She is also a fantastic representative of Galicia and its language to the rest of the world.
Here is one of my favourite songs of hers. It totally destroys the image that one might have of the bagpipe as an instrument only used for certain kinds of music. Her sister is playing on the keyboard.
Here is a column that she wrote about Galician in the newspaper La Voz de Galicia:
A nosa lingua, coma a nosa gaita, sobreviviu centos de anos, a través dunha historia convulsa, grazas á nosa xente. A nosa existencia, a nosa identidade cultural, non pode ser nin entendida nin explicada sen a nosa fala e a nosa gaita (entendendo a gaita como unha metáfora da nosa música). A realidade de ser diferentes nun mundo nos que todos loitamos por facernos oír é un dos valores máis poderosos do que, para min, significa ser galega: celebrar a diferenza para poder medrar como sociedade.
Crieime escoitando a meus pais falando en galego excepto cando nos falaban a nós, ás súas catro fillas. Falaban galego entre eles, coas súas respectivas familias, coa xente das nosas vilas… pero a nós criáronnos en castelán. Só falaba galego cando me falaban en galego, e intentar desnormalizar esa realidade, incluso comigo mesma, é un compromiso que tiven que adquirir. Pois, se temos unha fermosa lingua propia, por que non a falamos en tódolos contextos? Cales son as razóns que nos frean a usala en tódalas realidades da nosa sociedade?
Toco un instrumento que de xeito natural me obriga a contar a historia de Galicia, e cada vez que a conto, xa sexa na China, nos Emiratos ou en Harvard, vexo o impacto que ten a nosa historia como paradigma do poder da cultura como motor económico e social, como construtora da nosa identidade.
Maria Victoria Moreno definiu a súa opción polo galego como «unha historia de amor». A fala e a música xa nos mostraron a súa forza para estar por riba de calquera decisión política: o pobo foi capaz de mantelas por amor ao seu, pola paixón de falar a «mimosa, soave, sentida e queixosa» lingua que nos fai realmente internacionais.
Our language, like our gaita, survived hundreds of years throughout a tumultuous history thanks to our people. Our existence, our cultural identity, can neither be understood nor explained without our language and our gaita (gaita understood here as a metaphor for our music in general). The reality of being different in a world in which we all fight to make ourselves heard is one of the most powerful values of what, for me, being Galician means: celebrating difference, in order to grow as a society.
I grew up listening to my parents speak Galician, except when they talked to us, their four daughters. They spoke Galician among themselves, with their own families, with people from our villages...but they raised us in Spanish. I only spoke Galician when they spoke to me in Galician. Trying to de-normalise that situation, with myself as well, is a commitment that I was forced to acquire. If we have a beautiful language of our own, why don't we speak it in every context? What are the reasons that stop us from using it in all situations in our society?
I play an instrument that naturally makes me recount the history of Galicia, and every time that I recount it, whether that be in China, in the Emirates or at Harvard, I see the impact that our history has, as an example of the power of culture, as an economic and social motor, as a constructor of our identity.
Maria Victoria Moreno defined her choice for Galician as a 'love story'. Language and music showed us her ability to be above any kind of political decision: the people were able to keep both language and music out of love for what was theirs, out of the passion of speaking the 'loving, soft, touchy and whining' language that is what makes us really international.
«mimosa, soave, sentida e queixosa» is a quote taken from the Cantares gallegos, a work from the (greatest?) Galician writer, Rosalía de Castro (1837-1885). She was certainly the most influential at any rate of her time, spearheading the Rexurdimento, the literary renaissance of Galician.
Cristina Pato is a very international musician who lives in New York, does concerts and works with musicians from every corner of the world, and yet she holds onto her roots. She finds that it is her 'local' instrument and 'local' language that makes her truly international.
Logically and conversely, although she does not say it here, languages like Spanish or English can very easily imprison people.