Today is May 5, or Cinco de Mayo, a celebration of, uh, um…..

Well, honestly, more than a few people seem to have no idea what Cinco de Mayo is actually about.

I know what it’s about.

You do?

Yup. It’s about having a big-ass PAR-TAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—ow! What the hell, man!

Oh stop it, you’re fine.

Why the hell did you slap me?

It needed to happen. You’re being an idiot. You don’t really know what Cinco de Mayo is about, either, do you?

It’s like the 4th of July for Mexico, right?

I know that’s not it. Let’s hit the interwebz. [Googles.] Huh, that’s interesting.

What? Let me see!

Cinco de Mayo is, traditionally speaking, a celebration of Mexico’s victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla in 1862.

Wait, French forces? What’s that about?

The French invaded Mexico in 1861 after the Mexican president, Benito Juárez, stopped making interest payments to foreign-government creditors. French Emperor Napoleon III, supported at first by Britain and Spain, claimed that the invasion was necessary to ensure free trade between Europe and Latin America.

That sounds like kind of a big deal. Wouldn’t the U.S. have gotten involved?

The invasion began on December 8, 1861. As you may or may not recall, the United States was involved in its own kerfuffle, now known as the Civil War, at the time. Southern states began seceding in January of that year, and the first shots were fired in April. We were basically too busy to notice an invasion of Mexico by that December.

Huh. So Cinco de Mayo celebrates the Mexican defeat of the French invasion?

Well, no. Mexican forces defeated the French that day, and May 5 is apparently still a big holiday in Puebla, but it didn’t end the war.

So what happened after May 5?

The Mexican victory slowed the French advance to Mexico City, but Napoleon III sent reinforcements. Puebla fell a little over a year later, on May 17, 1863. President Juárez fled the capital on May 31 and established a government-in-exile in the state of Chihuahua.

On June 7, French troops entered Mexico City, and the main army arrived on June 10. A junta of military leaders proclaimed the Second Mexican Empire on July 10, 1863.

There was a Mexican Empire?

Yup, two of them, apparently.

How have we never heard of this?

That’s a topic for a separate diatribe on the state of American education. For now, just remember that “empire” is just a name. They called themselves an “empire,” but they didn’t even control all of Mexico.

It’s like how a lot of globes manufactured in the late 1970’s included the “Central African Empire,” which is now known (and was previously known) as the Central African Republic.

It became known as an empire simply because the president, Jean-Bédel Bokassa, proclaimed himself emperor in 1976.

It’s not like the country got any more mighty just from having “empire” in its name. It only lasted for about three years, anyway, since the French government (again with the French) orchestrated Bokassa’s overthrow in 1979 in the awesomely-named “Opération Barracuda.”

What was the point of that story?

To indicate that calling something an “empire” doesn’t automatically make it mighty.

Oh, right. So what was the First Mexican Empire, if the French set up a second one in 1863?

Excellent question.

I know. Ow! Stop slapping me!

Stop being a jackass.

The First Mexican Empire only lasted from 1821 to 1823 (meaning that Texas was once part of an empire):

The Mexican parliament intended to establish a commonwealth under the Spanish king, Ferdinand VII. King Ferdinand, however, refused to recognize Mexico’s independence and said that Spain would not allow any other European prince to take the throne of Mexico. Instead, by request of Parliament, the prominent general and president of the regency Agustín de Iturbide was proclaimed emperor of Mexico.

Emperor Agustín I only reigned for about eight months before he was overthrown and a federal republic was established.

That goverment only lasted until 1835, when Santa Anna (of the Alamo and San Jacinto fame) helped establish a centralized government. But I digress.

Some people in Mexico continued to want a monarchical system, and the French capture of Mexico City afforded the opportunity to bring the monarchy back.

So who became emperor?

I guess they figured it had to be somebody with “royal blood” or whatever, so Napoleon III went to the “it” royals of the 19th century, the Hapsburgs. They sent the 32 year-old younger brother of Austro-Hungarian Emperor Franz Joseph I, who was crowned Emperor Maximilian I of Mexico on April 10, 1864.

He wasn’t even from Mexico?

Nope. Born in Vienna.

How the hell does that work?

It happened all the time in European royal families. Since the ability to lead a nation is presumed to be based on the royal status of the genitalia that produced you, they had to trade royals around all the time. Plus, different countries were ruled by leaders who seemed foreign to the locals all the time. Did you know that King Richard I of England, a/k/a Richard the Lionheart, spent most of his time in France and could barely speak English?

I did not.

Now you do. Anyway, Maximilian was from Austria, was sent to Mexico City to rule a fractured country, and was regarded by many as a puppet of France.

Once the American Civil War ended in 1865, the U.S. began pressuring France to GTFO of Mexico. The U.S. cited the Monroe Doctrine, which doesn’t really have any legal force but seems to have worked. Napoleon III withdrew French forces from Mexico in 1866, but Maximilian refused to leave.

That seems noble, maybe….

Hard to say. Maximilian had not exactly endeared himself to large portions of the populace. He had issued a “Black Decree” in 1865, which outlawed “armed bands” of people and resulted in the execution of about 11,000 supporters of Juárez’s government-in-exile.

Oh. Maybe going back to Europe might have been a good idea, then.

Could be. Maximilian said he didn’t want to desert his followers, but his support was pretty limited. His wife Carlota (née Charlotte of Belgium) traveled to Europe to ask various leaders for help supporting her husband’s regime. She went to Paris, Vienna, and finally to the pope in Rome, but no one would help. She suffered a mental breakdown and never returned to Mexico.

Meanwhile, republican forces were gradually re-taking the country. They took Mexico City on May 15, 1867, and captured Maximilian the next day as he tried to flee the city. He was court-martialed, convicted, and sentenced to death. However he may have ruled the country, he apparently died with dignity:

The sentence was carried out in the Cerro de las Campanas on the morning of 19 June 1867, when Maximilian, along with Generals Miramón and Mejía, were executed by a firing squad. He spoke only in Spanish and gave his executioners a portion of gold not to shoot him in the head so that his mother could see his face. His last words were, “I forgive everyone, and I ask everyone to forgive me. May my blood which is about to be shed, be for the good of the country. Viva Mexico, viva la independencia!”.

Other sources say that his final words were for his wife: “Poor Carlotta!”

What happened to her?

She spent the rest of her life—nearly 59 more years—in seclusion, first in a castle in Italy and then in one in Belgium. She reportedly remained devoted to her husband. She died of pneumonia in 1927.

In a rather unpleasant side note, her personal fortune was apparently managed by someone close to King Leopold II of Belgium, who used the money in the king’s personal exploitation of the Congo Free State (now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo).

So what does this have to do with Cinco de Mayo? It doesn’t sound like that was such an important day in the bigger picture.

It had a huge impact on people’s morale, so President Juárez declared it a national holiday in 1862. The holiday continued to play a major role in Mexican culture for a while after that. General Porfirio Diáz, who became President of Mexico in 1884, served as an officer in the Battle of Puebla, and he made that a big part of his rise to power.

Porfirio Diáz? That name sounds familiar.

Yeah, he was president for 35 years, up until his government collapsed in the Mexican Revolution.

The one with Pancho Villa?

That’s the one.

Still, what does that have to do with Cinco de Mayo today?

Nothing much, really. Cinco de Mayo is no longer a federal holiday in Mexico, but like I said, it still has cultural importance in the area around Puebla. It actually made it to the U.S. long before Diáz made it a big deal.

People of Mexican heritage living in California began celebrating Cinco de Mayo in 1863, but the history of roughly the next hundred years has been lost. The concept of the holiday as a celebration of Mexican culture and heritage began in California, or so the story goes.

Cinco de Mayo has only expanded to the rest of the United States in the last fifty years or so:

In the United States, Cinco de Mayo is widely interpreted as a celebration of Mexican culture and heritage, particularly in areas with substantial Mexican-American populations. Chicano activists raised awareness of the holiday in the 1960s, in part because they identified with the victory of indigenous Mexicans over European invaders during the Battle of Puebla.

All the drunken revelry and horrific stereotyping by gringos developed after that.

Now Cinco de Mayo is all over the place. Congress even recognized its historical significance in 2005.

So it’s not Mexican Independence Day?

Nope, that’s September 16.

What happened that day?

Dude, I’m tired. It’s been more than 1,600 words.

Okay. You want some tequila?

No, I do not want any tequila. I’d rather reflect on the military prowess displayed by General Ignacio Zaragoza Seguín on this day 153 years ago. Did you know that — wait, what the hell are you wearing?

What, you don’t like my sombrero?

You look like an idiot. Take it off.

No.

I said take it off.

I won’t take it off, and you can’t make me.

Oh yes I can.

Okay.

Thank you. Now get back to thinking about video games and porn. I look like a weirdo sitting here talking to myself like this.