Every hot sauce fan has their favorite—and there’s a good chance that your favorite is Valentina, one of the most popular hot sauces in Mexico.
But Valentina is more than just a great condiment; it’s named for a crossdressing hero of Mexican history, Valentina Ramírez Avitia. Ramírez Avitia sadly died in poverty, but the sauce named for her helps the world honor her memory.
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She was born in 1893 in Norotol, a town so small that nearly all that comes up when you Google it is references to Ramírez Avitia. Her father was an early casualty of the Mexican Revolution of 1910, and at 17, she decided to join the fight for her homeland in his place.
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Of course, it being the early 20th century, women weren’t allowed to fight in the military. So she dressed in drag, studied how her brothers walked and talked, and named herself “Juan Ramírez,” according to GQ.
“In November 1910, I joined General Iturbe’s group, but dressed as a man with the name of Juan Ramírez. Juan Ramírez fought until June 22, 1911, fighting alongside the soldiers who took the plaza of Culiacán, overthrowing on that glorious date Governor Diego Redo, General Higinio Aguilar and Colonel Luis G. Morelos,” she said in a 1969 interview cited by the Mexican magazine Noroeste.
“Ramírez” proved to be a great soldier, and it was the battle in Culiacán that led to her promotion to lieutenant. Things were going well, and she was respected among her fellow soldiers.
But on June 22, 1911, things fell apart.
“When I was giving water to my horse near the island of Orabá, he knocked my hat off and a revolutionary who was next to me discovered my long braids. He thought I was an enemy spy and took me to the general. After an interrogation, when he discovered that I was a woman, he was shocked. He congratulated me but immediately discharged me because he did not admit women into his ranks, just like General Villa. From then on, I never again smelled gunpowder,” she said in 1969.
Though there are many stories of what we would now call trans men throughout history, including some who fought in wars, Ramírez Avitia does not appear to be one of them. Just as she said that she never smelled gunpowder again after leaving the military, it appears she never again donned men’s clothes either.
Despite being the only one of her siblings to join the cause, they all shunned her on her return because she was not at home to take care of her sick mother. Her mother died, and her family never forgave her. She left Norotol for good and moved to Culiacán, marrying Colonel Federico Cárdenas, who left her a widow after a few years.
Twenty years after she was kicked out of the military, she met General Iturbe again. He recognized her and gave her a recommendation to work as a maid with a wealthy family. But in 1969, she was hit by a car, which left her disabled for the rest of her life. Once she was discharged from the hospital following the accident, according to Noroeste, the city council of Culiacán sent her to a nursing home, but she escaped only a few days later.
“I prefer to die with my dogs than to die a prisoner,” she said at the time.
Unfortunately, Ramírez Avitia was not eligible for a military pension. Unable to work, she became a beggar, living in the city of Navolato. Unable to walk, she used a wheeled board to get around.
She loved dogs and had many with her in her small home. This proved to be her downfall, as it was likely a dog that knocked over one of her votive candles, lighting her home on fire, burning it down with her inside. She died shortly after on April 4, 1979, and, according to Noroeste, was buried in a pauper’s grave at the Culiacán Civil Cemetery.
Though the woman named the Lioness of Norotal was sadly not taken care of in life, she inspired tributes in art, even while she was still alive. She was the subject of a popular corrido, a Mexican narrative form similar to the ballad. Written a few years after the Mexican Revolution, the song stripped her of her agency and denied her role in the Mexican Revolution. The government at the time wanted to deny that women had helped fight, according to the Library of Congress. Instead the song is from the point of view of a soldier in love with Valentina, who says that his passion for her has led him to the war.
Two films, one in 1938 and one in 1966, both called La Valentina after the corrido, took the song’s story as their basis. The 1966 version is about a woman whose husband is shot to death on their wedding night. She vows revenge—but instead of joining the revolution, she is the target of a kidnapping plot by a federal military captain.
Thankfully, Ramírez Avitia later got a better song, “El Corrido del Norte” by Pepe Guizar which, while still treating her as a romantic object, calls her a “faithful soldier.”
Though in life she had her achievements downplayed and hidden, at least now people all over the world are finding out about what an amazing woman she was—and it’s all thanks to a popular hot sauce.
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