distort what they heard to fit a Christian narrative in order to make later conversion easier.

And if they couldn’t make it fit the narrative:

In the centre, the inquisitor burns the books. Around the huge bonfire, he chastises the readers. Meanwhile, the authors, artist-priests dead years or centuries ago, drink chocolate in the fresh shade of the first tree of the world. They are at peace, because they died knowing that memory cannot be burned. Will not what they painted be sung and danced through the times of the times?

We get most of what we know of the pre colonial Maya from a man who “burned ninety-nine times as much knowledge of Maya history and sciences as he [gave] us.”

Genocide isn’t just about the physical violence. The Maya were one of a handful of societies to independently invent writing. Imagine what we lost.