Fearless Women, Champions Of Change: Soco Aguilar, Filmmaker: Between Two Saints

By Carolina de la Cajiga

“My full name feels like a litany: María del Socorro Magdalena Aguilar Uriarte. Honoring my two grandmothers resulted in an administrative sentence,” she begins. At university in San Francisco, her name never fit on class rosters; professors called out cryptic abbreviations wrapped in a gringo accent that made them unrecognizable—even to her. “I ended that bureaucratic via crucis by calling myself simply Soco.”

She grew up in Celaya and México City, but San Miguel was always part of her life. It was where Soco’s family went on weekends, the place they showed to guests, and her escape as a teenager. “I always returned. Perhaps it was destiny that my two favorite places are named after saints—San Francisco and San Miguel—both sharing the 415 area code, as if the universe marked the path.” She winks.

In San Francisco, Soco found her voice, learning that cinema was more than entertainment—a tool to bear witness to the truth. “My mentor, the legendary documentarian Lourdes Portillo, taught me that a camera could be an instrument of justice. Through Lourdes, I met Sandra Cisneros, and meeting her would later feel fated.”

Soco became a mother in her mid-thirties. At the time, people called her a quedada, meaning she was too old to bear children. “I was told I couldn’t have them. I prayed to the Virgin of Guadalupe, and she didn’t give me one child but three: Pedro Guadalupe, Pablo Guadalupe, and Amalia. My miracles.”

Her husband told her she could no longer work in film. She was happy as a mom until the situation became unsafe. She flew with her three children. Six months later, she returned to filmmaking and produced La Leyenda de la Nahuala and two other films distributed by Universal Pictures. Motherhood didn't interrupt her career. “It made me more ethical, more conscious—always questioning myself: Is the world I am helping to portray worthy of my children—and the children of others?” Soon after, legal battles started, and three years later her ex-husband took her kids away at the beginning of their adolescence. Still distraught, Soco adds, “That first year, I thought I would not survive. One of my sons said to me, “Mami, we’re going to be okay. Go back to what you love. Now you’ll have time to write.”

This emboldened Soco. She learned that quality matters more than quantity. Breathing deeply, she recalls, “Two weekends a month and vacations—I made them count. Today, my three miracles are grown, living their own lives. I am proud. I am grateful.”

During COVID, what started as a visit to San Miguel for part of the year, became permanent.

Her children lived with her full-time. Soco reconnected with old friends, like Sandra Cisneros. She also found new collaborations and discovered she needed a place where she finally felt whole.

“San Miguel teaches me something every day. The bells don’t sound like alarms, but more like a shared breath. The buildings don’t overpower the space. My mentor Herbert Zettl once said that horizontal lines create a sense of calm and feel more human. Here, life unfolds at street level, in the work people do and in the conversations that happen as people meet. Seeing things this way changed how I make films and how I approach motherhood. Not every transformation needs to be dramatic. Sometimes, just being present is the most powerful thing one can do.”

Soco is now working on Sandra Cisneros: Uncensored, a documentary about her friend, whose voice has shaped U.S. literature for over four decades. At its heart is Nepantla—the Nahuátl word for “in between.” Sandra has lived there all her life: between cultures, languages, and belonging. “I understand this space intimately. My years in San Francisco deepened my Mexican roots even as English became my dominant language. What once felt like confusion became strength.”

In telling Sandra’s story, Soco recognizes her own—and that of millions whose truths are dismissed, even banned. “I keep asking myself whether the stories I tell can improve this world, even slightly. I’m not sure but I keep trying. Truth has always been my compass,” Soco says with conviction.

“One of my most precious treasures is my grandmother Magdalena’s handwritten recetario. Among its pages is her mole poblano—twenty-five ingredients, each adding its essence to produce something extraordinary. My work as an artist mirrors that recipe: layered, patient, intentional.” Soco pauses. “Something that invites to stay a little longer—la sobremesa, Mexican-style.”

Soco’s contact: www.socoaguilar.com soco@socoaguilar.com