Aquiles Serdán and His Sister, Carmen
Carmen Serdán fired the first shot of the Mexican Revolution. And her brother, Aquiles, would become its first martyr.
Their father had co-founded the Mexican Socialist Party, written an incendiary book about land reform, and then disappeared, probably murdered by Porfirio Díaz’ agents.
So, both Carmen and Aquiles grew up with revolutionary fervor—and an axe to grind. When Francisco Madero published his book, The Presidential Succession of 1910, they organized the anti-reelection club in their hometown of Puebla, and Aquiles spent three months in prison for their efforts. He later visited Madero in exile in the United States while Carmen, under the male pseudonym Marcos Serrato, managed propaganda and logistics for the impending revolution throughout their state. Imitating his sister’s gender-bending ruse, Aquiles returned home disguised as a grieving widow. Then, together, they amassed an arsenal in their home.
An accidental explosion there brought them to the attention of the local police chief. He surrounded their house with 100 officers and 400 soldiers. Thus emboldened, he forced his way into the house.
Carmen met the chief just inside the front door armed with a large gun and ordered him to leave. When, disbelieving that she would shoot, he approached, she fired. The blast knocked her off her feet and she missed. Aquiles rushed in and shot the chief dead.
The ensuing siege lasted hours, with the two Serdán siblings joined by their mother, little brother, Aquiles’ wife and nine other men. It must have been quite a shoot-out because, when it ended, the defending men were dead and Carmen severely wounded; but 158 police officers and soldiers had perished as well.
Said Madero when he learned of the Serdáns’ fate, “They have shown us how to die.”
After Carmen recovered and was released from prison, she raised her brothers’ children, continued her revolutionary struggles, and served as a nurse for the revolutionary soldiers.
Today, streets throughout Mexico honor Aquiles, and the new 1,000-peso note will finally do the same for Carmen.
This is a selection from Ellison’s recent book, Mexican Streets: Tales of Tragedy and Triumph, available at Handymail, Diane Pearl’s, and Amazon.
- Streets of Mexico – Mexico - March 30, 2025
- Streets of Mexico – March 2025 - February 27, 2025
- Streets of Mexico – February 2025 - January 29, 2025
Hi Mr. Ellison! I have been trying to track down a way to reach you for a couple years and tonight is my lucky night! I was one of your students at Barnard-White Middle back in 1989-1990 (remember the earthquake?!). You made a huge impression on me and it’s been so fun to stumble across articles about you from the past (including reading that you won “Teacher of the Year” in 1998!), and finding your books on Amazon. Then I found that your recent columns here.
I just wanted to thank you for being such an incredible role model for me of integrity and honesty back in the day. I broke your heart the year I was in your class because I was caught forging the reading log of another student (whose nickname was Mars). You were devastated and I was rocked by having disappointed you so greatly, since I deeply respected you and loved you as a teacher.
Anyhow, I’ve grown into a woman who has never forgotten the grace you afforded me when we worked through it all, and you showed me forgiveness and mercy despite having the ability to get me expelled. This made a world of difference given the really challenging year I was having at home and the fact that I’d made the forgeries because I thought I was helping my friend who was also struggling with having crippling undiagnosed learning disabilities. I ended up spending years in education with countless opportunities to pay your merch forward to other students who made similar decisions. You came to mind in every instance as a model of redemption, reconciliation, and using those heartbreaking moments as powerful teachable moments.
I just wanted to say thank you. You truly deserve every goodness in this world. If you’d ever like to reconnect, I’d love that. But no pressure. I just needed you to know, that even at nearly 49 years old, I have thought of you often over the years.
With deepest gratitude,
Heather Barron,
Buena Vista, CO