American history is being rewritten, and El Morro is a good place to begin. 

As the Hispanic character of our country grows, it’s only natural that our perspective is going to shift from the pilgrims landing in what is now Massachusetts, to the Spanish explorers who first ventured into what is now New Mexico. And why not? Fact is, the Spanish were knocking about the Southwest deserts long before the English were making any significant inroads on the Atlantic seaboard, and El Morro is evidence as solid as rock – albeit soft rock that is easy to carve. 

The monument is a massive sandstone cuesta, standing several hundred feet above the plain, easily accessible along a paved path, and sheltering two widely different landmarks. Most important for people in the past was a pool of fresh water, collected at the base of the cliff from runoff above, that had to seem like a blessing in this dry land. Folks learned to stop there for refreshment; Zuni settled on the top of the cliffs and brought water up from below. 

Equally interesting to people today, however, are the traces that visitors left in the past: Indian petroglyphs and, later, European graffiti. It’s pretty easy to imagine that once anyone found this refreshing water resource, they weren’t too anxious to move on out to the arid plain. Why not sit in the cool shade for a spell, take a dip, carve a little something in the soft cliff walls?

We can’t date the petroglyphs, but with a seeming eye to history and a sense of their own importance, the first Spanish visitors dated precisely the day they stopped for a drink. The earliest recorded visit is March 11, 1583, and the earliest dated inscription is April 16, 1605, when the conquistador Don Juan de Onate carved into the rock wall the important news that he had “passed by here.” 

After that lots of folks felt obligated to leave a similar note, and El Morro (later called Inscription Rock by the English speaking) became a popular site for a kind of low-level vandalism: soldiers, priests, cowboys and railroad workers all added their names to the mix, sometimes with pithy comments about their idiot bosses, sometimes with just a name and a date. The last inscription is from the early 20^th century. 

And that seems a shame. Obviously the National Parks Service can’t allow every visitor the opportunity to add a name to the rock, but because no one is allowed to add anything, the historic record started by the Zuni hundreds of years ago, and continued by the Spanish and those that followed after them, has been broken. For almost 100 years there has not been a new inscription, which leads me to a simple proposal: Every five years, one visitor should be allowed to write his or her name and the date.

The winner would be chosen by lottery from anyone who has visited in the past five years and is interested in the honor. No phrases allowed; no ceding your honor to your favorite movie star or politician. Just your name and the date, or the privilege goes to someone else. The parks service would pick an appropriate spot, ensuring that no damage to existing names is likely, and using modern scaffolding, the new names could be added slightly higher than the arm’s reach typical of the names already there.

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. It will reflect how times have once again changed, and the new names will be an image of the new America: Asian names like Kobyashi, African names like Ngombwa, Middle Eastern names like Ajram. And very likely, of course, the return of the Spanish, who helped get this thing going in the first place.