 1970’s followed by a resurgence of development in the 1990s. The area has a number of large luxury hotels ideally situated on beautiful white sand beaches washed by the Pacific.
There is no cruise terminal so cruise ships anchor in the bay and passengers reach shore by tender. The wharf leads to the Decima Octava Naval Station and travellers are greeted by an heroic statue of Jose Azueta Abad who was a naval cadet and gave his life for his country in 1914 when the USA invaded Vera Cruz.
As the statue depicts, Jose Azueta manned a machine gun. The statue is in the dramatic style that characterises much of the statuary seen in Mexico.
The Battle of Veracruz occurred during the broader context of the Mexican Revolution (1910–1920), a time of intense political instability and social upheaval in Mexico.
The Context
In 1913, Victoriano Huerta seized power through a coup, overthrowing and murdering President Francisco I. Madero. The U.S. government under President Woodrow Wilson refused to recognize Huerta's regime, viewing it as illegitimate and brutal. Tensions escalated when American sailors were arrested and briefly detained in the port city of Tampico in April 1914 (the Tampico Affair), prompting Wilson to take military action.
On April 21, 1914, U.S. Marines and Navy forces landed in Veracruz, the most important port on Mexico's eastern coast, to prevent a shipment of weapons from reaching Huerta via the German steamer Ypiranga.
U.S. forces met unexpected resistance from Mexican cadets, army units, and armed civilians. The fighting lasted for two days, with street-to-street combat causing significant casualties. Over 300 Mexicans were killed or wounded; U.S. casualties were around 90.
Though the port was eventually captured and occupied for several months, the U.S. action was widely condemned across Latin America and by all Mexican factions—including Huerta’s enemies.
One of the Mexican defenders was José Azueta Abad.
He was born on May 2, 1895, in Acapulco, Guerrero, the son of Admiral Manuel Azueta, a high-ranking officer in the Mexican Navy. At the time of the U.S. landing, José was a naval cadet, just 18 years old, stationed in Veracruz.
On April 21, while most cadets had been withdrawn to avoid confrontation, Azueta refused to retreat. Armed with a machine gun, he positioned himself behind a window in his family’s home and opened fire on advancing U.S. troops.
He reportedly inflicted multiple casualties and held his position alone for an extended period but eventually, he was gravely wounded by American return fire.
Despite being critically injured, Azueta refused treatment from U.S. doctors, declaring that he would “rather die than accept help from the invaders.” He lingered for several days, reportedly calm and proud of his actions and he died on May 10, 1914—which in Mexico was Mother’s Day—intensifying the symbolic resonance of his sacrifice.
Azueta became an immediate symbol of patriotic resistance. His funeral drew massive crowds, and his death was mourned across political lines. He was posthumously promoted and is remembered as a martyr of Mexican sovereignty.
Although militarily limited, the Battle of Veracruz was politically significant.
It deepened anti-American sentiment in Mexico. It damaged Wilson’s moral standing in Latin America despite his anti-Huerta rhetoric. The occupation lasted until November 1914, but the incident pushed Huerta closer to resignation and it demonstrated the national unity that could emerge—even temporarily—against external aggression.
Mexican Sculpture
Mexican sculpture has long served as a vehicle for memory, identity, and national storytelling. It bridges indigenous traditions, colonial influences, and post-independence ideals in a visual language both monumental and emotive.
Nowhere is this synthesis more evident than along Paseo de la Reforma—Mexico City's most iconic boulevard—where a curated corridor of statuary functions not only as urban ornament but as a public pantheon of the Mexican nation. It is an impressive display of history and a lesson in national unity.
I recall being very impressed when I walked Reforma back in 2000. Seeing the sculpture of Azueta caused me to reflect upon the wider lessons that Mexican sculpture – especially patriotic sculpture - can teach.
Post-independence Mexico sought to forge a secular, civic identity, distinct from its colonial past. Sculpture moved from sacristy to street. Public spaces became the new canvas, celebrating republican heroes, independence, and constitutional values.
The stylistic influences are those of Neoclassicism and Romanticism and the materials used are bronze, marble, and cast stone
Their purpose is for education, commemoration and nation-building.
It was during this time that Paseo de la Reforma was conceived.
Commissioned by Emperor Maximilian I in the 1860s and later expanded by President Porfirio Díaz, Paseo de la Reforma was modeled on the grand boulevards of Paris and Vienna. It became a monumental artery, intended to glorify the nation’s past and its aspirations for modernity.
From El Ángel de la Independencia to Chapultepec, bronze and stone figures line the avenue, standing in stately niches or atop grand plinths. Collectively, they form a sculptural narrative of liberation, sacrifice, governance, and memory.
The Neo-Classical style was dominant in the late 19th century. Neoclassicism emphasized harmony, proportion, and restrained emotion. The El Ángel de la Independencia (1910), designed by Antonio Rivas Mercado with sculptures by Enrique Alciati, is its most famous exemplar.
The features of the style are idealized anatomy, toga-like drapery, classical gestures and the symbolism conveyed is of order, virtue, civic duty
Romantic Nationalism is portrayed in the statues of many of the insurgents (“insurgentes” of which more later). Many insurgents are portrayed not just as martyrs, but emotional and heroic figures. There is a deliberate balance between formal restraint and expressive character. For example Hidalgo’s raised arm evokes passionate oratory; Morelos is often depicted seated, holding a manuscript—a contemplative lawgiver; Guerrero and Galeana wear traditional uniforms, depicted with stern resolve
Later sculptures, particularly from the early 20th century, began to show greater anatomical accuracy and individual likeness, often influenced by photographic realism.
Clothing, facial hair, and weaponry are rendered with careful detail and statues of figures like Benito Juárez or Vicente Guerrero aim to capture real presence
There are a number of themes in Paseo Sculpture
Heroism and Sacrifice. Virtually all “insurgente” statues celebrate those who died for the nation. Executed revolutionaries such as Hidalgo, Morelos, and Jiménez are honored for moral conviction and martyrdom. Their poses convey dignity in defiance. One stands proudly, head and chin jutting defiantly forward, arms tied with ropes behind his back. Courage in the face of death.
Civil Governance is also celebrated. Other statues represent Mexico’s early republican order: Guadalupe Victoria, Melchor Ocampo, José María Luis Mora, and Benito Juárez—legislators, jurists, and statesmen—projecting rational authority.
The sculptures of Paseo de la Reforma are not static decorations but dynamic tools of memory and identity. They reflect a commitment to historical continuity, bridging ancient, colonial, and republican eras; a nationalist aesthetic that merges European formalism with Mexican patriotism and a civic theology in which sacrifice, leadership, and justice are cast in bronze for public contemplation
As one walks along Reforma—from the Angel to the statues in the shadows of Chapultepec—one moves not only through a physical space, but through the narrative arc of Mexican nationhood, told in stone and metal, pose and pedestal.
The Insurgentes.
On the plinths of many of the statues is the word “Insurgente” describing the role of the person depicted in the statue.
These are the revolutionaries who fought for independence from Spain in the early 19th century. These individuals and groups challenged the colonial order and were central to the Mexican War of Independence (1810–1821).
“Insurgentes” were those who took up arms against Spanish colonial authorities. The term was initially used pejoratively by royalists to describe rebels or traitors but over time, it became a title of honour associated with the cause of national liberation.
Insurgentes are regarded as founding heroes of Mexico. They are celebrated in art, currency, place names (e.g., Avenida de los Insurgentes in Mexico City and Paseo de la Reforma), and national holidays (e.g., 16 September – Mexican Independence day). Their actions laid the foundation for Mexican nationalism and republican ideals.
I was impressed that a nation honours insurgentes. It says something about the national psyche and suggests a validity in direct action in support of important civil rights. Insurgent actions were primarily directed against Spanish colonial rule and subsequently against the French puppet Emperor Maximilian in the 1860’s which ended in Maximilian’s execution. Insurgent activity against tyranny is glorified and reflected in the sculptures described.
And that tradition informs the sculpture of Azueta in its glorious heroic style. He may not have been an “insurgente” but the sculpture portrays his fight against invasion and a glorification of the national spirit.
I guess the closest we get to “insurgents” may be in the contrarians derided by Chris Hipkins recently as conspiracy theorists.
Would I classify Te Pati Maori as “insurgentes”? In rhetoric perhaps but unlike the Mexican insurgentes they seem opposed to the concepts of liberty and freedom that characterised Mexican revolutionary activity.
Happy to be described as one of the contrarians derided by Chris Hipkins recently as ‘conspiracy theorists’. His resort to pejoratives is a measure of his intellectual bankruptcy, and his unwillingness to constructively engage with the issues.
Gracias, muy interesante. I guess there are freedom fighters whose cause is noble, and then there are those who are the complete antithesis thereof. Not sure what they are called but our local name could be TPM.