12. Heroes and Villains of the Age of Exploration: The Conquest of the Mayan Civilization

My Name is Lady Xook: Noblewoman of the Mayan Civilization

I was born into the royal house of Yaxchilán, a city of stone temples and carved stairways along the banks of the Usumacinta River. My family’s bloodline was sacred, tracing back to the founders of our dynasty. From my earliest days, I was taught the duties of a noblewoman: to uphold the honor of my family, strengthen alliances through marriage, and serve as a living symbol of the gods’ favor upon our people.

Marriage to Shield Jaguar IIIn my youth, I was wed to Itzamnaaj B’alam II, whom the people called Shield Jaguar. As queen, I stood beside him in ceremonies that bound our city to the gods and affirmed his right to rule. Our marriage was not only one of companionship but of political strength, uniting powerful noble families and solidifying Yaxchilán’s place among the great cities of the Maya world.

The Vision Serpent Ceremony

One of the most important moments of my life came during the great Vision Serpent ceremony. I knelt before the people, drawing a cord of thorns through my tongue as an offering of blood. In the smoke, the great serpent appeared, carrying the spirit of an ancestor from the otherworld. This act showed my devotion and my role as an intercessor between the mortal realm and the divine. The carvings of this event endure, etched into stone so that future generations may remember.

Guardian of Culture and Tradition

As queen, I ensured that our rituals, festivals, and sacred histories were preserved. I oversaw the weaving of fine garments, the training of scribes, and the maintenance of our temples. My influence reached beyond the palace; I worked to protect the craftspeople, farmers, and warriors who sustained our city. My life was not only about ruling but about nurturing the heart of Yaxchilán’s culture.

The Passing of Eras

Though I lived in a time centuries before the coming of the Spaniards, I know my story is bound to theirs. When the foreigners arrived, they saw only ruins and scattered people, but in my time, our cities were alive, our rulers powerful, and our gods present in every aspect of life. We were a civilization of astronomers, artists, and warriors long before they set foot on our shores.

A Legacy in Stone

My likeness and deeds are carved into lintels that still stand in Yaxchilán, telling of the ceremonies I performed and the strength I brought to my city. Though the centuries have changed our world, the stones endure, and so does my memory. I lived as a queen, a priestess, and a guardian of the Maya way of life, and I speak now so that you may understand the grandeur we once knew.

Splendor of Our Cities: Maya Civilization Before the Conquest – Told by Xook

In my time, the cities of the Maya rose like jewels in the forest, their temples and palaces gleaming in the sunlight. Yaxchilán, my home, stood proudly along the Usumacinta River, its stairways and plazas alive with the sound of footsteps, music, and voices. Each city was a kingdom unto itself, with its own ruler, craftsmen, and warriors. The temples reached toward the heavens, their walls covered in carvings that told the stories of our ancestors. Markets bustled with traders carrying cacao, jade, obsidian, and brightly woven cloth from faraway lands. Every stone, every pathway was part of a design that connected the living, the ancestors, and the gods.

The Role of Kings and Queens

Our kings were more than rulers; they were the chosen mediators between the mortal world and the divine. My husband, Shield Jaguar, carried the weight of that responsibility with pride. As queen, I too bore a sacred role. My bloodline was tied to the legitimacy of the throne, and I performed ceremonies that affirmed his right to rule. Together, we were the living symbols of our city’s strength and favor in the eyes of the gods. The people looked to us not only for leadership in war and trade but for guidance in the spiritual balance that held our world together.

Religious Ceremonies and the Divine Connection

Religion was the heartbeat of our civilization. The gods touched every aspect of life, from planting maize to waging war. Our ceremonies were acts of devotion and communication with the divine. The Vision Serpent ritual, which I once performed, brought forth the spirits of our ancestors to guide us. We offered blood, incense, and precious gifts to honor the gods and maintain harmony. The temples were not silent monuments but living places where the sacred and mortal worlds met.

The Depth of Maya Writing and Knowledge

Our scribes recorded the movements of the stars, the histories of rulers, and the sacred stories in books of bark paper—codices—and on stone monuments. The glyphs they carved were not mere symbols but a living language, rich with poetry, prophecy, and power. Our astronomers could track the cycles of the sun, moon, and planets with astonishing precision. The calendar we followed was more than a way to mark days—it was a guide for planting, harvesting, and choosing the most auspicious times for ceremonies and battles.

The Art That Spoke of Our Souls

Art was the voice of our civilization. The stelae, murals, and lintels told our history in colors and forms that would outlast us. Jade ornaments shone with the green of life, and finely painted pottery carried scenes of myths and feasts. Every artisan’s work was an offering to the gods and a testament to the greatness of our people. In every carving and every woven thread, the spirit of the Maya endured.

My Name is Gonzalo Guerrero (c. 1470–1536): Shipwrecked in the Yucatán

I was born around 1470 in Palos de la Frontera, Spain, a port town alive with the smell of salt and the clamor of sailors preparing for voyages. As a young man, I became a soldier, trained in the arts of war during a time when Spain was rising in power. My early life was spent fighting in campaigns across Europe, earning scars and discipline, but I longed for adventure beyond the shores of my homeland. That longing eventually carried me onto a ship bound for the New World.

The Shipwreck That Changed Everything

In 1511, my fate was sealed when our vessel wrecked upon the reefs near the Yucatán coast. Most of the crew perished, but a few of us survived, only to be captured by the Maya. Some were sacrificed, others enslaved. I endured hard labor and the uncertainty of life as a prisoner in a strange land. Over time, I learned the Maya language and their ways, adapting to survive.

From Prisoner to Maya Warrior

My life took a turn when I proved myself in battle. I fought alongside the Maya against their enemies, showing courage and skill with weapons. They began to see me not as a captive, but as one of their own. I earned the trust of a Maya chieftain and married his daughter, a noblewoman of high standing. Together we had children, the first of my mixed heritage bloodline, who I loved fiercely.

Choosing My Allegiance

Years later, Spanish forces under Hernán Cortés landed in the Yucatán. They sent for me, expecting I would join them as an interpreter or ally. But I had made my choice. I was no longer a soldier of Spain—I was a father, a husband, and a defender of my new people. I sent word back that I could not leave my wife and children, nor betray the Maya who had embraced me as family.

Defending the Maya Homeland

I fought against the Spanish, my former countrymen, using my knowledge of European tactics to help the Maya resist. We struck from the jungles, using the land to our advantage. Though the Spanish had guns and steel, we had determination, and for many years, parts of the Yucatán remained unconquered. My presence among the Maya became a symbol that the invaders could be resisted.

The Final Battle

Around 1536, while fighting against Spanish forces near Honduras, I met my end. Some say I fell in battle, others that I was captured and executed. Whatever the truth, I died as I had lived for the last decades of my life—not as a Spaniard, but as a Maya warrior. My story became a legend, told in both Spain and the Yucatán, of a man who crossed the line between two worlds and chose his heart over his homeland.

First Contact Between Maya and Spaniards – Told by Gonzalo Guerrero

When I first lived among the Maya, I had no thought of seeing another Spaniard again. My life had become theirs—my speech, my dress, my wife, my children, and my loyalties. The towns and fields were alive with the rhythm of planting and harvesting, with the calls of merchants in the markets, and with the solemn beat of drums during ceremonies. The people knew of distant threats but believed their island cities and dense forests offered protection. Then one day, word came of ships on the horizon—ships like the one that had carried me here so many years ago.

The Shock of First Sight

When the Spaniards first came ashore, the Maya saw men in metal skins, carrying weapons that roared like thunder and beasts they had never known—horses. Some stared in awe, others in fear, and many in suspicion. To the Maya, these were strangers who arrived with no kinship ties, speaking in a tongue none understood, demanding gifts without earning trust. To me, they were both familiar and foreign. I recognized the cut of their armor and the posture of their commanders, but they no longer felt like my people.

Mistrust on Both Sides

The Spaniards mistrusted the Maya immediately. They saw their temples as places of false gods, their rituals as superstition, and their warriors as obstacles. The Maya, in turn, believed the newcomers sought not friendship but dominance. The Spaniards’ demands for tribute and converts were met with guarded faces and careful words. I knew from my own life how fiercely the Maya guarded their independence, and I saw that these two worlds were on a path to collide.

The Web of Political Intrigue

Both sides played a dangerous game. Some Maya lords saw the Spaniards as potential allies against rival cities, offering them food and guides in exchange for promises of military aid. Others plotted to lure the strangers into traps or drive them back into the sea. The Spaniards, for their part, sought to turn Maya against Maya, exploiting old rivalries to weaken resistance. I watched as negotiations turned into tests of will, each side trying to read the other’s intentions while hiding their own.

My Place Between Two Worlds

I was caught between these worlds, trusted fully by neither. To the Spaniards, I was a man who had gone native, who had traded loyalty to my king for loyalty to a foreign people. To the Maya, I was a brother and warrior, but one whose past connected to the very invaders they now faced. I chose to stand with my family and my adopted nation, but I knew that first contact had set in motion a chain of events that would bring years of war, shifting alliances, and the fall of kingdoms.

My Name is Aj Kan Ek’: The Last Itza Maya Ruler of Nojpetén

I was born into the royal house of the Itza, in the city of Nojpetén, the heart of our island kingdom on Lake Petén Itzá. From a young age, I was taught the responsibilities of leadership—how to settle disputes, honor our ancestors, and protect our people from the threats beyond our borders. Our city was strong, our warriors skilled, and our people proud of the traditions that had endured for centuries, even as other Maya kingdoms fell to the Spanish.

A Kingdom Surrounded by Chang

By the time I became ruler, the world beyond our lake had changed. The Spaniards had conquered vast territories—Aztec lands to the west, highland Maya to the south, and much of the Yucatán. But the Itza still stood free. We maintained our independence through diplomacy, trade, and the strength of our warriors. I knew that our survival depended on balancing peace with readiness for war.

First Contact with the Spaniards

When the Spaniards came to Nojpetén, they came not as friends, but as conquerors cloaked in the language of faith. They spoke of their god, their king, and their right to rule over us. I met them as a leader should—firm, courteous, but unwilling to surrender our sovereignty. I listened to their offers of peace, but I could see their hunger for our land and our people.

Years of Resistance

We resisted through cunning as much as force. Sometimes we offered friendship and trade to buy time. Other times, our warriors struck quickly before retreating into the forests. I sought to keep the Spaniards divided, knowing that their ambitions stretched across many lands and they could be delayed. But year by year, they pressed closer, building settlements and roads that inched toward our island city.

The Final Siege of 1697

In 1697, the Spanish governor Martín de Ursúa came with soldiers, ships, and cannons. They attacked across the waters of Lake Petén Itzá. Our warriors fought bravely, but the thunder of their guns shattered our defenses. The battle was fierce, but their numbers and weapons overwhelmed us. Nojpetén fell, and with it, the last independent Maya kingdom came under Spanish rule.

Carrying the Memory Forward

Even in defeat, I carried the memory of our people’s freedom. The Itza had resisted for nearly two centuries after the first Spanish conquests began. Though the Spaniards took our city, they could not erase who we were. Our language, our stories, and our bloodline live on. I ruled to protect the heart of the Maya for as long as the gods allowed, and I leave my story as a reminder that we were the last to fall, and we did so with courage.

My Name is Diego de Landa (1524–1579): Spanish Franciscan Bishop of Yucatan

I was born in 1524 in Cifuentes, Spain, a quiet town far from the lands that would later define my life. As a boy, I felt the call of the Church early. The Franciscan Order’s humility and devotion to God drew me in. I sought to live a life of service, but I could not have imagined that my service would take me across the ocean to a land filled with people whose ways were unlike anything I had ever known.

My Arrival in the Yucatán

In 1549, I arrived in the Yucatán as a young Franciscan friar. The heat was heavy, the jungles thick, and the people proud. The Maya spoke in a tongue I did not understand, but I felt an urgent need to bring them into the light of the Christian faith. My mission was clear in my mind: to save their souls from what I believed was idolatry. I traveled from town to town, preaching, baptizing, and building the Church’s presence among them.

The Struggle Against Idolatry

Over time, I saw how deeply the Maya clung to their ancient beliefs. They kept their idols hidden, whispered prayers in the old way, and maintained ceremonies in secret. I believed that their souls were in peril. In 1562, I took a step that would define my legacy for centuries to come. At the town of Mani, I ordered the burning of thousands of idols, religious artifacts, and nearly all of their written books—those precious codices. I thought I was tearing down the work of the devil. I did not yet understand what knowledge I was destroying.

My Arrest and Return to Spain

My zeal and harsh methods did not go unnoticed. Word of my actions reached the Spanish authorities, and I was accused of overstepping my authority, even of cruelty. I was called back to Spain to defend myself. There, I argued that my intent had always been to save the Maya from damnation. My defense convinced the Church, and rather than being cast aside, I was eventually appointed Bishop of Yucatán.

Recording the Maya World

When I returned to the Yucatán, I saw the land with new eyes. I began to write down what I had learned of the Maya—about their language, their beliefs, their history, and their customs. My book, Relación de las Cosas de Yucatán, became one of the most important surviving sources on their culture. Yet the irony was not lost on me: I had destroyed their written history, and now I was struggling to record what little remained.

The End of My Days

I continued my work as bishop until my death in 1579. I left behind a complicated legacy. I had helped spread the Christian faith in the Yucatán, but I had also caused an irreplaceable loss to Maya culture and history. Some will remember me as a man of God, others as a destroyer of knowledge. I can only say that I acted according to the beliefs of my time, never imagining how my actions would echo through the centuries.

The Spanish Military Campaigns in Detail – Told by Aj Kan Ek’

The Spanish military campaigns in detail were not a single march to victory but a long and grinding series of pushes through the Yucatán, Guatemala, and Honduras. I, Aj Kan Ek’, speak from the side of the Maya, who saw these advances as waves meant to drown us. And I, Diego de Landa, speak from the Spanish record, where each push was framed as the work of faith and empire, though victory came neither swiftly nor easily.

Aj Kan Ek’: The First InvasionsThe Spaniards came first from the north, pushing into the Yucatán in the early sixteenth century. They struck at cities with the intention of capturing leaders, breaking alliances, and forcing submission. When they could not hold the land, they burned crops and villages, leaving famine behind them. Their marches were slow, weighed down by armor and supplies, and this allowed us to regroup between attacks. We fought them in the forests and swamps, where their horses faltered and their cannons could not easily follow.

Diego de Landa: Adapting to the LandFrom the Spanish view, the first campaigns in the Yucatán were marked by great difficulty. The land was hot, the jungles thick, and the Maya scattered into many fortified towns rather than a single capital. Our commanders learned from these struggles. We built alliances with rival Maya lords, securing guides and food. We changed our approach—where we could not overwhelm in open battle, we turned to sieges, cutting off food and water until the defenders surrendered. This was not a quick conquest but a series of calculated strikes.

Aj Kan Ek’: War in Guatemala and HondurasTo the south, in Guatemala and Honduras, Maya resistance took on the same pattern—hit-and-run tactics, ambushes, and sudden attacks on supply lines. The Spaniards brought in allies from other native groups who had already been conquered, using them to swell their numbers. We knew the land better, but they could replace their losses more quickly. Their policy of burning fields and destroying stored food was meant to break us without fighting every battle face-to-face.

Diego de Landa: The Final PushesOver decades, the Spanish campaigns became a chain tightening around the last independent Maya kingdoms. By the late 1600s, much of the Yucatán was under Spanish control, but the Itza of Nojpetén and other holdouts resisted. The final push came in 1697, when ships crossed Lake Petén Itzá under cannon fire, ending the independence of the Itza. In truth, these victories were not only the result of Spanish weapons and discipline—they were aided by the alliances we forged with some Maya against others, and by the terrible impact of European diseases that weakened resistance before battle even began.

Aj Kan Ek’ and Diego de Landa: The Question of VictoryWe agree on this much: Spanish victory was not solely the triumph of arms. It was also the work of politics, alliances, and the devastation of sickness. Many cities fell not because they were defeated in the field, but because hunger, plague, and betrayal made further resistance impossible. The record may speak of conquest as an inevitable march, but from where I stand, it was a long struggle in which the Maya fought fiercely, adapting to each new blow until the last city fell.

Maya Resistance and Warfare Tactics – Told by Guerrero

The Maya resistance was unlike any warfare the Spaniards had faced before. I knew their style of fighting from the inside, for I had stood among them in the thick jungles, feeling the damp heat and the pounding of war drums echo through the trees. We fought not to crush the enemy in a single battle but to bleed them over time, to frustrate and exhaust them until they turned back.

The Power of the TerrainThe Yucatán is a land that punishes those who do not understand it. Dense forests swallow marching columns whole. Hidden trails wind through thickets where sunlight barely touches the ground. The Spaniards, in their heavy armor, moved slowly, burdened by supplies and horses that struggled in the heat. The Maya knew every river crossing, every hidden path, and every stretch of land where ambush was certain. We made the jungle our shield and our weapon.

Guerrilla Strikes and Quick RetreatsMaya warriors rarely fought in open fields against Spanish guns and cavalry. Instead, we struck where they were weakest—isolated patrols, supply lines, and camps caught unguarded. We rained arrows and spears from the treeline, then melted back into the jungle before the enemy could mount a counterattack. The Spaniards grew weary of chasing shadows, their morale eroding with each fruitless march.

The Use of Ambush and DeceptionAmbushes were not only about force, but about fear. Sometimes we attacked at night, letting the flicker of torches and the sounds of war cries unsettle their minds before steel ever met flesh. Other times, we planted false trails and decoys to lead them deeper into hostile ground. The jungle was an ally to those who listened to it, and it punished those who thought it could be mastered by will alone.

Alliances and Shifting LoyaltiesNot all Maya cities stood together, but many saw the value in uniting against a common threat. Alliances formed between rival lords, some lasting years, others only long enough to repel a raid. We traded warriors, shared intelligence, and coordinated strikes to keep the Spaniards off balance. Even when cities fell, the survivors joined other communities, carrying with them the will to resist.

A War That Never Truly EndedFor decades, parts of the Yucatán remained unconquered. The Spaniards claimed victories in their reports, but there were always pockets of rebellion, always warriors ready to fight. It was not the kind of war they understood—there were no grand surrenders or final battles, only a long, grinding struggle that denied them full control. And in that struggle, the Maya proved that even against steel and gunpowder, the heart of a people can remain unbroken.

The Role of Disease in the Conquest – Told by Guerrero

The role of disease in the conquest was greater than any sword, cannon, or cavalry charge. I saw it with my own eyes, living among the Maya as sicknesses swept through towns and villages, striking faster and harder than any Spanish army. These were illnesses the Maya had never known—smallpox, measles, and fevers that came like storms, killing without regard for age, rank, or strength.

The First Waves of SicknessThe first outbreaks came soon after contact with the Spaniards, carried by their ships, their soldiers, and even their native allies from other lands. A single infected man could walk into a market and unknowingly bring death to hundreds. Within weeks, whole families were gone. There were no remedies in our medicine bundles for these strange fevers, no rituals that could turn them away. The healers were often the first to die, taking their knowledge with them.

How Disease Weakened ResistanceEven the strongest warriors could not fight when their bodies burned with fever or their skin broke out in sores. Armies dissolved before battles began, and harvests went untended. Children who might have grown to take their parents’ places as leaders or farmers were lost. Villages abandoned their homes, not from fear of Spanish weapons, but from the despair that came when sickness took more than the living could bury. By the time Spanish soldiers arrived in many places, the fight had already been bled out of the land.

Accident or StrategyI do not believe the Spaniards came here knowing the full power of these diseases at first. They, too, sometimes fell ill, though not with the same deadly force. But I cannot ignore that in later campaigns, they understood the advantage. I heard of towns approached when disease had already struck, of sieges where the Spaniards simply waited, knowing the sickness would do the work for them. Whether this was deliberate or not, it became a weapon, one that needed no blade and left no survivors to resist.

The Silent ConquerorIn the stories of the conquest, the focus is often on battles—heroic charges, sieges, and alliances—but the truth is that disease conquered far more of the Maya world than armies did. It moved invisibly, without banners or orders, yet it toppled cities and broke kingdoms. If we are to understand what truly happened, we must see that the conquest was not only a clash of peoples, but a collision of worlds, in which invisible enemies struck the deadliest blows.

The Destruction of Maya Written Records – Told by Diego de Landa

The destruction of Maya written records is an act for which my name will always be remembered, and often condemned. When I first came to the Yucatán, I saw the Maya’s devotion to their gods and their sacred texts as a direct threat to the Christian faith I had sworn to defend. Their codices were filled with intricate glyphs, painted in colors that spoke of their history, their rituals, and their understanding of the world. To me then, these books were tools of idolatry, preserving a false religion that I believed must be erased.

The Burning at ManiIn 1562, in the town of Mani, I ordered a great burning of idols and books. The codices—made from bark paper and covered in the glyphs of their scribes—were thrown into the fire along with carved wooden figures and ceremonial objects. The flames consumed centuries of their recorded history. I thought I was acting in the service of God, purging the land of what I saw as the devil’s work. At the time, I believed this destruction was necessary to save the Maya people from spiritual ruin.

Why I Did ItI will not hide my reasons. My training as a friar had taught me that idolatry was the greatest barrier to salvation. I saw the old religion not as heritage, but as bondage. In my mind, to allow the codices to remain was to allow lies to flourish. I acted with the certainty of faith, convinced that destroying their texts would lead them more quickly to embrace the Word of God.

A Change in My PerspectiveBut as the years passed, I came to see the depth of what had been lost. The Maya possessed knowledge of the stars, of time, of medicine, and of their own history that was unparalleled in the world I knew. The codices had held not only their spiritual beliefs, but records of their sciences, their dynasties, and their trade. What I had burned could never be restored, and I began to realize that my act had severed a great thread of human memory.

Becoming Both Preserver and DestroyerIn the years that followed, I worked to record what I could of their culture, language, and customs. I interviewed elders, scribes, and priests, asking them to recount the stories and teachings that had once been written in the codices. My Relación de las Cosas de Yucatán became a window into a civilization I had helped to blind. I am left with the burden of knowing that I was both the destroyer of their written word and, in my later work, one of its last preservers. It is a paradox I cannot escape, and one history will judge with more clarity than I ever could in my own lifetime.

Everyday Life During the Conquest – Told by Lady Xook

Everyday life during the conquest was marked by a constant shadow that fell over the homes, fields, and marketplaces of the Maya people. I speak not as one who lived in that time, but as a queen whose voice carries the memory of our people, so you may understand what was lost and how our lives were changed. For the commoner, the world shifted suddenly—what was once steady and familiar became uncertain and dangerous.

Loss of Leaders and StabilityThe conquest struck at the heart of Maya society by removing the leaders who had guided their communities for generations. Kings and lords were captured, killed, or replaced by Spanish-appointed officials. Without them, the political and spiritual order that shaped daily life was broken. The people no longer knew to whom they should offer tribute or which rituals would protect their crops and homes. The bond between ruler and subject, one of trust and shared heritage, was severed.

The Coming of New DiseasesThe Spaniards brought with them invisible enemies far more deadly than their swords. Sicknesses unknown to our people swept through towns and villages. Fevers, rashes, and coughs claimed lives quickly, striking young and old alike. Entire families disappeared in a matter of days. The work of the fields slowed, markets grew quiet, and grief became a constant companion. These diseases weakened the body and the spirit, making resistance to the conquerors even harder.

Forced Labor and TributeWhere once the people’s labor fed their own families and honored their own gods, now it was demanded for foreign masters. Men were sent to work on Spanish building projects, farms, and roads. Women wove cloth or prepared food for soldiers. Tribute was collected not in the sacred offerings of the old ways but in crops, goods, and sometimes even in the form of service. This burden left less time for tending one’s own fields or passing down traditional skills to the next generation.

Transformation of Daily RitualsThe rituals that had marked the rhythm of life—prayers at the hearth, offerings in the fields, festivals in the plazas—were changed or forbidden. Spanish priests replaced the ceremonies of the ancestors with their own rites. While some traditions were hidden and carried on in secret, others were lost as fear of punishment grew. Children learned new prayers and songs, not the ones their grandparents had taught them. The threads of culture were pulled apart, even as some tried desperately to weave them back together.

Life Under a Changing SkyFor the common people, the conquest was not only a war fought by kings and warriors—it was a slow erosion of the life they had known. They woke each day under a changing sky, their customs altered, their leaders gone, their bodies weakened, yet their spirit not entirely broken. In the quiet moments, they still whispered the names of the old gods, still remembered the stories of their ancestors, and still hoped that the heart of the Maya would endure.

The Fall of Nojpetén and the Itza Maya – Told by Aj Kan Ek’

The fall of Nojpetén and the Itza Maya was the final chapter in a long story of resistance. For generations, our kingdom stood as the last independent stronghold of the Maya world. While other cities fell under Spanish rule, our island capital in the middle of Lake Petén Itzá remained untouched, protected by water, forest, and the will of our people. We watched the world around us change, but we refused to yield.

The Long Years of ResistanceFor nearly two centuries after the first Spaniards came to the Yucatán, we resisted their attempts to conquer us. They sent envoys and soldiers, priests and merchants, yet each time we found a way to drive them back or delay their plans. We used diplomacy when it suited us, forming agreements that bought us time, and we used war when the foreigners pushed too far. Our warriors knew the waterways, the forests, and the hidden trails better than any outsider. It was this knowledge, along with the unity of our people, that kept Nojpetén free for so long.

The Spanish AdvanceBy the late 1600s, the Spaniards had secured much of the land around us. They built settlements, established garrisons, and prepared for a final assault on our city. They came with weapons we could not match—cannons that could shatter walls, muskets that killed from a distance, and ships to carry their forces across the lake. They had learned from their earlier failures, and this time, they meant to finish what they had started.

The Siege of 1697In March of 1697, Governor Martín de Ursúa led the Spanish fleet across Lake Petén Itzá. Their ships approached under the roar of cannon fire, striking fear even in the bravest of warriors. Our people fought fiercely, meeting them at the shore and in the streets, but the noise, smoke, and destruction overwhelmed us. The battle raged, yet the enemy’s firepower and numbers broke through our defenses. Soon the Spaniards reached the heart of the city, and the fighting turned to desperate retreat.

The Fall and Its AftermathWhen Nojpetén fell, it was not just a city that was lost—it was the last flame of Maya independence. The Spaniards replaced our leaders, seized our lands, and imposed their rule. Many of our people were taken as laborers, our temples converted, our traditions suppressed. Yet even in defeat, we carried our language, our stories, and our spirit. The Spaniards could take our city, but they could not erase who we were. The memory of our long resistance still lives, a reminder that we were the last to stand, and we fell only after centuries of defiance.

Encomienda and Forced Labor Systems in the Maya Lands: Told by Landa and Ek’

The encomienda and forced labor systems in the Maya lands reshaped our world, turning a society built on its own rhythms and traditions into one bound to the demands of a distant crown. I, Diego de Landa, speak from the Spanish side, where these systems were seen as a means to organize tribute and guide the Maya toward what we believed was a more “civilized” life. And I, Aj Kan Ek’, speak for my people, who bore the weight of these demands in our fields, our homes, and our hearts.

Diego de Landa: The Order of TributeThe encomienda, as we saw it, was a way to bring structure to a newly conquered land. Each encomendero was granted the right to collect tribute from a group of natives in return for protection, instruction in the Christian faith, and the maintenance of order. This was not, in our minds, slavery. It was a system meant to replace the chaos of constant warfare with a steady exchange: labor and goods in return for peace and guidance. Without such order, we believed the Maya would remain divided and vulnerable.

Aj Kan Ek’: The Reality of BurdenIn truth, this was no fair exchange. Tribute did not come from the surplus of our fields—it came from the very stores meant to feed our families. Men were taken from their farms for weeks at a time to work on Spanish projects—building churches, clearing roads, hauling stone. Women and children were left to tend crops alone, and hunger became a constant fear. The promise of “protection” often meant little when the very system that claimed to safeguard us was the one draining our strength.

Diego de Landa: Changing the Land and Its PeopleThe encomienda also brought changes in how the land was used. Spanish crops and livestock were introduced, and new farming patterns replaced the traditional cycles. This, we believed, would improve productivity and tie the people more closely to the new order. Families learned new trades, new ways of building, and new skills in service of the colonial economy. It was, in our eyes, a path toward progress.

Aj Kan Ek’: The Loss of AutonomyBut with these changes came the loss of our own ways. Fields once planted with maize, beans, and squash—foods tied to our identity—were turned over to crops demanded by the Spanish market. The work of the seasons no longer followed the guidance of our calendar but the needs of foreign merchants. The old power structures, where leaders were chosen by the will of the people and the favor of the gods, were replaced by a hierarchy that answered only to the crown.

A Question of MoralityFrom where I stand, Diego de Landa, I cannot see this system as just. It took under the name of giving. It spoke of salvation while pulling down the very foundations of our lives. And from where I stand, Aj Kan Ek’, I still believe it brought stability where before there was constant strife, and it offered the gift of the true faith. Yet even I must admit that its burdens were great, and that in the pursuit of order and salvation, much was demanded—perhaps more than was ever fair. The morality of the encomienda remains a question that history has yet to settle.

The Maya Perspective on Conversion to Christianity – Aj Kan Ek’ and Guerrero

The Maya perspective on conversion to Christianity was never a simple matter of belief alone. For some, it was a political decision, a way to survive under the growing power of the Spaniards. For others, it was a deeply personal struggle, torn between the traditions of their ancestors and the demands of a new faith. I, Aj Kan Ek’, speak as a ruler who weighed conversion in the balance of power. And I, Gonzalo Guerrero, speak as one who walked in both worlds, knowing the cost of each.

Aj Kan Ek’: Faith as a Political ToolFor me, the question was never only about the gods. It was about the survival of my people. The Spaniards demanded not only our submission but our acceptance of their faith. To openly refuse was to invite war, yet to agree too quickly risked losing the loyalty of my subjects, who still looked to the gods of our ancestors for protection. I considered selective acceptance—allowing some rituals of the new faith to enter our city while quietly keeping our old ways alive. In this way, conversion could be a shield, not a surrender, a way to buy time against a stronger enemy.

Gonzalo Guerrero: The Struggle of Two IdentitiesI had seen both sides. I had lived the life of a Spaniard, kneeling before their altars, and I had stood as a Maya warrior, offering blood to the gods. I knew that for the Maya, the old ways were not just religion—they were the heartbeat of our identity. To abandon them was to lose a part of ourselves. Yet I also understood the Spaniards’ faith and the power it gave them in unity. I could not condemn those who chose conversion for safety, nor could I accept it for myself. I had chosen the path of my family, even if it meant standing against the people of my birth.

Aj Kan Ek’: The Risk of Losing OurselvesEven as I considered diplomacy through faith, I knew the danger. Once the Spaniards’ priests took root in a city, they sought to reshape its people entirely. They would not be content with outward gestures—they demanded the destruction of idols, the silencing of our chants, and the erasure of our histories. Conversion could begin as a strategy but end in the loss of everything that made us Maya.

Gonzalo Guerrero: Blending the Two WorldsI believed there was another path. Some of the Maya began to blend the teachings of the Spaniards with their own traditions, hiding the old gods beneath the names of saints, keeping the ceremonies alive in secret. This was not true conversion in the eyes of the Spaniards, but it kept the heart of our people beating. To live in both worlds was to bend without breaking, to take what could be useful while refusing to surrender the soul of our identity.

A Shared UnderstandingThough we came to the question from different places—one as a ruler guarding his city, the other as a man who had crossed the boundaries of culture—we both understood that conversion was never merely about faith. It was about power, identity, and survival. Whether accepted openly, resisted entirely, or adapted in secret, it shaped the fate of every Maya city touched by the shadow of the cross.

The Debate Over Cultural Erasure vs. Cultural Transformation

The debate over cultural erasure versus cultural transformation shapes how the story of the Maya after the conquest is told. Were they a people shattered by foreign rule, or did they adapt and carry their core identity forward in new forms? I, Diego de Landa, speak from the view of one who saw their old ways fall away under the weight of the new faith. I, Aj Kan Ek’, speak as one who lived through the loss of independence. I, Gonzalo Guerrero, speak as one who chose to live between the two worlds. And I, Lady Xook, speak for the deep memory of our people’s heart.

Diego de Landa: The Ending of the Old WorldFrom my perspective, the conquest marked the end of the Maya as they had been. Their rulers were overthrown, their temples repurposed, and their sacred writings destroyed. The faith of their ancestors was replaced by the Christian God, and the old calendar and ceremonies faded from public life. To me, this was the erasure of a world that could not survive unchanged under Spanish rule. It was not destruction for its own sake, but transformation into something better aligned with Christian order. Yet I cannot deny that much of what they once were was gone.

Aj Kan Ek’: The Wounds That Do Not HealFor my people, the conquest was a wound that tore through the body of our culture. Our leaders were taken from us, our lands seized, and our children taught in the ways of strangers. Many traditions were lost forever, and the stories of our ancestors could no longer be spoken openly. This was not a transformation we chose—it was forced upon us. What remained was a shadow of what we had been, and though we adapted to survive, the pain of what was taken never faded.

Gonzalo Guerrero: The Blending of Two WorldsI saw something different in the years I lived among the Maya. Though much was lost, much also changed form and survived. The old gods were hidden beneath the names of Christian saints. The cycles of planting still followed ancient patterns, even if the prayers spoken in the fields had changed. Language, art, and kinship endured, though they were woven with new threads. I do not see only erasure—I see a culture that bent under pressure but did not break, finding ways to live within the conqueror’s world without fully surrendering its own.

Lady Xook: The Memory That EnduresThe stones of our cities still rise from the forest floor, and in them is carved the memory of who we were. The knowledge of the stars, the weaving of cloth, the shaping of maize fields—these are not gone. They may be quieter now, passed through the hands of women in their homes or spoken softly between elders and children, but they live. A people cannot be entirely erased so long as they remember themselves, even if the outer shape of their world has changed.

A Shared UnderstandingWhether the Maya after the conquest are called broken or transformed depends on the eyes of the one telling the story. From the Spanish view, it was a transformation into a new order. From the Maya view, it was both loss and adaptation. What is certain is that the heart of the Maya still beats, in their language, their land, and their living traditions, proving that even under centuries of foreign rule, a culture can endure in ways the conqueror never imagined.

The Legacy of the Maya After the Conquest – Discussed by All Four

The legacy of the Maya after the conquest is one of survival against overwhelming odds. We four—Diego de Landa, Gonzalo Guerrero, Aj Kan Ek’, and Lady Xook—speak from different paths and different centuries, yet we all see how the heart of the Maya endured. Despite the fall of cities, the loss of leaders, and the weight of Spanish rule, their language, art, farming, and traditions continued, carried in the hands and voices of the people.

Diego de Landa: Preservation Through MemoryWhen I burned their codices, I thought I was ending their old ways, yet I later came to see that the Maya kept their heritage alive in ways I could not erase. They spoke their languages in the home, they passed down stories from mouth to ear, and they hid elements of their rituals beneath the surface of new ones. Even as I tried to record their customs in my own writings, I realized that my work would preserve traces of a culture that my earlier actions had sought to destroy. The Maya legacy survived in part because it could live in memory as much as in stone.

Gonzalo Guerrero: Survival in the BloodlineI saw the legacy of the Maya every day in the faces of my children, born of a Maya mother and a Spanish father. Their heritage was living proof that the people would not vanish. The Spanish could conquer land, but they could not erase what was in our hearts. The farming methods that fed the cities, the weaving patterns that told our stories, and the songs sung at dusk were all still there, carried into the next generation. Even if the rulers changed, the Maya way of life was not so easily broken.

Aj Kan Ek’: The Strength of the PeopleAs the last ruler of the Itza, I believed the fall of Nojpetén would mean the end of our independence. And yet, I see now that independence can take other forms. In the villages, people still plant maize according to the ancient calendar, still speak the language of their ancestors, still weave the symbols of their lineage into cloth. Even under Spanish law, they found ways to be Maya without asking permission. The legacy lived on because the people refused to forget who they were.

Lady Xook: The Threads That Could Not Be CutLong before the conquest, I knew that art, ceremony, and knowledge were the threads that bound us together. Even after the Spaniards came, those threads were not all severed. The carved stelae still spoke, even if the priests did not understand them. The stars still shone in the same patterns our astronomers had charted. The fields still bloomed with maize, beans, and squash in the same harmony taught to us by the gods. In these things, the Maya remained themselves, no matter the laws or rulers imposed upon them.

A Shared UnderstandingFrom different lives, we all see the same truth: the Maya endured not by standing unchanged, but by bending without breaking. They learned to carry their culture in ways that could not be taken—through language, through the quiet repetition of traditions, through the land itself. The legacy of the Maya after the conquest is not only in the ruins visited by travelers but in the living people who still walk their fields, speak their words, and honor their ancestors in ways both old and new.

The Maya Role in Later Colonial Rebellions – Told by Aj Kan Ek’

The Maya role in later colonial rebellions is a story of fire that never truly went out. Even after the Spaniards took our cities and claimed our lands, the spirit of resistance lived on in the hearts of our people. I speak now not only of my own time, but of the centuries that followed, when Maya men and women rose again against the weight of colonial rule.

The 18th-Century UprisingsIn the 1700s, long after Nojpetén had fallen, Maya communities in the Yucatán, Guatemala, and Chiapas rose in rebellion. Some fought to reclaim lost lands, others to end crushing tribute demands or to resist forced labor. These uprisings were not vast armies marching as in the old days but smaller, determined forces striking at colonial outposts, destroying tax records, and targeting those who enforced Spanish law. To the authorities, they were acts of defiance against the crown. To the Maya, they were acts of survival and dignity.

The Caste War of the 19th Cent

uryCenturies later, in 1847, the Maya of the Yucatán once again took up arms in what came to be called the Caste War. This was no small revolt—it was a decades-long struggle in which Maya fighters regained large portions of their homeland. Entire towns were retaken, and for years, colonial and later Mexican authorities could not fully suppress the rebellion. The war began as a response to debt, forced labor, and political oppression, but it quickly became a fight for autonomy and cultural survival.

Continuations or New StrugglesSome say these later uprisings were simply new struggles born from changing times. The rulers were no longer the same, the armies carried different banners, and the laws were shaped by new governments. But I see them as threads tied to the same cloth. The will to resist, the demand for respect, and the defense of our identity were the same as in the days when we stood against the first Spanish soldiers. The faces and weapons may have changed, but the heart of the fight was one we had carried since the beginning.

The Unbroken SpiritThese rebellions, whether in the 18th century or the 19th, showed that the Maya spirit could not be erased. Even when the weight of centuries pressed down, there were always those who refused to bow completely. In this way, the later revolts were not only acts of defiance but living proof that the story of the conquest did not end with the fall of the last city—it continued, written in the courage of those who rose again.