CULTURAL PRODUCTION OF COLLECTIVE IDENTITY IN AN ANDEAN COMMUNITY A Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of Cornell University in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirement of the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy by Jean-Jacques Decoster January 1994 ©Jean-Jacques Decoster 1994 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CULTURAL PRODUCTION OF COLLECTIVE IDENTITY IN AN ANDEAN COMMUNITY Jean-Jacques Decoster, Ph.D. Cornell University, 1994 The processes of creation and reproduction of cultural identity can be obtained through a consideration of the relation of the collective organization to the reflective discourse (both practice and narration.) Social organization must be seen as a processual device that serves to transmit the collective identity of the group, device through which change is channeled and incorporated rather than resisted. Finally, the transmission and transformation of collective identity is also much determined by historical factors of imposition and adoption of, or resistance to cultural structures. In the village of Accha in the Peruvian highlands, collective identity is expressed relatively to the outside, and absolutely, in connection with symbolic markers within the community. Intra-village divisions are activated in ritual activities which effectively constitute, or index, membership in the social units (moieties and ayllus). The identification of the group with a specific territory, church, graveyard and storehouse, determines the membership of the individuals in a given political entity, defines their specific responsibilities throughout the ritual calendar, and with the fulfillment of those obligations, warrants their position as members of their group within the overall organization of the community. This thesis itself is organized according to the same articulation between absolute and relative perceptions. It brings together two perspectives on the theoretical issue of the reproduction of social: one is synchronic, subjective and ii centered on practice; the other is diachronic and external and deals with historical data. It will be argued that the recognition of specific historical events, or forces, checked against contemporary processes allows for the apprehension of complex cultural processes. iii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Jean-Jacques Decoster received a Licence de Lettres Modernes from the Université de Lille, and an M. A. in Anthropology from the University of Virginia. iv ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Many more people than I can possibly name deserve to be recognized for their support, their kindness and their companionship throughout the many years it took to complete this work. I must thank first and foremost Don Jorge Mariano Guzmán Sevillanos, taytayqa, who took me in without asking any questions and was willing to answer all of mine. ¡Yusulpayki taytay!, and to all my compadres and friends in Accha who shared their lives with me. My advisor and committee chair Billie Jean Isbell made this long journey exciting and fruitful. She shared her vast knowledge of the Andes and her critical understanding of anthropological issues. She guided me through every stage of my thinking and writing and made it all possible. Gary Urton took me to the field and taught me to be an ethnographer. He tirelessly read every draft of this material, helped me reshape and rethink everything, and made sure I got it done. I am privileged to have him as a friend, a teacher and a compadre. My other committee members Bernd Lambert and Tom Holloway gave of their time, insight, and advice beyond the call of duty. The members of my thesis writing group Ann Peters, Pamela Calla, and Francis Adams must be commended for reading the unreadable, and for being infallibly supportive and kind. To the memory of Victor Turner, Ed Erickson, Ed Winter, and Robert Randall who each taught me much. I miss them. Chris Crocker, Fred Damon, and Roy Wagner got me on my way. I would also like to recognize the comments and critiques this work received at various stages from Tom Abercrombie, Denise Arnold, Monica Barnes, Brian Bauer, Beverly Bennett, David Block, Claudette Columbus, David Fleming, Chris Franquemont, Lisa Larsen, Mercedes Lopez-Baralt, John Murra, Debbie Poole, Gerardo Reichel-Dolmatoff, Nydia Ruiz, Carmen Salazar-Soler, Michael Thomas, Henrique Urbano, Tom Zuidema. For sharing legajos, incunabula, and good cheer with me, Tamara Estupiñan de Freile, Teodoro Hampé Martinez, Bruce Greenfield, Margarita Garrido de Payan, Anne Pérotin, Deborah Kanter, Fritz Schwaller, Javier Gordillo Molina, Pedro Bereciartu, Chuck Walker, and the staff of the AAC, ADC, AGN, AGI and JCB. In Ithaca, for their support in one form or another, Anja Crickmore, David D’Aprix, Tom Volman, David Holmberg, Kathy Chiang, Ed Franquemont, Nancy Harm, Sally Miller, Trisha Thorme, Jerry Wilcox, Luis Morato, Charles Wolff, Meredith Small, Jim Madden. In Cusco, my compadre Daniel Guzmán Dueñas, Peter Frost, Julia Carrera, Chabuca Hurtado, Gaby Martinez, Evelyne Mesclier, Max Milligan, Susan Luerssen, Lisa Markovitz, the Reynaga family, Jane Henrici, Fernando Villafuerte, Julia Meyerson, Jorge Flores Ochoa, Ines Callalli, Washington LaTorre Luna, Jesus Guillen, Wendy Weeks, Juan Victor Nuñez del Prado, and Tom Hendrickson of Andean Treks, who gave me a job when I needed one. Padre Sergio Mazzuoli, mon compatriote, was a good friend and a good host when I came to Accha. The Centro de Estudios Regionales Andinos Bartolomé Las Casas in Cusco and the Instituto Francés de Estudios Andinos in Lima provided technical support. My research was made possible by the following grants: MacArthur Foundation Peace Studies Fellowship, Holmberg and Sharp Fellowship, John Carter Brown Library Fellowship, Lenk Fellowship, Colgate University Research Grant, Sigma Xi National Research Grant, Einaudi Center for International Research Travel Grant, Cornell Graduate Travel Grant, Cornell Graduate Fellowship, Cornell Latin American Program Fellowship. TABLE OF CONTENTS Biographical sketch Acknowledgments Table of contents List of figures List of tables Introduction 1. Aylluqatay: boundaries, incorporation and the outsider’s view from within 2. Historical background of research 3. History and practice: Vision(s) of the vanquished 4. Writing about cultural identity 5. Searching for crossroads 6. Organization of the thesis Chapter one: Accha’s physical and human environment 1. Geography and ecology 1. 1. Andean landscape: terrain and climate 1. 2. “Vertical ecology” past and present 2. Population 2. 1. Infant mortality 2. 2. Out migration 2. 3. Demography and survival 3. Relation to land: economy, ecology and religious practice 3. 1. Pasture land and animals 3. 2. Corn chakras and potato chakras 3.2.1. Potato moiety land: fondos 3.2.2. Potato community land: laymis 3. 2. 3. Corn chakras : private ownership and saints’ chakras 3. 2. 4. Papales vs. maizales Chapter two: Symbolic space and sacred geography 1. The sacred mountains in the local cosmology 1. 1. Apus and Pachamama 1. 1. 1. Pachamama, the earth-mother iii iv vii x xi 1 4 6 12 12 13 15 16 16 16 17 20 21 22 25 26 27 28 32 33 40 43 46 46 46 47 1. 1. 2. Apus ritual and Pachamama rituals 1. 1. 3. Apachetas as icons of the apu 1. 2. The Valley’s ritual space 48 50 51 1. 2. 1. Apus as sacred markers 1. 2. 2. Accha’s local apus 1. 2. 3. Siwina: gender and mythistorical identity 1. 3. Regional apus on Accha’s sacred horizon: Ausangate and Huanacauri 1. 3. 1. “Son hatun apus porque tienen nieve” 1. 3. 2. Huanacauri: Between Accha and Cusco 2. Itu: center and periphery 3. What’s in a name? Toponymy, mythistory and cosmology 3. 1. Siwina 3. 2. Accha 3. 3. Anchoring the past: toponyms and cultural identity 51 52 53 Chapter three: Cultural identity, boundaries and center 1. The initial problem: focus, definition, and delimitation 1. 1. Traditional Andean structures of identity 1. 2. Community, center and boundaries 1. 3. The ordering of space and the creation of identity 2. Defining the boundaries 2. 1. Defining the other 2. 2. Being runa: the fragility of Quechua identity 3. Conflictual boundaries 3. 1. Communal labor and conflict over access to land 3. 2. Agrarian Reform: drawing the limits 3. 3. Tinku as generative process 4. Moving away from the village 4. 1. Landmarks in communal identity 4. 2. The roads as links with the outside 4. 3. Shared knowledge and geographical space 4. 4. Cachaspari or la despedida: separation and death 5. ...and coming back Chapter four: The construction of social spaces and the production of group identity 1. The ayllu and moiety structure 2. The social geography of Accha 2. 1. Civil-political hierarchies 2. 2. Duality, tripartition, and quadripartition: bases and parcialidades 2. 3. Mode of recruitment 54 55 57 60 64 64 66 70 74 75 75 78 80 81 81 85 86 86 89 93 95 96 96 99 100 105 109 110 114 116 117 120 3. Death doth us part: faenas and the dual structure 3. 1. Graveyards: machays and campos santos 3. 2. Maintenance of the churches 3. 3. Potatoes and the dead 4. The role of fiestas in the definition of group identity 4. 1. A wealth of Virgins 4. 2. Building the enclosures: inclusion of the excluded 5. Defining the ayllu and the moiety Chapter five: Mythic transformations and rituals of renewal 1. Ephemeral reality and stable disequilibrium 1. 1. The myths 1. 2. Mythic elements: transformations and passage 1. 2. 1. Mythic avatars 1. 2. 2. Caves as passages 1. 4. 5. The man in the mountain, and his mother 1. 3. Myth, hagiography, and popular religion 1. 3. 1. Mama Huaco, Anahuarque, and Santa Ana 1. 3. 1. Cristóbal and Inca Siwina 1. 3. 3. Santiago and Thunder 1. 3. 4. Catholic saints and their symbolic transformations 1. 6. Wild vs. tame: the structures of transformation 2. The myths and the astronomical calendar 3. Ritual construction of group identity and reproduction of the ayllu 3. 1. The t’inkaska of Santa Ana: renewing the seed 3. 2. The t’inkaska of Santiago: socialization and physical reproduction of the herd 4. Ritual and myth Chapter six: Denial of identity: colonial destructuration and the encomienda of Accha-Cabanilla 1. Contrasting identities and the imposition of culture 2. Of the soul of the Indians: the encomienda system and the problem of perpetuity 2. 1. The nature of the institution 2. 2. History of the encomienda in Perú 2. 3. The debate 3. Nature of the data on the encomienda 4. The encomienda of Accha: The archival record 4. 1. Antonio de Villa vs. Antonio Vaca de Castro (AGI Justicia 406) 4. 2. Lanzas y Arcabuces vs. Antonio Vaca de Castro et al. 120 120 125 129 132 132 135 138 141 142 143 146 146 150 151 153 153 155 156 157 160 162 165 165 169 171 174 175 178 178 183 184 190 193 196 (AGI Justicia 408) 4. 2. 1. Las Compañias de Lanzas y Arcabuces 4. 2. 2. The verdict 4. 3. The Visita de Condesuyu and the Tasa de la Visita 4. 3. 1. Vaca or Quirós: which encomendero? 4. 3. 3. The tribute from Accha 5. Denial and invention of identity Chapter seven: The making of Accha: the visita of Toledo, reducción and doctrinas 1. Reshaping space: the urbanization of the Indies 1. 1. Blueprints and antecedents 1. 2. “policia humana”: civilizing the Indians 2. The reducción of Accha 2. 1. How the system worked: the integration of the Cayaotambo Indians in the reducción of Accha 2. 2. Ayllus into pueblos viejos into moieties 2. 3. Duality, Incas and foreigners 2. 4. The two churches 3. Genesis: the creation of Accha and the movable churches. 201 201 202 205 207 209 214 217 218 219 221 226 232 239 251 257 264 Chapter eight: Social conflicts and failed rebellions images of class and ethnic identity 1. Destructuration and resistance 2. rebels in search of an identity: Tupac Amaru II (1780-81) 3. Tupac Amaru in Accha 3. 1. Tomás Miguel de Otazú, tupamarista priest? 3. 2. Other cases against Otazú 3. 3. Contreras vs. Otazú 268 268 270 277 278 282 283 Conclusion: continuity, conflicts and compromises 1. Sendero Luminoso 1. 1. Fieldwork in a ‘zona liberada’ 1. 2. Accheños and cumpas 1. 3. Victims of a foreign war 2. Padre Sergio’s questionable decisions 2. 1. The land invasion 2. 2. History of the conflict 2. 3. Church land and saints’ land 2. 4. One church or two? 3. Imagining Accha: practice and history 296 297 297 299 300 301 301 303 304 307 309 Glossary References 313 319 LIST OF FIGURES Figure 1. Distribution of communal potato land in Accha. Figure 2. Accha and its apus. Figure 3. Regional apus in relation to Accha and Siwina. Figure 4. The two roads to Cusco. Figure 5. The two hierarchical structures. Figure 6. The system of social divisions in Accha. Figure 7. Plan of Accha and its subdivisions. Figure 8. The organization of the work-parties for the maintenance of the cemetery walls in Hurinsaya. Figure 9. The organization of the work-parties for the roof of the Hurinsaya church. Figure 10. Production and storage. Figure 11. Enclosures for the bullfights Figure 12. Transformations in the Accha myths Figure 13. Reducciones, anexos and pueblos viejos. Figure 14. Spatial organization of moieties, ayllus and anexos. 39 52 55 97 118 119 121 124 125 131 136 146 240 262 xiii LIST OF TABLES Table 1. Population of Accha by sex and age (1981) 22 Table 2. Popular hagiographic and mythic attributes of the characters mentioned in the myths 158 Table 3. The making of Accha 243 1 INTRODUCTION I first went to Accha in 1985, during a summer-long trip to the Andes aimed at locating a possible fieldsite for my research. My project at the time was ill-defined, but I knew I wanted to start from the problem of the variability of Andean forms of social structure that I had already begun to study in a previous project (Decoster 1984 ms). I also wanted to investigate the more general question of social groupings and the reproduction and integration of the various Andean organizational systems (moieties, ayllus, andanexos ). Consequently, I headed for Cusco and set out to look for a village that would have a functioning system of ayllus. The name of Accha came up early on in conversations with two anthropologists, Gary Urton and Brian Bauer. However, for reasons that I cannot quite explain, I did not immediately pursue that lead but went on to a number of communities in the Cusco region, and as far as Lake Titicaca, Oruro and Sorata in Bolivia. Soon I found myself with only one week left before my round-trip plane ticket expired, and none of the communities I had visited seemed appropriate for my research. When I finally went to Accha, it was with a feeling of last opportunity. Although Accha’s ayllu structure seemed to me at the time rather schematic, the community appeared to have a very strongly defined moiety structure. I was struck by the existence in the middle of the village square of a ditch that separated the community into two moieties. This on-the- 2 ground differentiation was further emphasized by the presence of two churches on either side of the square (one for Hanansaya and one for Hurinsaya) and of two separate graveyards at either end of the village. I stayed in Accha just long enough to attend the fiesta of Santa Rosa in Cusco ayllu, introduce myself to the authorities and request permission to return at a later date to live and study in Accha. I then had to rush back to Cusco to catch my plane back to the U.S., but I felt confident that I had found my site. I returned to Cusco in the summer of 1987, and after a few months working as Gary Urton’s field assistant in Pacariqtambo, I went back to Accha to start my own research. At first, I stayed, as I had in 1985, in the casa cural, the house of the parish priest who happened to be a Frenchman like myself. During the first few weeks, I spent a lot of time talking to the civil authorities of the villages, explaining my project, and my desire to find a household were I could live, and participate in the economic as well as ritual life. This request was met with a lot of sympathy, although clearly nobody understood why I should want to leave the relative comfort of the casa cural to live “like a campesino.” It became clear that I needed to address the whole village and I petitioned the presidente de comunidad to let me introduce myself and my research at the next community assembly, and present the official documents and letters of recommendation that I had brought along. Gary Urton notes that one of the most important decisions in ethnographical work is that of the household one will live in, and that, ironically, that choice is rarely made by the ethnographer (pers. com.). Sometime in March 1987, I was informed that the assembly I had been waiting for was going to take place in conjunction with a laymi, and that I would be invited to address the whole community. The term laymi serves to designate both the rotating expanse of communal land that is planted in potatoes, and the 3 formal activities such as ground-breaking and parceling of the land that it involves. All the registered campesinos, those who vote in the village and participate in communal work, attend to claim their plot of land. That year, the laymi was in a small valley about an hour from the village. Although I was at the time staying with Padre Sergio, the priest, I set out alone, on foot. Padre Sergio would be driving later, but as he was going to address the assembly on the question of the invasion of church land that had just taken place (see conclusion), I thought it would be unwise to arrive on the site with him, and appear associated with him on that issue. On the path, there was a continuous flow of people --over three hundred faenantes showed up for the laymi-- walking alone or in small groups. Just before reaching the laymi, an old man who was walking ahead of me stopped and sat down on the side of the path. I had been following him for quite a while, observing with amusement the casual nod and grunt with which he would respond to the respectful greeting of younger people on the path. By the way he sat on the side of the path looking at me, I realized he had been quite aware of the fact that I was walking behind him ever since the village. I stopped, greeted him, and sat down, pulling out a plastic bag full of coca leaves (this he told me later had impressed him) and a pack of cigarettes. In lieu of greeting, pointing over his shoulder to where the laymi was to take place, the old man said to me: “This laymi land has been resting for 12 years.” I thought to myself that an individual who volunteers information in that way was truly an anthropologist’s dream. We chatted for a while and chewed coca, and smoked a cigarette, while I wrote down the data he gave me on crop rotation. And suddenly he got up and said “Vamos, padre,” and was gone before I could tell him I was not a priest. The assembly took place and I was given the chance to present the whole village with my plans to live in Accha and my need for a place to stay. This was received with applause and nods of approval, but no other immediate response. A few days later, during one of the several processions of the Holy Week through the streets of Accha, I was taking refuge from the heavy rain under the eaves of a house while Padre Sergio, standing at the crossroads, read the appropriate passages from the liturgy. A man next to me touched my arm. I recognized him as the old man on the path, and remembered his name: Don Mariano. Pointing across the street, he said: “This is the house”. Not knowing for sure what he was driving at, I replied that indeed it was a good looking house. “I can help you” said Mariano as the crowd started moving towards the next crossroads. Nothing else was said that day, but the following day I moved my sleeping-bag in a windowless room at the back of Don Mariano’s house and thus started 18 months of collaboration and affectionate relationship between the two of us. 1. Aylluqatay: boundaries, incorporation and the outsider’s view from within In soon discovered the importance of naming in Accha. My initial annoyance at being called “padre” by Don Mariano was followed by many other awkward moments when villagers seemed unable to place me within the structure of their social environment, and therefore did not know how to address me. After I moved in with him, Don Mariano started calling me “hijo” or “qhari waway” (son, or male child) and did so for as long as I was part of his household. Members of ayllu Santa Ana where I lived took to calling me “qatay”, son-in-law. When I first heard the name, I asked my new friends why they called me that. “Because we like you”, they said. As I became more sensitive to the Accheños’ perception of outsiders, I realized that although qatay might indeed have been a term of endearment, it was also a way to identify me as an ‘insider-outsider’. I was being put in the same category as the inmarrying stranger. 1 In my case, however, qatay was purely a classificatory form of address, and I do not believe that anyone seriously expected --let alone wished-- me to marry within the ayllu. But what was a convenient and appropriate form of address at the level of the ayllu would have been awkward within the household. Had Don Mariano used the same term of address, he would have made an implicit reference to his only surviving daughter. Thus I found myself in the interesting situation of being at once a welcome outsider within the ayllu, and a native son within the household. The fact that early on in my fieldwork I established a privileged relationship with one individual villager, a member of a specific ayllu (Santa Ana) within a specific moiety (Hurinsaya) imposed a peculiar bias on this study of groups and group identity. In fact, my whole data is organized through the concentric filters of Don Mariano’s personality and Weltanschauung, his relation to his kindred, his ayllu and moiety memberships, and finally his social position in the village. Consequently, what follows is a necessarily skewed image of the community where I worked, privileging information on certain relationships and certain groups over others. In fact, most of the data --including that on other groups-- have been obtained through members of my own moiety and ayllu of residence, which lead to an unequal amount of information for the various groups in the community. In particular, the discussion of the representations of social boundaries within the community is often based on an See Urton 1991 for a study of the incorporation of strangers in Andean communities. 1 insider’s perception of the articulation between the groups, rather than an overarching understanding of the community. Such situation was the result of both a conscious decision, and the circumstances of fieldwork. My training as a fieldworker under Gary Urton had prepared me for a committed form of participation in the life of a household, including economic participation in the form of my own physical labor. In turn, this form of exclusive integration in one social unit made it near impossible to move from household to household, or even to establish working or kinship relationships with units not connected with my household of residence. However, I believe that this specific slant of my research should be seen as a strength rather than a weakness. The vision of the community presented in this thesis is not my own. Nor is it an external, global or, even less, complete study of a village. It is a case-study of collective identity in a specific setting and is informed, as closely as I can represent it, by the vision of the man who adopted me, fed me, and shared with me his knowledge of Accha, Don Mariano Guzmán Sebillanos. 2. Historical background of research Prior to starting fieldwork, like many students of the Andes, I had been exposed to the major theoretical approaches in Andean research. Although I recognize the high quality of the scholarship of the work that has been generated over the years, I suggest that the three main directions of research that emerged have been, to various degrees, guilty of misrepresenting one form or another of “Andean reality”. Peasant-studies tend to deny, or objectify, the specificities of Andean cultures, ethno-ecologists use the past as a distancing 7 device, and formalist/symbolists simply negate the processual import of history. 2 The first group of studies, lumped together under the name “peasantstudies” in my tripartite classification is the most heterogeneous yet the most difficult to dissemble. The range of theoretical positions (from developmental to Marxist) combines with the cultural identity of the researchers (Peruvian or foreign) to give complex political overtones to the scene. This is also the group that is the least relevant to my topic, as the interest paid to the local collective institutions is generally minimal -- with a few, often unfortunate, exceptions. This approach finds its source in the indigenist inquiries that were born in the 1920s, at the same time as the Peruvian Constitution restored the colonial policy of defense of the collective land by giving legal status to the comunidades indigenas (Molinie-Fioravanti 1982:13). The ‘indigenist’ movement that was thus formed was more interested in seeking the roots of the Indian national past than in conducting in-depth studies. The utopian inclination of the indigenists led to some misapprehension of the Andean cultural forms. One of the authors (Galván 1959), for instance, writes of the Inca ayllu that it is a “Peruvian reality...of both the coast and the sierra...so strong, so subconscious” that neither Colonial institutions nor contemporary exploration can suppress it. Such an idealistic attitude that denies the obvious crushing impact of colonial history has been described as a “charter for the perpetuation of colonial reducción policy” and the exploitation of the Indians (Webster 1970). It should be made clear that, as in other classifications, this division in theoretical trends and the labels assigned to the various schools are an oversimplification, which invites overlaps and grey areas. 2 8 However, the major figure of this movement, José Carlos Mariátegui is widely considered one of the main representatives of modern Peruvian social thought. His Siete ensayos de interpretacion de la realidad Peruana (1965) adds a political dimension to the indigenist idealism and phrases the Peruvian problematic in Marxist terms, i.e., the economic and political oppression of the Indian, in addition to cultural repression. It was also Mariátegui who brought the quest for a cultural identity to the national political scene with the founding of his Peruvian Socialist Party (Partido Socialista.). The next wave of peasant-focused studies saw the appearance of the first contingent of US anthropologists and culminated with the fiasco of the CornellVicos project, and related studies of “controlled acculturation and integration” that aimed at speeding up the process of incorporation of the marginal Indian cultures into the national economy (Dobyns, Monge and Vázquez 1962, Doughty 1965, Holmberg 1960). This trend has now lost some of its impetus and contrasting forms of “development” projects are currently underway, which sometimes involve the participation of symbolic anthropologists in national projects that are reassessing traditional agricultural techniques (e.g. Erickson 1989). Concurrently with the controlled developmental school, an anthropology of social contestation that corresponded to the apparition of radical movements throughout Latin America emerged in the 1950s and 1960s. The Marxist school of anthropology set itself in opposition to the U.S. form of applied anthropology although it too, in its own way, suffered from the same denial of the specificities of indigenous history. This Marxist rural sociology is responsible for large scale regional studies (Matos Mar ed. 1958) or the studies of political unrest in the face of hacienda industrialization (Cotler 1968). Today’s Marxist studies are informed by European theory rather than Latin American ideology. Recent cases include works on household productivity (Guillet 1978, 1980), patterns of production and circulation of goods (Lehman, ed. 1982), and articulation with the market economy (Bradby 1982). In my view, the turning point in Andean anthropology in the U.S. is marked by the beginning of ethnohistorical studies with John Rowe and especially John Murra and Tom Zuidema. It is interesting to note that the two main currents of cultural Andean anthropology in this country today regard ethnohistorians as their founding figures. John Murra is responsible for an excellent study of Inca economic organization (1980) and the rationalization of Troll’s notion of verticality (1968). His school, that I have called ethno-ecologists, postulates that Andean social organization, both pre- and post-Conquest, is a product of its environment. The model developed by Murra is one of control of resources through access to a variety of ecological levels (1975). In Murra’s model the social group, regardless of size, is principally a redistributive organ. Thus the population range of an ayllu or an ethnic group is only as large as will allow the resources of the lands it controls (1975). The final demise of the Inca state was caused by its inability to dispose of the surplus that was being created through the sophisticated use of labor resources (1980). This pattern is believed to function independently from historical circumstances or social change, and to have no relation to the religious and cultural system that parallel the political and economic structure. Murra’s already limited model is reduced even more so by enthusiastic, but careless, applications. Skar (1982), for instance, ignoring the implication of economic constraints, states that verticality is used by Andean communities in order to vary their diet. Others leave out the key element of direct control (MolinieFioravanti 1975) or turn verticality into a slanted form of crop diversification (Brush 1973). There are, however, other studies that integrate a historical approach into the vertical model (Harris 1982, Platt 1982a and 1982b) and Golte (1980) even offer models that combines Murra’s theory with a temporal and a cultural system. Zuidema, trained in the Dutch structuralist tradition, contributed a whole new dimension to Andean studies. His major work is a comprehensive study of Inca social institutions (1964). Working from chronicles and other documents he elaborated several models (based on dualism, tripartion and quadripartition) of the social organization of Incaic Cusco and offered the first clear interpretation of the nature of the Incaic ayllu. Zuidema’s latest works have served to refine these models and to stress his belief in persistent Andean structures (1967, 1977a, 1978, 1989a, 1989c, 1990b). In an analysis of a dream of a contemporary Quechua woman, for instance, he claims that the structure of the dream reproduces the structure of Incaic descent pattern and cosmological model (1989c). His students’ works on the irrigation systems (Sherbondy 1979, 1982, 1986,1992) ethno-astronomy (Urton 1978, 1980, 1981a, 1981b), religious and ritual calendar (Poole 1984) among others, seem to share the same premises. Isbell’s monograph (1985) is probably the most thorough community study to date in the Andes, as well as a landmark in the study of ritual structure. Nevertheless, as she remarked in the reevaluation of her approach, her “symbolic structural and interpretive framework” had prevented her from being able to adequately place Chuschi--the community where she worked-within the larger world system (1985: XIV). Indeed, most of the recent studies, whether they originate in the economic deterministic tradition of Murra or follow the structuralist approach of Zuidema have one thing in common. According to Salomon (1982) they all share the same belief in basic structures. Thus the famous drawing by Pachacuti Yupanqui, has been made to fit such varied domains as belief, behavior,...social structural norms (descent and alliance rules), diachronicity (the successive “worlds” of Andean cosmology), and ecology (the multitiered landscape of the mountainside). Calendrical cycles and mythic series of events are often included (Salomon 1982: 94). As they attain the convincing status of consensual representations, there is some danger of such models becoming reified ideas rather than the dataorganizing suggestions originally warranted. However, recent works have started to emerge that seem to answer to Isbell’s plea that anthropologists should begin to “share moments of history with the people they study” (1985:XIV). The present day attempts to interpret Andean forms in those terms must be traced to converging theoretical trends that have recently emerged and have signaled in the 1970s and 1980s a re-evaluation of anthropological theory and practice (Bourdieu 1977; de Certeau 1984; Sahlins 1981, Fabian 1983). This in turn has led, for instance, to the recognition of the multivocality of the cultural context, of the necessarily dialogical interrelation between “objective” and “subjective” discourses, and of the dialectical processes involved in the elaboration of cultural theories, as well as cultural institutions. 3. History and practice: Vision(s) of the vanquished The recognition of the several historical processes pertaining to an Andean identity or identities --from the Inca and the Spanish conquests to the opening up of the region to the modern market economy, and the subsequent situation of economic and political dependence-- has led to the reassessment of anthropological work in the Andes. In the 1970s, there was a commendable 12 emphasis on ‘plural society’ that intended to reflect the complexity of class and ethnic relations in Peru (Van den Berghe ed. 1974; Van den Berghe and Primov 1977, Zuidema 1973.) More recent studies focus on the existence of several levels of discourse and concentrate on the processes of interaction that determine the historical production of cultural identity in Andean populations (e.g. Allen 1988; Decoster 1993; Dover et al eds. 1992; Harrison 1989; Isbell 1984ms, 1985; Rasnake 1988; Salomon 1981, 1982; Stern 1987; Urton 1984, 1986, 1992). Poole (1984) offers a study of Paruro based on the practice of ritual and calendrics. And Urton (1988) has studied how the public architecture imposed by the Spaniards in Pacariqtambo has become integrated in the community’s social practice. He has also proved that one could bring together the history, the myths and the social practices of a community in a most positive and productive way (Urton 1990). 4. Writing about cultural identity This work is about the cultural production of collective identity in Accha. In it, I strive to stay away from the concept of ‘ethnicity’ which in my view is the result of two impositions: first that of the colonial powers who for practical reasons needed to identify the populations they encountered as others in relation to themselves; second, that of the contemporary intellectual discourse which, under the pretense of safeguarding indigenous cultures, defines them again in contrast to its own dominant culture, and by framing them alienates them (see De Certeau et al, 1970). 3 Only in one context do I refer to ethnicity, and it is precisely when I discuss the relations of race created by colonial policies (chapter 8). 3 13 I prefer to refer to the object of this work as ‘cultural identity’ expressed and produced through social practice, and also shaped and determined by the social history of the group. The notion of pre-existing ideal Andean forms -glorified as lo andino in the 1970s-- will only surface in the following chapters inasmuch as it is part of the Accheño discourse, either in the form of mythic narrative, or of reflexion on the daily reality. But generally I limit my focus to how an Accheño acquires membership at the various levels of embedded groups (i. e. ayllu to moiety to community) and how this membership is both expressed and produced through ritual practice. 5. Searching for crossroads At some stage during my fieldwork, when the grant I had ran out long before I felt that my research was completed, I was given the opportunity to earn some money leading treks on the Inca trail to Machu Picchu. As I shared the beauty of the old Inca city and of the Inca road that leads to it with groups of European and American tourists, I would comment on the fact that Machu Picchu hadn’t been ‘discovered’ by the dominant culture until the beginning of this century, although the Indians who led Hiram Bingham to Machu Picchu had never ‘lost’ it. I used to point out that the Inca highways, like the one we were following ran along the crest of the mountains, while the Spanish highways, because of different technological requirements--i. e. horses and carts instead of llamas and human backs --, ran at the bottom of the valleys. The notion of two roads running parallel for 500 years, never crossing and often out of sight of each other struck me as a powerful metaphor for the state of the Peruvian nation. Nevertheless, when I returned to my work in Accha, I realized that I too had kept to a narrow path, to pursue the metaphor, by trying to understand the organization of the ayllus and moieties solely from within the context of contemporary Accha. Yet, there is no denying that Spanish roads have transformed the Andean landscape, and that Spanish colonial institutions have transformed the reality of Andean social life. The ethnographical study of the ritual interaction between the moieties and ayllus in Accha had provided me with an image of the reproduction of the social structure, but still left unanswered the problem of the specific and unusual characteristics of the moiety/ayllu system in Accha (e. g. the insitance on the localization of the various groups). I knew at the time that Accha was an original Toledan reducción and little more. But that in itself was a starting point as it meant that the physical reality of the village itself was a Spanish imposition. Over the following three years I had the opportunity to collect documents pertaining to Accha in various archives in Cusco, Lima, the U. S. and Spain. The material I encountered falls roughly into three categories that follow three historical stages of the colonial impact on Peruvian communities: the encomienda, the reducción and the rebellion of Tupac Amaru II. This material allowed me to gain a different perspective on Accha, viewed through the distorting distance of history and voiced in the peculiar discourse of the dominant elite. 6. Organization of the thesis Early on in this work, I make the claim that Accheños define their collective identity in two different but not irreconcilable ways. One definition is centered on what are perceived as foci or icons of identity within the group itself; the other definition is expressed in relation or opposition to other, external entities or groups. Those two perspectives I call respectively relative and absolute definitions of identity . The former is based on a symbolic yet 4 empirical relation to space, while the latter is fundamentally derived from hierarchical (i. e. power) relations. I will show that both expressions necessarily coexist and that they merge in ritual practice. The following chapters are organized according to the same two principles. The first, ethnographical, centers on Accheño physical, social and ritual space, and on the activities that serve to express and maintain that specific reality (chapters 1 through 5.) The second, historical, part deals with the dynamic and conflictual forces that have contributed to the shaping of that reality (chapters 6 through 8.) Finally in the last chapter, I consider some of the political and historical factors that were effectively at play in Accha at the time I was conducting my ethnographical work and were directly involved in the transformation of collective practice. Jean-Pierre Jacob (1986) uses similar categories which he calls ‘relational’ and ‘essential’ identity, but rejects the latter as an anthropological construct that denies the socio-economic bases of collective identity. 4 CHAPTER ONE ACCHA’S PHYSICAL AND HUMAN ENVIRONMENT. 1. Geography and ecology 1. 1. Andean landscape: terrain and climate. The data for this research were collected in the village of Accha, an Andean highland community in the Province of Paruro, Department of Cusco, Peru. Accha is located some 52 km due south of Cusco, the one-time capital of the Incas, in the region of the empire that was known as Cuntisuyu, more specifically in the territory that was occupied by the indigenous kingdom of the Chilques (Levillier 1946, Zuidema and Poole 1982). At an altitude of 3579 meters above sea level on the plateau of Achupampa , the village is nestled at the foot of the mountain Siwina (4250 m.) Dominated by the abrupt south face of the mountain, Accha stretches in a halfmoon along the edge of what used to be a swampy high-altitude lake , now 5 drained. Accha is roughly equidistant (one hour each way) from the two deep (2900 m.) river valleys that run, one at the far east end of the plateau, and the other beyond the west side of Siwina; those are the valleys of the Apurimac and the Velille respectively, which meet some fifty kilometers further north at a place called Tinkoq, upriver from Pacariqtambo. Accha ... situated in a very high and cold location with a vast marshy plain which they call ‘la laguna’ (Raimondi 1965 [1874] vol. 1: 228). 5 17 Accha is part of what is generally referred to, in the widely accepted classification of Andean ecological zones, as the sierra: a term that includes the populated interandine valleys of the Southern Andes. This is the environment that gave its name to the people and their language. It is a region characterized 6 by clearly marked dry and wet seasons. The periods of precipitation are mostly concentrated over the months of November to May, with the main rainfall in February to April. The annual mean temperature is generally low (between 14 and 17 degrees Celsius), with the lowest temperatures in July. However, because of the high altitude, the solar radiation is quite intense during the day, with a radical drop in temperature at night, often below freezing during the dry season months. The altitude also accounts for the low atmospheric pressure , relative humidity, and low oxygen. 1. 2. “Vertical ecology”: past and present There is in the region a wide range of ecological zones, from the temperate high altitude plateau known as suni , to the warm river valleys, guaranteeing access to a variety of agricultural resources. Murra (1964, 1968b, 1972, 1975, 1980, 1984), following the geographer Carl Troll (1935, 1958, 1968), was instrumental in developing an understanding of the economic and social importance of the Andean region’s particular ‘vertical’ ecology. Through the use of ethnohistorical sources, he suggested the existence of an Andean model (patrón), shared by Inca, pre-Inca and non-Inca populations that were geographically distant and distinct in terms of their economic and political Quechua: la tierra templada o de temple caliente (temperate land or of warm climate) Qquechhua runa : El de tierra templada (inhabitant of temperate land) (González Holguín 1989 [1608]). See also Skar 1982. 6 18 organization, although socially integrated (1972:40). This model described the exploitation of a series of ecological zones by the group, either directly in the case of a population having immediate access to several zones, or indirectly through exchange and barter with other groups, in the case of a population geographically limited to one specific zone, typically highland puna or lowland jungle. He coined the term “vertical archipelago” to designate the unique way in which Andean communities deal with specific features of their environment that associates different products with different ecological levels. Typically, the vertical archipelago consists of a population center situated in the ecological zone where the main subsistence crops are grown and “islands” of colonists settled in various other zones. Murra illustrates his model with examples taken from pre-Incaic cultures and the Inca society. He generates the picture of an original system of direct control of climatic zones, and of the direct exploitation of the material and human resources of the peripheral colonies. When the polity was small, the pastures, saltpans, maize and coca leaf fields could be controlled only if they were [no more than] three or four days march away from the nucleus. A kingdom with several hundred thousand souls could utilize directly resources fifteen or twenty days away (1973:381-382). Needless to say, the Inca state achieved the widest reach, and could transfer its colonist populations (mitimaes or mitmakuna) from one end of the empire to the other (Cobo 1979:189ff). As was often the case, the Incas had adopted a system and adapted it to their own specific needs (Regalado 1978; Gow 1976; Murra 1980; Wachtel 1971). In addition to the control of economic resources, the Inca colonies had to do with conquest, policing and the harmonization of customs. Whenever the Incas would conquer a new territory, they would remove a portion of its population (6000 or 7000 families, according to Cobo), and relocate them throughout parts of the empire already pacified, taking into account the ecology and climate and main economic activities of each group. Conversely, they would gather a corresponding number of obedient subjects of the empire and send them to the newly-conquered land to serve as buffer and, should the need arise, as a garrison. Through these strategies of control and interdependence the state regulated the access to goods, as well as the labor expenditure involved in their production and distribution. It also established an elaborate system of political domination and social and ideological control throughout the region. People in Accha today, as in a number of other Andean communities (e.g. Brush 1976, Harris 1982), also have access to a wide range of ecological levels and therefore to a wide variety of agricultural goods. Most Accheños cultivate potato land around and above the village, and corn, vegetables and fruit in the river valleys below. Most of those fields are within easy walking distance --a few hours-- from the village. In addition, goods grown in the village can be exchanged on market days for other products from the outside -e. g. coca and fruit from other communities and manufactured goods from Cusco-- and there is also an existing bartering system involving the llama herders from communities located at higher altitudes (see infra) which seem to perpetuate traditional ways of access to distant ecological zones. 2. Population The main settlement of Accha (referred to as a villa in the official census documents) had in 1987 a population of 1,076 inhabitants for 323 households. These population figures are taken from a house-by-house census of the village made in 1987 in preparation for the electrification of the village. The official census of 1981 gives for the distrito of Accha 3793 inhabitants for 953 households, and for the villa of Accha, 1114 inhabitants for 269 households . In 7 1985, I was given the figure of 1,350 inhabitants by the alcalde (mayor) of the time. Wilfredo Ccori Castro, author of a 1978 monograph on Accha, citing for his source the 1972 census published by the Oficina Nacional de Estadisticas y Censos, gives for 1972 the total figure of 3, 529 for the district of Accha (Ccori 1978:20). This figure, according to Ccori, breaks down as follows: 1,335 for the community of Accha, and for the various anexos respectively, Pocoray (also Pfoccorhuay) 625, Parcco 742, and Oyaino 292 . I suspect that the figure of 1, 350 given me in 1985 by the mayor might 8 have been based on the 1972 census, which gives 1,335 for the community. If one is to accept those figures, there would then have been a total population drop of about 19% in the community over 15 years, between 1972 and 1987. The ratio of total population to number of households gives an average household size of 4 individuals . This rather small household size can only be 9 explained by infant mortality and a high percentage of out migration of young villagers to Cusco and Lima. 2. 1. Infant mortality Censos Nacionales, Depto de Cusco, VIII Poblacion., III Viviencia, 1981, Volumen A, Tomo 1 y 2, Lima. 8 In spite of Ccori’s claim, the figures he gives for the population of the community of Accha and for the various anexos do not add up to the total for the district. Either a mistake was made in the reporting of the figures, or some other settlements besides the three anexos mentioned were also taken into account for the district total. 9 Ccori (1978) gives the figure of 322 families and an average of 4.5 family members. 7 Of Don Mariano ‘s 12 children, only two reached adulthood. Isbell discusses (1983ms) the dramatic implications of high infant mortality in relation to the woman’s life cycle and reproductive cycle. Mayer (1989) gives a figure 169 deaths per thousand before the age of two for the whole of Peru. When broken down into urban and rural mortality, there is in the rural population an “excess mortality” of 61.4%, or a infant mortality of 213 per thousand in the rural population vs. 132 per thousand in the urban population (Mayer1989: 4-5). Ccori estimates that in Accha 54% of children die before reaching the age of five. This figure seems to be extremely high, and when juxtaposed with the figure given by Mayer (213 per 1,000, i. e. 21%), it would suggest that mortality remains constant after the age of two and until the age of five. The 1981 census gives a breakdown of the population for the distrito of Accha by sex and age (table 1). There is no figure in that table for children under five, perhaps because of the difficulty of arriving at a figure that takes into account the rapid rate of mortality. By subtracting the figure for the population over that age (3207) from the total figure for the distrito (3793), one arrives at the figure of 586, slightly less than that for the next age-class: 605. The only possible conclusion to be drawn from this set of figures is that there is no big demographic drop after the age of five. Table 1. Population of Accha by sex and age (1981) total total males females 3207 1658 1549 5-9 605 306 299 10-14 446 255 191 15-19 255 148 107 20-24 211 110 101 25-29 220 112 108 30-34 208 99 109 35-39 203 105 98 over 40 1059 523 536 The age of five in Accha is an important watershed, and children over that age are called “escapaditos” --little survivors. The main causes of death are usually dehydration as a result of diarrhea as well as pulmonary illnesses. Although they have been intensive campaigns of vaccination in the cities, the rural population is practically without protection against children’s diseases. In Accha in June 1974, 60 children died in one month of scarlet fever (Padre Sergio Mazzuolli, pers. comm.). 2. 2. Out migration Daniel Cotlear, whose 1978-79 survey of seven highland communities included a study of Accha, gives for this village an estimated population of 322 families of which 51% had an average of 1.17 out migrants. This total number of families is extremely close to the 1987 figure used here --323 households--and suggests, in spite of the emigration drain, a fairly constant number of households. This in turn would lead us to assume a relative aging of the population, verified in the figure of nearly 30% of the population (1059) over the age of 40 (see table 1), a high ratio in an environment where the average life expectancy is 45. 23 Cotlear also gives the figure of 77.5% of out migrants out of the total of independent children (Cotlear,1984: 440.) This is to say that nearly 4 out of 5 children who left the parental house to start a household of their own, also left Accha to do so. A small percentage of the migrants go to the jungle of Madre de Dios or Quillabamba to work in plantations or prospect for gold. This is perceived as temporary migration, but may actually cover a period of one season to several years of absence from the village. For Accheños, as for many peasants in the region, the two main targets of migration are Cusco and Lima. Many young men and women move to the city in hope of finding employment. There, migrants from the same community tend to settle in the city in the same area, geographically oriented in relation to the community of origin. There are in Lima 400 families of Accheños, more than there are in Accha itself. Typically, migrants to Lima settle in the pueblos jovenes, the invasion settlements that fan out on the outskirts of the capital replicating the spatial orientation of provinces and villages of origin. That is to say that neighboring barrios there are likely to correspond to neighboring communities in the province of origin (Lobo 1982; Isbell 1985; also Abercrombie 1991 ms. for a similar pattern in Potosi). This also recalls the settlement pattern that was carefully maintained in Incaic Cusco, where the representatives of the conquered provinces and the provincial caciques residing in the capital would be assigned housing in the various parts of the city in “such order and concert that, simply by looking at those neighborhoods and the houses of so many diverse nations that lived there, one could see and understand the totality of the whole Empire, as in a 24 mirror or a cosmographic painting.” (Garcilaso 1966 vol. 3:28) According to 10 Santiago Arturo Calvo, the distribution of new settlements in Cusco reproduce quite exactly in size and shape the settlement pattern of Incaic Cusco (quoted in Tamayo 1978:304). Accheños in Cusco tend to live in Belén, San Pedro and San Jeronimo. This spatial orientation of residence in the new settlements is related to ways of communication to the community of origin, as well as traditional geo-social structures. The modern parishes and barrios of Belén and San Pedro in Cusco are located in what was the Cuntisuyu quarter in the division of the Inca city (Sherbondy 1982, Pérez Rodríguez 1966) and Accha belongs in what in Inca times was the Cuntisuyu quarter of the empire; San Pedro and San Jeronimo are respectively the place of departure and one of the major truck stops on the way to Accha. Both in Cusco and in Lima there exist strong communities of Accheños regrouped around a social club often centered around a soccer team. The migrants tend to remain involved in the economic and ritual matters of their village of origin. Adult children working in the city often take a vacation at the time of harvest, the single largest agricultural task in terms of labor expenditure, to come and help their aging parents. When the need arises, transplanted Accheños will form a committee and hire a lawyer to petition funds from the state for the construction of a road or other public works in Accha. There is a constant exchange of foodstuff and goods or money between Accha and Cusco, and near-strangers seen boarding the truck or the truck driver himself are often entrusted with messages, money, or food for relatives. With the constant rise in cost of cargos (appointed sponsorships of ritual ...por tal orden y concierto, que, bien mirados aquellos barrios y las casas de tantas y tan diversas naciones como en ellas vivían, se veía y comprehendía todo el Imperio junto, como en el espejo o en una pintura de cosmografía. 10 obligations) and the impoverishment of villagers, cargos are often sponsored by city-dwellers either in their own name or in the name of a village relative. There is little in-migration to Accha. I estimate that less than ten percent of the population is not originally from Accha. Most of those forasteros (strangers) are in-marrying villagers from the anexos (hamlets) or neighboring communities. There are also a significant number of mestizos from outside of the community who came to Accha as teachers or guardias , married, and 11 settled in the village. There is also quite a high level of return migration of Accheños who served a number of years in the military before being discharged or lived for a year or more in the city or another community before coming back to their community of origin. Cotlear’s study show that 45 heads of family (i. e. close to 20%) fit that category. Most of the Accheños settled in Cusco and Lima that I have been able to interview entertain the hope that they or their children will someday return to the village. 2. 3. Demography and survival It is difficult to assess the immediate impact on the community of the two demographic factors outlined above --infant mortality and out migration-which translate in actuality as both an overall diminution and an aging of the Accheño population. However, it is certain that neither is a recent phenomenon, and that demographic decline has been a factor in the life of Accha (see chapter 6) and in other highland communities (Cook 1982) since early historical times. The preceding data on out migration, and particularly on the strength of the ties that unite the migrants to their community of origin, The guardia civil is the military body that operates as police in the rural areas. The mayor of Accha during my stay there was a retired guardia civil who had been posted to Accha and married the owner of the important hacienda of Chamina. 11 might be an indication of a strategy of maintenance based on a modern ‘archipelago’ whose present day ‘islands’ are situated either on the periphery or even in the mainstream of the national market economy in Lima and in Cusco, but whose nexus remains Accha, the village of origin. The goods, services and ritual prestations that travel between those centers reinforce the necessary interdependence of transplanted Accheños and the village, and insure the material survival of their kin and the ritual reproduction of social relations. In this way, the identity of Accheños is centered in, but not circumscribed by the physical limits of the village, as will be further developed in chapters 2 and 3. 3. Relations to the land: economy, ecology and ritual practice The total land area of the district of Accha is roughly 18,000 hectares. About one third of that is privately owned by the comuneros. Another third is communal land, either owned communally by the whole village in the case of pasture land, or in the case of arable land, worked jointly by the various groups that constitute the totality of the community. The rest is owned by the mestizos and hacendados, the shopkeepers and landowners of mixed or Spanish descent (vecinos) who do not actively belong to the moiety and ayllu system. The cultivated lands range in altitude from the river valleys of the Apurimac and the Velille (2900 m.) to the slopes of the surrounding mountains up to 4000 m. In terms of total cultivated area, the major part of land is made up of communal potato land and pasture land. 3. 1. Pasture land and animals Until the Agrarian Reform of the 1960s, there was an hacienda Siwina owned by the family of Carlos Olivera. The whole mountain of Siwina was part of the hacienda land. The hacendado would charge a fee per animal per year for the right to graze there. The hacienda was taken over by the community and is now communal land, and is still exclusively used as pasture. Another gain in communal land was effected in the early 80s when the marshy laguna was drained for sanitary reasons. The regained land was made 12 into communal pasture land, simply known as la pampa, whose location between the two arms of the community, betrays the fact that it was once a body of water on the shores of which the village was built. It is easy to realize that before the drainage of the laguna, and before the Agrarian Reform, pasture land was scarce. Before that time, what pasture land there was had been divided between the moieties. Individuals from one moiety were not allowed to graze their animals on the pastures of the other moiety. The pasture land gained by the expropriation of the Olivera hacienda and the draining of the lake was made into village communal land, and to my knowledge there is today no saya pasture land: all pasture land is available to the whole village. On any one day, the pampa teems with small herds of goats and sheep, and with horses, brought there in the morning to graze freely for the day until a member of the household comes to collect them in the evening. Animal husbandry in Accha is by and large limited to small herds of sheep and goats, usually cared for by the woman and young children of each household. Horses are kept for transportation. Cattle in small numbers provide the milk for the fresh cheese for which Accha is renowned as far as Cusco and teams of oxen for plowing. In addition, each household usually keeps one sow, a few chickens, and the ubiquitous guinea pigs (cuwis) who have the run of the kitchens. All The same development project that drained the laguna built a new school complex for elementary as well as secondary education that employs 28 teachers (1988 figure), all of them foreigners to the village, although cases of marriages with Accheños are frequent. 12 those are an integral part of Accheños economic, but also social and ritual space, as will be made clear in the following chapters. 3. 2. corn chakras and potato chakras Accha’s most important crops by total yield are, in descending order, 1) corn, 2) potatoes, ulluco (Ullucus tuberosus) and other tubers, 3) wheat, beans, tarwi (Lupinus mutabilis) and quinoa (Chenpodium quinoa) and 4) barley (Abelardo Fernandez Vaca pers. com.) . 13 Unlike many communities in the region, Accha has no contract for its barley with the Cusqueña brewery in Cusco, which holds a virtual monopoly on the marketing and, indirectly, on the production of the grain. By providing seeds and buying the whole harvest from their contractual growers, the brewery virtually dictates the market value of barley. 14 In Accha, barley is cultivated in rather small quantity either for household consumption (mostly in the form of soup) or for the annual direct trading with llama herders. Every year, around the date of the fiesta of Carmen (July 16th), llameros from the area of Omacha bring several hundred animals to Accha in order to trade llama meat for barley, corn, and beans. This is the only example I have observed of large scale organized barter in Accha. The llamas usually arrive as one large herd several hundred head strong, and remain in Accha for several weeks, typically grazing at the edge of the pampa, away from the village’s sheep and goats. Yet, this large herd is not a proper “collective” (i.e., communal) The estimated figures given for Accha in 1976 by Ccori are as follow: corn: 375,960 kg; potatoes: 83,200 kg; wheat: 35, 520 kg; barley: 22,080. 13 This creates a total dependency not just on the outside market economy, but rather on the brewery as the whole arable land of the village is likely to be devoted to barley as the 33only cash crop. The peasants are then obliged to accept the prices offered by the brewery for their harvest and to use that cash to buy everything they need at market prices (see Meyerson 1990, Allen 1988). 14 29 herd, rather it is a herd made up of several private herds, in the care of one or two herders. I was told that the way to tell individual herds from collective herds --beside the size of the herd-- is that private herds are obligated under penalty of a fine to have bells, whereas communal herds do not wear bells, because the conflicting sounds of unknown bells would confuse the individual animals. Only a portion of the herd is traded and butchered: the rest is for carrying the traded goods back to the high puna villages. These transactions are conducted through the intermediary of ritual kinsmen. The llameros typically maintain ties with a small number of individuals in the community with whom they stay on these yearly visits, and who serve as brokers for the rest of the community. This brokerage too is effected through family and compadrazgo ties. The Accheño host does not himself have enough stored grain to satisfy the need of the llameros and must call on his relatives and compadres, who deal with the llameros through him. It is conceivable of course that the herder in charge of the transaction changes every year, that the llameros have different ritual relatives with whom they trade, or even that herders from different localities have contacts in different parts of the community. In 1987, the senior herder stayed with Benjamin Ocón, of Hanansaya. By the following fiesta, Benjamin Ocón had died, apparently murdered, and I do not know with whom the llameros traded. Corn, squash, and fruit (prickly pears, peaches, and limes) grow in mixed chakras (fields) in the two river valleys, up to an altitude of about 3200 m.: squash is planted with the corn, fruit trees often grow in the middle of the field, and prickly pears form a hedge around it. Wheat, barley, and beans are grown around the main village. Potatoes and other tubers are grown in the folds of Siwina and the other surrounding mountains, and on the fertile plain of 30 Achupampa, which stretches between the village of Accha and the sheer drop to Pilpinto and the Apurimac Valley. In Accha, potatoes and corn differ in more than just the location of the fields. There are marked differences between the two crops in how they are integrated in the social and ritual structure of the community (see chapters 4 and 5), as well as in their relation to the wider economic structure. Potatoes are the stuff of life and are eaten in various forms on a daily basis. Corn, although an important part of the daily diet --principally as boiled kernels (muti or mote) -- is also a prestigious and ritual food (see also e. g. Murra 1968, and 15 Azócar and Martínez 1987) and is an integral part of all seasonal and life-cycle celebrations, mostly in the form of corn beer (chicha.) Potatoes are rarely ever sold and are perceived as strictly for domestic consumption, although they are sometimes given away or bartered. In contrast, a certain amount of corn is grown for sale in Cusco. Ccori (1978:66) offers the figure of just 1% of the total production of corn in Accha being sold in Cusco. I have no comparable figure for 12 years later, but I believe that the decline of barter at the weekly market during that period translated as an increase in sales outside of the village. Yet there is also a direct relation between the amount of cash crop produced and the state of the regional and national market. During my stay in 1987-89, many Accheños said that they would not be planting for sale, as the cost of transportation to the city would have canceled the potential profit from the sale. Potato land and corn land also differ in modes of ownership and cultivation. The labor needed for the cultivation of corn is minimal and can muti is consumed as an accompaniment for the main meals of the day, but also as a snack, and is always offered to visitors and passers-by. It is the sign of a good housewife to have fresh muti ready at the proper time. I have heard a lazy housekeeper denigrated as “chirimuti”, cold muti. 15 usually be met by the household. In contrast, time and labor demands for potatoes are large. The cultivation of potatoes necessitates the coordination of several households and the activation of ritual ties and usually, as we will see below, requires the communal involvement of Accha’s various corporate groups . 16 3. 2. 1. Potato moiety-land: fondos The cultivation of potatoes involves the articulation of a system of groups, which have been mentioned in the introductory section and will be discussed at length in chapter 4. Those are the two moieties (sayas), Hanansaya and Hurinsaya, the two ayllus within Hurinsaya, Ccosco ayllu and Santa Ana, and the peripheral hamlets (anexos) which maintain administrative economic and ritual ties with Accha. Ritual and communal-labor operate the differentiation and/or merging of these various groups. The cultivation of potatoes activates two distinct levels of grouping. One , the most inclusive, brings the whole system together, while the other functions at the level of the saya and includes the ayllus but excludes the anexos. All arable communal land is potato land (papales.) All communal papales are either laymi or fondo. The laymi is the communal land for the whole village, including its anexos. The fondos are for the two moieties or sayas, Hanansaya and Hurinsaya. Therefore, there are potentially at all times three communal Ackerman, who worked in the Apurimac region, also found differences -although apparently reversed from those in Accha-- in the way social relations were involved in the cultivation of the crops: “Unlike the cultivation of any other crop, the social unit of production in the case of maize is not based upon the extended family tie. It is based upon the structure of alliance with non-relatives --ritual kin and ayni” (1985:291.) 16 potato fields, one for Hanansaya, one for Hurinsaya, and one for the whole community. The fondos are worked in faenas, that is to say, members of the respective moieties work jointly through all the successive operations. The seed-potatoes are stored by the saya, and the harvest is also the joint property of the group. Some of the harvest may be redistributed immediately to the saya members as an emergency measure in case of poor harvests --either individual or laymi . But the bulk of the fondo harvest is kept in a communal storehouse to provide food for fiestas or other faenas. In 1988, the decision was made in Hurinsaya to sell the whole fondo harvest, including the seed-potatoes, because the quality of the potatoes was found to be inadequate. Some of the proceeds of the sale went to repay a debt of about $100 to PRODERM, the European non-governmental organization (NGO) working in the region. The loan had been taken to buy seed and fertilizer. The rest of the money from the sale went towards buying alcohol (trago) for faenas, and wood and equipment for saya-based projects. 3. 2. 2. Potato community land: laymis In contrast to the fondo, the laymi is not moiety-based but involves the whole community. Anybody in Accha who is empadronizado--registered for communal labor and voting--has access to a plot of laymi land. For 1988, the libros de empadronimiento give the names of 340 individuals who participate in communal work. This figure is notably higher than the number of households in the village (323), in spite of the fact that not all villagers are registered. In fact the number of participants for the laymi include people from the anexos, markedly from the anexo of Oyaino, a hamlet in the Velille Valley which had no other access to potato land. The word empadronimiento comes from the Spanish padrón , meaning “list”, or “register.” The libros de empadronimiento are the modern version of padroncillos, listings of tribute payers in Indian reducciones instituted by the Spaniards at the beginning of the colonial period (see for instance Salomon 1986; Powers 1990). For each community, moiety or ayllu a written list of all the people registered to vote for the officers is carefully kept by the secretary. Only those comuneros whose names are on the register can take part in the laymi. Registration is not compulsory, and 20% to 30% of the villagers choose not to be registered. 17 Every two years, there are elections for the village authorities, and at that time the villagers must renew their registration (reactulizarse) and their commitment to participating in the communal activities. The regular allotment of laymi land for each individual is half a topo which is known in Accha as one ch’eqta. 18 I believe that the topo, and the 19 ch’eqta are very flexible units of measure, and vary with the quality of the land and the nature of the crop. 20 In land transactions, the exact area of the chakra often does not seem to be relevant, as even the worth of the field is evaluated in yield, which is also expressed in ch’eqtas, which, as units of weight equal 1/4 fanega, or 30 kilos. This figure was given me by Abelardo Fernandez Vaca. Checcta allpoachacra in Holguín. Checcta refers to something that is split or divided. Checctaruna for instance is a person with a harelip --literally a split man (Holguín). To split wood, would be checctany (Lira ch’ekkta and Cusihuaman ch’eqta). 19 The term ‘topo’ itself was explained to me in various ways: It corresponds to about one fourth of an hectare (Don Mariano Guzmán), it is about 3000 m2 (Abelardo Fernandez Vaca). A topo ‘legitimo’ is 44 x 88m (Don Mariano Guzmán). Ford (1962) gives the very precise equivalent of 0.86 acres (1986:62) and Brisseau (1981: 565) that of 3252 m2, or 1/3 hectare. 20 Rostworowski goes even further and states that a topo can be a measure of time, area and volume. She suggests that the best way to understand topo is as a measure of expended energy (Rostworowski 1960, 1964). 17 18 The word ch’eqta clearly implies the notion of division especially in two-ch’eqtan is half, for instance (Cusihuaman 1976). This notion is nicely supported by the Inca meaning for topo, which was a measure of the necessary and sufficient amount of land to support a married couple. Thus the ch’eqta , half a topo, would be the measure sufficient for one individual, i.e. one half of a couple. Butch’eqta also seems to contain the idea of an exact number of shares of a whole, perhaps not unlike other comparable concepts like ceque and ch’uta (see Zuidema 1964 and 1992, Urton 1984). In addition, ch’eqta in present day Accha is not only a measure of area and of weight, but also time and labor corresponding to the amount of land 3 teams (masas ) of 3 foot plows (chakitaqllas ) and 3 clod-turners (rapachus ) --or a total of 12 individuals--can plow in one day. This kind of work is often turned into a competition, with the three teams racing each other (chakrapi qatinakuy). Brisseau (1981:565) also gives a list of equivalencies of land measures used in the Cusco region. She establishes that one topo = 1 yunta = 2 mazas = 4 shillkus = 4 solares = 2 poqchas = 2 ch’ eqtas. Besides topo and ch’eqta, the other two terms that are used in Accha correspond there to units of labor rather than area: yunta is a team of bulls, and masa, as we just saw, a team of plowmen. It should be noted, however, that the equation proposed by Brisseau does not match the one suggested by the correspondence made in Accha of one ch’ eqta to 3 masas, which would equate one topo to 6 masas rather than 2. This discrepancy rather supports my argument that both the topo and the ch’ eqta are variable units, that are not solely measures of area, but are also related to labor expenditure and yield. The laymi that took place in Kachaqkalla in the spring of 1988 (see introduction) started with an asemblea, or general meeting of the political authorities and all of the participants, during which several items of business 35 were raised, including the question of the invasion of church land (see conclusion) and my own formal meeting with the whole community. When the assembly was over, the signal of the chakra rakyi, the distribution of land, was given by the president of the community, and the several hundred participants rushed to their hoes or foot plows (chakitaqlla) and spread out in all directions. For a few minutes of feverish work, each person proceeded to delimit the plot he intended to plant by drawing a furrow (wachu) around its periphery. Some worked by themselves, some in groups of relatives, and some delimited several plots for absent relatives. Soon several conflicts broke out. People started to argue about the location and size of plots, with a lot of shoving and pushing and threatening gestures. The little valley echoed with yells and insults of feuding women, and the good-humored shouted commentaries of onlookers. Rapidly, though, the noise died down as the protagonists settled to work out compromises. Soon all the plots had been delimited, and people started to walk home: the wachu was enough of a claim, and people were free to plow their plots at any time after that. While the people involved in the laymi were from both sayas, and also from some of the anexos, there seemed to be no clear pattern of the division into plots according to the group affiliation of the individuals, and no moiety division of any kind in the location of the plots. The only factor in the distribution of laymi land that I was able to notice was the fact that the people from the anexos tended to be working on the less desirable plots high on the slopes. Yet, the overall emphasis seemed to be less on distinctions between groups than on the equal right of all to a share of the common land. In the laymi, people harvest what they plant. But once the plot is claimed, they can do what they want with it. Should they run out of seeds or 36 time, their plot might remain fallow: there is no compulsion to plant. The plot is theirs for two years and they may choose to plant the first year but not the second, or plant potatoes one year and another crop the second. Others, who may not have access to other land, may decide to plant and harvest their full two years and even plant a third year of wheat or barley before letting the land go fallow again. Fondo and laymi function according to two totally different principles, both of which belong to a centuries-old Andean tradition. The fondo is based on the faena system, that is to say on the group members working for the benefit of the group as a whole. The laymi on the other hand is a system that ensures the individual member’s right and access to common property and guarantees his rightful share. However, these two distinct systems are linked: the rights and the duties of the individual are incumbent on his being empadronizado., and on his commitment as a community member. Those who are not registered, mostly the mestizos and people who are registered in another community, own or rent potato land higher up above the 21 village on the mountains Kangal and Itunku. However, in some cases, people who are not registered, or not even members of the community, may work in the laymi “por amistad”--out of friendship. If a registered individual has enough land elsewhere or for some other reason does not want to take part in the laymi , he can pass on his derecho , his right, to a friend, a compadre, or a relative. This act of “friendship” often translates as an obligation, as it is a favor that can be banked and cashed in through a constant system of reciprocity. I was told that before the presidency of Alan García, people could be registered in more than one community. Ann Peters confirms that such a law was indeed passed during García’s tenure of office (pers. comm.). 21 Abelardo Fernandez Vaca, although he is registered in Hurinsaya and is a powerful member of his saya, does not bother to participate in laymis. He claims it is too much work for just two years on the same plot of land. Instead he rents land up on Kangal, where he plants every year using chemical fertilizer. This method of cultivation saves him from having to plow and hoe a new plot every year. He also says that leaving the land fallow has not been such a good idea since the introduction of a type of grass he calls grama in Spanish or kikullu in Quechua. 22 This type of grass grows fast with strong roots when the land is fallow, making the next ploughing very difficult. The decision of the location of the next laymi is taken by the community president after consultation with other senior members of the community. People maintain that in a given year the laymi could be “anywhere,” and that there is no fixed pattern of rotation. Rather the decision is made every time, taking into consideration the state of the soil, weather conditions and other circumstances. The sites identified by Don Mariano for a five year period are as follows: Asnacpuquio (1987), Kachaqkalla/Apique (1988), Tocre (1989), Ancara (1990), Intiruyoc (1991), and Siwina (1992). This information was given me by Don Mariano in 1992 in a letter. It would have been impossible for him to predict in 1988 where the next four laymis would take place. He had then guessed that the 1989 laymi would be either in Siwina or Ancara. It should also be noted that some of the names that he mentions in the 1992 list are different from the ones I collected from him in This grass was apparently introduced during the first term of President Belaúnde. The seed was dropped from airplanes in small white envelopes. People still recall with amusement that everybody thought the envelopes contained money and they would rush to catch them before they even hit the ground. Chris Franquemont (pers. com.) identifies the grass as Pennisetum clandestinum, introduced for forage from Africa in what she says was a botched attempt at agricultural development. 22 1988. Most notably, he gives the name Apique for the site of the 1988 laymi, which took place in what I had then been told was Kachaqkalla. Fig. 1: Distribution of communal potato land in Accha: 1= Siwina, 2= Tocre, 3= Intiruyoq, 4= Sumbreruyoq, 5= Achupampa, 6= Asnacpuquio, 7= Ayawayco, 8=Ancara, 9=Qochapampa, 10= Kachaqkalla (Apique) (Adapted from Ccori 1978). Figure 1 identifies ten laymi sites, but there is no agreement on that number, nor on their names or exact locations. The list collected by Ccori in Accha in 1976 differs significantly from the one given here: Interruyocc, Sumbreruyocc, Acchupampa, Toccopujio, Ayahuaicco, Jachaccalla, Ccochapama, Ccacharccalla, K’uchicancha, Huanchocc Sihuina. It is possible 23 that there are in fact a greater number of potential sites, and that not all of them are necessarily used with the same frequency, which would account for some of the discrepancies in the recollection of past sites. It is also possible that several sites might be known by different names; or indeed that only a few sites (Siwina and Achupampa, for example) have permanent names recognized by the whole community. Other sites like K’uchicancha (pigsty, enclosure for pigs,) are likely to be temporary or even personal toponyms for a site. Some of the sites are also used for moiety potato land in between cycles: there had been a fondo for Hurinsaya in Kachaqkalla just a few years before the laymi took place there in 1988; and in 1989, the fondos for both sayas were in Achupampa, on the Hanansaya side of the community. The existence of Ccori seems to have recorded the same toponym twice: once as Jachaccalla and once as Ccacharcalla. This is Kachaqcalla in my list. 23 multiple sites and the necessity to accommodate both laymis and fondos test the flexibility of the rotation cycle. 3. 2. 3. Corn chakras : private ownership and saints’ chakras If potato land is relatively abundant, (“papales are free, they are everywhere,”) such is not the case of corn land. In Accha, maizales (corn fields) are permanent, non-rotating, privately owned, and scarce, because of their location at the bottom of the river valley. Most of the intrigues, disputes, inheritance plots, formations of ritual kinship ties or marriages have in one way or another to do with access to corn land. There are only three ways to obtain a maizal: it can be inherited, bought, or rented. The selling price of land is based on the cash equivalent of the yield for 10 years. It is usually accepted that a topo yields 450 kg more or less of corn per year. The average amount of corn land per household is about two topos. The value of the land varies with the presence of water. An irrigated maizal is worth three times as much as one that doesn’t have access to water. The rent is 1/4 of the yearly yield. Rent, however, cannot be paid in produce but only in cash and labor. Ownership of corn land can make the difference between bare survival and comparative wealth. Don Mariano Guzmán, as a widower, had more maizales than he could possibly use or even work. Because of that, and because he is an old man with no children living in the village, people are always ready to do him favors in the faint hope of inheritance, or on the vague promise on his part to consider letting them buy or rent some of his land. The following narrative of events shows how this system of promises and expectations can lead to an exchange of goods and prestations over a number of years. This story was told to me by Don Mariano, at the time when the latter set of events in the narration were taking place. It was nine years ago that Don Mariano Nolasco Sebillanos Espinosa, brother of my mother, died. Luis Vargas, the catechist for Hurinsaya, rushed to the wake with a coffin that he gave to my brother and me. Now, had anybody asked him for anything? No. What was going on is that he wanted to buy one of the maizales belonging to our dead uncle. Perhaps he thought that my brother and I could not afford a coffin, I told him. But in the end, well, we took it, and our uncle was buried in Vargas’s coffin. Now, last night Luis Vargas’s mother died and he came to the house asking for help. I said, ‘Fine, I’ll take care of it, but I keep the maizal; you can forget about it.’ So this morning I went to the house of Gavino Gutierrez [a neighbor] who I knew had a coffin. I went with a bottle of trago and he let me borrow his coffin, but only for a week. So I went to see Abelardo Fernandez Vaca, my hierno who had been renting that chakra from me. I asked him, ‘Do you want to buy it?’ ‘With pleasure,’ he said, so we arranged that he would go to Cusco this week to buy a coffin, and that will be his first payment on the chakra. The coffin I will give to Don Gavino in return for the one I borrowed from him to give to Luis Vargas. 24 Obligations go on at least until the final payment is made, and it is not in the interest of the seller to close the sale too soon. Nine years after Luis Vargas had made what was recognized as a down payment --or at least an option-- on the maizal he wanted to buy, Don Mariano still owned it and was renting it to Don Abelardo. A year after Don Abelardo made his down payment of one coffin, I was sent by Don Mariano to ask Don Abelardo to lend us as a favor five horses needed for the potato harvest. I asked Don Abelardo, who had in the meantime become my compadre, what payment he expected for the loan of This Spanish term is often used interchangeably with the Quechua qatay, male affine (see introduction). In the narrow sense, hierno translates as ‘son-inlaw’. But its meaning in Accha and elswhere among Quechua speakers is much broader and covers a whole class of in-marrying males. Abelardo Fernandez Vaca was married to the daughter of one of Don Mariano’s cousins. 24 the horses. He replied: “Do not worry about that. We are working a maizal that belongs to your father [Don Mariano.] He has the right to ask a favor.” When I left Accha in 1989, in spite of Don Abelardo ‘s efforts to have Don Mariano accept a lump payment in cash, the sale still hadn’t been finalized. An important variation of the rule of private ownership of corn land is the existence what I will call saints’ land. Each saint whose fiesta is celebrated in Accha has a corn field that bears his or her name (e. g. Santiago, Santa Ana, Virgen del Carmen) and which is worked by the carguyoq (sponsor) of the fiesta who can dispose of the harvest towards the cost of the cargo. I place in this same category some fields which are not associated with a saint. For instance, Vinuchakra and Aceitechakra are fields that are cultivated to provide the church with, respectively mass wine and kerosene for the lamp of the Holy Ghost burning over the altar. There is also for each church one chakra set aside for the sacristan, the usufruct of which serves as his salary. However, calling those church land would lead to confusing them with land owned by the church (often bequeathed by parishioners in exchange for masses after their death) and administered by the local priest. The problems raised by the existence of this church land, and the conflicting positions of the priest (selling saints’ land) and the villagers (invading church land) will be discussed in the conclusion. 3. 2. 4. Papales vs. maizales In an essay devoted to the cultural basis of the distinction between potato and corn in Inca times, Murra shows that at the time of the Spanish conquest, and indeed for a long time after that, potatoes and corn, besides the technological and ecological differences of their cultivation, were related to two initially unconnected cultural modes: that of the highland peasants, and that of the Incas of the Cusco valley. In the highlands, potatoes were the subsistence crop. Corn was only introduced there by the Incas, and was grown mostly for ritual purposes, sometimes at great cost in labor and technological investment (Murra 1968b). Elsewhere, the same author argues that when the Incas conquered new populations, instead of levying a portion of the agricultural production of the place to support the State, they would create arable land by building irrigation canals and terraces. This land would be planted for corn, and its harvest was reserved in part for the Inca and in part for the cult of the Sun (Murra 1981). In the literature the term chakra is generally translated as “field.” In Accha it is nearly exclusively reserved to designate corn fields, which seems to verify Murra’s intuition that such was also the case in Tawantinsuyu and that the term was only applied to potato fields after the conquest (Murra: 1968b). This can be explained by the ideal pattern that I am outlining here. Generally, two factors intervene. Potato fields have to be rotated, or they exhaust the soil; this is not the case for corn. Potato fields are not a scarce commodity, corn fields are. Therefore potato fields do not have a fixed existence, only a temporary one as they become fallow after two years, and the location and boundaries of individual plots are negotiated with each new laymi. Furthermore, as we have seen, the identification of the land with one or the other social group is redefined every time and not contingent on a pattern of geographically or socially defined sectors: in Accha, the moieties and ayllus are localized, but this spatial division does not extend to the laymi and fondo lands, which are distributed in a wide circle outside the village as terrain permits (fig. 1.; see also chapter 4). In the case of corn, the fields are fixed, with known boundaries. In contrast to the potato fields, in the corn chakras it is the people, not the land, that rotate --either as carguyoqs who succeed each other in the saints’ chakras; or as new owners who inherit or buy private chakras. Yet, the corn chakra may retain its own identity. Saints’ chakras remain associated with a specific saint regardless of the identity of the person who has temporary usufruct of it or works it for the benefit of the saint. And today, some chakras still bear the name of an owner long dead, or of an hacienda long gone. It is only through those fixed physical boundaries and ownership history that chakras become actualized. But here too, in the final instance, this actualization occurs through human intervention and labor. One day after ploughing and planting a small field, Don Mariano, surveying the finished work said “now it is a chakra.” A chakra does not exist as such unless it is worked, and ultimately it is the labor output that determines its existence. The symbolic opposition between potatoes and corn in Accha will be further illustrated in later chapters. Potatoes grown in communal laymi and fondo will be shown to ensure the physical subsistence of the group and its social reproduction (chapter 4), whereas the corn of the saints’ chakras will be seen as “feeding” the patron saint and guaranteeing the ritual production of group identity (chapter 5). 25 This distinction is evocative of the one outlined by Murra (see supra) for Tawantinsuyu, between the subsistence use of potatoes, and the ritual use of corn in the highlands. 25 CHAPTER TWO SYMBOLIC SPACE AND SACRED GEOGRAPHY 1. The sacred mountains in the local cosmology 1. 1. Apus and Pachamama Accha’s horizon, like that of all high valley communities, is formed by a circle of peaks that not only limits the visible territory, but also delimits the cosmological space of its inhabitants. 26 In that region, these mountains are known as apus or awkis (wamamis in some other regions of the Andes.) The apus, the mountain-lords, are chthonic deities individually named and with recognized characteristics and qualities. The term apu applied to the mountains is the same that is used for catholic saints (chapter 5) and was used under the Incas and in colonial time for the kurakas , the local political chiefs. There is a hierarchy of mountain-lords ranked according to their relative power, based on their aggressiveness and their ability to win battles (Morissette and Racine 1973, Earls 1971). There is thus a multitude of individual apus which are generally, although not always, male. In 27 In another community, that of P’irqa, in the district of Pacariqtambo, as we were discussing apus, someone rattled off a list of the names of the apus, saying at the end: “this is the whole community of P’irqa.” 27 The few apus that in the Cusco region were given Spanish names of female saints, like la Veronica and Mama Simona, and are consequently commonly perceived as female, are still known by the altumisayoq ritual specialists by their Quechua male names (J. V. Nuñez del Prado pers. comm.). 26 contrast, Pachamama, the other primal deity, is an indivisible entity, and is female. 1. 1. 1. Pachamama, the Earth-mother All of the natural world belongs to Pachamama. The fields are part of her and the crops grow out of her. Pachamama is not so much linked with a general idea of fertility as with the specific fertility derived from the cultivation of the land (Harris 1985). In that sense, there is a necessary symbiotic relation between the earth and the people who cultivate it. Pachamama is a “nourisher,” not a “life-giver” 28 and life is transmitted through her only once she is fertilized. As we have seen in chapter 1, a chakra only comes into being when it is worked. The cultivation of the land is the domestication or socialization of Pachamama as well as her fertilization. 29 In the three-world cosmology of the Andean people, Pachamama either transcends the division or is associated with the concrete, actual world/earth Kay Pacha (Albó 1982ms). The apus mediate between Ukhu Pacha, the Nether World, and Hanan Pacha, the Upper World (Flores Ochoa 1988 ms, J. V. Nuñez del Prado and L. Murillo 1988 ms, Urton 1981.) Apus are also the runa micheq , 30 ‘shepherds’ of the humans put on earth by Taytanchis, the creator-god (Nuñez This power is ascribed to Wiraqochan and/or to Pachakamaq, since kamaq is more appropriately translated as “life-giver.” 29 This concept also will be seen to apply to the ritual of socialization of the herd in chapter 5. 30 Zuidema gives a similar function of mediator between the sky and the underworld to the stepped pyramid-like construction called ushnu that was found in Inca times in public places of ritual/administrative import. (1989d: 420; see also Nickel 1984ms). It was “shaped like a post and variously made of stone, gold or silver.... The lords would sit there drinking to the Sun on those uznos and make many sacrifices to the Sun” (Albornoz 1584 in Duviols 1984:202). This construction might also be seen, like the apacheta cairn-like structure, as the man-made image of an apu. 28 del Prado and Murillo 1988 ms). Pachamama nurtures and punishes (Harris 1985, Nuñez del Prado 1974); the apus protect, guide, instruct, and also threaten (Martinez 1983). She, like them, needs to be fed, and worshipped, thanked, and placated. 1. 1. 2. Apus rituals and Pachamama rituals Apus are connected with the sky and the air. The daily ritual of phukuy 31 involves blowing on an arrangement of three or more coca leaves (q’intu ) selected for their perfection as an offering to the apus. The person doing the offering blows over the q’intu in the direction of the various apus and calls their names, as an invocation and an offering. In the context of an important ritual, or sometimes while on a journey, the q’intu may then be placed under a small stone or buried. Usually, as a daily ritual, it is presented to someone else as a gift of respect and chewed to start the wad of coca leaves. The mundane ritual of phukuy must be related to the more elaborate performance of Karpay Ayni (sharing of personal power) by the altomisayoqkuna (ritual specialists of the apus) around Cusco. There, the phukuy is divided into two phases: in a first time, the apus are summoned by name in hierarchical order to bring to the officiant their purifying spirit. Then at a later stage during the ceremony the spirit of the various apus is sent back to their geographical location through the blowing on the coca-leaves (Frost and Decoster 1988ms; Nuñez del Prado and Murillo 1988ms). It appears that rituals involving coca-leaves --either the pervasive phukuy or the more phukuy: soplar, (to blow) Cusihuaman,ppucuna: fuelles, o cañeto para soplar (bellows, blow-tube) pucuycun huayra umactam: dar sereno (give tranquility) Huarap ppuccuycuynin: sereno que asiente en la cabeça (calmness of the mind) González Holguín. 31 elaborate karpay ayni are characterized by a spiritual relation between the officiant and the apus, expressed as a physical or spatial relation. In contrast, Pachamama has to do with fertility and is connected with underground water and its resurgence at the water sources (ñawis) . Water is to Pachamama as air is to the apus. For her, the equivalent practice of the mundane phukuy is the t’inka, which consists in libations of chicha or trago: 32 These libations can be poured several times a day, and often an abridged t’inka is performed every time chicha is drunk. In fact the two kinds of deities are narrowly linked in the practice of those common rituals, emphasizing the complementarity rather than the differences between Pachamama and the apus. In Accha, in the course of the day, the routine libation to Pachamama can be reduced to the dip of a finger in the chicha vase. As a few drops of chicha are flicked over the rim of the vase for Pachamama, the person doing the t’inka will often at the same time blow over these droplets towards the apus. In a similar way, when doing a phukuy, an exceptionally nice q’intu may be buried for the Pachamama, especially at the time of beginning of a specific agricultural task, like planting or harvesting. A ‘natural’ q’intu, three coca leaves that are attached by the stem, will always be buried as an offering to Pachamama. Also, a phukuy is always performed, and a q’intu always buried, when one reaches a pass in the mountain. 1. 1. 3. Apachetas as icons of the apu. Chicha is a beer made of ground and fermented corn, drunk during work and during fiestas. Special kinds of chicha using different kinds of grains, or which are flavored with the fruit of the indigenous tree called molle or with wild strawberries, are brewed and served for different occasions and at different times of the year. Trago is a generic term for alcohol. In some regions of Cusco it is made from sugar cane (cañaso, from caña.). In Accha, it is made of storebought industrial or medicinal alcohol cut with water. 32 A mountain pass is the place of junction between Pachamama and the apu, where the two become one: the traveler, who walks on Pachamama hasn’t broken his physical contact with her, and yet he now reaches the apu. For an Accheño leaving his valley, the mountain pass is literally a threshold-- where separate elements of the cosmological world meet (Pachamama, apu and the sky). Each traveler who reaches a pass contributes one stone, sometimes brought from the valley, to a small cairn (apacheta), thus using elements from the Pachamama to build a miniature image of the apu reaching for the sky. Apachetas are “piles of rocks left by travelers in worship” (González Holguín 1989 [1608]). The name comes from apaniy or apachiniy: to bring or to leave behind (llevar; hacer llevar o dexar ibid.). Apachiy means “to cause to carry” (Brundage 1985). The travelers leave a stone on the pile “so that the fatigue of the journey and the weight of the charge will go away’ (Arriaga 1920: 218). Albornoz in his 1584 Instrucción thus describes the apachetas: “There is another kind of huaca, very common on all the roads and at all the mountain passes in Peru, which they call apachita or camachico [he who commands] by another name. They are in all the climbs and slopes of the paths, and those who walk with a load or are tired of walking salute them and offer a prayer or a stone, in such a way that in those places there are piles of them. Others dig the ground of the huaca, while telling it their troubles and their joys. Others tie knots with straw that is nearby. Others offer twigs, others flowers, or the feathers of the pariguanas, which are the birds known as flamencos in Spain. Others acollicos of coca or corn; the acollico is a little bit of chewed coca, or whatever one worships” (in Duviols 1984: 197). As late as the beginning of the 19th century, the heads of defeated enemies were also deposited at apachetas (Demelas 1991:203) as a warning to potential attackers, a practice which adds a dimension as territorial markers to the symbolism of the apacheta. 1. 2. The valley’s ritual space. 1. 2. 1. Apus as sacred markers. The apus that delimit the sacred horizon of Accha also link the valley with other groups. Siwina can be seen from Pilpinto, Acos, and Acomayo, and is part of their ritual horizon. An apu that is visible from a great distance is integrated on the horizon with the local apus. The importance of an apu. in the local hierarchy is directly proportional to its distance from the community, and therefore its relative size on the horizon. The overlapping structure of ritual landmarks, at the same time as it defines the sacred environment of a given population, also forms a continuum that links together neighboring communities who share one or more apus . The less the distance between two communities, the greater is the number of common apus, and the higher the level of shared regional as well as ritual identity. Yet in this area of small high-altitude interandine valleys, each mountain pass is indeed a threshold between ritual spaces, and no two populations have the exact same referential circle of sacred co-ordinates. Each valley’s perimeter of apus therefore constitutes a unique horizon of ritual landmarks. 1. 2. 2. Accha’s local apus. There are seven apus in Accha: Siwina, Kangal, Ankara, Machu Pisqo, Sumbrererioq, Runtu Marka, and Itunka. Siwina is the community’s main apu. Kangal, slightly higher than Siwina according to Peruvian topographical maps, 33 is the second most important apu. Legend has it that Kangal used to be a volcano and tried to unseat Siwina as main apu Fig. 2. Accha and its apus by projecting rocks in Siwina’s direction. But Siwina could not be defeated, and now Kangal is no longer a volcano. Sumbrererioq is a quechuazation of a Spanish word and means “the Hat Shop”. This apu sits at the end of the plateau of Achupampa and is topped by huge cylindrical boulders that vaguely evoke piles of hats on display. Sumbrererioq, also called Kuntursenja (Beak of the Condor) is believed to contain many bones of the Ñaupas , the mythical preIncaic ancestors. Brian Bauer who did an archaeological survey of Accha, indicates the presence in Sombrererioq of Inca burial sites, but no evidence of pre-Inca occupation (pers. com.) Itunka’s name comes from the word itu connoting both ‘sacred mountain’ and ‘ritual boundary’ (see infra.) Machu Pisqo, or Tahui, is the name of a peak on the south side of the plateau. Machu Pisqo means ‘old penis’ in Quechua. When asked for a clarification of the meaning of that name, people would indicate the pointed shape of the peak, and draw a graphic sexual connection between this and the gaping hole of Acchatoqo, a broad but shallow cave on the north-east side of Siwina. It seems that Siwina, like Sumbrererioq, was an burial site in precolumbian times: I have been told that people looking for tapados, (buried treasures) inside the cave of Acchatoqo had found bones. I personally saw in Acchatoqo fragments of textiles too small and brittle to collect, and that I was 33 Mapa topografica, n.d., Instituto Geografico National. 51 unable to identify or date. In addition, there are a great number of skulls lying on the west flank of Siwina itself. Don Mariano, who took me there to show them to me, says that they were unearthed by cows grazing on the mountainside. He pointed at what he claims to be an abnormal elongated shape of the skulls as a proof that those were Ñaupas skulls --the people who inhabited the earth before the sun and the Incas-- saying “see, their heads were different from ours, they were not like us.” 1. 2. 3. Siwina: gender and mythistorical identity The sexual marking of Siwina, implied in the relation between this apu and Machu Pisqo, is further apparent in its general shape, which, when seen from the village resembles a reclining pregnant woman with her hands folded on her swollen abdomen, as if asleep or lying in state. She is known as the Ñusta or Inca princess. The use of the term Ñusta, however, raises another possible implication: In some cases wiñaq rumi (emerging stones) are considered to be manifestations of Pachamama. The female spirit who inhabits these stones is called ñusta. (J. V. Nuñez del Prado 1974:246.). This description of the wiñaq rumi fits the highest point on Siwina: a formidable cylindrical boulder that corresponds to the entertwined hands of the reclining princess. The suggestion that the word ñusta could serve to designate a female spirit connected with Pachamama, in addition to the overall shape of the mountain, underlines the complexity of the relation between apus and Pachamama already alluded to. This is further complicated by the fact that, although Siwina as a mountain is perceived as female, its spiritual representation is a man known in local myths either as “Señor de Siwina” or 52 “Cristóbal” who lives inside the mountain and whose subterranean domain is entered through Acchatoqo (see chapter 5). 1. 3. Regional apus in Accha ‘s sacred horizon: Ausangate and Huanacauri Besides the seven apus that surround the village, the hierarchy of sacred mountains also includes some more distant ones. Of those far-away mountains, two are recognized in Accha (as they are in the whole southeastern part of the Cusco region) and are integrated in the community’s ritual horizon. Those are Huanacauri and Ausangate. Fig. 3. Regional apus in relation to Accha and Siwina 1. 3. 1. “Son hatun apus porque tienen nieve” The power of a given apu and its position in the sacred hierarchy of the region is proportional to the dimension of the social group it protects. The ritual importance of Huanacauri and Ausangate is derived from their sheer size --and concurrently the fact that they are permanently snow-capped--, from their relation to pre-colonial mythology, and from the history of pilgrimages and ritual practices attached to them. These sacred mountains, and the mountainlords who inhabit them were, and are, considered by the inhabitants of the region in their immediate proximity as the most important deities they recognize. Ausangate is one of the peaks connected with the main pilgrimage of the Cusco region, Qollur R’iti (Sallnow 1987: 211). The genesis of the pilgrimage involves the character of the Christ Child who promises salvation to a young Indian shepherd before entering a rock, in a form of lithomorphism common in Andean myths (see chapter 5.) Today, Ausangate “is expressly likened to Dios, God, creator of all living things” (Sallnow 1987: 127.) According to J. V. Nuñez del Prado (1974), Ausangate is inhabited by Roal, the Creator God, whose name “has been confused with that of Apu, and both are used interchangeably as a generic term for the spirit of the mountains”(1974: 245.) But Nuñez del Prado points out that this association between Ausangate and the Creator God is only true for the people of that area. For the inhabitants of the Apurimac region and part of the Cusco Valley, the divinity resides in Salqantay. For the people of Arequipa, he lives in a volcano called Pichu Pichu. Nevertheless, one should not visualize a multiplicity of supreme spirits; rather, we are dealing with the same deity who resides in the highest mountain of each zone and takes for the purpose of liturgy the name of the peak that he inhabits in each case (ibid.) Here the distinction between the mountain and the apu seems both unavoidable and clear: it is the distinction between a physical reality and the spiritual entity it contains, and the local focus implies that for each community the most important mountain will be the receptacle of this highest spirit. Yet there exists a clear symbiotic relation between the two, and the shape and size of the mountain, its proximity to other mountains, and other features, determine the characteristics of the apu, its name, and the ritual activities and myths associated with it. In a culture that puts such emphasis on its ecological and geographical environment (see Martinez 1980), the sacredness is embedded in the very rocks and earth of its landscape. 1. 3. 2. Huanacauri: Between Accha and Cusco Huanacauri is the most important regional apu on the ritual horizon of Accheños. It is located at the southern tip and in the Cuntisuyu quadrant of the Cusco Valley, on a straight line between Cusco and Accha. The modern road, built along the old Cuntisuyu Inca road, that takes Accheños to Cusco through Paruro descends into the Cusco Valley by a pass near the top of Huanacauri. For Accheños, Huanacauri has the same status at the regional level that Siwina has at the level of the valley. It functions as a cosmological point of reference that mediates between Accha and Cusco, and also, through mythic time, relates Accheños to the Inca past. The mountain Huanacauri was an important ritual locus in Inca times, associated with rituals of socialization, initiation, and accession to manhood for the young Inca nobility (Zuidema 1964, 1990). To this day, it is the apu that is responsible for maintaining rules and order, and overseeing the proper behavior of individuals (J. V. Nuñez del Prado 1974). In the Inca myth of origin, Huanacauri occupies a salient position, as it is the place from the top of which the Ayar brothers first discovered the site of the future city of Cusco; it is also where Sinchi Roca, the son born to Manco Capac in Huaynacancha, underwent the ritual of ear-piercing. It is finally where Ayar Uchu was transformed into a stone, worshipped by the Incas as one of their most important shrines (Urton 1990: 39-8; Molina: 1959), the most important huaca. outside of Qoricancha (Rowe 1946: 296). The carved stone on top of Huanacauri was taken into battle against the enemies of the Incas. According to Guaman Poma, the Ayars went straight from Pacariqtambo to Huanacauri to worship their god (1980 vol. 1:64). At the time of Carlos Paullo Topa Ynga, the heirs to the throne were called capac apo Ynga Uana Cauri, “which means king” (1980 vol. 1:159). 34 And indeed, in his depiction of the execution of the rebel Inca king Tupac Amaru I in 1572, Guaman Poma paints the Inca mourners singing with tears running down their cheeks the following verse: Ynga Uana Cauri, maytam rinqui? Sapra aucanchiccho mana huchayoqta concayquita cuchon? Inca Huanacauri, where are you going? could it be that our evil enemies will cut your throat, though you are sinless? 35 This verse is interesting in other ways. Tupac Amaru I is one of the prototypical figures of Inkarrí, the generic Inca King of myths. Versions of the messianic myth have the beheaded body of the Inkarrí, or his head, buried and growing back into a complete body (Ortiz Rescaniere 1973, Decoster 1987ms). 36 This association of Huanacauri with Tupac Amaru suggests then that the sacred apu has gone underground and is being nurtured and ultimately revived by Y sus dios avia que ser Uana Cauri [82]....Este ocho hermanos salieron de Pacari Tambo y fueron a su ydolo uaca de Uana Cauri [84]....Que en aquel tiempo avían lexítimos que al dicho lexítimo le llamaron Capac apo Ynga Uana Cauri; quiere decir rrey [183]. 35 p. 452 [454] vol 2: 419. 36 The messianic connotation is further emphasized by the use of the word huchayoq, sinner, or mana huchayoqta, without sin. Huanacauri, whose name might be rendered, in one interpretation, as “protector-of-atonement,” was involved in the Capac hucha, “the rite of the great sin.” The name of this rite, through which the whole population of Cusco was purified, also serve to designate the victims of human sacrifices (Zuidema 1989c.). 34 56 Pachamama, underlining the relation mentioned above between apus and the earth. This relation will also be made evident in the case of apu Siwina and the myth of Cristóbal in chapter 5. In Guaman Poma’s subtly subversive letter to the King of Spain, it is easy to read in his description of the execution of Tupac Amaru I a parallel between the sinless King of the Incas, the redemptory Huanacauri and the Spaniards’ Christ. A similar association can be made for Ausangate. Ausangate is either said to have been created by Inkarrí (Sallnow 1987:212), or on the contrary, it is Ausangate who created Inkarrí (J. V. Nuñez del Prado 1974:240). Sallnow, who does not himself relate Tupac Amaru II to Inkarrí, also states that the pilgrimage was started in 1783, the year when the last supporters of the 18th century rebel leader were put to death in Cusco. As the same time as Guaman Poma was writing his letter to the King of Spain, Pérez Bocanegra wrote a catechism (1631) while he was the resident priest at Andahuaylillas, a village at the southeast tip of the Cusco Valley. In his Quechua text, he simply used Huanacauri, the name of the apu that dominates the locality, to translate the Spanish Dios. This he did for the benefit 37 of the inhabitants of the village, who viewed Huanacauri as their supreme god. Huanacauri and Ausangate are barely visible from Accha, beyond the circle of local apus. Yet they are an integral part of the community’s sacred geography. These and other major apus of the region are recognized by all. Even when they are out of sight, people will turn and blow in their direction. Travelers passing through Accha bring with them their own sets of apus and blow a phukuy to them in thanksgiving, for protection, and to celebrate their ties with their place of origin. They also blow towards the apus in the direction of their travel, asking for safe passage. In the same way, people who leave Accha 37 I am obliged to Bruce Mannheim for bringing this point to my attention. 57 maintain their identification with the apu. of their community of origin: there is a transplanted Accheño in Cusco who drives a truck called Siwina de Accha and also a huayno band with the same name. 2. Itu: center and periphery. This relation between Accheños and their apu of origin is rendered in Quechua by the word itu which designates “the apu of one’s district of birth and ... is the point of reference of the individual’s identity” (J. V. Nuñez del Prado and Murillo1988ms:1). This use in turn can be traced to the word ituy or ytiy meaning to ‘demand’ or ‘borrow,’ to carry something delicate or heavy 38 with great care, to carry an object in front of oneself in both hands, to take away with oneself. guidance. 40 39 The word also relates to the idea of remembrance, advice and Itu is also the name of a offertory ritual to the sun. 41 As applied to the apu of origin, itu refers to the role of personal protector, provider, and 42 guide that one’s apu plays for the individual, at the same time as it indicates something is carried along and is part of one’s cultural and local identity. It is, I believe, this link to the apu that is being expressed when Accheños claim that Siwina can be seen from Cusco. This is a meaningful statement, ituy: rogar (Guardia M. 1959). ituy: llevar con ambos manos un objeto pesado a la altura del pecho (Lara 1978) ituy o it’uy: to carry [a cooking pot] with great care by the handles (Luís Morató: pers. comm.). ituy: llevar algo a la altura de la cintura (Prov. Altas) (Cusihuamán G. 1976); ituykachay: llevar algo consigo en la mano o en los brazos. (Guardia M. 1959); yttiyccachani: llevar algo consigo en la mano (González Holguín 1989 [1608]). 40 sonccoyqiypy ytiycachay Diospasiminki: traen en la memoria o consigo el sermon que oyes: allisimcta yticllami: darle buenos consejos; ytitman simicta machit machini: predicar al alma cosas de provecho (González Holguín 1989 [1608]). 41 Itu: ceremonia invocatoria al sol para conjurar los males (Lira 1944). 42 ituq: el que provee la comida, el apu. (Luis Morató: pers. comm.). 38 39 because not only is the view of Siwina from Cusco blocked by Huanacauri, but also the corollary is never made that Cusco can be seen from Accha. By claiming that Siwina can be seen from Cusco, Accheños who travel away from Accha can maintain a fictitious contact with a visual icon of identity that connects them with the community. In addition, the use of the word itu raises an interesting issue that deals with the establishment of community boundaries. One of the accomplishments of the Agrarian Reform --by way of promoting the creation of peasant communities--, was the mapping of the land belonging to these communities. Since the 1970s this has been accomplished by sending teams of engineers from the Ministry of the Reform to the villages which petitioned for their accession to the status of peasant community. The engineers’ role is to walk the periphery of the community and to try to reach an agreement over the boundaries between the community and its neighbors. This eventually leads to the establishment of an expediente, a document that makes official the limits of Accha as staked out by the Ministry workers (see chapter 3). As a result of this process, small pyramids of stones are left at the outskirts of the community. These pyramids, which serve to indicate the official boundaries, are called itus by Accheños. In the official document of the Agrarian Ministry that describes and records in Spanish the process of delimitation for the community of Accha, the word ito is used to designate 43 these same mounds of rocks. The word might be an incorrect spelling -dropping of the silent h-- of the Spanish term hito meaning a “pile or heap of rocks, a boundary stone or a landmark,” 43 44 The vocalic change from o to u, Expediente: Reconocimiento de la Comunidad Campesina Sihuina Accha, 1976, Ministerio de la Reforma Agraria, Cusco. 44 hito: mojón o poste de piedra. (Diccionario de la Academia Real.) common in the Quechuazation of Spanish words, would account for the local use of itu to designate these boundary markers. Yet these piles of rocks are in shape, and I believe in symbolic structure, not unlike the apachetas described above, which I argue function partly as icons for the apu. In addition apacheta means, as we have seen, something that is carried or brought, and the Quechua meaning of itu relates to something that is carried away. In the same way as the apacheta is taken to the apu from the valley, the itu may mark the apu’s extreme reach within that valley. These two terms taken together suggest a dual centrifugal/centripetal movement centered on the apu. Itu is also the name of an Inca ritual concerned with the expression of group identity, allegiance, and boundaries. It was performed in times of “dire need” and marked by fasting and abstinence, and the use of special clothing (Polo 1906b:217). According to Zuidema (1989c:253), the Itu Feast took place in November, and was dedicated to the beginning of the sacred season between the first passage of the sun through the zenith (30 October) and the second zenith passage (13 February). All cripples, foreigners and sick persons where excluded from Cusco, and the city closed itself from the outside. The ritual expressly served to put young initiate men in contact with their ancestors; it also was a way to create and celebrate political marriage alliances between Cusco and other kingdoms. Zuidema says that the word “probably derives from the Aymara language … [and] was used for the circle that is sometimes seen around the sun”. This etymology and the ritual symbolism connected with it reinforce the interpretation suggested here of the boundaries around a center and of the relation between this center and the outside. 45 Similar ritual movements include for instance the yearly ritual of Capac Hucha mentioned above and discussed in Duviols 1976a, during which the 45 60 There is, as we have seen, a certain linguistic cross-reference in the usage of the word itu to designate the markers used in the delimitation of the community’s territory. Itu is at the same time the pile of rocks that establishes the boundary (hito, itu), and the spiritual link to the local apu (itu) that a villager carries with him (ituy) when he is away from Accha. The same word that serves to mark the boundaries of the community also connotes its sacred referential locus and identity marker. This in turn would suggest that the agreed upon limits of the community correspond to the area that is directly under the control of the apu, ensuring a concordance between the focus of cultural identity and the territorial limits. Furthermore, if we accept, as I suggest, that this correspondence between the apu and the spatial boundaries of the group influenced the linguistic approximation hito/itu rather than the other way round, then we might also argue that what is recorded in the mythical history of a population or populations as fights between apus --e. g. between Kangal and Siwina-- may well have related to disputes or negotiations between discrete political entities over access to land. 3. What’s in a name? : Toponymy, mythistory and cosmology 3. 1. Siwina In Accha, names of objects, places or people are meaningful. Often I would be asked what my patronym was, and my interlocutor would repeat it slowly as if trying to match it against his or her own repertoire of known names. When that would fail, they would ask for my mother’s name and huacas from the provinces, and the sacrifices and offerings from those provinces would be brought to Cusco and then sent out again along ceque lines in a vast double movement of people, goods and sacred objects that ensured the purification of all the parts of the empire, and also expressed the renewal of their ties to the ritual and political center of Cusco. 61 slowly shake their head. An individual’s patronym and matronym convey meaningful information about who the person is and where he or she comes from. Quechua toponyms are nearly always descriptive of the places they designate (marka, pata, pampa, toqo, etc.). When the gloss is not immediately clear, Accheños will often spontaneously offer an etymological explanation. Siwina is the only apu in Accha for which I was given two different etymologies --one Spanish and one Quechua, both linking the apu to the Incas. One of the interpretations of the name Siwina is that it derives from the phrase Inca Sibillanos. Sibillanos does exist as a patronym in Accha, and is recognized as a ‘Spanish’ surname (Sevillanos, Sevillans). Calle Inca Sebillanos 46 is the name of the southernmost street in Accha, that separates the village from the pampa and runs along the edge of both moieties. The phrase ‘Inca Sibillanos’ is believed to imply that the inhabitants of Accha at the time of the Spanish conquest were recognized as “tal caballeros como los Españoles”--true gentlemen just like the Spaniards. It is in that respect remarkable that, although the name of the apu is usually given as plain ‘Siwina’, or sometimes as ‘Siwina de Accha’, when the lineage of the community and its supposed relation to the pre-colonial elite are to be emphasized, the above etymologies and their variants are always given, preceded by the word Inca, and ‘Sebillanos’ alone is never offered as the meaning of Siwina. The other explanation given by Accheños for the name of the apu , suggesting a derivation from siwi meaning “ring” , relates it to an Inca outpost 47 or observatory: “Inca Siwillaq means that there is a “ring” on top of Siwina. It This happens to be Don Mariano Guzman’s matronym, which he occasionally spells, like some other families in the village, Zevillanos. 47 González Holguín (1989 [1608]). This meaning of siwi is also found in contemporary Bolivian Quechua (Juan de Dios Yapita, pers. comm.). 46 was used for smoke signals.” The ‘ring’ mentioned here refers to a small round stone building on top of the mountain, identified by Bauer as Inca (pers. comm.), which could possibly have been used as an observatory or beacon tower. Besides this building, there is some evidence of an Inca presence in Accha. At the edge of the village itself, at the foot of Siwina Bauer found what he claims is one of the largest Inca site in the region. Surface collection revealed a “very large amount of Inca pottery” spread over several fields, but no architectural structure and no early Inca or pre-Inca material. 48 While in Accha, I was shown a small length of wall that is supposed to be Inca, in Ayllu Santa Ana, not far from where Bauer did his surface collection. The identity of the Incas of Accha is uncertain, although it is reasonable to assume that they were connected with the Inca building on top of Siwina. This building could have served a dual purpose as a communication post with Cusco, and also, conceivably, as a small outpost: Accha was the southernmost limit of the territory occupied by Incas-de-privilegio (Bauer 1992, Poole 1987b), the ennobled populations who were ritually and politically related to the Incas of Cusco (see chapter 7). In addition to the Incas-de-privilegio, there is archival evidence of a (Cusco) Inca ayllu (Incacona) in Accha at the turn of the 17th century (AGN 1623), and also that the lineage of Tupac Yupanqui owned property in Accha (Poole 1984: 87). In regard to the etymology of Siwina, the existence south of Cusco, between Huanacauri, and Pacariqtambo of a mountain named Cerro Sevillanoq, does not necessarily support the Spanish derivation over the Quechua. Either name, Siwina and Sevillanoq, could conceivably be a This suggests an important Inca presence, but does not necessarily preclude a pre-Inca occupation, as Bauer’s archaeological team did not do any digging on that site (Bauer pers. comm.). 48 corruption of either the Spanish Sevillanos or the Quechua siwi. Yet the fact that these two mountains are on the same direct line from Cusco would seem to support the claim for the existence of a system of communication based on a succession of visual signals. 3. 2. Accha Often the derivation of a toponym is implicated in a narration as a validation of the story and the mooring of local landmarks in a larger historical or mythic past. Accha-Siwina is the official name of the village since its recognition as comunidad campesina as a consequence of the 1969 Agrarian Reform-- a name that appropriately combines those of the community and its main apu and also serves to differentiate it from other ‘Acchas’ in the region. The etymology of the name Accha is unclear. It is generally agreed in Accha that the name of the village used to be Q’aqcha or Kaqcha. This is verified by historical documents although they offer a great variation in spellings: Haccha, Caccha, Agcha, Aqcha, etc. Most of the etymological explanations collected in Accha for the meaning of the village name have to do with the alleged military or aggressive nature of the original population: “Terror, what frightens. Before, there was a group of defenders against Chumbivilcas.” 49 Another explanation claims that Accheños had a war with a population along the Apurimac Valley and defeated them. Hence Q’accha, “which means the ones on top, the winners.” 50 Cusihuaman (1976) gives for q’aqchay the following translation: ‘scare, fright, terror; to terrorize, to scare, to put to flight’ Guardia M. (1980) glosses in a 51 49 “Espanto, que hace asustar. Antes era un grupo de defensores contra Chumbivilcas.” 50 “quiere decir los de encima, los vencidores” 51 susto, terror; tr. espantar, aterrorizar, ahuyentar very similar way the word kaqchay , but with a nuance of awe, of fear inspired by respect. J. Lira gives: Q’aqcha : ‘panic, great fear’ and González Holguín 52 offers the following: Kacchari: terrorize, kac charcuni, o kacchaycuni, o 53 llacsaycuniy, llacsarcuni heart, 54 ‘to terrorize, to startle, to astound or to cause to lose Llacsarcunyi, given here as a synonym, is associated elsewhere with fear of the supernatural. 55 One explanation offered in the Accha for the name of the village gives this meaning an interesting twist: “The first ones to come to Accha had first settled in Ullpo Torre. They moved when Ullpo Torre fell, when the mountain 56 came. That is why it is now Kaqcha: ‘los asustados’ [those who were shocked, surprised].” This interpretation, which supports one story of the genesis of the original settlement (see chapter 7), brings to mind a 1786 description of Accha as a “village...located at the foot of a mountain topped by a formidable crest that constitutes a constant threat and seems to be ready to fall on top of the village...” 52 57 This fairly accurate description of the balancing boulder on top of panico, miedo grande. atemorizar 54 atemorizar, sobresaltar de repente, pasmar o desmayar. 55 l lacsak llacssak tapiya: Cosa temerosa de la otra vida; llacssaytucuni: desfallecer quedar atajado, o desmayar, o turbarse despauorido, o de alguna vision fantasma, o miedo repentino. 56 Ullpo Torre is the name of a ruined chapel at the entrance of the plateau of Achupampa, believed to have been one of the original sites of settlement before the population finally moved to its present location at the foot of Siwina (see infra chapter 4 and chapter 7). 57 Antonio de Alcedo, Diccionario Geografíco de las Indias Occidentales (1786): el pueblo de Accha está situado a la falda de un cerro con el continuo peligro que amenaza un crestón, que parece está ya para caer sobre el pueblo.. Jordán Rodriguez (1950) uses the very same quote without attributing it, and refers to the village as Acca, although he spells it Accha in the rest of his work. 53 Siwina --the wiñaq rumi in 1. 2. 3. --might suggest a physical threat that literally hangs over Accha. Another related meaning that was sometimes offered is that of thunder (trueño). The Quechua word for ‘thunder’ is qhaqrararay (Cusihuaman 1976) 58 ccakñin (González Holguín 1989 [1608]), but a gloss in González Holguín links both etymologies: Kacchanta çurcun ccacñiy : to be knocked down by thunder, or stunned by a great noise, which supports a connection with fear brought 59 suddenly by an exterior or supernatural danger. More interestingly, Gade offers an Aymara rather than Quechua etymology for the name which would link it to another natural/supernatural phenomenon: “Illapa tends to have a figurative meaning. Qhaqya (also kaxya, ccacya, caccha), an Aymara word also used by Quechua speakers in southern Peru, is literal, but can also refer to the evil spirit in lightning (1983:770).” Although I find those etymologies that link the name of Accha to fear caused by a natural or supernatural threat intriguing, I believe that the actual origin of the word must be found elsewhere. Don Mariano’s explanation nicely relates an occupational etymology for the population of Accha with the meaning of Siwina as post of observation and communication: “The Incas on top of the apu were cachas, ‘messengers’. Siwina and Huanacauri are at the same level. You can see one from the other. They would signal each other with smoke and the chaskis [runners] would run to Pacariqtambo.” In his monograph on Accha, Ccori claims that “many historians” agree that there once were tribes of nomads who settled in the region, “such as the Ullpus, who settled 4 kms from Accha, and the Kcachas were to be found in This is clearly an onomatopoeia, as is k’aqcha, the sound of the slingshot and of thunder. 59 Derribarle el trueño, o gran ruido pasmarle 58 what is today the community of Accha” (1978:14). I was not able to obtain any information on the sources used by Ccori. But there is a place called Ullpo or Ullpotorre between Accha and Pilpinto, and Ullpo was one of the “pueblos viejos” that were regrouped by the Spaniards to form the community of Accha (see chapter 7). In Don Mariano’s explanation, Accheños claim the existence on Siwina of a population of Inca messengers (cachas in Holguín). Ccori’s statement seems rather to trace the origin of the name to pre-Inca times by implying they were nomadic, i.e. presumably herders. It is however possible that the name cachas (messengers) was derived from a function (of sentinels and messengers) that the population living on or around Siwina occupied vis-avis Incaic Cusco and that the occupational appelation was subsequently thought to designate the ethnic group and ascribed a pre-Incaic origin. 60 3. 3. Anchoring the past: toponyms and cultural identity The claim related above that messengers (cachas) at the top of Siwina would receive signals from Huanacauri, which would then be communicated by runners (chaskis) to Pacariqtambo, is rather puzzling: not only can I have decided to ignore other etymologies offered for Accha, mostly because their derivations do not take into account early colonial spellings of the name (q’ aqcha, agcha or caccha) and are based on the current orthography or are otherwise unsubstantiated. For instance, Paz Soldan (1877) says that the name means “handsome, beautiful” in Quechua but fails to give the derivation to which he ascribes that meaning. Espinoza Galarza (1973: 171) suggests that the name comes from aqchi, “sparrow-hawk”. Mestizo schoolteachers in Accha claim that the name of the village, and that of Achupampa, the vast plateau beyond Hanansaya come from achu,, which they say is the name of a small black fly. Besides the fact that a common derivation between achu and accha, let alone the earlier spellings of the community’ s name, seems unlikely, I couldn’t verify the suggested meaning for achu. Instead, Lira, Gonzales Holguin and Cusihuaman all offer meanings that relate to the sharing of arable land, which seems appropriate for Achupampa, this vast expanse of potato land where laymis and fondos often take place (see chapter 1). 60 Huanacauri be seen directly from the summits around Pacariqtambo, but 61 Accha is also about twice as far from Cusco as Pacariqtambo is, and in the same direction. That is to say that it would be just as fast, and a lot more direct, for chaskis to go straight to Pacariqtambo from Cusco as it would be from Accha. Yet the use of the term cacha used in that narration suggests another possibility. Zuidema notes that the word is also an equivalent of ceque (1989c:504). Accha is on the old Inca road that leaves Cusco through Paruro to Chumbivilcas and leads to Arequipa and Tacna (Levillier 1946:20; Romero 1978; Poole 1987b:261). 62 This road, now called machuñan (“Old Road”) in Accha, corresponds to the ritual road to Cuntisuyu which coincided with the first ceque line in Cuntisuyu (Polo 1916 [1571] vol 2: 39, Zuidema 1989c:461, 1990:76 and 1964 passim; see also infra chapter 5). This ceque line, and the road, go through Mount Anahuarque, not Huanacauri, located on the sixth ceque of Collasuyu (Polo 1916 [1571] vol 2: 31). The two mountains are next to each other, but Anahuarque, smaller than Huanacauri, cannot be seen from Accha. The mention of cachas as operating a link between Accha, Pacariqtambo, and Huanacauri could refer to both the road and the ceque system and allude to a communication network as well as ritual movement of people. Gary Urton, pers. comm. 1990. It must be noted, as does Levillier, that this Inca road is not mentioned in the chronicles nor in the “Ordenanza de Tambos”.of Vaca de Castro, where the only authorized road to Arequipa goes along the Vilcanota River through Urcos, Quiquijana and Pomacancha --the Acomayo truck-road described infra in chapter 3-- and on to Yanaoca in Canas (Tinta), Cora, and Hatuncana, the main settlement of the Canas Indians (Ulloa 1908). The evidence used by Levillier for the existence of the road to Arequipa going through Accha comes from a 1779 “Ordenanza para las postas del Perú” which I have been unable to locate. The Inca origin of the road is, however, supported by Accheños as well as by archaeological evidence (Bauer pers. comm.). 61 62 I discuss later (chapter 5) how the myth relates Siwina and Acchatoqo, the shallow cave on Siwina, to the Cusco Valley and the Incas. For now, I would only like to suggest that the linking of Accha and its main apu to Inca military organization, as well as to the mythical place of origin of the Incas (Pacariqtambo) and to one of the main apus of the Cusco Valley (Huanacauri), 63 is an example of temporal and geographical anchoring of the community in the historical and mythic past. This anchoring is frequent as a narrative device, and one can often hear versions of myths that incorporate local landmarks. For instance, Don Mariano told me in Accha that not far from the village there is in the valley of the Apurimac River a depression in the rock called Inkaqonqorina: There it is said that the Inca kneeled before he went on to Huanacauri, and then to the cathedral [of Cusco]. He kneeled down, prayed to God and threw his golden rod, which landed in Huanacauri. Then from there he threw it again and it landed a second time. The cathedral used to be a lake. There he founded Cusco. 64 One can recognize in this narration a succinct version of the myth of origin of the Incas (see e.g. Betanzos 1987; Urton 1990) in which Manco Capac, the first Inca and founder of Cusco, left the cave of Pacariqtambo with a golden rod given by his father the sun. He was to build the city at the spot where the rod buried itself into the ground. Huanacauri was one of the stops on Manco Capac’s journey to Cusco. The Inkaqonqarina story blends elements of the myth of origin (the Inca, the rod and Huanacauri), with Christian symbols: kneeling, praying, and the cathedral. But more interestingly, it incorporates Pacariqtambo --or rather Tambotoco, the actual cave from which the first Incas originated-- and Huanacauri are two of the three “idols” that Guaman Poma identifies for the Incas. The third one was the sun (Guaman Poma 1980: 266). 64 this is a literal translation of the name Inkaqonqorina. 63 mythical events and sacred places which become connected to the local space by way of named and recognized landmarks. This narrative device is not uncommon. J. V. Nuñez del Prado (1974) cites a story collected by O. Nuñez del Prado in the community of Q’eros. In the story, Inkarrí first threw his golden rod and founded Q’eros. The site however turned out to be unsatisfactory and he went on to the build Cusco. He later installed his first son as ruler of Q’eros and came back through this village on his way to the jungle. Signs of his passage are indicated by toponyms such as Inkaq Yupin “Footprint of the Inca.” In this manner, a generic myth becomes localized in the community through the reference to the known topography of the village. In a similar way, some toponyms in Accha correspond to important ritual sites of Inca Cusco as though the community and its own social and sacred space functioned as a scaled-down model of the larger system. There is, for instance, below Itunka a small pointed hill called Huanacauri, and also at the foot of Siwina a site occupied by large boulders which is called Sacsahuaman, the name of the Inca fortress/ritual center above Cusco, notable for its megalithic architecture. In Accha, Sacsahuaman is the place where the Hurinsaya moiety prepares the Child Jesus for the procession of Christmas. This information was given me as sole explanation for the name of the site, and no connection was ever made to the Cusco Sacsahuaman or to the apparent resemblance of the two sites. 65 There is, however, evidence that in Inca times, minor huacas situated away from the most important sites in and around Cusco would bear the names of those important huacas. Albornoz, the great extirpator of idolatry, mentions several huacas Coricancha, Huanacauri, and Anahuarque named “in memory of” or “in reverence for” those in Cusco (Albornoz 1583 in Duviols 1984:205206). A structural relation might have been involved between these major huacas and their eponyms, a relation that might have been formal, as in the case of the two sites mentioned in Accha, or ritual/functional, or even directional and calendrical, as a way to reinforce the association of the various shrines with 65 70 The relation of the community to the valley and to the sacred landscape that both delimits and controls its boundaries is an expression of the extreme importance of the ritual environment in the creation and maintenance of the group’s cultural identity. In addition, toponyms have been shown to be variously interpreted by Accheños as hermeneutic devices that connect the community to a mythic and historical local geography. Howard-Malverde (1986) shows how myth and local topography are linked in a relation through which both are justified and validated. In the Siwina myths, toponyms are also used to validate the myth, and in addition connect them with a specific social group within the community, the ayllu or saya to which the narrator belongs (chapter 5). Through these multiple interpretations, the symbolic, social, and physical geography of the community is related to a larger known historical and mythic past (e. g. the foundation of Cusco, the Inca communication system). At the same time, this process of anchoring mythic structures in the local geo-social space makes Accha the point of reference of a restructured cosmological system that has the village for its center. one same ceque line. 71 CHAPTER THREE CULTURAL IDENTITY, BOUNDARIES AND CENTER 1. The initial problem: focus, definition, and delimitation In this section, the terms "definition" and "delimitation" will be used in a quasi-etymological sense, that of finis and limen, of border and threshold. I will consider the inclusive concept of group identity, as determined by the group’s own perception of its boundaries and limits. Generally, I found that in Accha social boundaries are arrived at in two ways. One is through a consensual perception of territorial identity and the extent of the group’s territory. The other is through the physical or, more often, legal and judicial resolution of conflicting claims leading to the acceptance of more or less stable borders between neighboring groups. In other words, the territory of the group will be shown to be defined both in relation to its symbolic center and in relative opposition to other groups. 1. 1. Traditional Andean structures of identity Before demonstrating how these two processes of definition operate in Accha, I will show how they can be identified in various forms in other ethnographical and ethnohistorical studies of Andean cultures. Zuidema’s historical studies of the Inca Empire have indicated the importance of a number of structural devices that served to identify the various groups within the State and the relations between these groups (e. g. Zuidema 1964). One of these organizational features was the moiety/quadripartite system, or saya/suyu division. Inca Cusco, the political and administrative center of the structure, was divided into two halves hierarchically arranged: Hanansaya (upper) and Hurinsaya (lower). The rest of the valley and the whole empire also followed the same division. In addition, the two moieties were further divided into two hierarchically ranked halves, the whole system forming the totality of the Inca world, Tawantinsuyu: Chinchasuyu and Antisuyu in Hanansaya, and Collasuyu and Cuntisuyu in Hurinsaya. As new territory was conquered, it was integrated in this twofold dual system, which also functioned as a directional division of space, so that the whole universe, terrestrial and celestial, known and unknown, became part the same classificatory structure. The hierarchical classification functioned to determine the relative position of each group: if ,within Hurinsaya, Collasuyu was hanan (upper) to Cuntisuyu, in turn both groups were hurin (lower) to Chinchasuyu and Antisuyu. Finally, when represented in the court, all of those might stand in an hurin relation to Cusco, as periphery to the center of the structure (Zuidema 1990). Superimposed on this dual /quadripartite organization was the centrifugal structure of the ceque system described by Zuidema (1964). Zuidema conceptualizes the ceque system as 42 directional lines radiating towards the horizon from Coricancha, the so-called Temple of the Sun in Cusco. According to Zuidema (1964, 1989d and passim), the ceque lines had a number of functions in Inca culture. They were used for astronomical observations and to divide and organize the various groups --panacas and ayllus-- that made up the two moieties of Cusco and its valley. As a ritual calendar, the ceque lines connected a total of 328 huacas, the ‘sacred places’ of the Incas (Cobo 1979; Garcilaso de la Vega 1966). Huacas could be natural sites such as rocks, rivers, lakes, or mountains, or they could be man-made shrines, the most elaborate and the most important in Inca times being Coricancha, the Temple of the Sun (Avila 1873). Under the Incas, the most sacred idols of the conquered nations were removed to Coricancha where they became both hostages and participants in the glory of the Sun and of the Inca (Polo 1916, Garcilaso de la Vega 1966, Zuidema 1990). The total number of huacas related to a modified tropical year: each huaca. corresponded to a calendrical date, and all the huacas on a given ceque were the ritual responsibility of one of the ayllus or panacas. The huacas, arranged in ceques , “merged the ordering of space with the ordering of time” (Urton 1981:8). They also articulated social, sacred, and topographical space, as each community’s huacas were the object of worship and sacrifices, and exercised control over the territory of the group. During the important festival of Capacocha (Capac Huccha), the complex process of gathering sacrificial goods in Coricancha and then redistributing them to the peripheral huacas might have been a ritual expression of the integrationist politics and redistributive economy of Tawantinsuyu (Duviols 1976a), at the same time as the walking of the ceques by the outsider groups served to express in a directional way the relation between the 12 groups in Cusco and the rest of Tawantinsuyu (Molina 1959). Taken together, the Inca dual/quadripartite structure and the ceque system served to both differentiate and interconnect the elements of the structure. They opposed the segments and groups to each other, at the same time as they related the center/inside of the system to the periphery/outside. 1. 2. Community, center and boundaries. Any given ayllu or panaca in Incaic Cusco was associated with a huaca, or series of huacas on a given ceque line. But it was also associated with the major huacas of the relevant suyu (quarter), and those of the appropriate saya (moiety). In addition, there were huacas that transcended group divisions, such as Coricancha, the Temple of the Sun, or the pyramidal ushnu of Aucaypata, the main ritual square in Cusco. The elements had their huacas too, or elements themselves could be a huaca (Arriaga 1920: 249). There were huacas that concerned only part of a lineage or even a household, which Albornoz compares to Roman lares. Huacas could be crippled individuals or animals or misshapen ears of corn or potatoes . There were even ‘portable’ huacas with very specific functions (Van de Guchte 1984, Flores Ochoa 1976). All of these would in a certain way serve to shape the ritual and spiritual identity of the variously embedded groups. One of the most important defining huacas was the pacarina of the group. This was the place of origin, whether rock or water, from which the group had supposedly originated. Arriaga (1920 [1621]), in his guidelines for the repression of native religion, stresses the importance to locate and destroy the pacarina of all the ayllus. This process had probably already been achieved to a great extent during the campaign of reducciones, when the population where relocated and their hamlets of origin destroyed (see chapter 7) --although there is no guarantee that there was an exact correspondence between these hamlets (pueblos viejos ) and the pacarinas of the populations that were being regrouped. The resilience of the relation of the group to the pacarina is indicated in the fact that today in Cusco, rituals performed by ritual specialists (apucamayoqkuna) associated with specific panacas or ayllus conduct portions of the ritual at the pacarina of the royal ancestor of the group (Frost and Decoster 1988ms). In his book on the mythistory of the Incas, Urton (1990) shows in an different context the importance of the pacarina. He represents how various Inca lineages of the early colonial era operated the manipulation of accounts dealing with Pacariqtambo, the presumed pacarina of Manco Capac and hence of the whole Inca royal class, in order to boost their own claims through the Spanish legal system and structure of inheritance. Taylor (1980) argues that llacta, usually translated as “village” or “community,” relates to an ensemble of elements that tie a human group to its (mythic) place of origin. It refers in fact to the deity that protects the community, the deity’s sanctuary, the land that it controls, and the group that lives there. None of those elements is separable from the others, and llacta should be understood as local huaca, community or country depending on the context. Llacta is linked with the notion of origin, of pacarina, the place where the ethnic group and or its ancestral hero appeared and where he returned after his death, and it is also where the group members will go when they die (1980:13-14). Those deities/heroes/lineage ancestors taught a set of rites and beliefs to their people, provided them with vital energy, watched over them and protected them against their enemies in the territory under the ancestors’ control (1980: 15). This emphasis on place and origin was essential to the production of individual as well as collective identity and was carried over into the post-conquest period (Urton 1990). 1. 3. The ordering of space and the creation of identity. Martinez’s (1980) work on the Aymaras offers a fundamentally different model of Andean space based on a interpretation of contemporary indigenous conceptualizations of local geographic and social environments. His thesis convincingly suggests that the territory of a community is conceived and organized as a “text”, the signification of which is based on a topographical ordering defined in terms of “boundaries” and “articulations”. Unfortunately, in the derived semantic classification of topographical terms, Martinez fails to recognize the necessarily processual relation between a group and its physical, social and historical environment. Martinez’s “grammar” remains descriptive rather than generative. I believe that, in the study of a culture, a more meaningful organizational logic must be derived from the social practice reflected in the actions of the individual and the group in dealing with that environment (see e.g. Merleau-Ponty 1953; Bourdieu 1977; Barth 1981). It is only in that sense that Martinez’s two classificatory notions of boundaries and articulations might be successfully applicable to the study of Andean social space. A processual rather than taxonomic use of these concepts can serve to bring together studies that emphasize the physical reality of the group as defined in terms of spatial, kinship, political or economic boundaries ( e.g. Allen 1984, Isbell 1985, Murra 1980; Skar 1982, Zuidema 1964), and works that define the group’s boundaries through its relation with other groups ( e.g. Abercrombie 1986, Bastien 1978a, Palomino 1971, Platt 1978, Urton 1984). A study of the practices through which the group’s identity is produced will show how a definition of the group in relative opposition, or articulation, with what is recognized as outside of it, is concurrent with the notion of an absolute definition of the group based on a symbolic center, such as the apu , identified in chapter 2 as a ritual locus of identity of the group. 2. Defining the boundaries: Accha 2. 1. Defining the other One way to express territorial identity is by stressing what lies outside of it so that the group itself is defined in a negative way: in opposition to what it is not. By defining the other as both different and foreign --the apparent tautology being a consequence of the process described here-- the self becomes indirectly defined. Accha is a fairly typical Spanish-designed Andean village, centered around a plaza, from which narrow streets lined with whitewashed adobe 66 houses extend in a grid pattern. Yet when the name “Accha” is used by the comuneros --and, consequently, in this work-- rarely does it apply solely to this localized physical and social unit. At times, it will serve to designate the community and the whole extent of its cultivated land; or it might represent the village and the hamlets (anexos) that politically and administratively depend on it; it might on the contrary serve to oppose the main village to those same hamlets; it can even, in an hyperbolic way, contrast “Accha” as an economic system and a way of life with the regional and national capitals of Cusco and Lima, the ethnographer’s own faraway land, and the rest of the world. Because of its location, Accha serves as a link between the province of Chumbivilcas and the regional capital of Cusco. People from Livitaca, Santo Tomás and Capac Marca --villages located 8 to 12 hours away-- leave their horses in Accha to catch a truck there for Cusco. Chumbivilcanos also come on market-days to trade horses, as Accheños value Chumbivilcas horses for their speed and endurance. These activities clearly entail the existence of numerous ritual kinship ties between Accheños and Chumbivilcanos. Yet, the latter are definitively perceived as outsiders and are usually depicted as “wild” (salvajes, sallqa, ch’unchu) in a slightly comical way. Poole (1987b) talks about 67 Chumbivilcas society as characterized by a high level of “ideological 66 see discussion of reducciones, in chapter 7. development, or even folklorization of such themes as violence, machismo, bandolerismo and solitude” (1987b:258). Chumbivilcanos are cowboys and cattle rustlers, they live on horseback and carry guns and knives, and lassos made of rawhide. On Sundays, market-days, when they ride into sleepy Accha wearing their white felt hats, the scene irresistibly evokes a South American remake of an old western movie. To Accheños, then, Chumbivilcanos are the other, the outsider. But they are outsiders with whom one has contacts and ties of compadrazgo. From the point of view of Accha, they belong to the fringe of the village’s own territorial identity. Further away on the spectrum are the wild men (ch’unchus) that Don Mariano once encountered: When I was a young man, I was looking for gold with four peones in the jungle near Markabamba, along the Rio Colorado. We were captured by a band of naked savages who did not know salt or sugar. The women too were naked, and they knew no shame, like animals. They spoke a different language. We were held prisoners for three months. They undressed me and painted me so that I looked like them They all had green stains on their faces. They wanted to keep us for the race. They wanted us to do it with their women, but I wouldn’t. A priest came by in a canoe, but he wouldn’t rescue us for fear of reprisals. Still, we ran for it and escaped with the priest. We made it back to our base without clothes, tools or food. We had to cut wood with stones. I bought most of the land I own with the gold I brought back from that expedition. I have the receipts for the gold I sold. Once on a truck on the way to Cusco a Pilpinto man with the blue-eye trademark of his village and a taste for comedy answered the query shouted from a truck going in the other direction by shouting: “Un camion tan grande, ¿como va ser de Acomayo? Es de mi país , donde los hombres hiflan y las vicuñas vuelan: es de Chumbivilcas.” (“A truck as big as this one, how could it be from Acomayo? It is from my land, where men whistle and vicuñas fly: it is from Chumbivilcas”). 67 For Don Mariano, those wild men were another category of strangers. They spoke a different language. They lacked the most basic elements of culture --salt, sugar, clothes, and shame-- and were so alien that any form of contact, whether linguistic or sexual, was impossible. They were far more foreign than Chumbivilcanos are, with whom one can communicate and trade. The ch’unchus’ lack of culture was a threat to Don Mariano’s own, and upon escaping he found himself --as if through contagion-- naked and without tools. Yet, these ch’unchus brought wealth to Don Mariano, in a curious restaging of discovery and conquest, where he, the highlander, played the part of the cultural outsider and possessor of civilization. Another group of outsiders is comprised of a broad continuous category that includes all the people that are perceived as “more advanced” that Accheños themselves: from migrants to the cities, to mestizos and “Spaniards” in Cusco and Lima, and to North Americans and Europeans, generally lumped together as gringos. There is here no perception of unbridgeable separateness, as in the case of the wild men. Rather the differences are perceived as degrees of progress that will eventually be achieved by all. There is among the villagers a fascination for gringo technology and the riches that it brings. Each member of the gringo culture is expected to possess and dominate completely its technology: one of the most common requests made to a foreigner is for a metal detector to look for buried treasures (tapados). I could never quite convince anybody that I did not own a metal detector, that I would not know where to find one, nor how operate it were I to come across one. Cusco and Lima are considered as representing intermediary degrees of progress between the village and the technological wonderland of the gringos. Accheños qualify their village as “backward” (Sp. atrasado) in relation to the modernity of city life, and use the same word to compare Peru with North America or Europe. The attraction of the city is apparent in the ever increasing flow of migration from the highlands to the regional and national capitals (see chapter 1) as well as abroad. 68 In the 1970s, one Peruvian in seven lived in Lima. At the end of the 1980s, the ratio was one in three. The lure of the city is especially strong for young highlanders who leave their village in the hope of finding work that will provide them with money and access to material goods. That this hope is rarely realized is the great tragedy of the migrants’ condition. They usually find themselves cut off from the subsistence economy of their village of origin at the same time as they are unable to enter the market economy of the urban center. In spite of their claimed intention to do so, few migrants actually return to the village, and regardless of the poor economic prospects offered them in the urban environment, most remain to join the subproletariat of the pueblos jovenes. 2. 2. Being runa: the fragility of Quechua identity. In spite of the ties that migrants cultivate both among themselves in the new settlements and with the community of origin (chapter 2), when they leave the village, they undergo a transformation of identity. They cease to be runa and enter the category of q’ala, a word that designates the “non-Indian” (Albó ms. 1982), or the individual who has shed his original cultural baggage and finds himself ‘naked’ (Isbell 1985; Harris 1980; Allen 1988), much like Don Mariano among the ch’unchus. In some Andean communities, this process of cultural undressing is often quite literal: in Salasaca (Tungurahua) in Ecuador, lives a population of some 2000 descendants of mitimaes, originally from see Paul Gelles and Wilton Martinez’ s (1993) recent movie on Peruvian immigrants in Washington D.C. 68 Bolivia, who wear a very distinctive black poncho, supposedly to commemorate the death of Atahuallpa. Anyone moving into the village must adopt this dress, and anyone leaving the community must abandon it (Meisch 1984:290-91). Runa means “human being” in Quechua. It is the term that Quechua speakers use to designate themselves, and runasimi is their language. Indio is a term of insult, even among the villagers who sometimes use it in confrontations. In present-day Peru and Bolivia since the Agrarian Reforms, the media and the government in an euphemistic shift use terms referring to occupation rather than ethnicity, like campesino (peasant) or comunero (villager). Vecino is used to designate the mestizo shopkeepers and teachers, who are not perceived as members of the community in the same way comuneros are, yet often exercise functions of political power, such as alcalde or teniente. For a successful migrant, the shedding of his identity may lead to the acquisition of a new cultural, social, and even ‘ethnic’ identity: a runa who moves out of the village and adopts the dress, language and educational baggage mestizos, may perceive himself and be seen by others as a mestizo. The concept of race in Peru is, in political and social discourses, more explicitly rooted in socio-economic and cultural factors than disguised as purely genetic make-up (Van den Berghe 1974; Van den Berghe and Primov 1977; Rasnake 1988; Albó 1974; Jacob 1986). Chumbivilcanos, wild men, mestizos of the cities and q’alas are sufficiently different from Accheños that they can define themselves in contrasting relation to these categories. It is this cultural imprint that allows the villagers, through a recognition of the foreign and of the outlandish in a literal sense, to come to a common perception of their own cultural identity as Accheños. However, this recognition of the other is only one of the components of that identity. 3. Conflictual boundaries. Boundaries are also constructed through physical confrontation, or by the establishment of an equilibrium or compromise reached over a contested zone, which, through the application of a legal and judicial process, may become settled as a legitimate boundary between two groups. It should be stressed that this process of confrontation usually takes place between groups that are perceived as alike, in contrast to the oppositions made in the previous section. 3.1. Communal labor and conflict over access to land. Before considering how I understand this process of creation of boundaries to function at the intercommunity level, I would like to offer an illustration of the process of boundary dispute and resolution at the level of the smallest intracommunity units: the households. I have discussed the laymi at Kachaqkalla, stressing the fact that there was more than enough land, and that everybody who wanted --that is to say anybody who cared to be registered in the village--had access to it. Although this is quite accurate, it should not be taken to imply that there is no competition for communal land --quite the contrary, as was clear in the free-forall rush described in chapter 1. However, Don Mariano who had been standing on the edge of the circle of men during the assembly --the women sat further away with the children-did not rush to claim a plot. He walked to where he had left his poncho and chakitaqlla (foot plow) and proceeded to start plowing the perimeter of a plot. Soon a young man, an ahijado or godson who had quickly completed drawing his own wachu (limit) joined Don Mariano without a word and helped him finish delimiting his plot. Don Mariano told me later that whenever the laymi took place in Kachaqkalla, he would simply take the plot that used to be his father’s before him, and that nobody had ever challenged him. This, I believe, illustrates the acute knowledge of social topography that I mentioned earlier. The laymi hadn’t taken place in Kachaqkalla in twelve years. Yet not only was Don Mariano able to identify the unmarked plot of land he claimed rights to, but presumably the other faenates also recognized this land as his, as they probably also recognized a number of plots beside their own, not only in Kachaqkalla, but in the nine other laymi locations as well. This minute knowledge of the territory is essential for the economic and social survival and reproduction of the individual within the group, and also exemplifies the intense, near obsessive relation to the land that characterizes southern Peruvian highlanders. The laymi, like most organized labor activities in the village, is at the same time an expression of social ranking and an arena where status is negotiated. The men who were fighting over limits of the plots were mostly young men who were trying to move up to better land by occupying plots that were not being claimed for that specific laymi. Don Mariano’s claim, on the other hand, was not properly based on any hereditary right, but rather on his status in the community and his father’s before him. As Don Mariano grows older, a widower without adult children in the community, his position will weakens. It is conceivable that such claims might one day be successfully challenged by younger individuals. 69 In the years since is his wife’ s death, Don Mariano has been repeatedly the victim of theft and robbery. Ducks, pigs, chickens, and one horse disappeared 69 The claim to potato land, unlike that to corn land, is not based on legal ownership. It is based on the authority to control and hold the plots of land in the communal fields. This control operates through physical means, as is apparent in the way that speed, strength and --in the event of shouting matches-- intimidation guarantee access to the better plots at the laymi. Control is also obtained through the social position and power that an individual acquires in his lifetime by going through the cargo system and accumulating authority in various official positions in the community, as in the case of Don Mariano. 3. 2. Agrarian Reform: drawing the limits. Don Mariano said that before the Agrarian Reform of the 1970s, the limits of community land were not always legally set and that there were numerous occurrences of invasion of cultivable land by neighboring populations, leading to physical confrontation between the communities. He would show me parcels of land that had been the occasion of battles between Accha and neighboring communities, particularly Ccochiruay, Pampacucho, and Pilpinto. His stories would document the various episodes of invasion and from his courtyard, sheep were taken from his herd. Once, his room was broken into and clothing and a radio set taken. A regular and heavy drinker of trago, Don Mariano was on occasion robbed of his poncho and hat while lying drunk in the street at night. None of this occurred in the time while I was staying with Don Mariano. When in the village, I would occasionally carry him home at night when he was drunk, and also, I believe, act as a general deterrent. Thefts are frequent in Accha. However the victims of thefts seem to be not the wealthier individuals, but people like Don Mariano who live without the usual entourage of extended family, compadres, and peones. Once an individual loses this supportive social structure, he or she loses the ability to defend and protect his or her material assets (see B. J. Isbell 1977). retaking and re-losing the land, and would usually tell of the ultimate triumph of righteous Accha over its greedy neighbors. Yet, much before the Agrarian Reform, in fact since the beginning of the colonial period, many confrontations were resolved by judicial rather than physical means, especially when the case involved, as one or both parties, Spaniards or mestizos. There are a number of recorded cases of complaints filed by the local hacienda owners against a campesino or group of campesinos claiming invasion of property. Typically, in the cases that I have had the opportunity to study for Accha, the campesinos would claim a right to the land through occupation, but the judgment would always be in favor of the hacienda owner. 70 The Agrarian Reform was a state land reform effected by the Marxist military government that ruled the Peru between 1968 and 1980. As was the case elsewhere in South America where such reforms took place, the Peruvian Agrarian Reform was in many ways meant to forestall political unrest in rural areas. This policy was brought on by a number of factors (land invasions, political insecurity, and a gradual unsuitability of the hacienda system to a changing economic situation) which together made such a reform both necessary and unavoidable (Yambert 1989; Diaz and Pelupessey 1987). The motivations behind the Reform were confused at best, and it has been claimed that it was enacted because of a political fight between the APRA and the Acción Popular, the party of Belaúnde, or even that the Reform was a devious way for the Limeñan elite and industrial capitalists to deal a blow to the landowning oligarchy (Yambert 1989). The wide-sweeping Reform was initiated in June 1969 with an edict by General Velasco (Ley 17716), and the expropriations of land were officially 70 e. g. Farfán vs. Guzmán et al., 1963ms., private collection. concluded in June 1976. The reform affected a majority of the haciendas in the country. It redistributed 8, 000, 000 hectares, representing 47% of all arable land (Caballero 1977). The expropriation and redistribution of land was by far the most important aspect of the Reform. The Reform dictated that all agricultural activity be conducted directly by the owner, a measure aimed at eliminating absentee landowners. This implied the transfer of ownership of the land to the people who actually worked it, mostly in the form of cooperatives in the coastal region, and in the highlands mainly through parceling and private ownership or through the creation of peasant communities (comunidades campesinas) who would own and administer the land communally. I have written in chapter 1 how the hacienda Huanchoq Siwina became communal land, thus eliminating the need for saya pasture land. The Fernandez Vaca family, among the most powerful if not the oldest 71 landowners in the region, claim to have anticipated the Reform and distributed the land to their peones, as “it seemed to be a fair thing to do.” Yet the family still owns three fair-sized haciendas in the Velille Valley, and one of the sons, Abelardo Fernandez Vaca, who married a campesina and lives in the village, owns enough property to have a household of retainers who work in his fields, lime quarry, and carpenter shop. While in P’irca, in the district of Pacariqtambo, I was told that the local hacendados, the Nuñezes, had forestalled the consequences of the Reform by giving away and selling their land to hacienda workers and allied campesinos. They were later able to buy most of it back after the expropriations. Other hacendados anticipated the Reform in a The Fernandez Vaca family comes originally from Paruro. I have not been able to ascertain the date of their move to Accha, but they have been there for at least three generations. All members of the family use the double patronym. Abelardo’s matronym is also Vaca and his full name is Abelardo Fernandez Vaca Vaca. 71 different way. Diego Salazar, the current mayor and owner of the hacienda Chamina reportedly went to Lima in 1969, where he apparently had sufficient contacts so that his property was not affected by the expropriations. Even when the Reform did lead to the redistribution of hacienda land or its transfer to the peasant community, it did not necessarily benefit the communeros . Today some villagers complain: “Before the Reform we served one lion [the hacendado] now we serve seven tigers [the various village elected authorities]”. Don Abelardo Fernandez Vaca, who made this comment to me, explained it by saying that if one needs a favor from the village officials, the response is likely to be, “Of course I will help you, but right now I am busy in my chakra, maybe you can help me out there first...” The legal proceedings that document the creation of Accha as Peasant Community show that it took three years (from 1973 to 1976) to determine the 72 limits of the community with six other communities (Poccorhuay, Parcco, Ccapa, Pampacucho, Ccochiruay, Taucabamba, and Ccahuatura) and a number of haciendas (Chamina, Occotuna, Muyocc, Pata Pata, Maquilla, Cirunta, Ccosccora, and Amancae). Missing from the list of neighboring communities is the name of the comunidad campesina of Pilpinto, once an anexo of Accha (see chapter 6) that had been made into a separate district by a decree of President Belaúnde in 1963 (D. L. 14747). I can only ascribe the absence of a reference to Pilpinto to the fact that presumably the limits between the two districts were drawn at the time of the creation of Pilpinto into a separate district. Also, the nature of the terrain between the two communities --an abrupt 700 m. drop -makes the boundaries easier to determine.. In spite of a generally hostile relationship between Accha and Pilpinto, a number of villagers from each Expediente: Reconocimiento de la Comunidad Campesina Sihuina Accha, 1976, Ministerio de la Reforma Agraria, Cusco. 72 community have land in the other. The Accheños, however, often complain that the ‘shopkeepers’ from Pilpinto have been buying the good land in Accha because they have the means to do so. There wealth can be traced to the colonial times when, precisely because of the lack of land around their village, Pilpinteños became coca traders for the whole region (Gade and Escobar 1982). During the process of establishment of the boundaries, when there was litigation between two communities, the ministry workers would bring together not just the authorities of the communities involved but the whole population. The ensuing confrontation closely resembled the invasion battles that it was meant to avoid, but finally it would lead to a compromise. Luis Vargas of Hurinsaya, who played an official role in this lengthy process comments that there never were any injuries, but that a lot of threats and insults were exchanged. At the end, everybody would walk along the agreed-upon limits together and plant the itos, the stakes that fix the boundaries between these communities. 73 Because a relatively short period has elapsed since the application of the policy of delimitation of community boundaries resulting from Agrarian Reform, it is difficult to estimate whether land invasions between neighboring communities are less frequent now that the community boundaries have been committed to official archives. Yet individual invasions remain extremely frequent today, as they also seem to have been in the past. See the following detailed description of the boundary between Accha and Ccochiruhay: “Comienza de Chichacruz sigue de norte a sur por toda la ladera hasta el manantial de Chiripujio de hay sigue por toda la ladera hasta la cuchillada de Rayuna del punto baja por toda la lomada Machoñan camino real que va de Accha a Paruro donde termina la colindencia entre la comunidad de Sihuina Accha y Ccochiruhay (Expediente: Reconocimiento de la Comunidad Campesina Sihuina Accha, 1976, Ministerio de la Reforma Agraria, Cusco, ff8). 73 3. 3. Tinku as generative process Land invasions and physical confrontations between groups are traditional ways, not only of acquiring or maintaining rights to land, but also of drawing and redefining boundaries between groups. The ritual battles known as tinkus serve among other things to mark and symbolically celebrate these boundaries. The word itself indicates a meeting, or joining of forces, like two rivers (see chapter 1: tinkoq; tincukmayo in González Holguín). Tinkuy translates as “confluence” (Taylor 1979:76) and refers to “the harmonious meeting of opposite forces” (Mayer 1977:76). It carries the idea of bridging and linking (Urton 1981). González Holguín gives definitions of the term that connote opposition, harmony or complementarity. He lists as meanings, tincuni, “fight or battle”; or ttincusccappacha, “a good fit”; tincukmacin tincuk pura; “contrary as in complementary colors”; and tinqui, “a pair of something, like gloves”. It means also “limits”, tincuk pura. Molinié-Fioravanti (1988) describes ritual battles as a pan-Andean phenomenon that opposes two moieties, or two communities, or two ecological zones, or else pits men against men and women against women in an atmosphere of fiesta and elaborate confrontations involving pre-Hispanic weapons and sometimes ritual killings, rape, and cannibalism (MoliniéFioraventi 1988; also Platt 1978; Abercrombie 1986). In the opposition of two groups, the limits become marked, yet at the same time the confrontation operates the union of the two groups, which are brought together during the actual tinku. The adversaries do not need to be identical --and probably mustn’t be-- but they need to be opposable, that is to say comparable. It would be impossible for Accheños to have a tinku with the salvajes of the selva, or with gringos. In the past, tinkus in Accha took place between the two moieties: groups that are perceived as both distinct and identical. Today, the tinkus are limited to the period of Carnival and take place between the young boys of the two moieties with fruit being used for weapons. 74 It should be noted that even this pacific form of ritual confrontation is losing some of its importance in comparison to the enthusiasm that accompanies the regular inter-moiety soccer games. Limits define identity. But in several symbolic ways they also guarantee the reproduction of the group. In Sorata (Bolivia) tinkus are expressly a form of sacrifice to the Pachamama and the blood shed ensures a good harvest. 75 The tinku itself has been interpreted a sexual metaphor (Platt 1978; MoliniéFioravanti 1988). It should be emphasized that it is the articulation and the mediation between the groups, that generates the boundaries; it is because they fight in tinkus that two social groups are being perceived as discrete, and not the other way round. Molinié-Fioravanti also writes that “the Other, the enemy in the battle is both a part of myself, as he constitute with me a dual structure, and is the basis of the otherness of my moiety, as it allows my identity” (1988:56). The expression of the limit, far from isolating the group, also defines the potential incoming outsider, qatay, “son in law,” or forastero, “stranger,”who brings to the group his productive and reproductive powers. 4. Moving away from the village This section will deal with the geographical and social reality of the village as the center and point of reference of what I call absolute (rather than The final stage of the puberty rite in Inca time also involved a battle with fruit waged at the top of Saccsahuaman between two “armies” of the newly initiated men, one group wearing for the occasion black tunics and the other white tunics. 75 Decoster, 1985ms. 74 relative) identity. I will argue that, beside the definition of their identity arrived at by opposition to other communities or groups, Accheños have a sense of identity that is directly anchored in the geographical reality of the village. 4. 1. Landmarks in communal identity In Accha every field, every spring, ford, junction of two paths, every rock outcrop or unusually shaped stone has a name. All of these landmarks have stories attached to them, either as part of one’s history in the community or as legends and tales passed down through the generations. Any member of the community knows the history of all chakras, their past and present ownership, and their average yield; what rock to steer clear of at what hour of the day to avoid diseases and accidents; and where the bones of the ancestors are buried so that one doesn’t chance to rest there and wake up with the cold of death in one’s own bones. All these are part of an Accheño’s necessary baggage of knowledge. It is that very knowledge that lies at the basis of the distinction between the village and the world outside of it. And it is only to be expected that as one moves away from the village, the importance of this minute kind of information decreases, and only the most significant landmarks are recognized. 4. 2. The roads as link with the outside There are two roads that connect Accha to Cusco (see fig. 4 ). The older of the two, which is also the longer (172 km), goes through Acomayo, the capital of the province of the same name, before connecting with the CuscoSicuani highway about 100 km southeast of Cusco at the latitude of Lake Pomacanchis. The road between Acos and Acomayo was built in 1949 and was extended to Pilpinto in 1951. Labor was recruited in the villages concerned by the project and paid for by the Ministry of Transport and Communications. It was only in 1969 that the last portion of the road, between Pilpinto and Accha was completed by faenas (voluntary work- parties) from Accha. This was the result of a community initiative and received no support from the provincial, departmental, or national governments. In one of the many instances of the rivalry between Accha and Pilpinto, Pilpinteños not only refused to help: they also tried to oppose the construction of the road. Fig. 4: The two roads to Cusco Until 1969, Accheños had to do this last leg of the journey on foot or horseback --one hour for the Accha-Pilpinto trek, and two in the reverse direction. Now buses can still only go as far as Pilpinto, but trucks and pickup trucks drive all the way to Accha. About six vehicles belonging to various individuals in the community alternate to assure daily transport to and from the city. The journey between Accha and Cusco by the Acomayo route takes between 8 and 12 hours, depending on the season and the mechanical condition of the truck. Although this route is much longer than the Paruro route, it is preferred by truck-drivers because there are more villages along it, which allows them to pick up more passengers on the way. Drivers from Accha have been pushing forward the time of departure from the village so as to be first on the road and collect the most fares. To the expressed disgust of Pilpinto drivers, they usually leave Accha at 2:00 a. m., often cruising with engine and headlights turned off part of the way down in order to give no advance warning to the Pilpinto truck-drivers asleep in their cabs. The more recently opened road through Paruro, the capital of the province which includes Accha, is more direct (110 km) and relatively faster than the Acomayo route. Yet it is never used during the rainy season, and very seldom the rest of the year, because it is considered dangerous by truck-drivers This road follows the Inca trail called machuñan (“old road”) that, in imperial times, connected Cusco to Accha and, beyond, to Chumbivilcas and Arequipa 76 and was until the 1950s the only way to travel to Cusco, the regional capital. Then, people would walk or ride their horse in two days from Accha to Cusco with a stopover in Paruro. This way of traveling became obsolete when Acomayo and then Pilpinto and eventually Accha were connected by road to the Sicuani-Cusco highway, making the journey possible by truck in less than a day. The building of the Paruro-Accha road began in the early 1980s as part of the development of the region of Paruro, as a way not so much to cut down on travel time for Accheños, but rather accentuate the political and economical linkage of Accha with Paruro, the provincial capital. 76 Poole, 1987b:261; Levillier 1942 vol. 3: CLX. See also chapter 1. 4. 3. Shared knowledge and geographical space There is a diminishing sense of accuracy, a weakening in identification in the relation between people and the territory, as the place of reference shifts away from its center--in this case, away from Accha. I happened to be on the first truck out of Accha when the new road through Paruro was inaugurated on the 30th of August 1985, the day of the fiesta of Santa Rosa de Lima. Accheños hadn’t traveled along that way for some 30 years, except for some who occasionally took large herds of sheep by foot to Cusco (individual sheep, like individual campesinos, travel by truck). As soon as this first truck left the familiar zone that extends to the limit of the cultivated village land, passengers started pointing out and naming forgotten landmarks: distant hamlets, rock outcrops, caves, passes... They argued over some of the names, and exchanged tales about the places, either taken from their own experience when they used to walk the path, or from stories they had heard. The naming exercise lasted throughout the trip; but as the truck got further away from Accha, the number of landmarks recognized narrowed to include only the most important villages and peaks on whose names most everyone could agree. Finally the truck reached Apu Huanacauri, whose awesome mass had dominated much of the trip. Beyond and below it the Valley of Cusco was revealed to the travelers, in much the same way it had been to the mythical Ayar Brothers whose journey followed the same direction. The sight of the city elicited no other comment than expressions of relief for having safely reached the end of the journey, and a sign of the cross from some of the travelers in gratitude for a safe trip. 77 In other circumstances I have seen in P’irca (Pacariqtambo) villagers setting off on a journey on foot turn to kneel and cross themselves at the last place on 77 Traveling is dangerous. Not only because of the quite real perils of the actual journey --not least of all the common occurrence of fatal road accidents-but also because of the very act of moving away from the safety of the village and the apu. Accheños rarely travel alone, do not dally on the way, and do not travel at night if they can avoid it. 4. 4. Cachaspari or la despedida: separation and death The separation inherent in the act of traveling is expressed in the name “Cacharparimoco” that designates two places in Accha. Both are low rounded mounds on the side of paths --now roads-- leading respectively to Paruro (and Cusco) and Acomayo (and Cusco). The name is said to mean “Place-where-onesays-farewell.” Moqo literally means a knoll . González Holguín (1989 [1608]) 78 gives for cacharpayani. the following gloss: “to see someone off, or advise him”; churatamuni:: “put him on his way.” The notion of guidance and 79 80 advice underlines the perceived dangers in leaving the village. Also contained, in Cusihuaman’s definitions, are the ideas of separation: kachariy to let go, to drop, to detach, to free; and of dispatching: Kachay : to send, to commission. 81 82 Fianlly, González Holguín also offers this gloss: Cachani : to send a message. 83 the path from which the village could still be seen. 78 morro, cerro muy pequeño redondeado (Martinez 1980). It can also serve to designate a joint or an articulation of the body, as for instance a knee. 79 despechar al que se va; o avisarle. 80 ponerle en el camino. 81 Soltar, hacer caer, desatar, dar libertad. 82 enviar, mandar, comisionar. 83 embiar hasta alla mensaje. The mounds do not actually mark the boundaries of the community: even in its least inclusive expression, the community extends far beyond those two vantage points, from which a good stretch of the road can be seen. However, they can be perceived to be at the limit of the village’s main concentration of houses. One Cacharparimoco is found just past the chapel of Santa Ana, where the old Inca road, and the dirt road from Paruro and Cusco enter the village . The other is located across from the chapel of Compón in Hanansaya on the road to Pilpinto, Acomayo and Cusco. The Cacharparimoco in ayllu Santa Ana (Hurinsaya) also called Tantar Q’asa, or “pass where people congregate” is where a large Inca site was found by Brian Bauer (see chapter 2, 1. 2. 3.). The Hanansaya Cacharparimoco is located across the path from the chapel of Compón, the last stop of a funeral party on the way to the cemetery of Hanansaya. The relation between Cacharparimoco and the graveyard is unique to Hanansaya, as the main road from Hurinsaya --the road to Paruro-- leaves from Santa Ana, while the Hurinsaya cemetery is located at the limit of Hurinsaya proper, on the path to Parcco and Pocoray, the old Inca road to Chumbivilcas. The Hurinsaya chapel is located within the walls of the cemetery, rather than outside, as in the case for Compón in Hanansaya. In Hanansaya, Compón is “the place where the dead rest” on their final journey. After the long wake at the house of the deceased the coffin is carried to this small chapel, where it is laid on trestles. The relatives then sit in a line on Cacharparimoco, facing the chapel, with the width of the road between them and the dead person. A male relative, but usually not the chief mourner (i.e., the closest male relative of the deceased) pours shots of trago for the assembled people amidst crying and wailing. This activity, which has taken place throughout the night at the house of the dead person, is repeated outside the cemetery walls immediately following the burial, and often also for a number of days afterwards.. The symbolism involved here, I believe, is that of a metaphorical relation between traveling away from the village and death. This is evidenced by the similarity of what takes place at the same site to dispatch either the dead or the travelers. Since nowadays trucks leave from the plaza before dawn, travelers are not “seen off” at Cacharparimoco any longer. But in the early morning, when people are huddled in the back of the truck waiting for it to leave, often a young man appears carrying a bottle of alcohol. He is usually a younger relative of one of the travelers, not a member of the household: nephew, ajihado (godchild), or minor compadre, or any younger individual who finds himself in a subservient position. The young man climbs up the side of the truck, and straddling the wooden side wall of the truck respectfully serves shots of trago to his tio (uncle) or padrino (godfather), who may in turn involve his fellow travelers in these pre-departure libations. In the past, when journeys were made on foot or horseback, the same activity would have taken place on Cacharparimoco at the beginning of the trip as it now does prior to the departure of the truck. 84 The use of trago is of course involved in a number of daily and ritual activities (see Allen 1988). However, the structural and spatial relation between the activities by which the dead and the living are seen off is worth noting. The gloss given for Compón, “the place where the dead rest,” further suggests the 85 symbolic parallel: the dead are seen as on a journey to the outside of the Don Mariano Guzmán describes this farewell as cariño no más : “nothing but a gesture of love.” 85 the same term samay (Quechua), descansar (Spanish) “to rest” is used during an actual journey, or agricultural task, and is usually a signal to stop, sit together, and share trago, chicha, and coca leaves. 84 community, and it is their living relatives, who will remain in the village, who see them off from Cacharparimoco. In Accha, the word cachaypari 86 also serves to designate the final day of a fiesta, glossed in Spanish as la despedida de la fiesta, “farewell to the fiesta.” It is the day when cargos are passed on and a new carguyoq appointed for the following year. On cachaypari everybody goes to the door of the church where the outgoing carguyoq brings dishes of uncooked food that he hopes to present to the incoming carguyoq. The symbolism of the uncooked food might in turn relate to the nature of the cargo. 87 The carguyoq ‘s main duty at any ritual is to provide prepared food to participants from the whole community. The way this is achieved is by collecting foodstuff from the network of actual and ritual kin. The cargo then operates a transformation of raw goods into social prestations. The outgoing carguyoq needs to chaskichicuy -- “to pass on his cargo”. If he fails to do so, he is said to have let his cargo die, and this is “the worst thing that can happen to him.” The emotional level is always high during cachaypari. For the outgoing carguyoq this marks the end of a year of work and privation, of asking for favors and cashing in obligations owed him. It is also the end of several days of high visibility and high status, of feasting and being fêted by all. The word cacharpari is also found in other but related contexts. Cachaspari is the name of the slow huayno, also known in Spanish as la despedida “the farewell” remarkable for its sad melody and melancholy lyrics (Van Kessel 1981; also Raúl García Zarate, in concert, 1993). Castro Pozo associates the same dance with death in his description of the conditions of the Andean miner and of “the end of his life, of which he took leave with stoicism and skepticism, while his relatives bade him good-bye, dancing the lugubrious cachaspari” (1936:80). 87 The emphasis on uncooked food is also made in Hopkins’ s (1988) description of a ritual enacted for the fiesta of Santa Rosa in Andahuaylillas. 86 The incoming carguyoq has the same hardship and honors to look forward to. On this day, he is committing himself to spending more capital than he owns, and more income than he can expect to generate over the next several years. He is faced with the challenge of being a good carguyoq, one who will be remembered and whose name will be associated with an especially outstanding fiesta. Often the passing of the cargo is accompanied by much crying and wailing and by hugs and kisses between the old and the new carguyoqs. Thus the concept of cacharpari relates to both liminal space and liminal time. It is concerned with transitions, and with the negotiation of death and the social or ritual reproduction of the group. This is why I believe that the two Cacharparimocos are not only boundary markers, but also indicators of a process of separation of the individual from the community. The dramatic emphasis given to this process in its various contexts is indicative of the importance of the group as locus of cultural identity for the individual Accheño. The political implication of the spatial orientation of the two Cacharparimocos is also important. They are located at the edge of the village and oriented from the community outwards, in the direction of the two provincial capitals Paruro and Acomayo, and the regional capital, Cusco. There is no corresponding place on the other side of the village from where leaves the road to Chumbivilcas and Arequipa. The lack of such marker at the southern edge of the village would seem to indicate an orientation emphasizing the importance of the relation to Paruro, Acomayo, and Cusco rather than to the other neighboring ethnic groups to the south. This privileged relation might be historically related to Accha’s position at the edge of the territory of the Incasde-privilegio (chapter 2), and to the fact that this relation to Cusco and to the populations directly to the north of Accha was carried over through the creation of the Toledan era settlement (reducción) and into the colonial period (see chapter 7). However, if the outward orientation of Accha is towards Cusco, it does not imply that Accheños vision of their space is in any way centered on Cusco. Unlike the oppositional definition of identity mentioned above that results from a relation to the outside and the foreign, the spatial mapping that I have outline in this section is Accha-centered. It is construed in terms of separation from the center, not of opposition to other places or spaces. 5...and coming back... The relation to the village as focus of identity is obvious during the return truck journey from Cusco to Accha. Accheños who go back to their village after a few days in the city, typically to sell produce and buy necessary staples like kerosene, alcohol, or cooking oil, must come to the paradero --the truck stop for Acomayo, Pilpinto and Accha, located a short way down the street from the main market of San Pedro in Cusco. The truck usually leaves between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m., so that in order to be sure to leave, and to be able to claim a portion of floor space to sit or stand on for the long trip, one must arrive before 2 a.m. At that hour, the market street, which during the day teems with a constant flow of buyers, sellers and passers-by, is quite deserted. The only activity is at the few stalls of market women selling soup, and at the ubiquitous pushcarts of hot sweetened herbal tea (emoliente). The paradero crowd also includes young bread vendors and cigarette sellers, and thieves and pickpockets who often mix with the travelers and get into the truck as if they were traveling, only to jump off at the last minute taking with them some villager’s meager bundle or precious wad of bank notes. The time immediately prior to the departure of the truck is one of polite nods, and of less polite discussions on the amount of space commandeered by some individuals, and the size, amount and location of their baggage. These fights usually take place between women, who are more likely to be the regular commuters, selling produce in the city and returning to the village with merchandise. The male passengers, on the other hand, are more often occasional travelers: village authorities on an administrative errand to Cusco, or peasants who have just sold a portion of their annual crop. These are returning to Accha with a wad of paper money tightly tied in a handkerchief inside their shirt, and their only baggage usually consists of a few liters of alcohol, a few gallons of kerosene, and some foodstuffs and treats for their wives and families. In their dealings with the bureaucracy, market women, people in the street, and taxi drivers, Accheños, men and women, who spend a few days in the city are constantly reminded of their identity as campesinos, or even indios. Their dress, the ojotas (tire-rubber sandals) they wear for shoes, their quick shuffle through the busy streets, but especially their language, give them away. In their interaction with Cuzqueños, they painstakingly attempt to shed the negative image that they project and to mimic the ways of the city. So, when 88 they board the truck in the early morning in Cusco, greetings and disputes over space, between neighbors from the same village are in Spanish, using the 89 formal “usted” form. When the truck finally departs, and everyone is more or In a recent movie on the village of Q’eros, film maker John Cohen shows how Q’eros villagers going to the neighboring town to trade and buy, wear a plain ‘traveling’ poncho over their own intricate and colorful ponchos, to avoid being recognized and derided as Q’erenos. 89 Seventy percent of men in Accha and 24% of women speak some Spanish (Ccori 1978:22). As a rule, monolingual speakers are least likely to travel to Cusco. 88 less settled for the long journey, cigarettes and coca leaves change hands, and wet babies are parked on strangers’ laps. Conversations can then start in earnest, but these conversations still take place in Spanish. Yet there is an important turning point on the journey between Cusco and Accha, one which is reached after only two hours of highway driving, but perhaps significantly, is located precisely half way between the two destinations. Shortly after Urcos on the Cusco-Sicuani-Puno highway, trucks going to Accha leave the asphalt road at a bridge called Chuquicahuana, cross the Huatanay River that they had been following since Cusco, and start the winding climb on the dirt road that leads to the plateau of Pomacanchis. This turn-off not only marks a change in speed and ease of locomotion as well as in temperature, traffic, and scenery, but is also indicated by a language shift in the back of the truck from Spanish to Quechua. Suddenly no one seems to speak or understand Spanish any longer. And even the occasional foreign traveler, or the anthropologist returning to his field site, with whom every one was conversing in reasonably fluent Spanish, is all of a sudden confronted with a stream of questions, jokes, and sexual innuendoes in Quechua. The bridge of Chuquicahuana clearly functions as a cultural boundary between the city and the village and a linguistic watershed where travelers discard the identity that they have assumed for the trip. 90 The consensual choice of language operates as “a signal of distinctness and of a speaker’s identification with others” (Blom and Gumperz 1972:433, quoted in Urban 1991:308). This sense of shared linguistic community contributes to Accheño There seems to be no reverse transformation on the way to Cusco. From what I have been able to observe, the cultural shift -- and the shift from Quechua to Spanish-- takes place after the travelers have left the truck at the paradero in Cusco, as if the physical shell of the truck itself helped maintain throughout the trip a sense of shared community that needn’t be discarded or disguised before the destination is reached. 90 identity, moored, as we have seen, in the physical reality of the village and the shared knowledge of the villagers. Centered on the village, Accheño identity is further constructed and reinforced in the opposition with other groups, through the determination of categories of foreignness, and also through the creation and negotiation of boundaries. As the village-centered identity is limited by the actual distance from the center, so in the same way do the boundaries determined by relational oppositions in turn serve to reinforce the central focus of identity. This double process of definition of the group -absolute and relative, or central and peripheral-- ensures both the maintenance of its identity through the permanence of the structure, and its flexible articulation with the outside. CHAPTER FOUR THE CONSTRUCTION OF SOCIAL SPACES AND THE PRODUCTION OF GROUP IDENTITY Exclusion is itself a form of inclusion (John Updike Pigeon Feathers and Other Stories. New York, Fawcett Crest, 1962:64). I realize now that Don Mariano --and probably everybody else in the village-- never was quite sure what I was doing there or what it was I was trying to find out. Yet he was always eager to answer my questions and would often gauge the relevance of his responses by whether or not I would pull out my notebook and start scribbling. If I did, he would stop and repeat what he had just said, and slow down enough to make sure that I could write down the mixture of Quechua and Spanish in which he talked to me, pausing at intervals like a schoolmaster giving dictation. Sometimes, when there were others around, he would scold them for talking too fast for me to be able to take notes. Many of my questions to him had to do with the theoretical problem that had drawn me to Accha: the ayllu and moiety structure. Don Mariano would answer willingly enough specific queries about the location of ayllu land, the names of the moiety authorities, and where were the limits between the various groups. However, when I asked directly about the nature and function of the system of ayllus organized into moieties, he would explain it away as “just an old custom.” Other Accheños, especially the mestizos who occupied positions of authority in the village-wide political structure, like alcalde and gobernador, denied that such a structure existed. Even some of the most reflective participants in the moiety/ayllu system, like Abelardo Fernandez Vaca, dismissed it with a shrug as “just a way to organize labor, but in fact we are all one community.” As I became involved in the study of ritual and economic practice in Accha, particularly saints’ fiestas and communal labor-parties, in which the elements of the moiety/ayllu system become activated, I came to the realization that what I had at first taken as a rejection of the importance of the section system was in fact a statement on both its function and its nature. It became apparent that in Accha, through the mechanics of communal labor, the moiety/ayllu structure operates as what Geertz calls a total cultural system (Geertz 1973), and produces a mapping of individual and group identity, at the same time as it guarantees the reproduction of the community through the establishment of clear blueprints of social and economic behavior. We will also see that the system of embedded social units extant in Accha replicates the processes of relative definition and absolute definition identified in chapter 3 by stressing each group’s relation with others within the system, and also by centering the collective identity of the group to its church and patron saint. 1. The ayllu and moiety structure. Perhaps one of the most intransigent questions in Andean studies is that of the definition of the social unit, long a theoretical problem for anthropologists, but one that becomes even more critical in a situation marked by a historical context of lasting cultural interaction. In spite of the difficulties in formulating a general statement on the nature of the constituting units of Andean rural communities, I need to give a minimal definition of the moiety and the ayllu before I proceed to consider the particularities of those interconnected elements in the social system in Accha. The dual or moiety structure is a system of social organization whose fairly widespread presence in a number of societies attracted initially the interest of theoreticians of the Année Sociologique (Needham ed.: 1973), before being formulated as a structuralist question by Lévi-Strauss (1956), but which, “for all the special attention it has received, ... remains a provocative dilemma” (Turner 1984:336). The Andean dual system is often interpreted as one of complementary opposition based on hierarchical inequality expressed as relations of upper to lower, rich to poor, male to female (e. g. Randall 1982). In Peru, the moieties are called sayas, with Hanansaya being the name of the “upper” moiety and Hurinsaya that of the “lower”. Within those two moieties may be found a varying number of clan-like groups known as ayllus in Peru. 91 The inclusion of the ayllu structure within the dual structure is not general throughout the Andean region. Abercrombie (1986) and Platt (1978; 1982) indicate a reverse situation among, respectively, the Killakas and the Machas of Bolivia, where the ayllu is the inclusive unit, sometimes of the size of the ethnic group or pre-colonial kingdom, and the dual division functions at the level of the ayllu, dividing and uniting the group’ s villages and hamlets. In Accha, on the other hand, and in many high Andes communities of southern Peru (e. g. Poole 1984; Urton 1988), as well as in Incaic Cusco (Zuidema 1964; 1990), the ayllus are the minimal units which are regrouped within the constitutive moieties. This variation in the ayllu-moiety relation reinforces my conviction of the interdependence of the two structures and of the impossibility to study them separately. 91 The term ayllu generally designates a form of rural social organization 92 that has survived centuries of Inca and colonial rule and, the present-day influence of the market economy. Various manifestations of that form of organization can be found today in many parts of the Andes. Although we know little about the shape taken by pre-Incaic ayllus, it is probable that some of the characteristics of the pre-colonial and contemporary organization predate the hegemony of the Inca state (Murra 1972). Ethnohistorians give a fairly complete image of the overall form and nature of the Incaic ayllu. In Inca times, its base was a more or less endogamic core which owned and worked communally a certain territory. Within the ayllu, pasture land was communally exploited, while chakras were distributed among the domestic units according to their needs. Thus there were periodic redistributions to account for changes due to births and deaths. Widows and orphans were at the charge of the whole community. In addition, a certain amount of communal work had to be assumed by the group, such as terracing and irrigation --pre-Incaic techniques that were developed to a considerably larger scale under the Inca state. The ayllu also was made to contribute a certain amount of labor and agricultural and manufactured products to the state. Each ayllu was in addition associated with one or several local shrines, huacas, which were simultaneously perceived as the ancestors of the lineage, and as having supernatural control over the territory of the community (Murra 1980, Sherbondy 1979, Wachtel 1974, Zuidema 1964). Ayllus therefore usually constituted the totality of a rural settlement, but were often grouped in llactas (‘communities’) organized in a R. Tom Zuidema has devoted many publications to the nature and functioning of the ayllu system in Inca Cusco. I have alluded to elements of that system in the preceding chapter, and do so again in chapter seven. In this chapter, I want to limit my focus to the organization of the ayllu and moiety system in small size rural communities. 92 dual system, themselves arranged into larger ethnic groups exceeding the limits of kinship. In spite of these generalizations, the forms taken by the Incaic, and even more so by the modern ayllu, remain too varied to allow the identification of a single pattern. In a consideration of the nature of the ayllu, Zuidema and Quispe (1973) remark that both the early chronicler’s interpretations of the Incaic ayllu and the present day ethnographical descriptions of the modern institution define it “equally as a group of kinsmen, a lineage, an endogamous group, an exogamous group, or a localized group unrelated to the kinship.” (1973:360-61) This diversity of forms taken by the ayllu leads the authors to speculate whether Andean culture is “nothing more than a mere amalgamation of different types of societies, with no similarities between them”, or whether there might be some yet undiscovered basic cultural elements that would allow the consideration of the different types of societies as “so many representations of the same structure” (ibid. 361). I suggest that instead of trying to relate the various forms taken by the ayllu through time and space to a hypothetical ideal ayllu, of which other expressions of the structure would be nothing but decayed manifestations, it is more profitable to consider the process of transmission and transformation of the institution as itself a structure. For if social institutions at the same time express and reflect the totality of a given cosmological concepts, it is also true that only through praxis are these institutions reproduced and transformed. The following interpretation of the functioning of the ayllu and moiety system in Accha draws from many past studies of those groups as symbolic units or as systems of opposition that illuminate the important concept of spatial, but also economic, or political boundaries (e. g. Skar 1982, Platt 1978, Isbell 1978, Allen 1984, Murra 1980, Fonseca 1981, Palomino 1971, Martinez 1983, Golte 1980a). My understanding of the dynamic principle of the system, as it will be framed in this chapter, owes much to Billie Jean Isbell’s suggestion that the key to the understanding of such structures might lie in “that dialectical process found in the relation between the ideal and the activity” (Isbell 1977: 81). My study of the dialogical interplay of the social units in Accha is derived from Gary Urton’s argument that the systems of opposition at work are in fact processes of negotiation that through formal and informal devices guarantee the production and the reproduction of the group (Urton 1984, 1988, 1992). 2. The social geography of Accha There is in Accha a number of divisions between social groups. Some of those divisions are clearly marked and the groups are fairly distinct in spatial, social and political terms. Other divisions are much less clear. Some groups seem to overlap, some divisions appear obsolete or contradictory. I will start by attempting a description of the various groupings recognized in Accha. At the same time as they deny the importance of the section system, Accheños are quite clear about the physical location of its subdivisions, and their integration in the community as a whole. They say that from the top of Apu Kangal, across the Pampa from the village, Accha resembles a ch’ullu, woolen cap, with the two earflaps represented by Hanansaya and Hurinsaya and the crown of the hat being made up of Santa Ana and Cusco ayllu. These four groups, and the relations among them, constitute the totality of what is recognizable as an Andean corporate structure of ayllus and moieties. 93 At a different level of integration, there are also anexos which I discussed in chapter 1, and will also appear later on in this discussion. 93 The most inclusive division is between the two moieties or sayas of Hanansaya and Hurinsaya. Accha has been described by Gade and Escobar (1982), in a study of that and several other highland communities in the region, as “an extreme formalization of the dual structure.” What justifies this statement is the fact that in Accha, unlike in most of the present day highland communities that have a functioning moiety system, the two moieties, as well as the other intracommunity groups, are localized. The plaza de Armas is divided in two by a shallow stream that takes waste water to the marshy drainage land of the pampa. This stream separates the square in two, and its prolongation likewise divides the rest of the village. Each half of the square has its own church, identified with either moieties (el templo de Hurinsaya, and el templo de Hanansaya), and at two ends of the village are found two cemeteries where the dead of the respective moieties are buried (see Cacharparimoco in chapter 3). Within Hurinsaya are also found two ayllus, also localized: Ayllu Santa Ana and Cusco Ayllu, each with its little square and chapel, respectively, Santa Ana and Santa Rosa de Lima. There are several unusual features that are peculiar to Accha. One is the fact that there are only two ayllus within the whole structure, and that they are both in Hurinsaya. The other is the extreme emphasis on the localization of the unit. Those two features jointly serve to give the functioning of the ayllu and moiety system in Accha a distinctive originality that I want to explore. 2. 1. Civil-political hierarchies. The political hierarchy of Accha consists of several parallel structures that coexist and are activated at different, economic, ritual and calendrical levels. The traditional structure of the cargo system seems in Accha to be exclusively connected with rituals, and is activated in ritual circumstances. The positions of carguyoqkuna, owners of the cargo, are held usually for one year, and are “volunteered” at the end of the previous fiesta in the ceremony that has been identified as ‘passing on the cargo’ (chapter 3). There are several cargo structures centered around the various groups’ fiestas and patron saints. Thus a member of a given ayllu can throughout his life hold in succession --but not necessarily in order-- both in his ayllu and his moiety the various cargos for the corresponding fiestas. Furthermore, there is no interdiction for any individual to have a cargo in another ayllu, “as long as they work the land of the saint” (Abelardo Fernandez Vaca). It might possibly make sense for a young man living in the anexos, or even today in Hanansaya, to want to invest into the cargo system in Hurinsaya and the ayllus, where he might perhaps ultimately wish to move into the group, marry in or claim land. Tenuously tied into that structure is another political structure of officials elected at the level of the individual social unit by the empadronizados, the registered members of the group. This is the level at which decisions are made concerning the organization of communal labor, mobilization of individuals for faenas, choice of location of the group’s fondo , common potato land, for the next two years. For each group, there are two elected officials: a presidente and a teniente. Those are elected by their peers every two years during December. Finally, there is the civil-political structure introduced from Europe with the reducción policy of the 16th century (see chapter 7) that gave the community a hierarchy of municipal positions: alcalde, gobernador and teniente gobernador, secretario and juez de paz . Those to are elected positions, and election times correspond to the national political calendar. The candidates for alcalde run on tickets that correspond to national parties. From 1985 to 1989, the Aprista mayor was both a hacendado and a forastero, being a ex-guardia who had married the daughter of a local hacienda. The governor and teniente are in theory appointed by the provincial authority. In practice, the provincial prefect in Paruro is usually content to ratify the name put forward by the alcalde. The other positions were also occupied by mestizos, not only because they are influential positions, but also because they imply a certain level of education -i.e. the ability to speak, read and write some Spanish. The position of juez de paz even requires a short course in legal matters in Cusco. 2. 2. Duality, tripartition, and quadripartition: bases and parcialidades If instead of ayllus and moieties one asks about parcialidades, the 94 information received is quite different. In that context, the inclusive structure is usually referred to as ‘la comunidad madre’, with its presidente de comunidad and within this structure are the bases with their own presidente. In Accha, there are one presidente de comunidad and three presidentes de base. The authority of the three presidentes de bases corresponds to the following parcialidades: Hanansaya, Hurinsaya and jointly Cusco ayllu and Santa Ana. As ayllus, Cusco ayllu and Santa Ana are distinct and part of the saya of Hurinsaya, which itself stands in relation/opposition to Hanansaya within the main community. But as parcialidades, the two ayllus are joined, and defined in opposition to both Hurinsaya and Hanansaya (see fig. 5). Accha (llacta) Accha (comunidad madre) Lit. parcel, subdivision. Interestingly, the word has in Spanish a double meaning: it can also signify partiality, esprit-de-corps. At the beginning of the colonial era, it was used as a translation for ayllu (Rostworowski 1981). 94 Hanansaya Hurinsaya C Hanan Hurin CA/SA SA A Moiety/ayllu system Base/Parcialidad system (Cargayoqkuna) (Oficiales) Fig. 5 The two hierarchical structures The two structures coexist within the village and are part of discrete realities and discourses. The first structure, termed here moiety/ayllu system, is activated for ritual purposes, and functions at the intragroup level for fiesta 95 specific organized labor that is the object of the reminder of this chapter. The second structure is oriented towards the outside of the community, and relates to national politics, provincial bureaucracies and development agencies. In effect, the distinction between the two systems reproduces what I have described in the previous chapters as absolute identity (Accha from within) on the one hand, and relative identity (Accha in relation to the outside) on the other. I need to add that beyond its two ayllus, Hurinsaya also includes, outside of the village limits in the direction of the Velille valley, two dependent anexos (see fig. 6). Those have been seen taking part in the laymi in chapter one. We shall see that they are also involved in ritual work parties in association with Hurinsaya within the moiety/ayllu system. See Gary Urton (1992) for a discussion of emergence and activation of the ayllus in Pacariqtambo. 95 Fig. 6. The system of social divisions in Accha: Hu= Hurinsaya, Ca= Cusco ayllu, Sa=Sta Ana ayllu. It will be noted that Hurinsaya is represented twice in this diagram: as a moiety in opposition with Hanansaya; but also as a subdivision at the same level of the two ayllus. This is meant to underscore the fact that Hurinsaya exists both as a subgroup in relation and in opposition to Cusco Ayllu and Santa Ana, and as the inclusive moiety in opposition to Hanansaya (see also fig. 5). For all intents and purposes, the moiety of Hurinsaya includes three subgroups: Cusco ayllu, Santa Ana and Hurinsaya. 2. 3. Mode of recruitment. Ayllus and moieties in Accha are mostly but not prescriptively endogamous. A person is a member by “communal consensus”. A man has to live for two years in one place and then petition to become a member of his group of residence. A man who has lived there for two years and is accepted has immediately “la voz y el voto” (voice and vote). All memberships are recorded in the books of the comunidad madre. That is only true for a man: a woman may renounce her rights in her own community and automatically become a member of her husband’s community, if she wishes. However, she may decide to keep her membership in her group of origin, and in fact, her husband might want to switch his membership from his group to hers. If a man from Santa Ana marries a woman from Hurinsaya, he can work his and his wife’s chakras in Santa Ana and Hurinsaya, and remain a member of Santa Ana. If he moves to Hurinsaya, he becomes part of Hurinsaya and can keep working his chakras in Santa Ana Being registered in an ayllu gives one the following rights and obligations: access to laymi land, right to vote and duty to participate in faenas. 3. Death doth us part: faenas and the dual structure. 3. 1. Graveyards: machays and campos santos. In Inca times, ayllus and hamlets would bury their dead in caves and other sacred sites that corresponded to each group. The practice of burying the dead in underground chambers or caves (machay ) is documented by Guaman Poma (1980[1613]) and Arriaga (1920), who also notes that the Indians would often exhume their dead after a Christian burial and take Fig. 7 Plan of Accha and its subdivisions them to their ancient machays (see also Doyle 1988, Harris 1982b). The Spaniards insisted that the dead be buried inside the village and in sacred ground around the church. This was one of the hardest rules to enforce for the resident priests throughout the colonial period (Decoster 1990ms; also chapter 8), and a hard one for the Indians to follow, for whom communal interments in the middle of the village was clearly an aberration. In the late 18th century, European cities started building their cemeteries outside of town for reasons of health. The idea first started in Paris, Milan and Madrid in the 1770s and 1780s. This practice soon came to the Americas, and in time, to the highland villages. The Mercurio Peruano (1964-[1791-]) extols the moving of campos santos outside the towns for reasons of hygene. The clergy strongly resisted that impulse, mostly because it would be more difficult for them to collect for the burial (Clément 1984:119). But two royal cédulas soon imposed the new practice in the Americas . 96 Until the beginning of the 19th century (Abelardo Vaca), the one graveyard in Accha had been situated on a lot adjacent to the casa cural called P’achapuquio. 97 I suggest that the reason for the graveyard to have been in P’achapuquio rather than outside the church, as was the Spanish-imposed custom elsewhere, relates to the existence of the two churches, which would have forced the clergy to either privilege one church over the other or allow burials in two churchyards. The one cemetery on ‘neutral grounds’ is the only indication I have found of a lack of total acceptance of the dual system by the colonial church. Later, when, as part of the implementation of the cédulas , Accheños were instructed to build a cemetery on the periphery of the village, they built two instead at the extreme limits of the moieties. Today, the two graveyards are clearly not over-occupied, and there is no apparent justification for having two graveyards rather than one. The monuments are mostly above-ground constructions made of adobe walls and topped with tiles, and resemble in materials and shape the houses in the village. 98 The adobe bricks for the monuments can be made on the spot, outside the “para que las autoridades civiles y militares de Indias informen sobre la conveniencia de establecer cementerios en las afueras de las poblaciones” (Madrid 27 Mars 1789) and “sobre establecimiento de cementerios fuera de poblado en los dominios de Indios” (Aranjuez 15 May 1804) (Both quoted in Clément 1984:117). 97 The name of the place itself is an indication of its function: spring (puquio) where the clothes (p’acha) of the dead are washed as part of the funeral ritual. 98 Block-shaped and pastel painted monuments also occur, usually built by relatives who live in Cusco. This type of monument is most common in the Cusco graveyards and to me evokes the flat-roofed light blue and light green houses of the working class suburbs. There too, the houses of the dead is patterned on the houses of the living. 96 graveyard walls. The tiles are also made locally with clay from the river and fired in the village. The dead of each moiety must be buried in their respective cemeteries, under penalty of a fine payable by the survivors to the consejo. When I asked why anybody would want to be buried in the “wrong” cemetery, Don Mariano pointed to the difference in terrain between the Hurinsaya cemetery on dry land at the foot of the mountain, and that of Hanansaya bordering some imperfectly drained marsh land: “.....and their graveyard: the way they bury their dead in Hanansaya is, they dig a hole and dump the body in the water. That’s why there is a lot of people from there who pay the fine to be buried in Hurinsaya. That doesn’t happen too much in the other direction.” The ‘hole in the ground’ must be taken as an exaggeration as we have seen that most burials are above-ground burials. 99 The maintenance of the graveyard is done by each moiety. 100 In Hanansaya, where there are no subdivisions, the moiety as a whole takes part in a work-party. The situation is different in Hurinsaya. Figure 8 shows how half of the surrounding wall is covered with straw and the other half A case of ‘cross-moiety burial’ is that of Benjamin Ocón Sebillanos, who was a member of Hanansaya and first cousin (MBS) to Don Mariano, of Sta Ana ayllu, and Hurinsaya. This is the same man mentioned in chapter 1 as the intermediary between Accheños and llameros from the highlands. His daughter, Irene Ocón Guamani de Vargas, daughter of Benjamin Ocón. and Margareta Guamani is buried in the Hurinsaya cemetery. This is because her husband Luis Vargas, who is still alive, is from Santa Ana. Her presence in the Hurinsaya is therefore coherent with the rule of group acquisition outlined above. It appears that Benjamin was to have been buried in the same plot as her and his name was already on her tomb. As it was, he died --perhaps murdered-- as he was looking for his pigs, sometime during the dry season of 88-89. His body was taken to Paruro for an autopsy and buried there. 100 See Urton 1984 and 1988 for the discussion of a similar division of communal labor along ayllu lines in Pacariqtambo. 99 Fig. 8 The organization of the work-parties for the maintenance of the cemetery walls in Hurinsaya with tiles. In fact, the wall is divided into four parts, and each corresponding subdivision is responsible for one section of the wall. However, the work parties always consist of two of those subdivisions at a time, either Santa Ana and Cusco ayllu together, or Hurinsaya and Misanapata, an anexo of Hurinsaya comprising the hamlets of Nieta, Tambo, Maymachi and Avancay. 101 The reason why the other anexo of Hurinsaya, Oyaino, is not involved in the graveyard work is because it has its own graveyard. When I arrived in Accha in 1987, Cusco Ayllu and Ayllu Santa Ana had covered their half of the wall with tiles. 102 The section corresponding to Nieta was one of the original pueblo viejos reduced in Accha by Toledo. Both Nieta and Tambo had status of ayllu of Hurinsaya at least through the 19th century (see chapter 7). Avancay was an hacienda belonging to the Fernadez Vaca, identified as Hamancay in 1836 (see chapter 7). I have no information on Maymachi. 102 This had been the object of a faena for which each member of the two ayllus had to provide 50 tiles. 101 Hurinsaya and Misanapata was still covered in straw. The discrepancy lasted for the two years that I was there. I need to point out that the division in sections doesn’t extend to the inside of the graveyard: people can be buried anywhere inside its perimeter. The only rules that seem to apply are that the foot of the grave must face east, and that children are buried in the southern section of the graveyard. 3. 2. Maintenance of the churches. The church maintenance follows a similar pattern. Hanansaya people work all together on the maintenance of the Hanansaya church. But Fig. 9 The organization of the work-parties for the roof of the Hurinsaya church. the roof of the church of Hurinsaya is divided into 4 sections, which the subdivisions have to work in pairs: Hurinsaya together with the anexo of Misanapata, and Cusco Ayllu and Ayllu Santa Ana jointly with the anexo of Oyaino (fig. 4). In 1984, Padre Sergio, the resident priest, closed the Hurinsaya church claiming that it was in too much disrepair. He later confided to me that in fact he did not want to have to say mass twice on Sundays, --once in each of the two moiety churches-- which he what he had to do up to then. He then proceeded to organize work-parties to restore the remaining church --that of Hanansaya. He asked the presidente de comunidad how this should be done, and this 5-day schedule was the result: Monday: Tuesday: Wednesday: Thursday: Friday: Hurinsaya Misanapata Cusco ayllu/Santa Ana Oyaino Hanansaya What we see here, is a transformation from a spatial pattern of division of work into a temporal one. 103 The same groups that were involved in the maintenance of the Hurinsaya church were drafted to participate in the refection of the Hanansaya temple in the same alternation between village ayllus and anexos. To those was added the moiety of Hanansaya as a whole, counting only for one faena day a week. Although the members of the Hurinsaya moiety resented the priest for closing down their church they did not object to being jointly responsible for 80% of the work expenditure for the maintenance of the other moiety’s church. I believe that by closing one of the two churches, the priest had in effect eliminated the dual division at that level, and made of the remaining church the responsibility of the whole village. This is a clear indication of the flexibility of This rotational system is not uncommon. In 1988, in preparation for the planned electrification of the village, there was a such a three-day rotation involving Hanansaya, Hurinsaya and Cusco Ayllu and Santa Ana jointly. Because the electrification project was organized by the oficiales of the comunidad madre, they used a rotation system based on the triadic structure. 103 the system, which can be taken back to the situation in the Hurinsaya graveyard for comparison. A parallel between the organization of the Hurinsaya church-roof workparty and the cemetery work-party clearly shows the potential for creating or collapsing divisions (fig. 8 and 9). The anexo of Oyaino has its own cemetery in the valley and therefore does not participate in the maintenance of the Hurinsaya cemetery. They do however have a responsibility towards the maintenance of the church. In the same way, I would venture that the same principle explains the situation in Hanansaya where through the collapse of the constituent units, responsibility for the maintenance of the graveyard and of the church moved to the higher inclusive level. One of the most recent evidence of the gradual transformation of the ayllu-structure in Hanansaya, still present in the collective memory is the people, is that of Belén, the last ayllu to disappear in Hanansaya. When I would ask people to name the subdivisions in Accha, I would be told that “there is no longer any ayllus in Hanansaya, as a medical post has been built where the chapel used to be. But the church bell from the Belén chapel is now kept in the main Hanansaya church.” This statement makes three points: one that there is a clear identification between the actual church building and the status of group. The second point is that the transfer of the bell from the chapel to the church illustrates the logic of the ayllu/moiety system whereby upon the disappearance of one element of the system, the structure is reconstructed as the next level of integration. Finally, there is the implication of a state of potentiality, of dormancy that is built into the system and could lead to the disappeared group being reactivated. In spite of the disappearance of the last ayllu in Hanansaya, the blueprint for the subdivision system is still extant, and if the Hanansaya ayllus were to be reactivated, or new ones created, I would expect to see the same kind of partitioning take place again. 104 In the scheme of fission and fusion described here, the division is in fact the underlying structure, and the union the overt one. Yet each level of division carries in itself the principle of unavoidable complementarity. The perimeter of the graveyard is divided into quarters but worked in halves, and the roofing of the Hurinsaya church must be conducted jointly by one subdivision from the village and one from an outside hamlet. No one part of the structure can ever operate by itself. When the opposition between the two churches was canceled by a fiat from the priest, all the subdivisions collaborated in the repairs of the remaining church. The implication of the statement ‘we are one community’ is not ‘in spite of the subdivisions’ but ‘because of the subdivisions’. It is the mechanics of division and complementary union built into the ritual work labor system, that guarantee the physical as well as cultural reproduction of the whole community at large. 3. 3. Potatoes and the dead: When I arrived in Accha in the dry season of 1987, Don Mariano had been a widower for about a year. When Doña Lucía died, he did not have a On the relation of the group to its churches, see Isbell and Fairchild (1979ms ), Houdart-Morizot (1976), Palomino (1968) and Wachtel (1990). The notion of disappeared ayllus as dormant was first suggested to me by Catherine Allen who claims that in Sonqo ancient ayllus are identified by name and location and that they can potentially be revived (pers. com.). Urton (1988) also relates the disappearance of an ayllu in Pacariqtambo to the collapse of a section of the churchyard wall. 104 tomb ready for her and she was temporarily buried in one that belonged to a compadre of his. Her death had greatly affected Mariano. He told me that a few months after she died, being quite drunk, he had talked a friend of his into accompanying him to the cemetery. They had taken down the adobe bricks sealing the tomb and slid out the coffin, at which time the friend took off running. Don Mariano opened the coffin and later told me that he’ d been amazed to see how shiny his dead wife’s eyes were, how her fingernails and hair had grown and how she seemed to be sleeping. Months after that event, the compadre who owned the tomb where Doña Lucía was buried, was pressuring Don Mariano into getting his wife out of his (the compadre’s) tomb. The man was reasonably concerned about what would happen if he would unexpectedly need the tomb, and it was still occupied. After trying unsuccessfully to calm the man’s anxieties, Don Mariano took me to the (Hurinsaya) graveyard to select a spot where we would build a new tomb for Doña Lucía, and eventually for himself too. Once there, Mariano asked me to pick a spot for the tomb. I replied that he too someday would be in it, and for a very long time, so he might want to pick a spot that he liked, maybe under this tree, or perhaps next to that wall.... He looked at me with puzzlement, clearly unconcerned with scenic requirements for his final resting place, and bending down where we stood, he grabbed a handful of dirt and rolled it between his fingers like the farmer that he is and said: “This here is good soil. Let’s build it here.” 105 This concern with the quality of the soil for a burial underlines an implicit parallel between the human population of Accha, living and dead, and That choice turned out to be an infelicitous one, as when we started work a neighbour of Don Mariano showed up and claimed that his mother was buried in the spot we had selected. We had to involve the authorities of the village in the dispute, and eventually lost our claim and had to build on another spot. 105 potatoes. The basic subsistence crop in the district is grown and planted in a series of communal fields around the village and the seeds, after the harvest, are kept in two separate storehouses within the village. Thus the life cycle of the potato is a continuous movement between the fields where they are planted and later excavated and the storehouses where they are kept inside the village until the next planting season. This movement parallels that of the soul of the dead believed to travel underground along a subterranean river and to be later reborn at the source of a water spring. In this respect, the graveyard is nothing but a way-station in the cyclical reproduction of life. The relation between the two cycles is further evidenced in the fact that the springs out of which the soul is reborn are called in Quechua by the same name, ñawi, as the potato eye, or bud, out of which the plant grows. Likewise, the seed is called wawa, or baby (Arnold 1988, 1989ms), and the bodies of mummies are analogous to chuñu, freeze-dried potatoes (Allen 1982). As we have seen, the dead are separated in the Hanansaya and Hurinsaya graveyards. Yet this division is denied for the living at one level of discourse: “we are one community”. Conversely, the seed-potatoes are carefully separated into two storehouses, one in each moiety, 106 even though they end up sown in communal land. This insistence on separating the seed is even more interesting as there is no symbolic marking of a relation between the group identity and the seed (as there is in other contexts) 107 and that seed can very well be bought, sold or exchanged. This in spite of the opposition of the non-governmental development organizations (NGO) financing the storehouses, who maintained that one storehouse was sufficient for a place the size of Accha. The presidentes de base (i. e. officials of the moiety/ayllu system) claimed that it was not ‘convenient’. 107 For instance the seed corn in Santa Ana ayllu, where year after year handfuls of corn kernels from the field of Santa Ana are distributed during the fiesta to ayllu members to start the sowing in their own fields (chapter 5. 3.). 106 Fig. 10 Production and storage The separation of the potato seed must then be viewed as symbolic of the social divisions that exist within the community, in the same way as the separation of the dead is a representation of the same social separations that are negated in the official discourse of and about the living (fig. 10). There is also a symbolic inversion between potatoes and people. Potato seed is separated above ground inside the village (in the storehouses) and planted together outside of the village (in the ten rotating communal laymi fields, represented as a counterclockwise ring of numbers in fig. 10). In contrast, humans are theoretically united above ground within the village and “planted” separately outside of it. This contrast is only valid for the laymi system and official discourse of the village-wide political structure. The fondo system on the other hand, which separates the potato fields by moiety and ayllu, replicates the moiety/ayllu ritual system of humans who are separated in life as in death. However I believe that the most meaningful relation is that both potatoes and humans are separated while they are “dormant”, but are together when they are maturing and reproducing. In this way, storehouses are not so much graveyards for potatoes as graveyards must be seen as storehouses for the dead. 4. The role of fiestas in the definition of group identity 4. 1. A wealth of Virgins Of the many fiestas that are celebrated in Accha, most are what could be called ‘calendrical’, or ‘liturgical’ rituals: major catholic holidays like Christmas, Easter, and Todos Santos (All Saints’ Day). Although many of these liturgical holidays have specific significance in terms of a regional agricultural or astronomical calendar, this catholic fiesta cycle is common not only to the Andean region, but throughout Latin America (e.g. Brandes 1988) and serves to punctuate the yearly ritual and economic cycle of the community. However, the most important fiestas in terms of general participation as well as cargo organization are those that are both group-specific (ayllu, moiety or village) and saint-specific. If the ‘liturgical’ fiestas punctuate the whole year, the patron-saint fiestas in the Andes usually fall in the months of “winter” or dry season. That is to say that a village or an ayllu are most likely to have a patron-saint whose feast day falls in June, July, August or September (see chapter 5). Not only are the winter months a period of low agricultural activity, but also they come after the harvest of corn first and then potatoes. These combined factors allow for the necessary time and surplus needed for the fiesta activities. The three group-specific fiestas celebrated today in Accha are Virgen del Carmen (July 16), Santa Ana (July 26), and Santa Rosa de Lima (August 30th). These three saints are the patron-saints of respectively, the whole village of Accha --or, more aptly, of the two moieties of Hanansaya and Hurinsaya--, Ayllu Santa Ana, and Cusco Ayllu. The fact that Hurinsaya and Hanansaya have the same patron-saint means that there are not three but four “Virgins” celebrated in Accha: ‘birhin Carmen Hanansaya’, ‘birhin Carmen Hurinsaya’, ‘birhin Santa Ana’, and ‘birhin Santa Rosa’. When referring more specifically to the physical representation of the saint, i. e. her statue, these names may become ‘mamita Santa Ana’, ‘mamita Hanansaya’ and so on. The Cusquenian anthropologist, Juan Victor Nuñez del Prado suggests that the Spanish conquest and ensuing campaign of catechization brought about a shift the indigenous religious thought. In precolumbian times, there was a unique female deity (Pachamama) and a number of individual male deities (the apus). The situation was reversed with the introduction of the catholic doctrine whose components became perceived as on the one hand, a unique male entity (Dios) and a fragmented female deity (the female saints) on the other. 108 I suggest that Accha’s patron-saints are representations of one unique female element: within the community, the actual historical or hagiographic identities of the various saints are generally ignored or collapsed into an overarching figure of the Virgin. 109 But this should not in any way be taken to J.V. Nuñez del Prado, pers. comm., 1989. This contradiction between a traditional cosmology and catholic doctrine seems to be confirmed in Accha in the constant complaints by the priest, Padre Sergio, that his catequistas whose duties include giving a rough translation in Quechua of the sermon and the gospel of the day, routinely render santo (‘male saint’) as apu, and santa (‘female saint’) as birhin (‘Virgin’). 109 To support this point, I only want at this stage to mention that of the three Virgins, it is Santa Rosa who is associated with the Infant Jesus, whose statue is also kept separately in the chapel of Santa Rosa, and takes part in the celebration of that saint’s fiesta. Santa Ana’ is not recognized in Accha as the 108 mean that these Virgins are interchangeable. In fact, each individual saint and her material representation are an important focus of identity for each of the groups. The four statues are identical generic female saint statues, store-bought in Cusco, made of painted plaster. What differentiate them are the clothes, wigs, jewelry and ornaments that are made for or offered to the saint on the occasion of her fiesta, as a sign of devotion, or ostentation, or as part of a minor cargo, or perhaps as a signal or commitment to engage in a cargo. The individual items donated to the saint are identified with the embroidered name of the donor if it is a piece of clothing, or otherwise recorded by the prioste or catequista. The existence of those four female saints in Accha as patron saints of the four components of the moiety/ayllu system underlines the structural correspondence between the four groups involved. This correspondence is most striking during the fiesta of Carmen when the two saints of the moieties are brought out of their respective churches simultaneously and jointly 110 paraded around the village: rather than one communal celebration of the saint, two parallel celebrations take place concurrently. But if the uniform characteristics of the identities of the patron saints, and of the relation between each group and its saint suggest a ritual equality between Hanansaya, Hurinsaya, Cusco Ayllu and Ayllu Santa Ana, we will see in the next section how the actual celebration of each fiesta expresses and produces a hierarchical relation between the groups. mother of the Virgin Mary. Rather, as we will see (chap. 5), she is identified as the mother of Cristóbal, who as “el Señor de Siwina”, is recognized as the embodiment of the community’s main apu. 110 The church of Hurinsaya is reopened for that day to allow for the preparation of the statue of the saint. 4. 2. Building the enclosures: inclusion of the excluded All three of the saint’s fiestas feature a bullfight as one of their principal activities. These bullfights, in the tradition of highland villages, involve, rather than a professional bullfighter, local men who set out to prove their courage by facing young bulls, armed only with their ponchos and a good dose of trago. The bulls are never killed or hurt. But there is rarely a fiesta without one or more amateur bullfighter getting seriously injured. One of the most important cargos of each fiesta is that of torero. He must procure the bulls for the fight, provide trago for the building of the enclosure and lead several horseback parades throughout the duration of the fiesta, often little more than drunken stampedes through the streets of the village. A few days before the bullfight, the torero builds a bullpen for the corrida in a designated spot --in all three cases a corner of the plaza adjacent to the church or chapel. On the day of the bullfight, the task of building the actual enclosure for the bullfight is conducted by a faena work party of the members of the relevant group or groups. Fig. 11 Enclosures for the bullfights: mmmmm= part of fence built by the mayordomo (bullpen) casacasa=Cusco ayllu and Sta Ana; huhuhu=hurinsaya; hahahah= hanansaya I have shown above how in ritual labor each level of division carries in itself the principle of unavoidable complementarity. The work on the perimeter of the graveyard and the roof of the church must be conducted jointly by one section from the village and one from an outside hamlet. No one section can ever operate by itself. The building of enclosures for the bullfights shows that the actual ritual practice that expresses the separation of the group also requires the inclusion of the group which stands either directly in opposition, or at the next higher level of integration from each sponsoring group. The building of the fences for the three bullfights follows a precise pattern that indexes relations of hierarchy or social proximity between specific groups. In each case, each group involved is responsible for the same portion of the enclosure year after year. 111 Figure 11 indicates this distribution for each of the three bullfights. In Santa Ana, the enclosure is built jointly by Santa Ana and Cusco Ayllu. Hanansaya and Hurinsaya, although they will participate in the fiesta and in the bullfight, do not help in the building of the arena. In Cusco ayllu, where the fiesta of Santa Rosa de Lima is held, the enclosure is divided into two parts: one built by Hurinsaya, and the other by Cusco Ayllu and Ayllu Santa Ana jointly. For the bullfight of the Virgen del Carmen, the enclosure is built on the Plaza de Armas, abutting the wall of the church of Hurinsaya. 112 Hanansaya, Hurinsaya, and jointly again the twin ayllus Cusco Ayllu and Santa Ana each contribute a portion of the fences. In a very similar contexts see Urton’ s articles on the preparation of the plaza in Pacariqtambo prior to the fiesta (1984) and the maintenance of the church walls in the same community (1988). 112 Nowadays, Accheños insist that the fiesta of Carmen is that of the whole village, but there is a possibility that at some time in the undetermined past Hanansaya had its own bullfight, although I have no information on the location of the enclosure or the modalities of its construction. The existing configuration of the enclosure on the main plaza for Carmen might be the traditional one for the moiety of Hurinsaya and there might have been at some time a parallel setup for Hanansaya on the other side of the plaza. 111 We see that the group, in the act of defining itself, incorporates in the creation of its limits the very group or groups in relation to which it defines itself at the most immediate higher level. If the fiesta is a celebration and expression of collective identity, then the communal labor involved in the preparation of the fiesta underlines the articulation of the group with the others and the interdependence between groups. I also want to suggest that the building of the bullfight enclosure not only expresses collective identity, but also produces it. I believe that in Accha individual identity is primarily as a member of a group, but that each member is expected to build his or her own persona, following guidelines that are anchored in the structure of the group. In a highly symbolic way, in the building of the bullfight enclosures, each male ayllu member (faenante) is required to bring one post and one leather strap. Therefore, year after year, each individual contributes one element of the whole fence as well as the tie to link his post to his neighbor’s post. Each portion of the fence thus becomes a tally of the group’s constituting members, and a metaphor for the group itself as a entity made up of individual elements bound together. The whole finished enclosure brings the metaphor one step further as the contribution of every faenante in the village adds up to form a protective perimeter that guards the population of the whole village (the spectators of the bullfight) against the dangers of the wilderness brought in by the fiesta. 113 In this way, boundaries both protect the members of the group and bind them together. 5. Defining the ayllu and the moiety 113 see chapter 5 for a discussion of the categories of wild and tame. What precedes may now allow us to attempt an approximation of the nature of the various social units. Through ritual practice, we have seen that the intracommunity groups, as was the case for the larger community (chapter 3), define themselves both absolutely --in relation to the iconic pole of the church and its saint-- and relatively --in opposition to the other groups by stressing their limits. Therefore, I want to offer here that the identity of the group is based on the recognition of a symbolic center and clearly marked boundaries. That definition of the ayllu (or the moiety) differs from others based on, for example, genealogical ties (Zuidema 1964 and passim) or leadership (Isbell 1985) and is entirely influenced by the strong emphasis on territoriality and limits in Accha. 114 The ritual practice taking place within the moiety/ayllu system equally stresses the collective identity of the participants within their group, as it does the collaborative yet hierarchical relation of that group with the other constituents of the system. The next chapter will take a view of the ritual production of identity from within the group. It will consider myths collected within ayllu Santa Ana which tell of the relation of the group with its natural and supernatural environment, and which seem to underline the fragility of the ayllu’s physical and cultural reality. Those myths will be related to ritual performances within that ayllu that emphasize the cyclical necessity for the physical and symbolic reproduction of the group. In this chapter, in my discussion of the functioning of the moiety/ayllu system, I have alluded to the particularities of this system in Accha (e. g. the emphasis on localization), but was not able to explain them solely through a consideration of ritual practice. In the last part of this work (chapters 6, 7 and Although I do believe that this definition applies to situation where the boundaries are not necessarily physically drawn the way they are in Accha. 114 8), I will look at the social systems operating in Accha in diachrony. I will use archival documents that trace the existence of Accha from being an encomienda (chapter 6) to its creation as a Toledan reducción. (chapter 7). Chapter 8 will look at the influence of the clergy in Accha at the time of the rebellion of Tupac Amaru II. By tracing the historical processes that over the centuries have shaped Accha, I will be able to offer suggestions to explain the localization of the groups and the endurance of their boundaries. I will also present an interpretation for the existence of Santa Ana and Cusco Ayllu as sole surviving ayllus, and for the strong ties that exist between the two. CHAPTER FIVE MYTHIC TRANSFORMATIONS AND RITUALS OF RENEWAL. Often, at night, over much trago, Don Mariano would tell stories while we sat in the dark kitchen of the house fixing and eating the evening meal. Ours was an unusual household: a widower with a weakness for liquor, and his gringo guest. Don Mariano did most of the household work himself, trusting me only with the most menial chores, like fetching water and peeling potatoes. While he prepared the meal, Don Mariano talked about the events of the day, bits of gossips that I would invariably have missed, and previsions concerning the upcoming agricultural tasks. After dinner, the narrative often shifted to more distant anecdotes about his life in the seminary as an adolescent and his stint in the army as a young man. As the evening progressed, the stories took a different quality: they were perhaps about men he had seen at night dig up the buried treasures of the Incas, guided by the light of falling lightning, who later died unnatural deaths; or maybe about a reunion of dead priests he had stumbled upon as a young seminarist when he had lost his way in an underground maze of corridors and had entered a forbidden chamber. All those stories were always time- and place-specific. Even when Don Mariano had not himself witnessed an event, he always provided the identity of the participants and the place where it occurred, and he would pause after giving me those details as if to dare me to challenge him. Other times, he would set the story for me to come up with the moral or draw my own conclusions from his account. There was for instance the tale of the young man who was gored by his own bull for having disobeyed his father. Or there was the story of the woman who, as an eight year old (“she was the daughter of my compadre Martín and later died in childbirth”) had unearthed a yellow basin and a white one --Don Mariano nodded when I asked, “surely those must have been gold and silver, right? “ 1. Ephemeral reality and stable disequilibrium These are three stories that I always heard as a set, either told by Don Mariano himself or, when others were present, by different narrators responding to each other. All stories were collected in Ayllu Santa Ana, as attested by the mentions of the patron saint and the chapel for that group, as well as toponyms geographically connected with that ayllu (and with Hurinsaya, its encompassing moiety). In the transcription that I offer below, the first and most elaborate version is the one given by Don Mariano. Other narrators gave much more succinct versions, some of which I also include. All three narratives involve the community’s mountain deity, apu Siwina, and other local toponyms, and also specifically refer to three catholic saints (Santiago, Santa Ana and San Cristóbal ) whose feast days follow each other --25, 26 and 27 July respectively. The narratives indirectly connote two separate sets of t’inkaska ritual activities, performed at that time, which anticipate and celebrate the necessity of renewal. One of those rituals, the t’inkaska Santa Ana, deals with the geo-social delimitation of the ayllu and its symbolic and physical reproduction through the distribution and sowing of early corn. The other, the t’inkaska Santiago, is concerned with the physical reproduction of the herd and its ‘socialization’ through the marking of the animals. The calendrical period which is the focus of the myths and of the ritual/agricultural activities mentioned here corresponds to a dangerous time of the year best understood as an annual pachacuti when the world of the living communicates with the underworld, the sun prepares to die and be reborn, the granaries are emptying, and the fields are ready to become fecund again. Starting from a consideration of the myths, I propose to look at the theme of transformation as an index of Accheños’ attitude towards change expressed in terms of unstable opposition between wild (savage) and tame (civilized). Such dichotomy recalls the one used in the relational definition of identity mentioned in chapter 3 --the community of Accheños in opposition to the outlandish outside. However, the implicit and explicit references to Inca mythology and Catholic hagiography also betray a conscious construction of Accheño collective identity based on historical validation. The contrast in the myths between wild and civilized can be interpreted as a metaphor for the delicate balance necessary to maintain that collective identity, and as a cautionary tale about the ephemeral and fragile quality of Accheño culture. But the temporal relation linking the myths to the two t’inkaskas also serves to underline the indispensability of cyclical renewal -seasonal or ritual-- for the physical survival of the community. 115 1. 1. The myths. M1: Siwina and the ganadero. One day a cattleman (ganadero) from Arequipa met a man from Accha named Cristóbal who agreed to sell him animals. Cristóbal, also called Siwina, told the ganadero that he was well-known in Accha and that the first person he’d meet would give him directions to his house. So, when the Arequipeño came to Accha to collect his animals, he walked into the first house he saw to ask for directions. The old woman who opened the door said that her name was Ana and that in fact Siwina was her son. ‘Follow this alley’ she said ‘and knock on the door at the end. That’s where he lives.’ The alley was bathed in sunlight, and the door at 115 See also Métraux 1967. the end appeared made of gold. The ganadero knocked, and Siwina opened the door. ‘Ah, you have come for your bulls. Come around the back, there is another door. I will meet you there.’ Indeed, at the other door, the ganadero was met by Siwina, with bulls bigger and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen before, and worth much more than the agreed price. Before the man left with his cattle, Siwina warned him that under no circumstance was he to use a sling to herd his animals, but instead to direct them by swinging balls of coca in front of them. However, when at nightfall the ganadero decided to stop in a place near Maqpi called Torowiskuna (‘corral, place where the bulls are enclosed’), the bulls balked and the ganadero used his sling to force them into the natural enclosure. Immediately, the bulls were transformed into deer (taruka), foxes (atoq), and also other wild (sallqa) animals who escaped into the air and underground. Angry, the ganadero returned to Accha but could not find Siwina’s house. The people he asked said that there was no one by the name of Ana, except for Santa Ana (‘nuestra señora la virgen de santa Ana’). He entered the chapel and recognized it as the house where he had first met Ana. Walking back outside, he realized that the shining door was in fact Acchatoqo, the cave in the side of Siwina, which can be seen at the end of a narrow street leading off the plaza. M1a: First Variant: Firearms A buyer came from Arequipa. ‘I have 8 smoke-colored bulls’ said Inca Siwina, ‘but you cannot make any noise’. Once the ganadero got to Guaynos, he shot firearms.. All the bulls were changed into tarukas. The following day he came looking for Inca Siwina but couldn’t find him. If you are given a woman and you don’t do a t’inka [sacrificial libation], the woman will be changed into a taruka. M1b: Second Variant: the Origin of Deer Men were herding tarukas around Siwina. A young Indian shepherd appeared to them and told them that they should herd tarukas by shaking balls of coca in front of them instead of using their slings. Everything worked well until one day a man forgot/disobeyed the instruction. Since then, tarukas go wild and we have to hunt them. M2:. Lord Siwina and the Teams of Bulls One day, a man from Araypalpa discovered that his 2 teams of bulls had disappeared. He noticed the tracks on the ground and followed them up the side of Siwina until he got to Acchatoqo. Two Inca soldiers 116 Don Mariano, like all Accheños, uses the Spanish ‘toros’ to designate bulls as well as oxen. I too do not distinguish in my translation. 116 were standing guard outside the cave. The man walked up to them and told them that he was looking for his bulls. ‘They are inside,’ said the soldiers, ‘but they are working right now. Come on in, Lord Siwina will want to talk to you.’ He followed them and found himself inside the mountain of Siwina and saw that it was nothing but an immense chakra where dozens of teams of bulls were doing the early plowing (barbecho) for planting the corn. One of the soldiers went to tell Lord Siwina that the owner of the bulls had arrived. ‘Let him in, let him in!’, said Lord Siwina. They fed him chicha and muti [corn beer and boiled corn]. At dawn, when the time came for him to leave, Lord Siwina handed him two ears of corn, one of white corn and one of yellow corn ‘Use these as seed’ said Lord Siwina. When the man arrived home, he discovered that one ear of corn has changed into gold and the other into silver. The same night, the bulls returned home. M3. Apu Santiago and the Two Brothers There were two brothers. The older brother was badly treated while the younger got everything from their father. The older son went on a trip. Stopping in Oyaino for the night, he dreamed of a resplendent man on a white horse. This was Apu Santiago. In his dream, the horseman asked him, ‘What do you have in your bag?’ ‘Just a little bit of muti,’ replied the young man. Santiago gave him three stones, and told him to put them at night in a fire in each of his two corrals, and also inside his house. The young man went home and did as he had been told. In the morning, one corral was full of sheep and the other full of cattle. The house was full of corn. His brother, suspicious of this new wealth, took him to the judge, where the older brother told his story. The younger brother then decided he would do the same thing his brother had done. He packed some muti, and when night came, went to sleep in the same place his brother had. He too had a dream and the same horseman appeared to him and gave him two flowers, telling him to put them in his hat-band and to go home. But when he arrived home, he was attacked and torn to pieces by his own dogs. He had been changed into a deer. The two flowers on his head had become antlers. 1. 2. Mythic elements: transformations and passages 1. 2. 1. Mythic avatars The unifying element of these three myths seems at the onset to be the theme of transformation: from domesticated animal into wild animal in the first myth (M1); from domesticated plants into precious metals in the second (M2); from stones into domesticated animals and also from human into wild animal in the third (M3). This theme of transformation is fairly common in Andean myth and its metaphorical import has been studied by Urton (1985 ) Isbell (1985) and Sullivan (1985 and 1988). Here I want to consider transformation itself as an element of, and an index for, a process embedded in various specific cultural contexts. Fig. 12 Transformations in the Accha myths In all three myths and their variants, domesticated is the marked category, and wild is unmarked. Most of the transformations --except for that of stones into grain and cattle, to which I will return-- seem to operate from domesticated to wild, as if domestication were an volatile state that could be instantly canceled. Those transformations are the consequences of a test that is put to the human protagonists in the myths. In M1, the Arequipeño is tested for faith and obedience, and fails. The other individuals are rewarded for their purity of heart (the bull owner in M2 who accepts two ears of corn and leaves his bulls behind; and the older brother in M3), or punished for their lack of it (the younger brother in M3). In figure 12, I have diagrammed the various transformations present in the myths. In the first myth, M1, the transformation from domesticated bulls into wild deer is a consequence of the symbolic transgression of a prescribed ritual behavior imposed by the Apu. As in the two variants, M1a and M1b, 117 and in M3, the transformation is instantaneous, unforgiving and irreversible. The shaking of the balls of coca seems related to the ph’uku offering to the apus (see chapter 2). 117 In M1b, the myth variant that claims to depict the origin of tarukas the deer are at first domesticated animals being herded by men, and only become wild as a consequence of transgression. In the myth, the apu, in its common avatar as maq’ta, a young boy, gives Accheños the means to domesticate deer. When subsequently they forget or ignore the rule he has made, the deer return to their wild state. 118 M1a adds to this version the equivalence of firearms to slings, both iconographic attributes of Santiago. 119 I only heard this version once, and in the very abbreviated form that I give here. The final sentence postulates a relation of women to the wild and to the Nether World, Ukhu Pacha, also found in other symbolic contexts (e.g. Isbell 1976; Flores Ochoa 1988 ms). Three separate and parallel transformational processes take place in M3, the first from stones into domesticated animals (sheep and cattle) and domesticated plants (corn), and the second from human into wild animal (taruka). This latter in turn triggers a transformation from domesticated into wild animals, when the dogs become the predators of their master. Finally, in my tentative representation of the second myth, M2, the story of the team of bulls, the transformation of domesticated plants (corn) into mineral (gold) might seem problematic. Yet, the fact that Siwina says “use these for seed” is revealing. There is enough evidence of a symbolic parallel There is in the Huarochirí document a similar story, but the transgression is presented as a mistake on the part of a young deer, who mispronounced a magic refrain, and forever sealed the deer’s fate as the prey of men instead of their predators. As the deer were assembled and chanting together in preparation to a hunting expedition against men, the young animal said “how will men eat us” instead of “how shall we eat men”, instantly causing the rest of the herd to scatter and flee. From that day deer became food for men (Taylor 1980:55). 119 For more on this and on the relation of firearms and slings to thunder, see e. g. Silverblatt 1988. 118 between agricultural and mining activities (Salazar-Soler in prep., Taussig 1980, Nash 1979) to postulate a direct correspondence between gold and silver as crops of Ukhu Pacha and yellow and white corn as crops of Kay Pacha. In Accha, Ukhu Pacha is the domain of the seed, and Kay Pacha, the visible world, that of the actual plant. The whole agricultural cycle of the corn production thus a passage from Ukhu Pacha to Kay Pacha, and the plowing that is taking place inside the mountain anticipates the growing of the corn in the chakras above ground. This symbolic passage is also suggested in M3, where Santiago trades the few grains of muti--the ultimate ‘domesticated’state of corn into boiled foodstuff that can no longer be used as seed-- for three stones which, once buried, in turn will change into an abundance of corn and animals. In the diagram, I have also represented in dotted lines the missing logical transformation in the Accha myths: the one between humans and stones, extremely frequent in other mythic context. This element is not entirely absent in the Accha material: not only are the two Inca soldiers of M2 commonly identified with two monoliths flanking Acchatoqo, but also the embodiment of the apu itself (i. e. mountain into man) might be read as such a transformation. Yet, the emphasis is clearly not on those, and I would propose that transformations between humans and stones are more commonly associated with myths either dealing with the origin (birth or rebirth) of individual heroes or societies and the creation of social order. 120 I will argue here that the 3 myths For instance, the Pacariqtambo myth of origin, the mythic/historical episode of the war between the Incas and the Chancas, the Huarochirí manuscript contains several instances of stone transformation, as do numerous regional myths (Betanzos 1987, Santa Cruz Pachacuti Yamqui 1950, Cobo 1964, Duviols 1976b, Urioste 1983, Howard-Malverde 1986, Urton 1986). The Huarochirí manuscript, is also full of stories of animals and plants transformed into people. There are also many examples of animal transformation in 120 are instead concerned with the maintenance of social order and the physical survival of the group. 1. 2. 2. Caves as passages I have alluded to links between the three Accha myths and an assumed Inca history. The theme of the cave (toqo or machay) or tunnel (chincana) is one 121 such link. Stories about underground journeys can be related to the two connected themes of Inkarrí and Paititi in the Andean mythic corpus. In most versions of the myth, Inkarrí is presented as the generic Inca king, whose persona is usually considered to be based on the historical characters of Atahuallpa and Tupac Amaru I, and also on mythic elements predating the Spanish Conquest (Urbano 1981, 1982). Inkarrí was a son of the Sun and the Moon, and he tied down the Sun so that time would stand still. He also domesticated the bull. He was defeated by the Spaniards, who killed him with fire arms, when all Inkarrí had to fight with was a sling. He was beheaded by the Spaniards and his head buried; since then, out of his head his body has been growing back. When this process is achieved, when the world turns, he will come out of the earth and rule again (Bourricaud 1957; Ortiz Rescaniere 1973). The myth of Paititi is to space what that of Inkarrí is to time. It asserts that the Incas were not all destroyed by the Spaniards. They went underground and escaped to a secret location, a lost city called Paititi, usually moralistic tales, in the beliefs about the condenados (sinners condemned to wander in the shape of animals), or in myths about liminal heroes who have both human and animal characteristics (Urioste 1983, Gow and Condori 1976, Palma 1952, Barstow 1981, Arguedas 1978, Isbell 1985, Allen 1983). 121 A well-known cave in Inca mythistory is that of Tambotoco from where the Ayar brothers came. thought to be in the lowlands, where they continue to live and rule as they did before the Conquest. In both the Inkarrí and the Paititi themes then, the Incas continue to exist in a different time or space and are expected to return and rule again. Those stories tell of parallel worlds. One is Kay Pacha, the world we live on, that is dominated by the mestizo culture, where Quechua Indians experience oppression and humiliation. The other is Ukhu Pacha, the underground world of the millenary Inkarrí, and of the Inca past, described in myth as a world of justice and abundance. The myths themselves are like chinkanas, like passages that allow access to the hidden world. 122 1. 2. 3. The man in the mountain, and his mother There is in one of the chronicles an interesting story about a cave which I believe operates a semantic linkage between the themes mentioned above and those found in the Accha myths. In what Means (1964: 209) calls the episode of the Shining Mantle, Montesinos (1920 [1644]) narrates what he presents as the story of the beginning of Inca rule. I will summarize it as much as possible, keeping the elements that I think are relevant to the Accha myths. A chinkana is literally a place where one becomes lost. The maze under the seminary of La Merced where young Mariano ventured was a chinkana, which also linked, according to him, the cathedral to Saccsahuaman. Contemporary stories about chinkanas tell of a campesino who enters a cave, loses his way, and meets an Inca who gives him directions or brings him to the end of the tunnel, which leads either to Paititi or to modern-day Cusco. The myth further involves a reward granted to the campesino by the Inca, with conditions attached to the reward, and a punishment for transgressing those rules (Michael Thomas pers. com.). We find recognizable elements in all three of the Accha myths (quest, meeting with a supernatural being, reward, transgression, and punishment). 122 At the time, says Montesinos, vices reigned all over Peru. The most prominent of those vices was bestiality, which was “the origin of all the misfortunes that affected the kingdom” (1920: 68). The women gathered to try and remedy this situation that deprived them of their sexual partners. The leader of these women was a noble woman called Mama Ciuaco (siwiacu). The name includes the morpheme siwi, which is the same root as Siwina, and means a ring. 123 The name siwi yacu (Ciuaco) could mean “the ever widening circle”, as suggested by Means (1964:209) or, more likely I believe, “the ring of water” (yacu is water in contemporary Ayacucho dialect). Ciuaco enrolled the help of her son Roca to restore the happy order of yesteryear (Montesinos 1920:69). She proposes to achieve her goal by having Roca appointed king and making him appear to have been chosen by the god Viracocha himself. She had gold hammered out and made into a shirt that shone like the sun itself. Then she took him secretly to the Chingana, a famous cave which overlooks Cusco, and which today [1644] extends as far as the convent of Santo Domingo which was in ancient times the house of the Sun (Means 1920: 70). Roca was to remain hidden for four days and then walk out of the chingana at a time when the sun would hit its entrance, and thus appear to be himself clad in sunlight. Those structural elements closely parallel the Accha myth of Cristóbal (M1) in which Ana’s son also comes out of a cave, resplendent in sunshine. In the Shining Mantle episode, the stratagem worked. Inca Roca was named king and Ciuaco was therefore recognized as the wife of the Sun. Inca Roca’s first royal decrees --no doubt as a way to get Another name given the apu in Accha is “Inca Siwillaq” which is said to refer to the “ring” (siwi) of Inca masonry on top of Siwina. It was used for smoke signals (see chapter 2). 123 rid of the evil of bestiality-- was to order great animal sacrifices, and that every man take a wife. Thus, says Montesinos, started the Inca dynasty. This last claim is what prompted Zuidema to suggest that Inca Roca is in fact meant for Sinchi Roca, 124 the first Inca King actually born of the original brother-sister pairs, and that Ciuaco is in fact Mama Huaco, Manco Capac’s sister, and in some versions of the origin myth, also his wife and the mother of Sinchi Roca (Betanzos 1987; Murúa:1925). 1. 3. Myth, hagiography, and popular religion. 1. 3. 1. Mama Huaco, Anahuarque, and Santa Ana Accepting Zuidema’s postulate of the identification of Mama Ciuaco with Mama Huaco leads to more structural parallels. Mama Huaco was the real conqueror of Cusco. She killed the original inhabitants and ate parts of their bodies (Betanzos 1987: 20). She is sometimes represented as a dragon (amaru, serpiente). She was a promiscuous witch who could talk to the devil, and to stones and mountains (Guaman Poma: 1980: 63). Yet she was also the Mother of Corn, having introduced its cultivation into the valley. She thus has a dual personality: that of a gluttonous cannibalistic monster, and that of a fertile civilizing heroine. In Ecuador, she lives on as Mama Huaca, and is connected with practices of infant sacrifices (Rivet 1906, quoted in Hartman 1984: 654). She is represented as an Montesinos’s lack of reliability as a chronicler is best expressed in this judgement by Means: “He was that rara avis : an ignorant and gullible Jesuit.” Yet Szeminski in his study of Pachacuti Yamqui’s chronicle argues for a strong structural correspondence between Sinchi Roca and Inca Roca (1987:124 and ff). That might explain the apparent collapse between the two in Montesinos’ s narration. 124 old woman with long tangled hair, which she combs with a golden comb. She lives in caves in isolated places high in the mountains She is considered the owner or the keeper of the gold buried in the time of the gentiles, in particular of ears of corn of solid gold of which she gives kernels when one brings her tender children, not yet baptized, or young dogs (Hartman 1984). In the Cusco region, Mama Huaco is also associated with Anahuarque, an apu south of Cusco on the way to Accha. Mount Anahuarque was the site of a fertility ritual during the Inca puberty rites, which featured sexual games between young men and young women. Anahuarque was also an Inca queen in one mythic tradition. Again, fertility is her main attribute: she is said to have had 150 children (Zuidema pers. com., 1990b and 1990 ms; Billie Jean Isbell pers. com.). In the region around Accha, Mama Huaco and the mountain Anahuarque are linked to the cult to Santa Ana, the virgin Mother of the Virgin Mary (Zuidema pers. com.; some maps even give the name Santa Ana to one of Anahuarque’s two crests). Not much is known about Saint Anne. The Gospels make no mention of her. The apocryphal gospel of Saint James written in the 6th century names her as the mother of Mary and says that she and St. Joachim were an old couple with no hope of children when the birth of Mary was announced by an angel, and that the holy child was miraculously conceived under the Golden Gate at Jerusalem. This story is rejected by St. Augustine, St. Jerome, and others (Holweck 1924). It is, however, easy to see how this miraculous conception, a duplication of that of Christ by Mary would warrant that Mary’s and therefore Jesus’ birth would be untainted by the original sin. “The doctrine of the Immaculate Conception of Mary conferred on St. Anne a status like that of Mary herself” (Christian 1981:37). In fact she shared with her daughter two of her main attributes: virginity and motherhood, which in turn led to a collapsing of the hagiographic personae of the two saints. There are many representations of St. Anne holding together on her lap the child Mary and the infant Christ. 125 Through the centuries the Catholic Church oscillated between recognizing her and banning her from its calendar (Englebert 1951). But hers was such a popular cult that when her feast was finally officially recognized by pope Gregory XIII in 1594, her shrines and those of Mary jointly accounted for more than 50% of all shrines in Spain. She was sometimes thought to protect against hail. In contemporary Latin America, she is sometimes thought to control the forces of evil and is represented with a snake drapped over her shoulders. 126 Her feast is celebrated on July 26. Santa Ana is the patron saint of the ayllu in Accha that bears her name, and her saint’s day is there considered as the first day of the planting of corn. Her fiesta is marked by a ritual blessing of the seed and of the population of the ayllu, and the symbolic expression of the reproductive relation between the two. 1. 3. 2. Cristóbal and Inca Siwina San Cristóbal (Saint Christopher), although no longer officially a saint, is one of the most popular sacred figures of the Catholic Church. It is believed that his persona is based on a historical character who lived and died in Lydia, Asia Minor. The early hagiography relates the most monstrous and paradoxical things about him. A Greek legend makes him into a giant with a The Johnson Museum at Cornell has on permanent display a wooden statue and reliquary from 13 th-century Belgium in which the three generations are represented in that way. 126 I have come across such an image in a religious goods store of Washington Heights in New York City. The caption reads “Santa Ana Dominatrix”. Zuidema finds similar characteristics associated in Cusco and in Southern Europe with not Santa Ana but Santa Marta, whose feast is on July 29 (Zuidema 1990ms, 1991). 125 dog’s head who ate human flesh, but who was converted to Christianity and changed his ways. In the Latin tradition he is believed to have been a ferryman for poor travelers, who once was asked by an unknown child to carry him across the ford. Halfway to the other bank, the man was borne down by the child’s weight in spite of his great strength; for the child was Christ, carrying in his hands the weight of the whole world (hence Christophoros, “Christ-bearer” in Greek). Christopher was later beheaded by King Dagnanus. In medieval times, his statues were placed at the entrances of churches and dwelling houses, and frequently at bridges and city gates, because it was thought that he who looked on a figure of St. Christopher was sure not to meet with sudden death that day. He is the patron of travelers --his likeness can often be found inside cars, trucks, and buses-- and porters (cargadores), and protects against hail, thunderstorm, and sudden death (Roeder 1955; Englebert 1951; Holweck 1924:210). His feast day falls on July 27 (Almanaque del Cusco). 127 1. 3. 3. Santiago and Thunder Santiago is Saint James the Greater (Santiago el Mayor), son of Zebedee, older brother of St. John the Evangelist and with him one of the first apostles. He received from Jesus the nickname ‘Boanerges,’ Son of Thunder, for his fiery temper and eloquence. Other sources trace his nickname to the time when he Frank Salomon claims that at the beginning of the colonial period ‘Cristóbal’ was by far the most common Christian name among the Indians (pers. comm. 1990). This is a puzzling piece of information. We know that the baptismal names were chosen by the converts themselves, and not imposed by the Spaniards --which led to the necessity to ban some Christian names, as in the case of Santiago. I find it unlikely that newly subjugated people would choose for themselves and their children the name of Columbus, the individual who made the colonization of the Americas possible. There must have been a different reason for using the name, perhaps connected to the persona of San Cristóbal himself. 127 and his brother John wanted to make the fire of Heaven come down on a village that had refused to receive them. He was imprisoned by Herod and beheaded in 42 AD. His body allegedly ended up in Spain sometime during the first century and finally lodged in Compostela in the 9 th century. His shrine soon became, next to Rome itself, the most important site of pilgrimage for the whole of Western Europe. In the middle ages, he rapidly became the object of a popular cult that, taking literally the Gospels’ modifiers, integrated also Saint James the Minor (Santiago el Menor) in a cult reminiscent of pre-Christian twin deities --such as the Dioscures--, one of which would ascend to heaven while the other remained on earth to serve as the protector of men. He became the patron-saint of Spain during the Reconquista and earned the name Matamoros for his support in the war against the Moors. He is the patron of pilgrims, porters, and animals, and protector in war (Holweck 1924:518). His feast day is celebrated on July 25, and is marked in Accha and elsewhere in the Andes by important rituals involving the marking of domesticated animals. In colonial times, that date was also in various places the occasion of rituals honoring the dead. 1. 3. 4. Catholic saints and their symbolic transformations The three saints mentioned in the myths have their fiestas on three consecutive days: the 25th, 26th and 27th of July. In the religious context of indigenous communities, the relations between saints are often expressed as kinship relations (Brown 1981:97). Saints perceived as structurally close or equivalent are referred to as brothers or sisters, with the hierarchical distinctions rendered as older and younger (Urton 1986). Relations other than siblingships also exist. In the first myth (M1), Santa Ana is the mother of Cristóbal; in other ritual situations in Accha she is referred to as Cristóbal’s wife. I believe that the structural equivalence of the hagiographic attributes and calendrical correspondence of the saints’ days cause this kinship relation 128 to be collapsed to the point that in Accha and in the myths, the personae of Cristóbal and Santiago might be merged (see table 2). In fact, the fiesta of Cristóbal is not independently celebrated in Accha, although it is in other communities, and in Cusco itself. Table 2 : Popular hagiographic and mythic attributes of the charaters mentioned in the myths Santiago Santa Ana San Cristóbal Apostle Mother of Mary Holy Helper beheaded beheaded protects animals; fertility protects against sudden protects in battle. death killer of men cannibal cannibal (Matamoros, (Mama Huaco) (dog-headed monster) Mataindios) patron of pilgrims, patron of travelers, porters porters Fiesta 25 July Fiesta: 26 July Fiesta: 27 July It is worth noting that the cults of all three saints share a degree of nonorthodoxy. Like that of Santa Ana, the cults of Santiago and Cristóbal were at some time discouraged by the Church. It is tempting to see those examples of popular cults that go against the dogma as cults of rebellion. Yet, clearly their popularity is not a function of the Church’s ban, but rather the Church attitude is determined by the saints’ popularity perceived as a threat to orthodoxy. In the European liturgical calendar, unlike the Cusco Almanac, the feast of Saint James and Saint Christopher are not 2 days apart, but fall on the same day; for Guaman Poma, the feast of San Cristóbal falls on the 26th, the day of Santa Ana. 128 This is especially true of the cult of Santiago which was readily integrated into Andean popular religion, in a manner that was seen as threatening to the Spanish imposed order. “¡Santiago, y a ellos!” was the war 129 cry of the Spaniards during the Reconquista. When the war against the Moors for the reconquest of the Iberian peninsula ended in 1492 and the Conquista started, many of the supporting structures were directly transposed to the New World and put to work there. Santiago Matamoros became Santiago Mataindios 130 The power of Santiago surpassed even the expectations of the conquistadors: Silverblatt (1988) claims that the awed Indians so totally adopted Santiago that the Spanish authorities felt that the catholic saint was used as a disguise for the worship of their devil, the Thunder. 131 Immediately after the Conquest, Illapa, Qaccha and Santiago all seem to be used interchangeably to designate the thunder. 132 Today in Accha, Santiago is “Saint James [help us], and [let us get] at them”. The first time the Incas heard the famous cry was in Cajamarca, when, after Atahuallpa had thrown the breviary to the ground, Padre Valverde turned to the Spanish troups shouting “¡Salid a el! Os absolvo¡” (“After him! I absolve you!”) (Gheerbrant 1961). 130 In P’irqa, a hamlet of the village of Pacariqtambo, Santiago is not the village patron, but the saint whose image is taken to the main community of Pacariqtambo during that village’s main fiesta (September 8: Virgen de la Nadividad) in what seems to be the expression and renewal of ritual and social ties between the main community and and its several anexos. (see Urton 1990.) In P’irca, there is no indication that the people are aware of what the prone figure under the horse’s hooves represents. It is referred to as ‘the angel’ and is said to be supporting both the horse and the saint. When the statue is fully dressed (arrimada), there is a curtain of material that hides the statue of the moro/indio. 131 The association between Santiago and thunder may not have start in the New World. It was also documented in 16th century Spain (R. Valcárcel 1988:153). As we have seen, even the Gospel makes this association. 132 “When there is thunder”, says Arriaga, “they say that Santiago’s horse is running. Could they possibly have heard of the Hebrew name that our Lord gave the apostle St James ?...Or is it because they saw that during the wars they 129 invoked when thunder is heard. Prayers are said to him to bring rain. He is also the Lord of all the apus 133 and the owner of all the animals, wild as well as domesticated. 1. 6. Wild vs. tame: the structures of transformation It is sometimes said that Ukhu Pacha is the mirror image of Kay Pacha (Fock 1981; Harris 1980). Ukhu Pacha is the domain of the anti-structure. It is a ‘world upside down’ whose very existence justifies, explains, and makes possible the other structure (see Bakhtin 1968, Kristeva 1967, V. W. Turner 1969). Jorge Flores Ochoa (1976) says that in Q’eros the apu is the father of Ukhu Pacha. The llameros of Q’eros divide the animal world into two categories: the sallqa or wild animals, and the uywa, or domesticated animals. I have already mentioned in chapter 3 that Accheños use sallqa to designate Chumbivilcanos, their ‘wild’ neighbors to the south. The word also refers to the desert, the high puna or the jungle, that is to say land that is not only uncultivated, but uncultivable. On the other hand, the verbal form of uywa, uyway means to raise, and is used, as indeed its English equivalent, both for domesticated animals as for children. So the opposition between sallqa and uywa is baesd on the notion of human control: the latter category is dependent on humans and ‘socialized’ by them; while the former is beyond human control. had with the Spaniards, when [the Spaniards] wanted to shoot their arquebuses,which the Indians call Illapa or Thunder, they [the Spaniards] would shout ‘Santiago! Santiago!’. It is important to make sure that they don’t use the baptism name Santiago, but Diego” (1920: 215). The ban on the use of the name Santiago was implemented until 1621, when the prohibition was lifted by the Church. 133 See also Fuenzalida 1980. Domesticated animals (llamas, alpacas, sheep) are on loan by the apu to the humans. The sallqa or wild animals include among others, vicuñas, guanacos, taruka, viscachas, fox, puma and condor. Because they are wild, those animals belong to the apu and serve him in the same way are the 134 domesticated animals serve man. Vicuñas (sallqa) are like alpacas (uway) because they give wool. Deer are like llamas and they carry burdens, especially during the nights of full moon in August when they bring on their backs sacks full of silver for the Apu (Flores Ochoa 1976:127-128). 135 To say that “deer are like llamas” is not to negate that opposition between the two (wild/tame, hunted/domesticated), but rather to emphasize a structural relation that can be expressed as: wild game animals : apu :: domesticated animals : humans. Flores Ochoa(Tinkoq 1988, Cusco) gave a more specific equivalence between wild and domesticated categories. He said that deer are the bulls of the apu, foxes his dogs, condors his chickens, and pumas his cats. Thus the transformation of cattle into wild animals in M1 was not just a punishment for the transgressor, it was also a reclaiming of what was the property of the Apu. The apu is also responsible for the reproduction and safety of all animals. A myth in Q’eros says that the apu let a man from Kay Pacha marry his [the apu’s] daughter (from Ukhu Pacha) so that the man could take care of the alpacas and ward off dangers. To that aim, the daughter and her alpacas came out of a ñawi into Kay Pacha. In order to insure reproduction, one should never eat a whole llama. Something must go back to the Pachamama, bones or blood. The groom from Kay Pacha transgressed that rule and ate a whole llama, and the woman got upset and went back to Ukhu Pacha with her animals (Flores Ochoa, Tinkoq 1988, Cusco). The same rule applies to venado and after the hunt, the stomach is buried for the apu, to ensure success in future hunts (Lopez 1927). 135 The calendrical reference is relevant to the rest of the argument. The motive of riches and prosperity associated with Ukhu Pacha is prevailing through the myths and rituals mentioned in this chapter. 134 The animals --bull and deer-- that are opposed in the Accha myths are 136 in fact considered as structurally equivalent. Don Mariano pointed out their relatively comparable morphologies --hooves and ‘horns’--, and that they occupy the same ecological niche. What sets them in contrast is the fact that cattle are docile and contributes their labor to the household, and graze in the pasture land, whereas deer are man-shy, and come and eat the young corn shoots in the chakras. The domesticated animals are those who belong and contribute to the order that the campesinos attempt to impose on their environment. Everything that escapes that control is wild. 137 2. The myths and the astronomical calendar. I have mentioned earlier the narrow calendrical focus of the three myths: the three days of July 25, 26 and 27. According to Guaman Poma, the fiesta of Santiago, July 25, was the first day of chacra iapuy quilla, literally “moon in which to plow the fields.” Calancha (1981) calls it chahuar huarquiz , the month to repair bridges, clean irrigation canals and prepare for the planting. This date is also the beginning of the fiesta dedicated to tayta apu, to the local mountain That bulls would occupy in Accheños’ mythical and ritual life the same position as llamas do in other parts is due to differences in ecological and economical environments. Q’erinos are high altitude herders and Accheños are temperate valley agriculturalists. Llamas are rarely seen in Accha (see chap. 1.) whereas cattle play a major part in their daily activities and economic survival, as do llamas for Q’erinos. This is confirmed by R. Valcárcel who claims that in the iconography of the Cusco region, bulls have replaced llamas --e.g. clay bulls for llama-shaped stone conapas (1988: 152.) 137 The same distinction is made for plants by C. Franquemont : “All Andean cultigens are thought to have their wild counterparts that are regarded as asocial and un-useful” (1992ms). De la Torre (1986) also offers a classification between animals and plants, contrasting them as belonging to Amito and Shapi, respectively the good and bad spririts that control the world. In that classification, the people in the Cajamarca oppose the deer with the sheep, rather than the bull, as proposed here. 136 divinity (Aliaga 1987). At the beginning of this time, the spirit of the Apu is said to leave the mountain, either in the shape of a condor (Mallqu) or in the shape of a young boy (Maqt’a) (Poole 1984), as in the variant of M1b. It is a time of danger when burnt offerings must be made to the Pachamama to ensure the protection of the household and the following year’s harvest, and to assure the benevolence of the apus. It is, claims Guaman Poma a time when the sun stands still in his “other seat” before turning back and going in the opposite direction. In Accha, Don Mariano says it is a time of danger when earth opens and the ‘beings from above’ communicate with the ‘beings from below.’ Chacra iapuy quilla is also the month when starts the planting of the early corn or michica sara in the chakras of highest elevation, to be harvested before the winter. According to Guaman Poma, the fiesta of Santiago was the first day for those activities. In Accha, however, it is the fiesta of Santa Ana that marks the ritual start of the planting of early corn, after several months of dry season, a time when the reserves of corn are rapidly dwindling. The place of this period of time on the ritual/agricultural calendar is not arbitrary. The dates of the three saint’s fiestas signal pivotal points in the agricultural year. Urton (1981a) remarks that the corresponding period in Misminay functions as the calendrical equivalent of the astronomical pillars which in Inca Cusco served to determine the planting sun. These four pillars, located on top of the mountain of Picchu, on the horizon of the valley of Cusco, served to calculate the antizenith passage of the sun, one of the four most important solar astronomical observations in Inca Cusco 138 (Aveni 1981) Of the These four dates were, for the latitude of Cusco, the first passages of the sun through zenith (October 30 and February 13) and through nadir or antizenith (August 18 and April 26) (Zuidema 1988). 138 four pillars, the two middle ones served to frame the setting of the sun on the date of the antizenith (August 18) and the two outer pillars corresponded to the sunsets respectively of two weeks before and two weeks after that date, or August 4 and September 2. August 4 is an important date according to Zuidema, because not only does it mark the half-way between the June solstice and the September equinox, but also it is the date when the Inca king opened the agricultural season (Zuidema 1990b), and the first full moon after that date marked the month of planting (1982c). Why then does Guaman Poma translates chacra iapuy quilla as ‘agosto’, and at the same time refers to it as ‘el mes de Santiago’ ? The ten-day discrepancy between the date given by Zuidema (August 4) and that given by Guaman Poma (Santiago, or July 25) needs to be explained by the calendar change from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar which took place in 1582 in Catholic Europe and in 1584 in Peru. 139 By the time Guaman Poma wrote his Nueva Corónica, the new calendar had been in place for nearly 30 years, yet the dates he gives correspond to the Julian calendar . The fact that in Accha today the rituals associated with the planting of the early corn and the beginning of the agricultural cycle coincide not with the astronomical events that the Incas used for determining those dates, but with The Julian calendar established in 708 (Roman era) by Caesar, represented a change from a lunar calendar to a solar one. It was based on a year of 365 1/4 days and consisted of three regular years and one leap year every four year, that added one day in February. But the estimate of the duration of the year turned out to be too long and by 1582 the offical calendar had accumulated an advance of 10 days over the astronomical year. In order to remedy this, in 1582 pope Gregory XIII, the same pope who made Sant Ana into a saint, decided that thursday October 4 would be immediately followed by friday October 15. This specific period of ten days was chosen because of the absence of important holidays between these dates. The new calendar also suppressed the leap years that fall on centuries, except in the case of millenaries divisible by 400, which limit the error to one day every 3000 years. 139 the corresponding dates and saint’s days in the Julian calendar is indicative of the early acceptance by the indigenous population of the European calendar as a way for keeping track of ritual and agricultural time. Not only did the clergy very early on impose the Catholic ritual calendar, at the same time as it suppressed the pre-colonial rituals and branded astronomical practices as idolatry; but also, with the collapse of the central authority and its system of specialists, the European calendar was likely to have been adopted as, all things considered, a much easier way to keep track of time. So that when the calendrical change took place 50 years after the onset of the Conquest, certain saint’s fiestas had already become temporal markers for specific tasks or events and were kept in spite of the displacement occasioned by the switch to the Gregorian calendar. 3. Ritual construction of group identity and reproduction of the ayllu 3. 1 The t’inkaska of Santa Ana: renewing the seed On the evening of the last day of the fiesta of Santa Ana, 140 a ritual called t’inkaska Santa Ana was performed, which linked the planting of the corn to the territorial delimitation of the ayllu and its physical reproduction. It was a joyful ritual, full of clowning and joking, which took place on the little plaza in In the preceding days, a bull fight and a curtimunti (‘tree-cutting ritual’, which serves to designate the carguyoqs for the following year) have taken place. I believe the curtimunti is a new addition to the fiesta of Santa Ana and replaces what Don Mariano described to me as quyllawa for which a great number of guinea-pigs were gathered in the middle of the square under a mound of straw which was then set on fire. Participants would then catch the escaping guinea-pigs. Although the quyllawa was abandoned a few years ago, this practice recalls the sacrifice of one thousand guinea pigs performed in Inca times at the same time of the year “in order to prevent that the chacras be damaged by frost, wind, rain and the sun” (Polo 1906:216; also Cobo 1964 and Cabello de Balboa 1951). 140 front of the chapel of Santa Ana. An arroba of corn was piled on a woven carrying-cloth (lliclla). On top of this ‘misa’, a cross was drawn in the center of the corn with eucalyptus leaves, and a muyu shell put in the center of the cross. The corn came from the chakra of Santa Ana, and some of it must be distributed to all the ayllu members. Each year, the sowing of corn starts in each individual chakra with a little of the seed from the chakra of Santa Ana. Before this happens, the seed for the resowing of the chakra of Santa Ana for the following year has to be separated from the rest of the corn through a complex process involving every ayllu member, and stressing both attributes of virginity and fecundity associated with Santa Ana. The ritual officiant, the t’inkaskayoq, handed to each person in turn a ritual drinking vessel made of the horn of a bull (wanpar) filled with chicha . Each participant poured libations on the piled corn and kissed a handful of corn before drinking the chicha. Each person then ran the empty horn through the corn to fill it up with kernels. That part of the ritual was accompanied with a comical tug of war. The participants tried to fill up their horn as full as possible to render more difficult the work of the t’inkaskayoq who had to count the kernels. He, in turn, would try to grab the horn before it was full. Practical jokes were performed all through the ritual, mostly directed to the t’inkaskayoq, who had a horn of chicha emptied down his neck, and was also pushed from behind into the mound of corn as he kneeled in front of the misa. The t’inkaskayoq had to empty the corn filled horn by counting two kernels at a time. If there was an odd number of kernels in the horn, the last one would be set aside for the chakra of the saint. The kernels taken out in pairs were returned to the pile of corn, because they were, according to Don Mariano, ‘already a couple.’ 141 Only the unpaired kernels are appropriate to reseed the chakra Santa Ana. I believe that the concept of fecundity played out in this ritual attributes to the reproduction of the corn of Santa Ana norms of human reproduction, that is to say both sexual and social reproduction. . 142 As most of the corn was returned to the pile, the process ended when we ran out of participants, not corn. Every adult man woman on the little plaza that evening participated in the t’inkaska. I too was handed a wanpar by the mayordomo of Santa Ana. When I pointed out that I was not really a member of the ayllu, he said: “you live here, you work the fields, you have the right.” Earlier on, when I left the house to go to up to the plaza, Don Mariano decided to tag along, saying: “I have done my cargos. I have the right to be there.” I believe that the three factors that determine the right, (dirichu , from the Spanish derecho), to participate in the ritual are the same that determine the membership in the ayllu : residence, participation in faenas, and participation in the civil-ritual hierarchy. When all the ayllu members who were present had gone through the ritual, the outgoing mayordomo handed the seed for the chakra Santa Ana following year’s mayordomo for safekeeping. Then, the t’inkaskayoq tied the lliclla containing the rest of the seed around his waist, and taking off his This pairing of the seed, or of the fruit of the harvest was witnessed by Tschopik in the rather different context of divination. He describes how before harvest a plant of potato is pulled out of the ground and its tubers are counted. If there is an even number of potatoes, harvest will be abundant; odd, it will be meager (quoted in Harrison 1989:65). 142 This relation of the production of corn to human sexuality is also underlined in what could be a follow-up of this ritual observed by Luis Dalle on Christmas day of 1969 in the same community of Accha. In a ceremony performed in a corn chakra, a similar misa was laid out and participants handed horns of chicha which the women would “put briefly between their legs as an auspice of fecundity before pouring a libation and drinking” (Dalle 1971:61). 141 sandals, as one would in a freshly plowed field, 143 proceeded to run around the small plaza of Santa Ana, and in the streets that delimit the periphery of the ayllu, sowing fistfuls of corn on the way. Children dove after him, playfully fighting among themselves to collect the grains. More children and women lined up on the t’inkaskayoq’s path, holding out their cupped hands or their outstretches skirts to receive from him a handful of the seed. This corn, harvested in Santa Ana’s chakra and which had been separated as ‘couples’ by the t’inkaskayoq, would be used to initiate the sowing of the individual chakras of the ayllu members. The corn that had been separated in individual kernels by the t’inkaskayoq would serve for the planting of the chakra Santa Ana, thus guaranteeing the following year’s fiesta, and reproducing the cycle that connects, through the seed, individual members and their land to the ayllu and the land of its patron saint. 3. 2. The t’inkaska of Santiago: socialization and physical reproduction of the herd The t’inkaska of Santiago is not a collective, group-based ritual like the t’inkaska of Santa Ana; rather, it takes place throughout the village and its surroundings in individual corrals. The corrals are recognized as the houses of the animals and are symbolically and physically located between the wilderness of the puna where the animals graze and the domestic center of the house. The fiesta of Santiago is a celebration of the ties between the human household, the apu, and the herd. It is the day when those who own horses and bulls cut, I was told prior to the fiesta that Santa Ana was the time when “bulls plow the streets of the village, and the planting starts”. There was no plowing on the occasion I witnessed. Billie Jean Isbell (1991 ms: 27) mentions a planting ritual in Cancha Cancha where men dressed as women plant the plaza with corn beer residue (qoncha), after what men and women alike fight with toasted corn flour -- both of those products over-processed corn, like the muti of the myth, and like it inappropriate for the reproduction of the corn. 143 braid, and decorate their manes and tails with flowers. Don Mariano, at the time when I lived in his house, owned neither bulls nor horses. Therefore, I decided to attend the t’inkaska of my compadre Abelardo Fernandez Vaca, although I suspected him to be a rather casual ritual officiant. Early in the morning, Don Mariano and myself joined Don Abelardo, and a member of his extended household -- part factotum and part paco (ritual specialist)-- to the corral where the animals had spent the night. We proceeded to burn offerings of coca to Apu Siwina as an act of thanksgiving for the herd, and as a recognition of the apu’s ownership of the animals, echoing the ritual act demanded by the Siwina in M1. Then, the animals were marked (siñalakuy) to identify them as belonging to the Fernandez Vacas. This was done by cutting distinctive notches in the ears of the animal. 144 Around midmorning, the women from the household arrived at the corral, bringing chicha, trago and food. The husband and wife jointly proceeded to decorate the animals, as well as each other, with flowers, while taking turns pouring libations and sprinkling trago and chicha over the animals. Don Mariano claims that the t’inkaska is “like a wedding” and that it is also the only occasion when people drink out of a yanantin, the double-bowl chicha vessel, associated elsewhere with wedding ceremonies. 145 To ensure the fertility of the herd, stone representations of the animals called illas were buried in ritual offerings to Apu Siwina in the far corners of the corral at the end of the day. Those were meant to guarantee the multiplication of the herd, much as in M3 the stones given by Santiago caused Other people may use branding. Don Mariano still kept a branding iron in the house. 145 See e. g. Platt 1986. 144 the corrals to fill with cattle and sheep. 146 In Accha, cows are said to calf “with the corn”, that is to say at the time of the main corn harvest in April and May, more or less nine months --the duration of gestation in bovines-- from the day of the t’inkaska Santiago. Throughout the day, the themes of the sexual reproduction and the fertility of the herd were strongly emphasized, often through the exchange of crude jokes between the participants. In addition to this clear emphasis on the physical reproduction of the animals, I believe the t’inkaska Santiago also expresses the superimposition of a human identity and behavior upon the animals’ own identity through their participation in strictly human activities --the drinking of chicha and trago, and ritual floral adornment. 147 If, in M1, the transgression on the part of ganadero caused the animals to be transformed from tame into wild, the ritual of the t’inkaska Santiago on the contrary pulls the animals out of the wildness and wilderness of the puna into a state of extreme domestication and this ritual assimilation with the human household serves to balance the risk of their 148 returning to the wild, and to ensure a state of normal domesticity for the rest of the annual cycle. 4. Ritual and Myth. See Arguedas 1978 and Flores Ochoa 1976 for a discussion of illa, thunder and fertility. 147 In other parts of the Andes, this process of socialization of the animals into the human group is achieved through performing weddings between pairs of animals, arranging animals into positions of coitus, or simulating coitus between a human and an animal (B. J. Isbell 1991 ms ). This is clearly the reverse side of the danger described in the Shining Mantle episode of bestiality to humans. That which socializes animals, at the same time endangers the social order for humans. Isbell’ s interpretation is different. She argues that the fact that humans also simulate animal coitus at the same ritual indicates a reciprocity between humans and animals (ibid. and pers. com.). 148 See also Poole 1984 for a similar description of the ritual. 146 As I have indicated, before the imposition of the European calendar and its concomitant system of church rituals and saints fiestas, the indigenous groups in the region based their calendrical dating of ritual and/or agricultural activities on a complicated system of astronomical observations that are not today performed in Accha. Instead, nowadays, the various saint fiestas are explicitly identified as marking the beginning of an agricultural task or the performance of a specific ritual. But if the dates of those rituals are based on astronomical and agricultural events pre-dating the European calendar, the identity of the saints associated with those days is clearly an European imposition. As I have shown for Santa Ana and Santiago, that identity became worked into the rituals and the myths to form a complex but coherent system of indicators of the need --as the case is-- to prepare for planting and to anticipate the rainy season, and the reproduction of the herd. On the other hand, the discrepancy between Santiago (in Guaman Poma) and Santa Ana (in present day Accha) as the ritual start of the planting season has less to do with calendrical accuracy that with the ascription of the agricultural rites to the appropriate religious entity. As we have seen, Santa Ana, as a female saint associated with fecundity, relates to Pachamama and the growing of corn, whereas Santiago is connected to the Apu and Thunder, and the welfare of the animals. There is at any rate a temporal overlap between the two fiestas, both of which last several days. This ritual and calendrical coalescence is also rendered in the myths, in which Santa Ana is the mother of the apu (M1); Siwina, nocturnal owner of the animals, also conducts the plowing of the chakra and the distribution of the seed (M2); and finally Santiago is the giver of both animals and corn (M3). The fiestas of Santiago and Santa Ana are indexes of cyclical change. The t’inkaska of Santiago has to do with the fecundity and multiplication of the animals, as the same time as it reaffirms the control of humans over the herds. The ritual of Santa Ana serves to signal the start of a new agricultural cycle. By stressing the social and spatial limit of the ayllu, it also celebrates the physical and social reproduction of the group. Finally, the symbolism of the passing on of the seed from year to year and throughout the whole ayllu underlines the control by the group of its environment. These rituals, and the myths that relate to them, also seem to emphasize the Accheños’s perception of the ephemeral and illusory nature of their cultural identity . They represent attempts at predicting and controlling transformations at the same time as they celebrate of the necessary danger of change. Peasant cultures, and I believe this to be true for both contemporary and past Andean cultures, are less concerned with resisting changes than with attempting to anticipate them, through astronomy, divination, ritual, myths, and other means. Through these agencies they can hope not to prevent, but to control change, and to harness its energy much as they use the destructive effect of frost to preserve potatoes or channelize the power of running water to irrigate terraces. CHAPTER SIX DENIAL OF IDENTITY: COLONIAL DESTRUCTURATION AND THE ENCOMIENDA OF ACCHA-CABANILLA El nombre “Indio de América Latina” define a mi gente con una serie de negaciones. El Viejo Mundo trató de conocer a las culturas que había conquistado en el Nuevo Mundo; pero al darles nombre las definío por lo que no son. (Downey 1992) What the anthropologist is most concerned with “differs from everything men ordinarily think of recording on stone or paper.” (Lévi-Strauss 1963: 25, quoted in De Certeau 1975: 216) De Certeau goes on to cite the following characteristics of the traditional object of ethnographical study: orality (communication characteristic of savage, primitive or traditional society), spatiality (or synchronic framework of a system without history), otherness (difference that postulates a cultural discontinuity), unconscious (status of collective phenomena referring to a meaning that is foreign to them and is only given to a knowledge coming from elsewhere)(1975: 216). In contrast, the object of history is given as “writing, temporality, sameness (identity), and consciousness” (ibid.). The assumption made by both Lévi-Strauss and De Certeau, among many others, of the unconscious quality of collective practice feeding into the otherness of anthropological discourse has been rightly criticized (e.g. Fabian 1983; Bourdieu 1977). The discussion of the activities which control the cultural production of group membership and the physical maintenance of the group in chapter 4 argues shows such praxis as clearly conscious and selfreflective. The collective activities of ayllus and moieties index the mechanisms involved in the production and reproduction of those social units. However, if the nature of those mechanisms is easily comprehended, the specific of the particular system in Accha are harder to explain. As I have stated before, Don Mariano, as well as many other Accheños, was always eager to answer questions dealing with how the system functions. But to the question of why it operates the way it does, most respondents cited ‘customs’ and ‘the times of the ancestors’. Having reached the limits of orality, the researcher must turn away from the spoken word towards what is not said, and look for it in what is written. Existing historical records may be used to try to explain the peculiarities of the situation in Accha. However, guided by Barnes’ (1992) image of distorted mirrors, my approach to historical documents is more concerned with what is implied than with what is stated. Thus by trying to decipher the ‘unwritten’ of the written text, one may be able to come full circle and attempt an ethnography of historical material. 1. Contrasting identities and the imposition of culture The overriding assumption by the conquering Spaniards that the land controlled by the Incas formed an empire of which the political integrity necessarily paralleled an ethnic and cultural uniformity directed their colonial enterprise. In turn, the same assumption has guided much of the historical and anthropological study of the Andean region. Whether they focus on the local population as generic peasant groups, or attempt a search for pure indigenous forms, most studies ignore the fact that any Andean “reality” must be seen as twice historically determined --first by the Inca conquest and then by the Spanish. The Inca colonialization of the region, while explicitly preserving ethnic differences between the groups, imposed a political, economic, and, to some extent, ideological unity. 149 But it took the Spanish conquest and the subsequent colonial rule to create and enforce an homogeneous identity upon this culturally diverse population, through destructuring policies reflecting the conquerors’ apprehension of the “indio” as generic Other. 150 The pattern of cultural creation imposed by the Spanish conquest exemplifies a dialectical relation through which the forces of oppression and resistance engaged in a process of mutual shaping that in turn determined the form and nature of their interaction. Under the Incas, the expression of cultural identity by the various ethnic groups was not only permitted: it was mandated. For political, but also for ritual and ideological reasons, it was important that Tawantisuyu would unite --but not blend-- a composite whole of distinct elements. For example, each minimal ethnic group (marka or llacta) was given by the Inca as an honorific favor, or allowed to choose for itself, a specific dress --tunic, headgear, and sometimes earplugs for the local nobility-- that would thenceforth identify the members of that group (Garcilaso 1966, Guaman Poma 1980, Cobo 1964). Even the mitmakuna --those settlers who were part migrant workers, part hostages, and part garrison, and who had been uprooted from The extent of this unity and how it might have gone beyond the intent of the ruling Incas is discussed in Rowe 1982. 150 For a discussion of destructuration in the context of the Spanish cultural imposition, see e. g. Wachtel 1977. My consideration of the political implications of the colonial discourse, and the notion of ‘the Other’ in cultural encounters was also influenced by Sahlins 1981, Fabian 1983, and Bucher 1981. 149 their place of origin and sent to other parts of the empire --even those exiles were expected to continue wearing the costume of the native land they could never hope to see again (Murra 1973; 1980; Prescott 1847). In contrast, the Spanish conquerors, far from stressing the ethnic distinctions between the peoples that they grouped under the generic term of indios, implemented the general imposition of an artificially uniform cultural identity. This is evidenced in a series of policies designed to ensure political and economic domination, as well as moral authority, over the newly conquered populations. These policies, among which encomiendas, reducciones, and doctrinas are exemplary illustrations, were characterized by the recreation of structures that did not necessarily have to be genuinely Spanish, but that could be easily identified and controlled by the dominant group. De Certeau (1984) describes a pattern of creation of cultural practice based on the articulation of “strategies” of domination and “tactics” of reinterpretation, through which both dominant and dominated cultures participate in the dynamic elaboration of cultural reality. The relation that he defines between strategies and tactics is one of opposition between operative dimensions --space vs. time. Strategies deal with the determination by the dominant group of “proper” space; tactics, with the manipulation of events by the dominated group to turn them into opportunities (1984 xix). 151 The material presented in this chapter and the next will emphasize the structures of domination and of imposition of culture imported to Peru by the Spanish Crown, the Catholic orders, and the early colonists --entities whose interests and policies were, as we shall see, often at odds from the start. Comparable concepts can be found in Overgaard 1987, Anderson 1991, Scott 1985, Smith 1991. 151 In these two chapters, I will focus mainly on the historical data that document the institutions of the encomienda, the reducción, and the doctrina in Accha. I will show how those distinct institutions functioned jointly to implement a general colonial ‘strategy of domination’, in which the encomienda system operated a denial of indigenous identity --or for that matter a refusal to recognize the very humanity of the native population -- while the reducción and the doctrina corresponded to an imposition of a Spanish-conceived blueprint for indio identity. Against the setting of imposed structure the last two chapters of this dissertation will address operative tactics of resistance to and reinterpretation of the dominant culture by Accha’s indigenous population. 152 2. Of the soul of the Indians: the encomienda system and the problem of perpetuity 2. 1. The nature of the institution For the early American conquistadores of the late 15th and early 16th century, indios were by definition pagan idolatrous savages, and the “moral” justification of conquest required that they remain so in spite of the necessity to civilize them (see e.g. Pagden 1982; Rivera 1992). In many ways, although for other reasons (see e.g. Bucher 1981, Lévi-Strauss: 1962), the necessity to divide the world between savage and civilized was as important for the early discoverers as it was and is today for the indigenous population. This tension The profound interaction of these conflicting or concurring forces is also manifest in much of the data presented in the balance of this work. I have in the introductory chapter stated my reservations towards an approach that celebrates the quest for pristine indigenous forms. Yet, the idea of syncretism, still popular in some intellectual circles in Peru and elsewhere, favors a vision of culture as a haphazard blending of influences and traits that is not only inaccurate, but also demeaning to the processual and creative nature of cultural production. 152 was at the core of the celebrated dispute between Fray Bartolomé de Las Casas and Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda, who debated the existence of the Indian soul. The requirement that the Spanish colonists be responsible for the catechization of their indios was the compromise that concurrently permitted economic exploitation and “civilizing” endeavor. A royal decree(cédula) of Valladolid, dated 3 November 1536, sent in the name of the Queen to Francisco Valverde, who was Bishop-elect of Cusco, and to Governor Francisco Pizarro, stated that “those who own indios are obligated to have priests by them so that they be instructed in the religion” (in Lisson-Chavez, 1943: 187). Indeed, according to Las Casas, the very right to conquest was only accorded by Rome under the condition that the heathen be converted and that God would hold the King responsible (Las Casas 1958). However, the question of just how much indoctrination the clergy was supposed to be providing was a disputed question throughout the colonial period, and fed a long lasting power struggle between the Church and the secular powers (Batra 1982, Lavallé 1982, de Egaña 1966, Desdevises Du Dezert 1917). Many of the colonial institutions that were explicitly aimed at a restructuration of the local indigenous society were not necessarily original to the New World, let alone to Peru (Hampé 1982, Málaga 1975, Chamberlain 1939). Some were on the contrary proven methods of controlling geographical, economic, and social space, tried out early on in the Iberian Peninsula, the Canaries, and the Caribbean before being later adapted to the specific conditions of the Andes. The encomienda is one such institution that existed in Spain at the time of the Reconquista, that is to say the reclaiming of Spanish territory from the hands of the Moors, which started in 718 A. D. and ended with the fall of Granada in 1492. The encomienda at the time of the Reconquista consisted of grants, made to Catholic nobles, of land and jurisdiction over Muslim populations. Commoners, in turn, usually received smaller land grants and ennoblement as a reward for exceptional feats of arms (Burkholder and Johnson 1990:17). The grants were made for the duration of the life of the grantee, or for that of the King, or at the will of the latter, but were often transmitted from father to son by special royal privilege (Chamberlain 1939: 35-36). In the New World these grants, also called repartimientos, consisted of people rather than land, although land grants were also made independently by Pizarro in his authority as Adelantado of Peru. Keith (1971) stresses the difference between the Iberian and the New World encomienda, saying that “the most important rights [the Reconquista encomienda] conferred were rights to land, while the Caribbean encomienda conferred direct rights over Indians who themselves had legal status as landowners.” (1971: 434). Whether or not the legal status of the Indians was a consideration in the policy of the encomienda is at best debatable; what is not is the fact that control through tribute over the people who work the land rather than control over the land itself was clearly a more profitable and more direct system of exploitation for the New World settlers. Because of the dependance on labor, land at first “had not been given away in large quantities, because it had little value except for those who had access to the labor to work it, and the demand for it was therefore small outside the immediate vicinity of the Spanish towns” (Keith 1971:444). The system of indirect exploitation of the land allowed many of the original encomenderos of Perú to move to the new cities (Lockhart 1969; Zavala 1973) and live there off the product of their encomiendas . For all intents and purposes, the terms encomienda and repartimiento are used interchangeably (Zavala 1973, Hampé 1982, Espinoza Soriano 1980), although the etymological meanings indicate a different emphasis: the repartimiento is a dividing up of goods, the sharing of a bounty, while the encomienda refers to the (temporary) entrusting of those ‘goods’ to individuals by a higher authority. Torres’s (1888) historical essay on the institution illustrates this difference between the two terms, saying that Christopher Columbus was authorized to distribute (repartir) land among his companions, also entrusting them (encoméndolos) with Indians to work that land (1888:93). This distinction is followed by Chamberlain (1939), who suggests a logical and temporal sequence between the two: “While technically the repartimiento [referred to] the act of partition, the term repartimiento was commonly applied to the original grant [of a population] and that of encomienda to subsequent grants [of the same population]” (1939:26). Kirkpatrick (1939) argues that repartimiento was used at first to designate the actual physical grant accorded to a Spaniard, and encomienda later came to mean the official grant, and the institution in general. Vargas Ugarte (1942) uses a definition of the encomienda as it was given by Solórzano Pereira in his Politíca Indiana (1972 [1672]). At that rather late stage in the development of the institution, the American encomienda had acquired marked feudal characteristics based on a system of services, rewards, and obligations between the vassal and the sovereign: “the right, granted by royal favor to the encomendero , to levy tribute on the indios of his or her encomienda, in exchange for which the encomendero had the duty to take care of them (cuidar de ellos), especially of their religious education, under an oath of fidelity to the monarch, and an engagement to serve him with arms and horse should the need arise”. Thus, says Vargas Ugarte, the word encomienda was applied to both a right and a portion of land occupied by those obligated to pay the tribute (1942: 67). Keith (1971) follows Lockhart (1969) in stressing a difference between the “repartimiento of local inspiration and the encomienda, conceived by government officials” (1971: 433), a difference that for Vargas Ugarte edges on the notions of prestation and retribution on the part of the Crown, contained in the institution of the encomienda and not of repartimiento (1942:67) While Keith deplores the confusion between what he views as separate institutions, he recognizes that if sixteenth century Spaniards preferred to call this institution repartimiento, modern historians have generally called it encomienda (1971: 433). This later statement rather reinforces the fact that we are dealing with what is generally seen as one institution, albeit perhaps conceived differently in time and space. In this chapter I am working from legal documents from the AGI that deal mostly with the institution as it operated between the Crown and the colonists. For the sake of clarity I follow here the modern usage of using exclusively the term encomienda to designate both the physical units of indigenous population allocated in the New World to the colonists, and the system of distribution that granted them. 153 However, whenever it might be necessary to differentiate between a grant made by the Crown or by military or political leaders in the colony --as in the case of Antonio Vaca vs. Antonio Villa (in 3. 2. 1. below)--, this distinction will be duly made in my discussion when it applies. I will also use repartimiento , mostly in the next chapter, when talking about the population unit constituted by an encomienda, specially in the course of the resettlement into reducciones. In that, I will be following the practice of the documents of the time. The general use of the word encomienda also avoids the confusion brought by the fact that the term repartimiento also served to designate the distribution of mit’a and, later, the forced assignation of goods by the corregidores (Kahle 1965, quoted in Zavala 1973: 975). Wolf 1982, on the other hand, seems to be unaware of the semantic overlap between repartimientos, which he solely identifies as the allocation of forced labor, and encomiendas which he translates rather awkwardly as ‘trusteeships’ (1982: 142-143). 153 2. 2. History of the encomienda in Perú The first encomiendas in Peru were granted by cédulas of the 13 of March and the 26 of May 1536, 154 through which Pizarro divided among 170 “men of Cajamarca” the gold and silver that the Inca Atahuallpa had gathered for his ransom. He also distributed (hence repartimiento, allotment, distribution) among the conquistadores who wished to settle in Cusco, and later Lima, Huamanga (Ayacucho), and Arequipa, a number of Indians for their personal service, as had been the practice in the Caribbean and in Nueva España. Pizarro himself received in the 1536 distribution an encomienda of 20,000 Indians, a figure that far exceeded the limit of 300 in effect at the time (Torres 1888:97). The encomiendas of Peru were always comparatively few and large. Their number reached 500 in the 1540s and remained fairly stable after that (Lockhart 1968). In 1561 there were 427 encomiendas in the whole of Peru, and an additional 50 were unassigned (vacas). At the time of Toledo’s Visita General, general inspection of the colony, in 1571, more than half of all the encomiendas in Peru were located in the district of Cusco: a total of 225. One hundred and forty five of those had between 100 and 1,000 tributarios. Only twelve had more than 1,000 (Cook 1975: xvii). When Toledo left Peru in 1581, the three Audiencias of Lima, Quito, and Charcas (these three terms correspond roughly to today’s Peru, Ecuador, and Bolivia) had 695 encomiendas, with 325,899 tribute-payers who jointly raised 1,506,290 pesos de oro, of which the quinto --the 20% destined Hampé suggests that they might have been a distribution prior to that date and claims that “the first references, albeit not very precise, concerning distributions of Indians correspond to the early date of 1532 and would have taken place in San Miguel, at the time when the men of the Peruvian campaign were getting ready to undertake the march on Cajamarca” (1982:174). Pizarro had secured from the crown the authorization to create encomiendas as early as 1529, just before launching on his third trip to Peru. 154 to the King-- was 301,258 pesos. The Province of Cusco was again the greatest, with approximately 1/5 of all encomiendas (125) and 1/4 of all tribute payers (74,977) who paid 1/4 of all the tribute (304,668 pesos) (Torres 1888). 2. 3. The debate The debate over the encomienda system predated the Spanish conquest of Peru. The system was the object of criticism from two directions. It was deemed un-Christian and immoral by many, including Dominican missionaries, and to a certain extent by Queen Isabel herself. The Leyes de Burgos, passed by Ferdinand in 1512-13, after the Queen’s death, allowed the continued existence of the encomienda, which Ferdinand favored as a way to bring money to the Crown’s coffers, but attempted to impose moral rules for the treatment of the Indians. These laws were by-and-large ignored in the colonies. Bartolomé de Las Casas, himself a Dominican friar, led a fierce campaign against the enslavement of the native populations of the Americas -thus initiating the “black legend” version of the treatment of the Indians. influential treatise on the destruction of the Indies was completed in 1541. 155 His 156 The other critics of the encomienda were those who saw the institution as limiting both the authority and the profit of the Crown. Among those was the president of the second Audiencia, 157 Don Sebastian Ramirez de Fuenleal, who, See Choy 1958 and Moreno 1983 for a discussion of the relative historical value of the “leyenda negra”, and its political import. 156 The origin of Las Casas’ personal opposition to the institution of the encomienda may be traced to a much earlier date. In 1504, the young cleric was in Hispañola and he was offered a “magnificent” grant of land and enough Indians to work it, which he soon returned, “convinced of the injustice of such grants” (Torres 1888:94). 157 The Audiencia was a collegial administrative and judicial authority made up of lawyers and administrators and built on the model of the Castilian Audiencias which were primarily appellate courts. The first American 155 in view of the problems of social and judicial organizations he faced in Nueva España with repartimientos and corregimientos, suggested as early as 1532 ways of limiting excesses and guaranteeing the authority of the Crown. The combined influence of those two convergent critiques of the institution won the commitment of Ferdinand’s grandson, Charles I of Spain, later the Emperor Charles V, to the eradication of the practice. This commitment was formulated in the Nuevas Leyes of 1542, the New Laws for the regulation of the American colonies. These laws, influenced in great part by the campaigns of Las Casas, were penned by a council of jurists and theologians in Valladolid with the dual objective of improving the condition of the Indians , 158 and of prevent the encomenderos from becoming a true colonial nobility (Baudot 1981, Zavala 1973, Burkholder and Johnston 1990, Gongóra 1951, Belaúnde 1945). One of the royal edicts included in the 1542 New Laws contained a condemnation by the emperor of the form of direct servitude that allowed encomenderos to use their grants of Indians for agricultural and mining work. The Leyes Nuevas also prohibited the further enslavement of the Indians and granted them the same rights and duties as any subject of his Majesty. However, this prohibition did not extend to the regulation of coerced labor of the encomiendas and the m’itas in the mines of Potosi and Huancavelica, legal institutions for extracting tribute or labor from the indigenous population. Audiencia was created in 1511 in Hispañola as a way to save the Spaniards living on the island the need to appeal to the Spanish supreme courts. The second Audiencia was created in 1527 in Mexico in a clear attempt to limit the civil and military powers of Hernan Cortés. Several other Audiencias were created in the following decades, including in 1543 that of Lima. 158 The Crown believed --on the basis of what had happened in the Caribbean, that the encomienda led to the mistreatment of Indians, hence to depopulation. Some missionaries (e. g. Matienzo) claimed on the contrary that the encomienda was the best protection of the Indios (Keith 1971). Another stipulation of the Nuevas Leyes was the provision that replaced the direct service with the equivalent in tribute. From then on, instead of a grant in Indians, the encomienda became the right granted by the King to the encomendero to levy tribute on the population allocated to him or her. Because of the dehumanized aspect of this form of exploitation, it was both easy and logical to tie the duration of the grant to the duration of the life of the grantee. In the case of straightforward slavery, the slaves are part of the estate, and are passed on as part of the inheritance. In such a structure, the idea of temporary usufruct would be at best impractical. In the encomienda system, as we will see, the problem did not exist. Thus, one of the provisions contained in the Nuevas Leyes was that the encomienda would revert to the Crown immediately following the death of the encomendero . This measure was an attempt to prevent the creation of a de facto hereditary class of ruling colonists in the new territories. It outlawed the custom of segunda vida, which extended the benefit of the grant to one of the grantee’s heir, a practice that had been authorized by a royal declaration of 1513 (Zavala 1973:24), and implemented by Cortés in Mexico in 1524 (Zavala 1973:42), banned by Carlos V in 1525, and reinstated again for Pizarro’s benefit in 1536 (Torres 1888:96). By demanding the return of the encomienda to the Crown, the New Laws did not abolish the encomienda, but ensured that the Indios passed from the control of the encomendero to that of the King, that is to say from one Spaniard to another (Keith 1971:440). In spite of the Crown’s claims to the contrary, the New Laws were not inspired by moral considerations, but by a desire for economic and political control. The imposition of the life-tenure limit was unacceptable to the encomenderos, who wanted those grants to be made in perpetuity, and their reaction was immediate. The licenciado Cristóbal Vaca de Castro, was responsible for the initial attempt at enforcing the Nuevas Leyes . He had been sent by Charles V to help Pizarro in “restoring tranquillity to the country, with authority to assume the government himself in case of that commander’s death” (Prescott 1847: (2)122). Vaca de Castro was already on his way from Panama to Perú when Francisco Pizarro was assassinated in June 1541 and Diego de Almagro took power. Acting on the mandate given him by the King, Vaca de Castro, allied with the Pizarrists, confronted and defeated Diego de Almagro in the Battle of Chupas. In spite of Vaca de Castro’s military and political successes, the King decided to send as Viceroy to Peru someone with 159 no connection to the recent events. This man was Blasco Nuñez Vela, whose actions in favor of the Crown which were directed to enforcing the New Laws were immensely unpopular with the Spaniards of Peru even before he arrived in Perú (Prescott 1847:(2)157). He was ousted in 1544 --and later executed-- by Gonzalo Pizarro who was then proclaimed governor. The Crown remained without an official representative in Peru for the next four years. It was not until 1548 that Bishop Pedro la Gasca, President of the Audiencia, who had been sent by Spain with authority to govern, defeated the rebel Pizarro at the Battle of Jaquijaguana. Even after the rebellion was finally quelled, the opposition to the life tenure limit was so strong that the Nuevas Leyes had to be repealed. In order to secure the Crown’s share of the tribute, the Viceroy Gasca had to give in on the issue of inheritance and guarantee “one more life” before the grant would revert to the Crown. The institution of the Viceroy was copied on an Aragonian model of government in the Italian provinces (Baudot 1981: 109). The first American Viceroy, Antonio de Mendoza, was sent by Charles V to Nueva España in 1535. Blasco Nuñez de Vela left for Perú in 1543. 159 In the following century and a half, the Spanish Crown’s policy towards the institution of the encomienda attests to the continued concern with limiting and controlling the power of the encomenderos in the colonies, as well as with increasing its own authority and profit. At the end of the 16th century, there was a limitation on the encomiendas given to residents of Peru, and the grants were attributed instead to the Grandees of Spain. This policy was reversed in 1701, and the encomiendas of non-residents reverted to the Royal Treasury. The share of the Crown was raised to half of the income of the encomienda for the Crown. Finally in 1718, the institution itself was legally terminated, at a time when the depopulation of the Indies had made all but obsolete and inoperative a system that was by definition meant to function on the labor of the native population. It must be seen as an index of the power of the colonists that, in spite of the constant opposition from Spain, the system lasted into the 18th century, and died a natural death after having outlived its usefulness to the criollo population of the Americas (Mesa 1989, Zavala 1973, Gibson 1966). However, the disappearance of the encomienda did not necessarily improve the fate of the Indian population, for as the encomiendas became vacant and reverted to the Crown, functionaries moved into the position of the encomendero. At first, the corregidores were supposed to be the eyes and the ears of the Crown, and were appointed either by the King in the case of large cities, or by the Viceroy. However, as early as the end of the reign of Philip II, the potential financial benefit of the position was sufficiently important that it became the object of a flourishing trade, and appointments were sold and bought according to the income and profit that they generated: there were first class corregimientos like those of Potosi, Cusco and Cajamarca, and second and third class ones like Abancay or Huanuco (Baudot 1981: 214; Tord Nocoli: 1974; Lohman 1957). One of the motivations behind the reclaiming of encomiendas by the Crown, besides what was perceived as a threat to its authority, was a hope to increase the King’s share of the tribute, limited in the encomiendas to the 20% of the quinto tax. In fact, much of the tribute from the corregimientos never reached the royal coffers and was absorbed in administrative costs. For the Indian population, there was essentially no difference between the old encomienda and the new corregimiento, except that the latter was controlled and taxed by an appointed official, rather than by a recipient of a royal grant. 3. Nature of the data on the encomienda: The documents of the Archivo General de Indias in Seville on the encomienda are of three kinds. First there are requests (peticiones) addressed to the King describing individual merits and achievements and asking for the allocation of an encomienda , i.e. a grant in Indians in Peru, Mexico, or Guatemala. The justification invoked was usually of the nature of military services rendered to the King by the petitioner or one of his ancestors. Sometimes the request could be for three or four lifetimes, and in some rare cases, as for instance for Pedro Pizarro, Marqués de la Conquista, in perpetuity (AGI Lima 1062). More usually, in the case of a first petition, the request was for the duration of the life of the petitioner, or sometimes for two lives, his and that of one heir, depending on what law of inheritance was in effect at the time. It was also frequent for the recipient of an encomienda or his heirs to petition to have it extended for an extra lifetime -- “una vida más” (AGI Lima 1061; 1652). The structure of inheritance was regulated by a cédula of Jan. 30 1580, giving precedence to hijos legítimos over hijos naturales , male children over females, older sons over younger, and children over the widow. The heir was obligated to support his siblings and mother. If the heir was a daughter, she had to marry within a year. Marriage to another encomendero would entail renouncing one of the two encomiendas. The widow would lose her encomienda upon remarrying (Torres 1888: 129-130). These latter provisions testify to the obvious desire on the part of the Crown to prevent the consolidation of excessively large grants. Another category of documents are attributions (concesiones) or confirmations (confirmaciones de encomiendas) by the King of those grants. Those are reales cédulas that usually simply authorize the money amount of the grant. For instance, the King might “order the Viceroy of Peru to locate available Indians in those provinces in order to raise the 20 pesos in income allocated to the Marqués” (AGI Lima 1652). Sometimes the King might allocate a specific encomienda, which, having returned to the Crown at the death of the original encomendero , can now be granted to another petitioner. After the suppression of personal service to the encomendero in the midsixteenth century, the encomienda became nothing more than a source of monetary income, the amount of which was determined in the grant. The alienating aspect of the practice of the encomienda is evidenced in the cynical way the request is presented to the King, asking him to allocate the first available contingent of Indians --”Indios que hubiese bacos o primeros bacasen” those who either are “vacant” (vacos) i.e. not currently part of an encomienda, or the first who will become available at the expiration of another recipient’s term. The fact that the grant would be allocated as a function of the total income guaranteed to the recipient made for a situation by which one encomendero might be the recipient of a grant spread over several population settlements --sometimes even in separate provinces of the colony. Conversely one population might be divided among several encomenderos , and be turned into little personal fiefdoms. We will see below that both those patterns apply, at some time or other, to the encomienda of Accha. Another consequence for the study of the system is that an exact correspondence between the encomienda and the Indian settlement is, in the early stages, more often the exception than the rule. Later, Felipe II, in order to encourage the creation of pueblos reversed a previous ban, and allowed encomenderos to reside in their encomiendas, ruling at the same time that not two encomiendas would be given to one encomendero if they could not form a single pueblo (Torres 1888:166). In some cases, the way the income was to be generated is specified in the royal decree: in such-and-such village, tribute-payers will provide 3 pesos in cash; in another, they must guarantee nine loads of wheat, or twenty loads of firewood. In the legajo already mentioned (AGI Lima 1652), there is a letter to the King, dated 1686, from the Marquesa de Manzenar asking for a revision of her encomienda on the grounds that she finds herself unable to raise the amount of 204 pesos in fruit or cash her grant entitles her to, because of the demographic drop in the population of her encomienda (AGI Lima 1652). The third kind of documents relating to the encomienda system are judicial documents (pleitos) dealing with conflicts between Spaniards over the legal ownership of various encomiendas or the distribution of the revenue from the said encomiendas ( AGI Justicia 406 and Justicia 408; see below). Taken together, those documents enable us to trace the beginning of Accha’s existence within the colonial society. Conversely, a reconstruction of the history of early colonial Accha as encomienda in this section, and as reducción in the next chapter serves as an illustration of the functioning of these institutions. 4. The encomienda of Accha: the archival record The history of the encomienda of Accha is complicated. The historical reconstruction is made more difficult by inconsistencies in the existing archival documentation and the fact that as it passed from encomendero to encomendero, the size of the encomienda and the identity of the Indian populations concerned changed. The earliest mention of Accha as an encomienda is found in a document of the Real Academía de la Historía de Madrid, which has been studied by various researchers, most recently by Wachtel (1971) and Hampé (1979), and contains a report of all the encomiendas of Peru based on a visita conducted in 1561 by the Marqués de Cañete (Viceroy Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza). Achacabanilla (Accha Cabanilla) was one of the 427 encomiendas in existence at the time. The document only tells us that it was valued at 2,600 pesos. At the time of the visita, it belonged to “his Majesty because of the death of don Juan de Mendoça. Those Indians were granted [by Cañete] to don Antonio Vaca” (Hampé 1979). The fact that the only information about the 160 encomienda is the identity of the encomendero and the amount of tribute that it raises again underlines the nature of the grant as nothing more than a guaranteed income for the Spanish grantee. Juan de Mendoza seems thus to have been the original encomendero of Accha. It is likely that he was a member of the Spanish military nobility (Lohman 1956:146): Mendoza is a name borne by some of the greatest nobles of Spain, particularly of a hidalgo family from the Maestrazgo de Santiago in Extramadura; two Viceroys, including the Marqués de Cañete, were also named Mendoza (Lockhart 1972:306). The Catálogo mentions the passage to Tierra Firme of a Juan de Mendoza, identified as the son of Juan Díaz de Mendoza and Francisca Díaz de Caicedo, vecino of the town of Brautevilla. He The phrasing seems to indicate that the encomienda was given to Vaca by Cañete at the time of the visita. In fact, we shall see later that the grant had been made several months before that. 160 was part of the army of Pedro de Alvarado which embarked for the Americas on the 4th of October 1538 (C. Bermudez Plata 1949). In all probability, this is the same Juan de Mendoza who later fought on the side of the loyalists against the rebellion of Gonzalo Pizarro and was given as a reward 2,000 pesos in rent by Gasca in 1548 (del Busto 1986). As is often the case in those grants, there is no indication of the encomienda from which the rent was to be levied. However, I suggest that it is likely that it was indeed Accha Cabanilla because of the identity of another of the recipients of Gasca’s grants, Juan Berrio, who was given 800 pesos in rent at the same distribution of grants . Berrio’s name is still found in the 1571 Visita of Toledo as one of the 161 encomenderos of several settlements in the Accha region. The population of the new village of Accha itself (Jesús de Acha in the document) was at the time shared between Antonio de Vaca --who, as seen above (Hampé 1979), had been given by 1561 the encomienda vacated by the death of Mendoza-- Juan de Berrio and three other encomenderos (Ulloa 1908: 333). I suggest that it is quite likely that Berrio and Mendoza were given encomiendas that became ‘vacant’ at the same time in the same population or, even more likely, were given adjoining encomiendas in a newly carved-out territory. In reality, Mendoza’s encomienda was much larger than what was derived from the population of Accha. An undated document from the AGI, which can be dated, thanks to internal evidence, between 1557 and 1560, 162 gives for the encomienda of Juan de Mendoza the total sum of 9,000 pesos (AGI Lima 199, N°37, s/f, 2ff). The part of Mendoza’s grant that was transferred to Other recipients of Gasca’ s favors at the same time include Polo (1200 pesos), and Betanzos (100 pesos), who had been working as interpreter for Vaca de Castro ( the Quipocamayoc document) and later for la Gasca. 162 That is to say between the creation of the Lanzas y Arcabuces and the grant made to Vaca de Castro (see infra). 161 Antonio Vaca de Castro comprised two geographically distinct groupings, Accha and Cabanilla, spanning several ethnic groups. There is no motive to believe that those distinct populations were grouped for any other reason than the fact that they were available (vacos) at the same time and that their combined value in tribute corresponded to the amount of a grant that needed to be procured at that time. The population of Accha-Cabanilla was made up of a population of Chilques in Accha, together with groups of Atunlunas and of Oxiveres, and a small contingent of Uros fishermen. Those three latter groups lived in Cabanilla, now in the Provincia of Lampa, in the Department of Puno. The various groups were taxed differently, both in the nature and the amount of the tribute: The Accheños tribute-payers each paid 5 pesos in silver, corn and wheat; the Atunluna and Oxubires, paid 5. 5 pesos in silver, llamas, chuñu, and cloth; and the Uros, presumably recognized as less solvent, paid 2. 5 pesos in silver and fish. Legal documents (pleitos) that I collected in the AGI in 1990 shed some light on the trajectory of the encomienda of Accha, while illuminating the functioning of the encomienda system, and of the colonial judicial institutions. This material, as we shall see, also underlines the potential difficulties in accurately tracking the transmission of the grants. 4. 1. Antonio de Villa vs. Antonio Vaca de Castro (AGI Justicia 406) This is a long manuscript (119 folios) dated 1564. The title page of the documents reads: Lima, 1564. Antonio de Villa vs. don Antonio baca de castro, Knight of the order of Santiago and resident of the city of Cusco on: [crossed out:] The refutation of the Indians of Dn. Juan de Mendoza which are granted to the said dn. Antonio Baca de Castro [added:]The question of 400 pesos of annuity on the Indians of Alcha (sic) and cabanilla which were granted to Dn. Juan de Mendoza and later granted to the said dn. antonio baca de castro. 163 The crossing out of the original title of the suit is indicative of the confused nature of the issue. Although the first intention of Villa’s suit might have been different, ultimately the plaintiff does not question the grant of Indians to Vaca de Castro, but requests the payment of a partial grant to be levied on the encomienda. Antonio Vaca de Castro is identified in the document as knight of Santiago, vecino of Cusco, and ‘hijo natural’ (rather than ‘hijo legítimo’) of the Licenciado Vaca de Castro, the Governor of Peru who took over after the death of Pizarro. Villa is only identified by name at the beginning of the pleito, but further in the document we learn that he is a gentilhombre de las compañias de lanzas y arcabuces. His ‘credentials’ (méritos) given by the Conde de Nieva (f. 60) and also the letter of encomendación by the Viceroy Cañete himself (f. 2) mention his arrival in Peru by way of Santa Marta and Tierra Firme, and how he was taken prisoner together with Vela Nuñez, brother of Blasco, for having attempted to recover the king’s ships from Gonzalo Pizarro. Nuñez was beheaded by the ‘tyrant’, and Villa himself made to confess in preparation for his execution. He Lima año de 1564. Antonio de villa con don Antonio baca de castro cavallero de la orden de Santiago y vecino de la ciudad del cuzco sobre: [crossed out: La contradicion de los Indios de dn. Juan de Mendoza q estan encomendados al dicho Dn. Antonio Baca de castro]. [added:] La situacion de 400 pesos de renta sobre los indios de Alcha y cabanilla q estuvieron encomendados a Dn Juan de Mendoza y despues se encomendaron al dicho dn. antonio baca de castro. 163 apparently managed to survive and was later involved in the repression of the mutiny of Barrionuevo, Melgarefo and Miranda in Cusco, and also in Jaquijaguana and in other battles against Gonzalo Pizarro and Francisco Hernandez Girón. The suit documented in the AGI pleito was started on November 22 1560 and ended 11 June 1567. The motive of the suit was the failure on the part of Vaca de Castro to pay the sum of 400 pesos ‘vitalicos’ (for life) accorded Antonio de Villa by the Marques of Cañete “on the Indians of Haccha y Cabanilla, previously of Dn Juan de Mendoza”. The date of the grant, signed by Cañete, is August 16th, 1560 (fol. 3), only 3 months before the beginning of the suit. The Viceroy specifies that the grant should be paid in 2 yearly installments and come from the encomienda of Accha y Cabanilla ‘which is vacant, and which used to belong to Juan de Mendoza’. This allows us to date with great precision the beginning of Vaca de Castro’s tenure as encomendero of Accha-Cabanilla. As Villa further claims to have first attempted to collect his rent on September 9, 1560, Vaca de Castro must have received his grant sometime during the 3-week period between August 16th and September 9th, perhaps even at the same time as Villa was granted his 400 pesos, possibly as part of the same process of redistribution of the late Mendoza’s encomienda. One of the defenses that Vaca de Castro used in order to avoid paying Villa is the fact that an ‘infamous’ (decantada) royal cédula of Brussels of the 25th of December 1555 denied Cañete the right to grant Indians, other than in the quality of proxy for the King and on a temporary basis (interinamente). The royal cédula was in reaction to the growing attempts in the colonies to force the issue of perpetuity. The King recommended that Cañete suspend the “distribution of vacant encomiendas or those that would be vacated until the arrival of Antonio de Ribera who would bring the resolution to this question” (Zavala 1973:860). The Viceroy at first obeyed the directive, but later gave in to the pressure of the colonists who anticipated --rightly it appears-- that Ribera would decide in favor of perpetuity, and allocated a total of 20,000 pesos in Indian tribute, as well as 100,000 pesos for three military regiments. It would seem at first that the argument that Cañete’s grant to Villa was illegal would backfire, as apparently Cañete granted Vaca de Castro as well as Villa. The difference, however, was that Vaca de Castro’s encomienda was granted by a royal cédula from Brussels, dated 1 March 1558, giving him a grant of a total value of 16,000 pesos: We order that you [the Viceroy], in conformity with the content and form of this our decree, give as encomienda to Antonio Vaca de Castro and put in his charge the said repartimiento and repartimientos of Indians presently vacant, or the first that will become vacant, soon, without delay, according to this promise, and put him or his proxy in possession of those. ...” (Coleccion de documentos inéditos relativos al descubrimiento, conquista y organizacion de las antiguas posesiones españolas de America y Oceania, sacados de los archivos del reino y muy especialmente del de Indias, xxv, 36, quoted in Zavala 1973: 224) 164 It is therefore obvious that the Viceroy, by giving Accha y Cabanilla to Vaca de Castro, was only following --with a 30-month delay-- the King’s orders to find suitable vacant encomiendas for the royal grantee. But on the other hand, Vaca de Castro suggests that in giving the 400 pesos of rent to Villa, the same Cañete was disobeying the King’s expressed order to suspend the distribution of grants. Vos mandamos [al virrey] que conforme al tenor y forma desta nuestra cédula, encomendéis y pongáis en cabeza del dicho Antonio Vaca de Castro el dicho repartimiento y repartimientos de indios de los que estuvieren vacos, o los primeros que se vacaren en esa tierra, luego, sin detenimiento alguno, segun dicho es, y lo metáis a él o a quien su poder hubiere, en la posesion dellos. 164 It should be noted that the amount of 16,000 pesos granted is much larger than the revenue of the encomienda of Accha y Cabanilla, valued in 1561 at 2,600 pesos (Hampé 1979). The many pleitos in which Vaca was involved, concerning mostly the very legitimacy of his encomiendas, indicate that he had other encomiendas in Velille (AGI Justicia 419), Huaraz (AGI Justicia 405), and elsewhere (AGI Justicia 408, AGI Lima 199). The amount of the grant is quite exceptional in comparison with grants given to other individuals during the same period. What could Antonio Vaca had done to deserve a reward eight times larger than what seems to have been a comfortable grant at the time? In fact, this large grant was not accorded directly to Antonio, but to the older Vaca de Castro as a form of compensation. Cristóbal Vaca de Castro had narrowly managed to escape from Gonzalo Pizarro in 1544, only to be jailed as soon as he reached Spain on various charges of treason and embezzlement. 165 It was twelve years before the charges were cleared, and the Licenciado “so far from peculation, was proved to have returned home no richer than he went” (Prescott 1874:(2)175). He was released from jail and reinstated in his honors and dignities on the 23rd May 1556, the embargo on his possessions in Peru was lifted (AGI Justicia 1077) and not only was he accorded compensation for damages, but he received the cumulative salaries for the twelve years he had spent in jail, corresponding to his position on the Consejo Real, and in addition the Emperor granted him 15, 000 or 20, 000 pesos of income in Perú, which he turned over to his son Antonio who was then the oldest heir [after the death of the first born Jerónimo] In addition, he was given permission to export 500 slaves to Perú free of tax; he also received the encomienda of Palomas and the Ironically enough, one of the accusations against Cristóbal Vaca de Castro was that he had failed to fulfill his mandate to return the encomiendas to the Crown (García 1957: 245). 165 knighthood of Santiago for his son. (García 1957:265; emphasis and clarification added). It is not clear how soon after this bequest Antonio Vaca de Castro crossed over to Perú. It is possible that he did not leave Spain before the actual royal decree granting him the encomienda some twenty-two months later. But it is also possible that he went immediately to Peru and waited there for an encomienda to be allocated to him: we saw that in the fall of 1561 he was already identified as vecino of Cusco --which is to say that he paid taxes and probably owned property in that city. There is also no indication whether the totality of his Peruvian encomiendas were granted all at the same time. The Audiencia of Lima ruled against Vaca de Castro in December 1563, deciding that the grant made to Villa by Cañete was in fact in conformity with the King’s decree that the late Mendoza’s encomienda should be used in part to support the Lanzas and Arcabuces and retired members of those companies -who included Antonio de Villa. Vaca de Castro appealed twice on technical grounds but was finally sentenced in 1567 to pay the plaintiff the total amount of the owed revenue and the judicial costs --which after all amounted to a very small fraction of Vaca’s total encomienda. 4. 2. Lanzas y Arcabuces vs. Antonio Vaca de Castro et al. (AGI Justicia 408) 4. 2. 1. Las Compañias de Lanzas y Arcabuces The compañias de Lanzas and Arcabuces appear in another lawsuit filed in 1564 in what seems to be a group action against Vaca de Castro and others encomenderos (AGI Justicia 408). The companies were part of a prestige colonial guard and military order created in 1557 by the Viceroy Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza, Marqués de Cañete . The Viceroy earmarked 114,600 pesos from the product of some encomiendas “which had become vacant” (que vacaron) for the maintenance of these companies. The 21 encomiendas were situated in Cusco (11, for p. 46,500), La Paz (7 encomiendas for p. 20,100), and La Plata (3 encomiendas for p. 48,000). Included among the Cusco encomiendas was that of Acha y Cavanilla for the amount 5,000 pesos to be levied from this encomienda (Torres 1888:108-109; Zavala 1973). Cañete created these companies of hijosdalgo partly because of the regal vision he had of his mandate, and partly to avoid the fate of Nuñez de Vela: the Lanzas and Arcabuces were supposed to protect the Viceroy against the encomenderos as well as against outside forces (Lohman Villena 1956). Cañete chose primarily men who had crossed over from Spain with him, and who had not received another grant from the King. Membership in the compañias was incompatible with an encomienda. In fact, when in 1555 Cañete’s right to grant encomiendas was revoked , the Viceroy used commissions in the compañias as a 166 replacement for encomiendas. The accompanying yearly income ranged from 500 pesos for an arcabucero to 3,000 pesos for a captain of lanzas. The situation became quite confused when Cañete, in order to placate the encomenderos irritated by the financial burden represented by the compañias, proceeded to redistribute to others the same encomiendas that he had earmarked for the support of the Lanzas y Arcabuces --even before his right to make grants had been restored. This left the compañias without the income needed for their upkeep, and resulted in numerous lengthy lawsuits (Torres 1888: 108-109), one of which involved the same Antonio Vaca de Castro (AGI Justicia 408). 4. 2. 2. The verdict 166 The cédula of Brussels 24 December 1555 mentioned above. In 1564, the Audiencia de Lima ruled in favor of the Compañias de Lanzas y Arcabuces against Vaca de Castro and several other encomenderos : Taking in consideration the depositions and claims in this suit, we declare that the tributes of the repartimientos of Papiris and Chunbi, Calabaya la mayor and Calabaya la menor, Atun Colla Quichuas and Atun Cabana, Paucarcolla Carangas and the repartimientos of Poca Caguaca and Tinta Lanbay Acha and Cabanylla and Yanque and Cacha in parts wherein owned by don Antonio Baca, dona Lucya Luyando and [illegible] Rruiz de Marchena are owed for the grants made by the former Viceroy of these kingdoms, Marques de Cañete, for the wages of the lanzas and arcabuces and order that the royal officers of his Majesty collect the tributes that from now on will be levied in the said repartimientos and have them sent to the caja real of this city of los Reyes to be paid to the said lanzas and arcabuces, regardless of the grants and allocations existing or granted and in the other repartimientos concerned by this suit. (AGI Justicia 408). 167 The date of the ruling, coming shortly after the initial decision (1563) in the case between Antonio Villa and Vaca de Castro, may indicate a resolution of the question of the validity of the grants made by Cañete, and also suggests that this pleito might have been a general suit by the compañias regrouping individual claims of which Antonio de Villa’s was one. However, I will show in 4. 3. 3., that this group action by the compañías to recover tribute for their wages Hallamos atento los autos y meritos deste proceso que devemos declarar y declaramos que los tributos de los rrepartimientos de papiris y chunbi calabaya la mayor y calabaya la menor atun colla quichuas y atun cabana paucarcolla carangas y los rrepartimientos de poca caguaca e tinta lanbay acha y cabanylla e yanque e cacha en la parte que en ellos tienen don antonio baca, dona lucya luyando y [illegible] rruiz de marchena estar obligados de las situaciones hechas por el marques de canete vissorey que fue de estos rreinos para la paga de las lanzas y arcabuces y mandamos a los oficilaes reales de su mayestad cobrenlos tributos que de aqui adelante corrieren de los dichos repartimientos y los envien a la casa real desta ciudad de lo rreyes para que dellos sean pagados los dichos lanzas y arcabuces sin enbargo de las encomiendas y situaciones encontradas o hechas y en los demas rrepartimientos sobre que es este pleito. 167 (paga) was independent from the action by Antonio Villa, an ex-lancer suing for his pension, and that Antonio Vaca was delinquent on both counts. It should be noted that this pleito, like the previous one (AGI Justicia 406), also testifies to the complexity of the system, which made the encomenderos responsible not only for the levy of tribute for the royal coffers (the quinto) but also --because of the multiplication of grants by Cañete within a same encomienda-- for collecting tribute within their encomiendas on behalf of other grantees. The wording of the verdict (“regardless of other grants”) not only confirms the legality of grants made by Cañete, but may even suggests they took precedence over others. As a footnote to this legal fight between Antonio Vaca de Castro and the Lanzas and Arcabuces, another AGI document reveals that between 1572 and 1575, Vaca de Castro successfully sued 4 prominent encomenderos out of their encomiendas (AGI Justicia 419): Don Antonio Vaca de Castro, of the Order of Santiago (son of the Licenciado Vaca de Castro, past Governor of the Kingdoms of Peru, resident of the city of Cusco vs. Pero Gonzalez de Prado, native of Toledo and resident of Piura, Francisco de Grado, and Pedro Ortiz de Orve, native of Ordenes and resident of Cusco, and Diego de Sosa, resident of Arequipa, and Agustin de Villaseca, resident of Piura, concerning: That in fulfillment of the Royal Ordinances that granted him 16,000 pesos of annual income in available Indians, it is determined that it should be given to him, together with their products and tribute, the repartimientos of Indians in the possession of the above-mentioned individuals by grants from the Viceroy don Francisco Toledo and for which he had made special provisions, confirmed for four of those by an original ordnance of His Majesty. 168 Dn Antonio Vaca de Castro, del habito de de Santiago (hijo del Lizdo Vaca de Castro, gobernador que fue de los reinos del Peru) vezino de la ciudad del cuzco= con=Pero Gonzalez de Prado, natural de Toledo y vecino de Piura con Francisco de Grado, y con Pedro Ortiz de orve, natural de ordinas y vecinos del cuzco y con Diego de Sosa, vezino de Arequipa y Augustin de Villaseca, vecino 168 (AGI Justicia 419) It appears that Toledo had refused to honor the royal cédula granting the four encomiendas in question and had given them instead to the men named in the suit. The Audiencia Real in Lima ruled in favor of Vaca de Castro and stated: that Don Vaca de Castro be granted .. in the amount prescribed in conformity with his ordinances provided that the total product do not exceed the assigned 16, 000 pesos and that there should be made an allowance on the Indians that he owned and about whom he brought suit against the Companies of gentlemen Lanzas y Arcabuces of a supplementary amount to cover the suit. (AGI Justicia 419). 169 The emphasis is here on putting together the exact amount of revenue owed Vaca de Castro, not to exceed 16, 000 pesos, plus compensation for the legal fees to be deducted from the tribute levied on the Indians involved in the lawsuit --i. e. those of Accha y Cabanilla. The document underlines the nature of the legal and political disputes among the Spaniards, in which the indigenous population in the form of repartimiento was merely equated with its worth in currency, and was granted, hoarded and traded as such. 4. 3. The Visita de Condesuyu and the Tasa de la Visita de Piura,sobre: Que en cumplimento de las Reales Cedulas que tenia para que se le situasen 16,000 pesos de renta anual en indios vacos, ... , se le diesen con frutos y tributos los repartimientos de Indios que los referidos poseian por encomiendas del Virrey dn Francisco Toledo, y sobre los que habia hecho especial señalamiento, confirmado en quatro de ellos pr cedula de S. M. que esta original. 169 que se le encomendasen a Dn Antonio Vaca, ... respecto de haverlos señalado, conforme a sus cedulas con tal que su producto no exediese de los 16, 000 pesos asignados y que hiciese dexacion en los Indios que poseia y sobre que trahia pleito con las companias de los gentiles hombres Lanzas y arcabuzas de otra tanta cantidad, como cobrase en los de este pleito. The 5th Viceroy, Francisco de Toledo, had barely landed in Peru when he proceeded to conduct a general inspection (visita general) of the human resources of the land he controlled, that took him from Jauja (1570) to Cusco (1572) to Alto Perú (the present-day Bolivia), where the visita ended in 1574 (Vargas Ugarte 1942; Cook 1975). This visita accomplished several goals. It led to a census of the indigenous population as well as a detailed calculation of the nature and amount of the tribute that should be levied. It broke up encomiendas consisting of several distant populations, as was the case of Accha and Cabanilla, and finally, as we will see in the next section, operated the regrouping of the population into villages. Two documents resulted from the visita of Condesuyu that took place in 1571. The first document, authored by Luís Mexía, the visitador eclesiastico for Condesuyu (the position held by Albornoz and Molina in other parts of the colony), was published in 1908 by Ulloa. This “Visita General de los yndios del Cusco, Año del 1571, provincia Condesuyo” gives information about the distance from Cusco, size and names of the “new reducciones, and parishes and curatos which were created in the province of Condesuyo of the city of Cusco, by order of his Majesty in the general inspection made by the Viceroy Don Francisco de Toledo” (Ulloa 1909). In it, Antonio Vaca de Castro is identified as the main encomendero of the newly created Jesús de Accha and part encomendero of 7 other populations in the same region. The second document, the Tasa de la Visita General de Francisco de Toledo was published by David Cook in 1975 and gives instead the name of Pedro Bernaldo de Quirós as encomendero of Accha. Pedro Bernaldo de Quirós is identified in the Catalogo de pasajeros as the son of Diego Bernaldo de Quirós, from Seville, who arrived at La Florida on the 8 of March 1536 (C. Bermudez Plata 1949). His story resembles that of Juan de Mendoza. Garcilaso (1966) refers to him as a ‘famous soldier’ and a conquistador of the Isles of Barlovento, Cartagena and Tierra Firme. After having served as lieutenant (alférez) in one of these campaigns, he was confirmed in that quality by President Gasca. Bernaldo then followed Gasca to Perú and fought at his side in the Battle of Jaquijaguana against Gonzalo Pizarro. According to del Busto (1986) he was later involved in the preparations against Sebastián de Castilla, possibly in Cusco, and in Lima during the uprising of Girón. In April 1586, he was a captain and a vecino and alderman of Cusco; he could sign his name, and admitted to 60 years of age. He was also, says del Busto, “the encomendero of Cacha y Cabanilla, with 800 pesos of annual rent granted by the Viceroy Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza [the Marqués de Cañete] who gave him those Indians for having renounced a commission of Gentleman Lancer in the Viceroyal guards” (1986:246). 170 4. 3. 1. Vaca or Quirós: which encomendero? The two documents resulting from Toledo’s visita give apparently conflicting information on the encomienda of Accha: one has Vaca de Castro as encomendero of Accha and several other populations in the Condesuyu region of Cusco (Ulloa 1908); the other tells us that Cabanilla has reverted to the Crown, and that Accha is now granted to Diego Bernaldo de Quirós (Cook 1975). How can this contradiction be resolved? Puzzling at first, this discrepancy regarding the identity of the encomendero of Accha between the Visita (Antonio de Vaca) and the Tasa (Bernaldo de Quirós) is in fact easily explained. The former document was Del Busto seems to imply that the 800 pesos represented the totality of the value of the encomienda, whereas Quirós had in fact been given, as pension after leaving the Lanzas y arcabuces, a share of the total tribute, as had Villa before him. 170 written by a secretary during the actual visita conducted in 1571 by the Viceroy, and contains the names of the encomenderos already in place, among which Vaca was numbered, or who were appointed by Toledo at that time. The Tasa, on the other hand took longer to complete and was not finished until 1583 (Toledo in Cook 1975:235, 135), and so contains the names of several new encomenderos who received grants up to that date. By then, Vaca de Castro had died. It is possible that in 1571, at the time the visita was conducted, Antonio Vaca de Castro was still have in Cusco. But there is documented evidence that he was in Spain in May 1572, when he witnessed the will of his father, who died between that date and July of the same year (García 1957:275). A suit started in November 1574 probably places him in back in Cusco at that date (AGI 419). However, we know that he died in Valladolid on February 18th, 1576 (García 1957: 275)--which is to say between the date of the Visita (1571) and that of the completion of the Tasa (1583). This explains why the two documents resulting from the same visita identify two different individuals as the main encomendero of Accha. Antonio died without an heir and was buried beside his parents in a small Jesuit chapel in Valladolid (García 1957). There is no indication that Antonio ever married. The cédula of 1551 compelling the encomenderos to marry within three years “para evitar los desórdenes y falta de moralidad que se hacían sentir” had been repealed in 1561, before A. Vaca de Castro received his encomienda, although the marriage of single encomenderos was still ‘encouraged’ (Recopilacíon, lib. 4, tit. 5, ley V, Sarmiento Donato 1988: 163). At Antonio Vaca’s death, his encomiendas properly reverted to the Crown, with the puzzling exception of the encomienda of Guamanpalpas and Coporaque, half of which apparently had been entrusted to Antonio and one heir for 12 years starting in 1573 (Toledo in Cook 1975: 144, 171). There is no indication in the Tasa of the identity of the heir, or even whether someone actually claimed that encomienda’s tribute in the quality of Vaca’s heir. Toledo, who supported the Compañias de Lanzas y Arcabuces, took the opportunity of Antonio Vaca’s death to resolve the conflict resulting from Cañete’s haphazard granting policy. He either granted Accha to Quirós for the rent of 800 pesos or confirmed the grant thereof. The rest of the tribute from that encomienda went to the Compañias de Lanzas y Arcabuces for the wages of the gentiles hombres, as did the totality of the tribute from the encomienda of Cabanilla, henceforth separate from Accha (Cook 1975: 94). 4. 3. 3. The tribute from Accha The Tasa de la Visita General de Francisco de Toledo details the nature and amount of tribute to be levied in each repartimiento . In the case of Accha, the Tasa records 805 tribute-payers for a total population of 3,900. The total tribute to be extracted was 4,000 pesos, of which 3,200 pesos were to be paid in cash and the rest in kind: 300 fanegas of maize (450 pesos), 210 fanegas of wheat (315 pesos) and 280 chickens (35 pesos). Of the 4000 pesos in tribute, 502 went “para justicias y defensores de los indios”, that is to say for the corregidores, 600 were for the two priests and 160 for the salaries of the 5 caciques, themselves exempt from tribute --a total of 1,262 pesos for local salaries and costs. Of the remaining 2,738 pesos (4,000-1,262), 1,938 pesos went to the royal officers in Cusco for the maintenance of the aforementioned company of Lanzas y Arcabuces, and 800 pesos were paid annually to Pedro Bernaldo de Quirós for one lifetime. The figure of 2,738 pesos should then be considered to be the total net “revenue” of Accha. The corresponding figure for Cabanilla is 3,246 pesos for annual tribute, and 1,916 pesos for the net annual revenue. This gives for Accha and Cabanilla a total revenue of 2,738+1,916=4,654 pesos. This figure of the Toledo Visita (1571-1583) is smaller than that of 5,000 pesos in Cañete’s 1555 grant to the compañias (Torres 1888, Zavala 1973), and it is much greater than that of 2,600 pesos granted by the same Cañete to Antonio Vaca in 1561 (Hampé 1979). This would seem to indicate that from 1561 on Vaca de Castro was the main --but not the only-- beneficiary of the revenue of the encomienda of AcchaCabanilla. It is quite possible to presume a dramatic demographic drop in the tribute-paying population of the encomienda in the 15 years or so between the granting of the encomienda to the Lanzas y Arcabuces by Cañete and the visita by Toledo, to explain the 7% decrease in revenue between 1555 and 1571: between 1550 and 1570, the total population of Peru had dropped by half a million, or nearly 30% (Cook 1981,1982). The mortality caused by various epidemics, famine, and forced labor, had in fact brought Cañete to lower the tribute to reflect the diminution of tribute-payers (Cook 1975:XXIV). Yet there is another explanation for the difference between the Cañete and the Toledo figures, and in fact the very changes occasioned by the Toledo visita might have been responsible for skewing the final revenue figure. A comparison between the pre-Toledo and the post-Toledo encomienda suggests that, in fact, the former Accha y Cabanilla was more than just the sum of the later encomiendas of Accha and of Cabanilla. Torres (1888) published, as an appendix to his work on encomiendas, a “Relación de las encomiendas existentes en el Perú cuando practicó la visita é hizo reparto general el Virrey D. Francisco de Toledo” (1888:137ff). This account of the encomiendas as Toledo found them, is presented as a table without any kind of commentary or analysis. In that table, Torres gives the number of tributarios, and the total tribute of the encomiendas, but not the net income derived from them after deduction of salaries and other costs. Not only are Cabanilla and Accha already entered separately, but Torres groups together Accha with Pilpinto and gives for this entry the figures of 1471 indios tributarios and 7295 pesos of annual tribute (1888:146). This total figure of the tributary population (1471) corresponds rigorously to not two but three entries in the Tasa: Accha (805 tributarios), Pilpinto (399) and Lauray Ullpo (267) (Cook 1975). This latter population is identified in the Ulloa (1908) document of the Visita as an anexo of Accha . The corresponding annual tribute given in the Tasa for those three populations is 4,000 pesos (Accha), 1,976 pesos (Pilpinto) and 1,320 pesos (Lauray Ullpo) for a total of 7296 pesos. The difference of one peso between the two documents is so insignificant that it must be ascribed to an error in the manuscript. The net revenue is then easily obtained from the Tasa: Accha 2738 pesos, Cabanilla 1916, Pilpinto 472, and Lauray 378, which gives a total income of 5,504 pesos for what I now believe to have been the total population of the encomienda of Accha-Cabanilla. A further indication that there was no significant drop in the tributepaying population of Accha-Cabanilla between 1555 and 1571 is the fact that Toledo uses Cañete’s original figure of 5,000 pesos in the Tasa, when, following the death of Antonio Vaca, the physical property of the Indian population of the encomienda has reverted to the Crown: The ownership of the Repartimiento and Indians of Cavanilla and Oliveres is transferred to the Royal Crown and Patrimony and out of the tribute of those in the repartimiento of Accha, which used to be part of the encomienda of don Juan de Mendoça, 5000 pesos of revenue go to the gentiles hombres of lanzas y arcabuces by grant from the Marques of Cañete. 171 La propriedad del Repartimiento e indios de Cauanilla y Oliberes está puesta en la Corona y Patrimonio Real y en los tributos de ellos y del repartimiento de Accha que fueron de la encomienda de don Juan de Mendoça tienen los gentiles hombres lanzas y arcabuces de este reino 5000 pesos de renta 171 (Cook 1975: 94) The fact that Toledo does not revise the figure of 5,000 downwards confirms my opinion that there was no drop in revenue, but that the tributes of Pilpinto and Lauray Ullpo were part of the total revenue of Accha-Cabanilla, bringing a total income of rather more than the 5,000 guaranteed by Cañete. If we assume that the actual make up of the encomienda (Accha, Cabanilla, Pilpinto and Lauray Ullpo) did not change between 1555 and 1571, we can also assume that the grant of 5,000 pesos made by Cañete to the Compañía corresponded to the totality or near totality of the revenue of the encomienda of Accha y Cabanilla at the time of the grant. The sum of 2,600 pesos that he later granted to Vaca de Castro did not come from any supplementary income from that encomienda, but from this earlier grant of 5,000 pesos for the wages of the Compañía that had been rescinded. Likewise, the 400 peso grant made at the same time to Antonio Villa came on top of Vaca’s 2,600 pesos, out of the same 5,000 pesos. Thus, since 1561, as encomendero of Accha y Cabanilla, Vaca de Castro controlled for this encomienda a total revenue of 5,000 pesos (and perhaps as much as 5,504 pesos), of which only 2600 were legally his. He was sued by Villa for 400 (AGI 406) and presumably for the remainder by the compañías (AGI 408). As we have seen, in both cases the court ruled against Antonio Vaca de Castro, but his right to the 2,600 peso revenue never was in question, as he was identified as encomendero of Accha as late as 1571 (Ulloa 1908). By 1583 (date of the completion of the Tasa), but presumably as early as 1576 when he died, Vaca had been replaced as encomendero of Accha by Quirós, a retired member of the Lanzas y Arcabuces. The post-visita difference in status between Accha and Cabanilla is significant. The former was granted (to por situacíon del marqués de Cañete. Quirós) and the latter reverted to the Crown, although the major revenue of both still went for the wages of the compañias. There seem to have been no provision for the compañias to levy their own tribute. Instead, it had to be paid to them by the encomendero (Quirós and before him Antonio Vaca) in the case of Accha, or by the colonial Real Caja when the encomienda reverted to the Crown, as in the case of Cabanilla. The positions of Villa and Quirós were comparable: both received a grant of money in exchange for their position in the compañias of 400 and 800 pesos respectively. The difference is that Villa’s grant was to be paid to him by Vaca, the principal encomendero of Accha. I believe that Quirós became principal encomendero by default at the death of Vaca, and became responsible for the levy of the tribute for the compañias. Had Vaca lived, he would have been responsible for the collection and payment of the tribute for both Quirós and the compañias. Conversely, had Vaca died sooner, or had his encomienda been ruled invalid, as the original pleito tried to establish (AGI Justicia 406), Villa might have become main encomendero and would have been accountable for the levy of the tribute for the compañias. This is why, in spite of the ties of Villa to the compañias, I believe that the two documents (AGI Justicia 406 and AGI Justicia 408) correspond indeed to two unrelated lawsuits. AGI Justicia 408 is not a class action by the compañias on behalf of wronged individual (retired) members that would either supersede or encompass the suit initiated by Villa (AGI Justicia 406). Rather, it is a separate action to recover tribute due the compañias in accordance with the revised grants made by Cañete --in the case of Accha-Cabanilla and Vaca de Castro this would have amounted to 3,000 pesos, the difference between the joint incomes of Vaca and Villa, and the total revenue of the encomienda. The fate of the encomienda of Accha after 1583 (final redaction of the Tasa) is less well documented. Presumably, in accordance with the policy being enforced, at the death of Quirós it reverted to the Crown, and ceased to be an encomienda and became part of a corregimiento of Chilques y Mascas: the ‘pueblo de Accha’ is identified as ‘of the royal crown’ in a 1623 document (AGN Derecho Indigena y Encomiendas, Leg. 5, Cuad. 75, 1623, f13). Its income presumably continued to be reserved for the maintenance of the compañias who continued to live a checkered existence until they were replaced in 1784 by the Regimiento de Caballería de Milicias de la Nobleza. 5. Denial and Invention of identity. As encomenderos and other European settlers were denying a cultural identity to those they called Indios, they were at the same time occupied in inventing their own identity based on a feudal relation to the Spanish Crown that was all but unknown in Spain itself (Chamberlain 1939; Thompson 1985) The feudal system in Spain never reached the level of organization it acquired in France and other parts of Europe where the granting of land and rights was conditional on a contract between the vassal and the King. In contrast, the grants in Castile and Leon were unconditional (Altamira y Crevea, 1913-1914, 1:313-315, quoted in Chamberlain 1939). In America, the principle of the encomienda, which was in the early days of settlement “marked by seigniorial traits and aspirations, was transformed into a money rent” (Sempat Assadourian 1992:56) under pressure by the Crown, even before the end of the 16th century. Yet because of the need of the Spaniards to create for themselves a new identity in the New World, the encomienda went from being a distribution of the spoils of Conquest (repartimiento) to being perceived as constituting the ‘nerve’ of the new colonial society (Gongora 1970:117). At the end of the 17 th century, a contractual relation was felt to have been reached between the encomenderos and their King (Solórzano Pereira 1672). In fact, this relation, which included the responsibility for the moral and physical welfare of the Indians and the duty of the encomenderos to arm themselves in defense of the Crown in return for the King’s protection, corresponded to an development of and a justification for the colonial system, rather than to a transfer of a supposed pre-existing structure in Castile. The material presented in this chapter is enough evidence to prove that the encomenderos were much more interested in extracting revenue than in constituting a feudal class based on a system of rights and duties towards the Spanish Crown and the Indian population. Yet this perceived relation of vassality may have been a way for the Spaniards of America to deal with sharing their space and their history with the Indians (see Pagden 1992). Their relationship to the native population was thus directed by the royal grace (merced), and they in turn were responsible to the King. 172 The invention of the Indian, as tribute-payer, provider of labor and object of religious indoctrination, may well have been accidental to the identity the Spaniards of America were attempting to invent for themselves. 172...This feudal vision played also a determining part in the invention of criollo identity, particularily at the time of American independence from Spain. There was a belief among the ‘traditionalist’ portion of the revolutionary movement that there had been a pact between the King and the conquistadores who had endured sacrifices and hardship in the name of the Crown and were entitled to expect recognition and rewards (“Carta de los Españoles Americanos”, 1792, in Gongóra 1980:159-181). The subsequent failure on the part of the King to respect this pact was felt to cancel any obligation of fidelity the descendants of the first Spaniards in America to the Crown of Spain, and justified the fight for independence from Spain. I am indebted to Nydia Ruiz for drawing my attention to this later development of the relation between Spain and its American colonies. CHAPTER SEVEN THE MAKING OF ACCHA: THE VISITA OF TOLEDO, REDUCCION AND DOCTRINAS Pueblo nombrado el nombre de jesús de acha .... está doce leguas del cuzco tributan como los demás sus comarcanos y tienen la mesma horden de christianidad y justicia y buena yglesia y hornamentos; es un curato. (excerpt from the 1571 Visita of Toledo, Ulloa 1908:333) In the previous chapter, I discussed how the institution of the encomienda served to deny the Indians of Accha-Cabanilla an identity other than that of tribute-payers, at the same time as it contributed to the fabrication of a criollo identity distinct from a Spanish one. This chapter deals with the imposition on the Indians of Accha of a new identity through the institutions of the reducción and the doctrina , and will consider three related issues. In the first place, early documental material on Accha raises the question of the enduring existence of the dual-structure in that community and its implication in regard to the understanding of the functioning of other local social units such as the ayllu and the anexo. Secondly, the identity of the various groups that constitute the total social system of Accha, both at the time of the reducción and since, suggests a reinterpretation of the widely accepted hierarchical relation between Hanansaya and Hurinsaya, and specifically of their respective ties with Cusco, with the dominant elite and with the outside of the community. This proposition has implications for the interpretation of historic and ethnographic material dealing with the mode of recruitment in the units, and of the maintenance of the social and ritual system. Thirdly, the role of the Catholic Church and its historical relation to the social structure will be seen as relevant, not only as a colonial organ of control and acculturation, but also as a locally reinterpreted institution that served and, as was established in chapter 4, still serves as a dynamic marker of group identity within the community of Accha. 1. Reshaping space: the urbanization of the Indies The conquest and colonization of the Americas by the Spaniards was from the start an exercise in control of space, population and resources. In the early days of the colonial period, the extraction of tribute from the indigenous population was operated with little change to the structures of production in place before the conquest. The early colonists were generally content with procuring from the population the same kind and amount of tribute the Incas had demanded. But two generations after the conquest, when feuding Spanish factions, Inca rebels, and Indian population were coexisting in a state of relative peace, the need arose for an optimization of the process of extraction of revenue. The existing settlement pattern of ayllu-size hamlets was perceived by the Spaniards as impeding the collection of tribute required by the Crown, and demanded by the encomenderos. The idea was therefore to select convenient locations to build new settlements whereto the neighboring ayllus would be moved, thus ensuring a better control of the labor force (Murra 1975; Spalding 1984). In fact the creation of Indian villages was the most visible external form of transformation of the colonial society of the late 16 th century (Chevalier 1967:3). 1. 1. Blueprints and antecedents In the mind of the promoters of this policy, the reducción would not only guarantee the economic control of the population, but also its political control through acculturation and Christian indoctrination (Gade and Escobar 1982). At the same time, in conjunction with the contemporary campaign of “extirpation of idolatry,” the policy of reducción was a deliberate attempt on the part of the Spaniards to ‘normalize’ their new environment. Yet, if that was a clear case of imposition of culture, it was less the imposition of Castilian culture than of an idea that the colonists had of what Indian culture ought to be like. In fact, as a result, the planning of the reducciones and their execution were neither Spanish nor Indian (Alcina Franch 1986:364). Stanislawski (1946, 1947) points out that the Spaniards lacked the experience with architectural and urban planning that the Renaissance provided other Europeans: As Spain was uninitiated in the methods of town planning, her [American] settlements were amorphous for about three decades after the beginning of her control. Finally, she realized the necessity for a plan and for this turned to her neighbors, and beyond them to the Greeks and the Romans from which they had profited (Stanislawski 1946:120). The same author also claims that the various royal decrees aimed at 173 regulating the settlement of Spaniards in the New World, correspond from the 1513 instructions given by King Ferdinand to Pedrarias Dávila regarding the settlement of the Caribbean to the well-known, elaborate, 1573 ordinance by Philip II (see Nuttall 1921-1922). 173 rigorously to a Roman planning strategy based on a grid-plan and a central square. In the 1573 “ordinances concerning discoveries, settlements, and pacifications,” a codification of a series of earlier instructions, the section on the laying out of new towns appear to have been directly copied from the guidelines established by Vitruvius, the first century B. C. Roman military engineer and architect (Stanislawski 1947). The new Spanish towns in America were to be centered around a main square , with four main streets oriented to the cardinal points and eight 174 secondary streets radiating from the square. The size of the plaza had to be proportionate to the size of the settlement, bearing in mind that the Indian towns “being new are bound to grow in size and it is intended that they shall do so” (Nuttall 1921-1922: 250). The first building to be constructed was to be the main church, occupying a whole block on the main plaza. Immediately afterwards, a site had to be assigned for the royal and town council halls, the custom house, and the arsenal. No private houses could be built on the plaza, except for the shops and dwellings of merchants. The rest of the lots were to be assigned by lottery to the Spanish settlers. There were also provisions for a slaughterhouse, hospital, commons for grazing, fisheries and tanneries (Nuttall 1921-1922; Stanislawski 1947). Although this royal ordinance claims to concern both ‘Spanish towns’ and ‘new Indian towns’, these instructions deal with Spanish rather than indigenous settlements. In fact, the ordinance even specified that Indians had to be kept out of the town while it was being built, by fences if necessary, and that there should be no commerce between the Spaniards and the Indians (Nuttall 1921-1922: 252-253). The ideal proportions of the main square --2/3 as wide as it was long-- were identical in Vitruvius and Philip’ s instructions (Nuttall 1921-1922). 174 In designing the villages intended for the resettlement of the Indian population a scaled-down version of these recommendations for the building of new Spanish towns in America was used: the reducciones must be built “conforming to the plan of the towns of Spaniards” (Toledo 1867: 17). 175 Even the concentric separation between Spaniards (inside) and Indians (outside) was reproduced in the Indian villages: we will see that in the actual building of reducciones, never was there the suggestion of a totally indigenous population, and that just as in colonial settlements for Spaniards, the physical center of the Indian village was occupied by a small Spanish and mestizo population, in addition to the Spanish administrative and religious buildings. 1. 2. “Policia humana”: civilizing the Indians Francisco de Toledo is often credited with the original campaign of reducciones in the New World. However, the policy did not in fact originate with his vice-royalty, and was first tried out, unsuccessfully, in La Española (Duviols 1971). In Peru, Matienzo refers to a provision real, a royal decree, dated 1549 asking that the Indians be regrouped into villages. This was expressly meant to facilitate the indoctrination of the Indians in the “policia humana” and their subsequent education in the Catholic faith: first turn them into civilized human beings in order to make Christians out of them (Matienzo 1967[1567]: 48). This emphasis on the indoctrination as main purpose of and justification for the reducción is also found in the instructions given by Toledo to the visitadores “...thus you will provide and ensure that the said Indians are regrouped so that they can be better indoctrinated and maintained in justice” “conforme a la traza de los lugares de españoles”. Only a careless reading of this statement could lead one to believe that the intended models for the reducciones were peasant villages in Spain, rather than Spanish settlements in America. 175 (C. A. Romero 1921). Elsewhere, in a letter, Toledo in describing the prereducción situation implies that the better catechization of the population was the main reason for the reducción: There was one doctrina in the charge of just one priest which had 1,000 Indians spread over a territory of more than 60 leagues of mountains and high plateaus. It was necessary to remedy to this situation by regrouping the Indians in large villages, and by ensuring that one priest would not have in his charge more than one village, or, if the population is insufficient, two or three villages, as long as they are no more than two leagues apart. (in Levilier 1935(1):248) Although Matienzo, at the time magistrate of the Audiencía of Chacras, did not have an official part in the elaboration of the campaign of reducción, his detailed recommendations to the King concerning the administration of his American provinces directly influenced Toledo (Chevalier 1967: 1). Lohmann suggests that although Toledo had previously had a general idea for the reducción, the literal correspondence between parts of Toledo’s general instructions to the visitors (Romero 1921) and Matienzo’s Gobierno del Peru (1967[1567]) proves that Toledo read Matienzo soon after his arrival in Lima and before setting out on his campaign of reducciones (Lohmann 1967). There are also numerous correspondences between Matienzo’s recommendations and Toledo’s Ordenanzas written after the Visita. However, Matienzo himself was directly or indirectly influenced by ideas that were clearly being circulated at the time, both in Europe and in the Americas. The second Council of Lima, for instance, whose instructions were published in 1567-68 contains many measures --including the concentrations in villages-- that were similar to those recommended by Matienzo. In addition, many of the recommendations made by Matienzo overtly to the King, and presented by the author as original (“...que me parece...,” “...a mi parecer...”), not only duplicate the guidelines established by Vitruvius, but also postdate similar provisions outlined in various royal decrees. As the expressed intention of the reducción was to facilitate the control and catechization of the populations, and to teach them the principles of moral and Christian conduct, the church building was given a primary position in the Indian reducciones --as indeed in the New World Spanish towns-- and occupied a whole block on one side of the plaza. Next to it, there was the house of the priest, and alongside the remaining periphery of the square, the tambo, “inn”, for traveling Spaniards, the house of the Spanish correjidor, the jail, town hall 176 (consejo) and finally, to complete this nucleus of “policía humana”, Spaniards willing to live in the village. The houses of the Indians were to be built in blocks further away from the plaza, allocating two solares 177 to the caciques and the heads of large families (Matienzo 1967[1567]1, xiv: 54 and passim; Duviols 1971:250). Thus the core of the new indigenous settlements was deliberately Spanish, as Matienzo’s expressed purpose was to “transform the Indian through the assimilation of European ideas and lifestyles” (Lohmann 1967: lx). A case in point is the treatment of the hunter and fisher Uros of the Lake Poopo area, whom Matienzo proposed to send to the cities and to the m’ita in Potosi so that they would acquire a taste for meat and bread, “and start Matienzo also made a provision for the house of what he called the tucuirico , literally “overseer”, a native correjidor who was to have been from a different village or region (Matienzo 1967[1567] 1, xiv: 56). This office was obviously derived from that of tokoyrikoq or tokrikoq created by Topa Inca to serve as provincial governors or inspectors and operated the articulation between Inca institutions and the non-Inca population (Sarmiento de Gamboa 1906[1572]:87; Guaman Poma 1980 (1)91; Patterson 1991: 75-76). There is no indication that these indigenous functionaries persisted in the colonial era. The highest Indian authorities remained in the reducciones the caciques under the administrative authority of the Spanish correjidor who was in Toledo’ s plan supposed to be the “defender of the Indians”. 177 ‘Plots’ or ‘lots’: there were 4 solares in cuadra, or ‘block’. 176 behaving like human beings, which would make their conversion easier” (Matienzo 1967[1567] 1, xi: 41). Toledo expressed the same idea when he discussed the advantages of the reducciones: “...in order to learn to be Christians, [the Indians] must first learn to be human and need to be introduced to civilized and rational government and way of life” (Toledo 1867:19). The reducción governed not only the structure, but also the size of the new settlements. The population of the village was limited by the Archbishop Loyoza at the second Council of Lima of 1567 to 400 male tribute payers, “o sea 1300 almas de confesión”, 1300 souls being the estimated total number that a single resident priest could be expected to effectively catechize. Matienzo in turn, without explaining how he came to this figure, reckoned: It seems to me that in each village there should be 500 tribute-payers, and if in the repartimiento there are 600 or 700 Indians, let there be two villages: half in one and half in the other, even if the number in one parcialidad is greater than in the other. (Matienzo 1967 [1567] 1, xiv: 49). Toledo’s Ordenanzas suggest that the priests in the reducciones be given “between 400 and 500 tribute-payers to indoctrinate” (Toledo 1857: 18), perhaps a sign of the influence of both the Council and Matienzo in the Toledo’s implementation of the reducción. If, as I have claimed above, the blueprints for the reducción were the products of the Spaniards’ vision of what a village of His Majesty’s subjects ought to look like, with a clearly expressed allegiance to both the Church and the state, the realization of the project was entrusted to -or rather forced uponthe local population. The recommendation of Toledo was to convince the caciques of the advantages of the reducción. If the cacique refused to cooperate, he was to be replaced by one who would. Then, through the authority of the caciques, the population was ordered to organize work parties for the construction of the church and the administrative buildings, and then to set fire to their hamlets of origin (pueblos viejos) in order to discourage those who might be tempted to return to their ancient dwellings (Toledo 1867:187). The hamlets of origin were also generally the paqarina of the ayllus and were built around or near the group’s huaca. Toledo recommended that the new settlements be built away from those huacas (called mochadores, i. e. places of worship in the text of the Instrucción). Yet, as the viceroy also forbade chakras inside the reducción for health reasons, it was decided that the Indians would maintain access rights to their chakras in the pueblos viejos located no further than one league from the new settlements (Romero 1921: 165). This in turn made it impossible to guarantee that none of the Indians would move back to their hamlets. Indeed, these pre-Toledan settlements often reverted to being occupied and became anexos (annexes) of the new reducciones (see Urton 1990; Bauer 1987). 2. The reducción of Accha Accha was reduced in 1571, one of 47 pueblos nuevos, new villages, that were created in Cuntisuyu during Toledo’s original campaign of reducción which lasted 5 years and led to the creation of more than 1,000 villages throughout Peru (Ulloa 1908). The reducción of Accha, that is to say, the physical concentration and relocation of the indigenous population, was drawn from several encomiendas in the region. I will quote the whole pertinent section of a document published by Maurtua in 1906 in the Juicio de Limites entre Perú y Bolivia: Prueba Peruana, tomo primero, virrenato peruano. The Juicio is a vast legal document (22 volumes) dealing with a dispute over the borders between Peru and Bolivia presented for arbitration to Argentina in 1906. In this first volume, the Peruvian side assembled a number of documents meant to support its claim. Some of these documents seem rather irrelevant to a 20th century territorial dispute, but contribute valuable information to the colonial history of the Andean region. The document that interests me, “Relación de los Corregimientos y otros officios que se proveen en los Reynos e provincias del Pirú, en el distrito e gobernación del Vissorrey dellos,” is dated by Maurtua “between 1578 and 1583”, and refers to data that indicate that it was written by or on orders of Toledo and based on his Visita. In the section “Corregimiento de la Provincia de los Chilques,” one of the entries reads: The repartimiento of Acha, of the encomienda of Pedro de Quirós and the tributes of the Lanzas; has 805 tributary Indians and a total population of 3,900 individuals; and the repartimiento of Pilpinto, of the encomienda of Doña Inés de Santillan, which has 399 tributary Indians, and a total population of 5,990 individuals; and the repartimiento of Laurayulpo, granted to Joán de Berrio, which has 267 tributary Indians and a total population of 1,180 individuals. The ones and the other were reduced in three villages called Santiago de Cuchiraypampa, el Nombre de Jesús de Accha, and the other, Pucaray. (Maurtua 1906: 203-204) The dates proposed by Maurtua appear to be quite accurate. The reference to Quirós and the Lanzas as recipients of the tribute from Accha, and the figures (a total of 1471 tribute payers for the 3 reducciones) which are identical to those discussed in the preceding chapter (e. g. Cook 1975, Torres 1888 and Ulloa 1908) allow us to attribute this document with a fair amount of confidence to Toledo’s administration, and to date it after 1576 (death of Vaca de Castro). In addition, the identity of the one of the other two encomenderos match the one mentioned for those encomiendas in the Tasa (1583) but not in the Visita (1571) where the encomendero for Pilpinto is identified as Lorenço Ladrón de Guevara (Ulloa 1908:333, 342). This excerpt helps us understand why the figures for the 3 reducciones were grouped together in Torres (see chapter 6). Toledo’s visitadores , when they arrived in a new area, were faced with a scattered population, a mosaic of ayllus spread over a large region, who paid allegiance to various caciques, and tribute to distinct encomenderos (Abercrombie 1986 ms. :4). Because of the intermingling of those several layers of differentiation (i. e. ethnic, social, fiscal and also possibly linguistic and occupational), the visitador had to operate at a larger regional level in order to bring about another kind of differentiation: this time one based on geographical proximity. In the process of the reducción, some encomiendas were indeed directly established as whole villages. Others were already villages when Toledo started the Visita, and might or not have been moved by the viceroy to locations deemed more convenient than the ones they occupied. Neighboring encomiendas that did not have enough Indians to constitute a reducción in their own right may have been brought into already existing villages. Finally, several small encomiendas might have been regrouped into one single reducción (Torres 1888:115). As the tribute levied by the encomenderos followed the tribute pattern established by the Incas, and Inca records were used for that purpose, and as caciques were responsible for collecting the tribute in their own group, it is likely that in many cases the granted population had discrete --social, if not geographical-- boundaries that corresponded to pre-colonial borders. That is to say, the whole encomienda could quite possibly correspond to a pre-colonial polity. But this was not always the case: because of the necessity to match the size of the encomienda with that of the repartimiento --i. e. the peso amount of the grant with the number of tribute-payers-- large polities might be split up for small grants or several unconnected groups might be combined, as in the case of Accha and Cabanilla. Thus a large encomienda was often made up of several groups (ayllus or llactas) that were not necessarily connected by any traditional ritual, political or economic ties; and it is also conceivable that the encomienda limits might have cut through established ‘archipelagoes’ (see chapter 1, 1. 2. ) or have divided pre-existing polities . Sometimes the archival record does not 178 suffice to determine which of those situation applies to the case at hand. For instance, the 267 Indians of the encomienda Laurayulpo belonging to Juan de Berrio (Cook 1975: 139), grouped with Accha and Pilpinto by Maurtua (see above) and Torres (see preceding chapter), were divided between the new villages of Cuchiray, and Accha, with 180 tribute payers going to the former, and 87 to the latter (Ulloa 1908:232-233). The presence of the pueblos viejos Laura in Cuchiray (ibid.) and Ullpo in Accha (ibid. ; see table 3) suggests that the encomienda of Laurayulpo had been originally created by joining together two distinct populations, and that in a way the reducción redressed the situation by separating them again. Yet the fact that in the Visita Ullpo is called Ulpocomara, and that Comara is the name of a pueblo viejo reduced in Cuchiray, and also of one in Accha, would on the contrary tend to suggest that the reducción split a connected population made up minimally of Laura, Ullpo and Comara. Both interpretations seem possible. The non-correspondence between the indigenous structure and the encomienda structure was, obviously, fairly irrelevant as long as the only difference between encomiendas was the identity of the faceless encomendero to Torres 1888:105. Gasca tried to remedy this situation by recommending that “each encomienda be formed by the number of Indians that obey the same cacique.” This however was not implemented. 178 whom the tribute was paid through the caciques. The physical regrouping of the settlements, however, led to an increased isolation of the communities, forced to function as independent micro-societies (Matos Mar and Fuenzalida 1976), and through the creating of physical boundaries, dealt a major blow to the traditional economic and social structures of the region. In their tasks of regrouping the population the visitadores had to comply with several sets of directives. They had to form population centers of manageable size (400 to 500 tribute-payers); build the new villages far enough from the old huacas and the hamlets of origin (Romero 1921:165); find a site for the new village that would be environmentally appropriate, with water and arable land in the proximity (Matienzo 1967[1567]); and at the same time, they had to obey the royal directive that “not two encomiendas would be given to one encomendero if they could not form a single village” (Philip II, 1570, in Torres 1888; see chapter 6), thus operating a consolidation of the encomiendas simultaneously as they regrouped the tribute paying populations. In the case of the three encomiendas mentioned in the above quote, the reducción changed the physical landscape where those populations lived: where there had been tens of hamlets granted to several encomenderos, three new villages had been built. In theory, and in accordance to the above mentioned royal decree, each of those three villages would pay tribute to only one encomendero. Before they left, the visitadores also named the new villages. The significance of the act of naming of new territories by the discoverers/conquerors has been aptly described by Rivera (1992) as an act of appropriation and expropriation. In this case, naming the village put it under the control of the Spanish institutions (the crown and the Church) and placed the Indians in a position of occupants subject to the laws of those institutions. It was the custom to give a saint’s name and attach it to a local name. It is possible that the saint’s name corresponded to the date of founding of the community, as was the case for instance for the creation of Los Reyes (Lima). If this is the case, Santiago Cuchiraypampa (Cuchirhuay) would have been funded on July 24 (see chapter 5), and El Nombre de Jesus de Accha on January 15, day of the Holy Name of Jesus. I can only ascribe the absence of a saint’s name in the case of Pucaray to the fact that it was reduced as an “annex of the parish of el Nombre de Jesús [de Accha]” (Ulloa 1908:333), and therefore did not rank it’s own patron saint. Those Christian names, again as in the case of Los Reyes, have long been dropped, leaving only the Quechua name. That 179 part of the name was usually that of the local site of the new village (e. g. Cuchiraypampa, ‘Plain of Cuchiray’) only if the reducción was made up of several encomiendas. If, on the contrary, there was only one encomienda involved, the new village would simply keep the name of the encomienda (Torres 1888: 115). That would seem to have been the case for Accha which kept its name through the reducción process. Yet we will see in the next section that the reducción of Accha was actually made up of the populations of 5 distinct encomiendas. I can only speculate on the reason for the reducción to keep the same name by offering that the location of the reducción was already occupied by a pre-reducción and pre-colonial hamlet and that both the site and the settlement bore the name of Accha. We already know that there was an Inca settlement identified by Bauer in what is today the Cacharparimoco district of Santa Ana ayllu of Hurinsaya (chapter 3, 4. 4. ). The Inca population residing in that settlement might have been connected with the operation of the Inca Less than 10% of the Spanish names have survived in current usage (Gade and Escobar 1982:434). Today, the patron saint of Accha is the Virgin of Carmen (see chapter 5): often villages that had been assigned a non-Marian patron later adopted a Marian one (Sallnow 1987). 179 building on top of Siwina which local stories identify as an observation/communication center (chapter 2, 1, 2, 3, . ). We will also see that there were populations of transplanted Incas-by-privilege and of mitimaes living in the region which ended up as part of the reducción of Accha. I will also suggest that there was in addition an indigenous non-Inca population that might have pre-dated, then coexisted with, the Inca population, and later made up the rest of the reducción. This latter indigenous population, (perhaps the Qacchas mentioned in chapter 2, 3. 1. ) might have given its name to the encomienda in the first place. 2. 1. How the system worked: the integration of the Cayaotambo Indians in the reducción of Accha The impact of the campaign of reducciones on the “mosaic of ayllus” that made up the human landscape of the region of Accha before 1570 is best illustrated by the case of the Cayaotambo Indians. At the time of the Visita, the population of Cayaotambos lived roughly in the region between Paruro and Accha, and was divided into two encomiendas, that of Pedro Vasquez (Cook 1975:187) and Paula de Silva (Cook 1975:160) The former encomienda was reduced in Paruro, and the latter in Araypalpa, Accha, and several of its anexos. Poole (1984) claims that the name Cayaotambo (from cayao, ‘outsider’) 180 served to designate the Chilques Indians, one of the two groups that gave its name to the colonial province, Chilques y Mascas --the other one being the Mascas of Pacariqtambo. Poole proposes that the Cayaotambos (/Chilques) were Incas-byprivilege, “Incas-by-privilege” (ennobled Incas, as opposed to Incas by birth) In the tripartite division Collana, Payan, and Cayao, that last term designates those who are not related through kinship (Zuidema 1964). Salas (1979) reinforces this by arguing that the Chilques were originally Aymara speakers and came from Collasuyu. 180 (Garcilaso 1966; Zuidema 1983c). The Incas-by-privilege formed a buffer zone around the Cusco Valley and were often used as local lords (Bravo 1981) and as a sort of high-ranking mitimaes who were dispatched to various parts of the empire (Guaman Poma 1980:318-335). Incas-by-privilege were often related to the Incas of Cusco through marriage ties, but found themselves in a hierarchically subservient position (Zuidema 1990). Thus for instance, as nobles, Chilques Indians were allowed to wear earplugs, but they had to be smaller that those worn by the Incas, and made of reed rather that of worked precious metals (Garcilaso 1966:57). Valcárel (1980) offers a version of the Pacariqtambo myth of origin that codifies this hierarchical relation: The four Ayar brothers who emerged from the cave in Pacariqtambo each corresponded to a ‘tribe’. Ayar Uchu was the leader of the Tambos, Ayar Cachi of the Maras, Ayar Auca of the Chilques, and Ayar Manco of the Mascas. The Mascas the principal tribe, for whom the Inca royal fringe was named: mascapaycha, insignia of the Mascas (1980:193). After Ayar Uchu and Ayar Cachi were eliminated, only the Mascas and the Chilques were left. The Chilques were defeated by Topa Amaru Inca, son of Sinchi Roca, the second Inca King, (Guaman Poma 1980:(1)125) and were always considered as enemies of the Incas and as such were not allowed to crop their hair, but had to wear it long and braided, in sign of inferiority (Valcárel 1980:193). They were not allowed to live in the city of Cusco and their ‘capital’ was Araypalpa, located at just beyond the boundaries of the area under the direct control of Cusco (Poole 1984:94; also Bauer 1992). A 1623 legal document located in the National Archives in Lima underlines the non-local nature of the Cayaotambos. It also provides valuable information on the identification of those Indians with specific pueblos viejos and ayllus, and their enforced settlement in three reducciones (AGN, Derecho Indigena, Leg. 5, c. 75, 1623). The object of the document is a claim made in 1620 in the village of Accha over the position of cacique of Cayaotambo. In it, the plaintiff, Don Cristóbal Marca, traces his patrilineage back to the time of Inca Huayna Capac, when Marca’s great-great-grandfather Apu Guachimanta held the position of “cacique principal of the Indians of Cayaotambo”, a position that was rightly his because it had been that of his ancestors. He was succeeded by his son Hucharima. Apu Ataucaua, son of Hucharima was cacique at the time of the Spanish conquest. Then came García Marca, son of Ataucaua and father of Cristóbal Marca, who was cacique of Cayaotambo at the time of the 1571 Visita ordered by Toledo. When the repartimiento of Cayaotambo was reduced with that of Tauna [Tahona] in the village of Araypalpa, where there was already a cacique principal from the time of the Incas, the visitador made Don García one of two segundas personas (AGN, Derecho Indigena, Leg. 5, c. 75, 1623, ff. 1-12). The preceding material provides some interesting information on the reducción of the Cayaotambos. For instance, why was Don Garcia Marca subservient to the cacique of the population already settled in Araypalpa? If we accept Poole’s argument that the Chilques and the Cayaotambos were the same people, we exclude the possibility that we are dealing with two separate polities. However, it seems that the Cayaotambo polity itself was divided. In the Tasa and the Visita, the repartimiento of Cayaotambo reduced in Accha, Araypalpa and Cuchiray is easily identified with Doña Paula de Silva and her heirs. The only other entry for Cayaotambo in the Tasa (Cook 1975:187) deals with a repartimiento granted to Pedro Vasquez. The only entry for Pedro Vasquez in the Visita refers to the repartimiento as “Collana tambo”(Ulloa 1908:342). This repartimiento was reduced in Paruro (Ulloa 1908: 334). 181 I believe that it is possible that the Cayaotambo population, which spread between Paruro, Araypalpa, and Accha, over a distance of six leagues on a north-south axis along the machuñan Inca road, was itself divided into subgroups, perhaps according to the Inca model of Collana, Payan, Cayao, each of them with their cacique principal. This hypothesis seems to be supported by a witness, Martin Aymagualpa, age 68, from ayllu Ulpo, in Accha, in the same 1623 document mentioned earlier: He said that when he was a child, he heard many old Indians say that the Indians Cayaotambos are and come from a large number of Indians. One of the Incas who governed these kingdoms of Peru brought [them] from Pacaritambo and many other parts and that he had settled one part of them in the village now called Araypalpa, one other part in the village now called Pocorai, and another part in the village of Accha. And in order that the said Indians be recognized and differentiated from the natives of the lands where he settled them, he gave them the name ‘Cayaotambotauna’ , and that in each village that he thus reduced, there was a cacique principal, and I heard them say that don García Marca was the cacique principal for the Indians reduced in the village of Accha. (AGN, Derecho Indigena, Leg. 5, c. 75, 1623, ff. 36-37) 182 The witness is for the plaintiff, the son of García Marca who feels he has been cheated of a position that was rightfully his. It is interesting to note that in this excerpt, and in much of the document, the plaintiff and the witnesses pattern their defense on a Spanish legal model. Underlying the claim, for instance is the assumption of a right of succession from father to son, being traced all the way to the time of Huayna Capac, whereas filiation was not the general rule of succession in Inca times (Toledo in Levillier 1940 tomo 2, Urton There is in the Tasa a reference to another Collanatambo, “Collanatambo y Cazcas” (Cook 1975:181) but it is already a crown property, therefore I believe there is no possible confusion, and that Collana tambo refers to the collana ayllu of the [Cayao]tambo Indians. 182 Poole (1984:91) also cites the same document. 181 1990, Espinoza Soriano 1983-84). The above statement by Martin Amaygualpa, witness for the plaintiff, illustrates this co-option of categories, or historical revision, when he mentions the settlement of Incas-by-privilege by the Incas, and his use of the term “reducción” underlines the similarity between the Inca and the Spanish resettlement of populations. In the 1623 document we are told that the Inca responsible for the relocation of the Cayaotambos was Topa Inca, the father of Huayna Capac, and grandfather of Huascar and Atahuallpa (AGN 5/75, 1623: f. 33v.). That would date this move late enough for it to have happened in the lifetime of the “old Indians” whom Martin Amaygualpa --who was 68 in 1623--claims as his sources; and certainly late enough in the history of the Inca state to presume that this region, 50 kilometers from Cusco was already occupied, not only by “common” Indians, but also by Incas-by-privilege. Topa Inca (or Tupac Yupanqui), usually identified as the son of Pachacutec, is believed to have died in the very last years of the 15th century. If he was responsible for the resettlement of the Cayaotambos, then the list of cacique names given in the pleito might correspond to the whole lineage of Cayaotambo rulers since they settled in the Araypalpa/Accha region. One of Topa Inca’s accomplishments, according to Sarmiento, was to have developed the policy of mitimaes invented by his father (1906[1572]:97). Betanzos tells us more precisely that, in order to deal with unrest in Antisuyu, 10,000 people from that province were sent to Cuntisuyu, and 6,000 people from Cuntisuyu were in turn sent to Antisuyu (Betanzos 1987[1551]:156). We also know that the same Topa Inca and his son, Huayna Capac, sent Chilques mitimaes --among many other tribes-- to Cochabamba, in what is now Bolivia (Wachtel 1982). There is other evidence of reciprocal movements of population between the Cayaotambos and several populations in Chinchasuyu. Three ayllus of the anexos of Accha Hanansaya (see table 3 ) have names of tribes from the north: Chachapoyas who with the Cañaris formed the honor guards of ‘halberdiers’ of Huayna Capac and his son Huascar (Pachacuti Yamqui 1950[1613]:267), and eventually allied themselves with the Spaniards, as did their neighbors, the powerful Huanca nation defeated by Pachacuti Inca (Espinoza 1966; 1971). Stern dates the conquest of that region to 1460 and mentions the subsequent forced resettlement of population implemented by the Incas (Stern 1982:12). For lack of specific evidence, I can only suggest that a small number from those two populations were resettled as mitimaes in the Cayaotambo region at that time, which would explain the presence to this day of the ayllus Huancamarca in Pocoray, and Huanca and Chachapoya (today, Chacha) in Parco (see table 3). Poole shows that there was a population movement in the reverse direction. She compares some published material indicating the presence of Chilques ayllus in Vilcashuaman (Salas 1979), with an unpublished revisita of the repartimiento of Cayaotambo y Tauna in Accha, Araypalpa and Cuchiray conducted in 1603 (AGN Derecho Indigena 3/46, 1603). 183 Comparison between the two lists of ayllus shows that some of the resettled mitimaes ayllus identified as Chilques in Vilcashuaman had the same names as some of the Cayaotambo ayllus reduced in Lauraypalpa, Cuchirai and Accha. 184 (Poole 1984:463). In The existence of such a document dating 30 years after the Toledan visita aimed at reinforcing the policy of one repartimiento per reducción indicates that however brutal the reducción campaign was, the actual reorganization was far from immediate, more, in this case, because of the resistance of the encomenderos than of the Indians. 184 The two lists are: 1) Cayaotambotauna ayllus (1603): Ayllu Tauna and Hurin Ayllu de Tauna (Araypalpa), Ayllu Cangalla (Cuchirai), Ayllu Comara and Hurin de Comara (Accha), Barcelona (Accha), Guayguaconga (Accha), Tia and Hurin Tia (Pocoray or Guayguaconga [Accha]), Ayllu Caraibamba (Pocoray[Accha]) Ayllu Taucaguaman (Guayaconga?) Ayllu Chachapuyac (Parco [Accha]), Ayllu Chilca (Pocorai [Accha]). 2) Vilcashuaman ayllus: Cangalpata, Curaica, Tiatiatauna, Hanan and Hurin Curma, Yantaura, Tauna, 183 addition, in 1600, the name of the cacique principal of the repartimiento of Hurin Chilques in Colca, Vilcashuaman, was Tomas Guallpa Tuyro, which might suggest a relation to Francisco Tuyroguallpa, of ayllu Tauna in Araypalpa in 1571, to whom García Marca lost the cacicazgo principal of Cayaotambotauna (AGN 5/75, 1623: f. 11v. AGN Derecho Indigena 3/46, 1603: f. 5r.). Yet, I believe that the so-called Chilques ayllu mitimaes might in fact have been drawn from a much broader pool than the part of the Cayaotambo population for which we have a record of ayllu names. In addition, the very technique used here to determine relations of origin between distinct settlements must be questioned: the 1603 revisita lists as one of the Cayaotambo ayllus an ayllu Chachapoya, which we have determined to have been originally an outsiders ayllu. It appears that those ayllus of mitimaes or forasteros became sufficiently integrated in the ayllu structure of their new region of residence to be considered as part of the polity in which there were resettled. Finally, the fact that at the time of Toledo’s inspection, the separate repartimientos of Chilques and of Cayaotambo were reduced as several neighboring ayllus in three distant reducciones might indicate the coexistence of two related yet distinct polities interwoven in the human landscape of this corner of Cuntisuyu. Given that, it would be quite possible to accept that a group of Incas-by-privilege was moved quite late into a region already occupied by the Chilques. At the time of their resettlement, they were given the name of Cayaotambo (AGN 5/75, 1623:f. 11 v.) and not Cayaotambotauna, as claimed by Martin Amaygualpa, who tends, as we have seen, to confuse Inca resettlements with the Spanish reducciones.. The name Cayaotambo might be an indication of a hierarchical relation to the collana Tambos of Paruro, or even an indication of their origin as “outsider” Tambos that is to say displaced from the Raura, Auquipaja, Guaigua, Tauca. Pacariqtambo region. Outside of the region, however, as part of mitimae settlement in Chinchasuyu, those Cayaotambos would be recognized as Chilques (Salas 1979) and indeed operate within the ayllu/moiety structure of the other resettled Chilques. That is quite definitely true in the case, outlined above, of the Chachapoyas moved first from there Northern lowlands to Araypalpa-Accha region, and later sent with other ayllus from that region as part of a Chilques mitimae settlement in Vilcashuaman. 2. 2. ayllus into pueblos viejos into moieties The 1571 document describing the Visita of Condesuyu, already mentioned in the previous chapter (chapter 6: 4. 3. ) contains a list of pueblos viejos that were regrouped into 47 reducciones in that province (Ulloa 1908). I will only transcribe in their entirety the entries dealing with Jesús de Accha and its anexo Pucaray, as the pueblos viejos regrouped in those two reducciones came to form what is today the community of Accha and its district. It must be understood from what precedes that the process of reducción was as arbitrary in splitting up groups as in throwing others together, and that the consequences of this restructuration, delayed as they were, eventually led to the severing of ancient ties and the advent of new alliances. As I attempt to interpret that process, I too am guilty of a “reduction” as I now focus more narrowly on Accha, that is to say on that fraction of several populations from the Cayaotambos of Paula de Silva’s encomienda, from the Indians of the encomienda of Accha belonging to Vaca de Castro and the Chilques from other encomenderos , who became settled in that specific location. Fig. 13: Reducciones, anexos and pueblos viejos Here is the text of the 1571 Visita dealing with the reducción of Accha and its annex Pocoray: The village named el Nombre de Jesus de Accha regrouped fourteen villages which are Ayabamba, Guamis, Comara, Oyaino, Nita, Ulpo, Comara, [two names are missing in the transcription of the manuscript] Guaranga, Guaiba, Cunga, Guarupata, Pilpinto, Quiquixana, Mohína in which there were 705 Indian tribute-payers of which 247 from the encomienda of Ladrón de Guebara , 287 of Vaca de Castro, 87 of Juan de Berrio, 66 of doña Paula de Sylva, 18 of Don tristán de Silva. It is situated at 12 leagues from Cusco. They pay the same tribute as those in the same region and have the same standards of Christianity and justice, and a good church and ornaments. It was made into one parish. The village named Pucarai as an annex of the parish of El Nombre de Jesús regrouped 6 villages which are Guancamarca, Vacaypampa, Quiragua, Parco, Viringuiri where there were 242 Indian tribute-payers of which 66 belonged to doña Paula de Silva, 176 to Vaca de Castro. It is 2 leagues from the said parish and 12 from Cusco, with the same standards of Christianity and justice as their neighbors. They have a church and ornaments. (Ulloa 1908:333) The entries for the other reducciones in the region, like Araypalpa and Cuchiray mentioned earlier, read in very much the same way, and involve Indians from the encomiendas of the same five encomenderos (See Poole 1984 for the reducciones in the whole Paruro region). This piecemeal rearrangement operated by the campaign of reducción testifies to the complex pattern of neighboring ayllus that existed before it. Table 3 show how this complex structure was rearranged as a community and how the new structure endured and changed through time; fig. 13 shows the geographical location of some of the recognizable names of ayllus and pueblos viejos. The architects of the reducción policy wrote into their recommendations and ordinances provisions that guaranteed a de facto perpetuation of the system of ayllus and moieties by insisting that the repartimientos be regrouped into ayllus, with their caciques, and ensuring that, where needed, there would be double sets of official positions (Toledo 1876[1575]:156-157). For Matienzo, the existence of the dual system seems to be as obvious as age and gender: [In the visit of ] the inhabited places and settlements, record all the Indians there are, men as well as women, specifying how many of which in each house, their ages, whether they are single, married, in concubinage or widowed or spinsters, and record the names of the caciques and principals, and how many Indians each one has, and which are hanansayas and which hurinsayas (Matienzo 1967 [1567] I, 14:49). How can we explain that the Spaniards who, in order to facilitate the economic exploitation of the indigenous populations did not hesitate to destroy their physical environment by razing their hamlets, not only had no problem accepting the dual structure where it existed, but encouraged its reproduction in the new villages? The argument sometimes made that the Spaniards recognized a situation that existed in Spain is not very convincing: although there are in Spain cases of divided communities (Arguedas 1968), they are never as widespread nor do they exhibit the extreme ritual and political interdependence that characterizes Andean dual structures (see chapter 4). In fact, there was on the part of the Spaniards, more than benevolent acceptance. Matienzo’s fascination with the dual structure seems to have been directed by the possibilities of political control it offered in the simplified form of the traditional Andean political structure that the Spaniards applied (Rostworowski 1988). In addition, Toledo needed the support of the local leaders in order to accomplish his campaign of restructuration, and it was in his interest to leave intact the local political hierarchy (Stern 1982; Abercrombie 1986 ms). Table 3 the making of Accha (sources : Ulloa 1908, Villanueva 1982, AGN 1781, ADC 1836. © possible Cayaotambo ayllus AGN 1603) 1571 PUEBLOS VIEJOS Quiquixana Ulpocomara Guaranga Pucarai Guancamarca Vacaypampa © Parco Viringuiri 1689 ANANSAIA AYLLUS Quiquijana Ullpo Guaranga AYLLUS Quiquijana Ullpo Huaranca ANEXOS ANEXOS ANEXOS Pocoray Ayllu Tantar Cusco Ayllu Guancamarca Pocorguay Ayllo Tantar Ayllo Guancamarca Poccorhuay Ayllo Tantar Ayllo Huancamarca Ayllo Huatacalla Ayllo Ttia© Ayllo Chilcas© Parco Ayllu Accha Ayllu Guanca Ayllu Chachapoya© Parco Ayllo Accha Ayllo Guanca Ayllo Chacha© Hda. Guaranay Parco Ayllo Accha Ayllo Huanca Ayllo Chacha© HURINSAYA AYLLUS Anancosco Orancosco Tambo Acchacuna Nicta Guanos Ollaino Barcelona © Hda. de Chamina URINSAYA AYLLUS Hananccosco Urinccoscco Tambo ANEXOS ANEXOS ANEXOS Pilpinto Ayllu Collana Ayllu Pilpinto Ayllu Cayao Ayllu Guanopata Pilpinto Ayllo Collana Ayllo Pilpinto Ayllo Callao Ayllo Guanopata Pilpinto Ayllo Collana Tambo Accha Nicta Guanos Oyayano Hda. de Sucsulla Pilpinto Guarapata 1836 HANANSAYA AYLLUS Quiquijana Ullpo Guaranga URINSAIA AYLLUS Cusco Nita Guamis Oyayno 1791 HANANSAYA Nieta Guanos Uyayno Barcelona © Hda. de Chamina Ayllo Ccallahua Ayllo Huanupata Hda. Comara© Hda.Hamancay Mohína Ayabamba Comara© Guayaconga© Ayllu Collana Ayllu Cayan Ayllu Mohina Ayllu Tia© Guayaconga© Ayllo Collana Ayllo Caillagua Ayllo Mohina Ayllo Tia© Hda Acobamba Chorillo de Comara© Huayaconga Ayllo Collana Ayllo Ccallahua Ayllo Muina Ayllo Ttía Hdas Occotuna Quiragua (?) Whatever the Spaniards’ motivation, in the application of the policy of reducción, populations which might or might not have already been coexisting within an operative dual structure were suddenly forced to share a common space. We recall how Luis Mexía, the visitador for Cuntisuyu, described Accha in the wake of the reducción as one village with one parish and one church (Ulloa 1908:332; see supra). What follows is what a religious visitador saw in 1689: The parish of Urinsaya is founded next to a lagoon, and the village is divided into two parts, one named Urinsaya, with its own church, the other Hanansaya with another separate church, the said village with its two parts is divided by a stream as if they were two distinct villages. (Villanueva 1982: 471) The existence of the stream splitting the village square in the same way in 1689 as indeed it does 300 years later suggests in Gade and Escobar’s terms, an “example of extreme formalization of the dual system” (Gade and Escobar 1982: 432). It could be that in the reducción, two populations were regrouped that either already were in a dual relation, or on the contrary, in the case of unrelated populations forcibly reduced together, had an overly defined perception of their distinctiveness. If either of these scenarios was the case and if it related to the strong expression of duality in the reducción, then one would expect to find all of one (pre-Toledan) population in one moiety and all of the other in the other moiety. The test of this hypothesis using the data from the Cayaotambo does not yield very conclusive results. I have indicated in table 3 the names of Cayaotambo ayllus (©) from the 1603 revisita, that are recognizable in the 1571 Toledan Visita and the subsequent revisitas. Only two pueblos viejos, Guaiba and Cunga, are found both in the original 1571 Visita and the 1603 revisita of Cayaotambo (as Guayaconga; see fn. 182 for the list of Cayaotambo ayllus). Some of the names on that latter list appear in later revisitas: Chachapoya (Parco), Ttía (both in Pocoray and in Guayaconga), Barcelona in Hurinsaya, Chilcas in Pocoray, and Comara in Guayaconga. I believe that the reason why those did not appear in the Toledo Visita is that they were ayllus of anexos, that is to say subdivisions of pueblos viejos, rather than actual pueblos viejos, and therefore were not recorded as constituting elements of the new reducción. This is in fact the most striking fact about Cayaotambo ayllus distribution: instead of a solid grouping of these ayllus in one of the two moieties, they are found at the periphery of the community, either as anexo (Guayaconga) or ayllus of those anexos (most of the other Cayaotambo ayllus). The only exception seems to be ayllu Barcelona in Hurinsaya. It seems rather peculiar to have within Cayaotambo ayllus --a group presumably settled before the conquest-- the name of a Spanish town. I would point out that the name Barcelona occurs in the 1603 revisita, and not in the 1571 Visita, where it would have figured if Barcelona had been a pueblo viejo at that time. 185 That fact supports the point I made earlier of the late assimilation in Cayaotambo of outsider (non-Cayaotambo) ayllus. Furthermore, today’s communal memory (Barcelona no longer exists in Accha) places that ayllu between hacienda Chamina and hacienda Bella Vista on the way to Parco, nearly in the Velille river valley. It appears safe to say that the Cayaotambo ayllus were integrated on the periphery of the community, perhaps because of a perceived outsider status in relation to the main community. Rather than forming one of the two moieties in the reducción of Accha, we find that Cayaotambo is involved in a There is always the unlikely possibility that Barcelona was one of the two names that Ulloa, the transcriber of the 1571 document, was unable to read. 185 concentric dual relation with the community, both across and outside of the moiety system. What other candidates can we hope for, which together would have maintained or created the strong dual relation in Accha? I decided to consider the constituent ayllu names in order to try to establish a pattern of distribution of the ayllus according to their ethnic and geographical origin and to their possible relation to the pre-colonial Inca system of social organization and ranking. The categories that I use, elite, outsider and local, reflect my belief that whether or not the populations existing at the time of the reducción were organized in a dual system, they probably were loosely arranged in the tripartite system of collana, payan and callao, as a way to integrate the various populations of mitimaes, Incas-by-privilege and authochtonous groups. The existence of that organizational structure seems to be confirmed by the presence in post-reducción documents of ayllu names such as Collana and Callao in the anexos of Accha. In the following list, the names of the various groups are taken in the order they appear in table 3, first the Hanansaya ayllus and anexos, then the Hurinsaya ayllus and anexos. I am considering names found either at the time of the reducción or in later revisitas to ascertain that I would not overlook ayllus that do not appear in the 1571 document. Group: Identification of origin: Quiquixana (Hanansaya ayllu) Locality in Collasuyu, S-E of Urcos, Chilques Indians, therefore Incas-byprivilege (Zuidema 1964, Guaman Poma 1980). Huaca Contisuyu 6:9 on the ceque line of Huanacauri. Status: Outsider/ Elite Ullpo (Hanansaya ayllu) Meaning unclear “bees” (?) “defeat”(?) Ullpotorre is a collapsed construction of adobe at the E end of Achupampa, four km from Accha and on the path to Pilpinto. Ullpus Indians settled there at the time the Qachas moved settled in Accha (Ccori 1978.). Associated with Laura as encomienda and Comara as pueblo viejo. Huaranga (Hanansaya ayllu) Means 1,000. Designates the size of an Inca administrative segment made up of 1,000 adult men (Julien 1982). Pucarai (Hanansaya anexo) Means “fort”. Located in the Velille valley. Might have been the site of a military settlement guarding against the Chumbivilcas Indians to the S of Accha. With Accha, one of the original Toledan reducciones . Tantar Cusco (Pucarai ayllu) The name indicates the group is Inca (Poole 1984). Perhaps those were the original garrison of the fort of Pucarai. Huancamarca (Pucarai ayllu) Huanca nation. Huatacalla (Pucurai ayllu) “beginning of the year”? perhaps named for an astronomical calendrical landmark. Ttia (Pucarai ayllu) Means either “brazier” (name of several huacas in Cusco) or “to stay, to live” (tiyay). Cayaotambo (AGN 1603), Chilques in Salas 1979. Local? Locals Inca/Elite Outsider Local Outsider? Chilcas (Pucarai ayllu) Coastal group, from Chilca, a pre-Inca polity. Mitimaes? Identified as Cayaotambo in AGN 1603. Vacaypampa (Pucarai ayllu) Caraybamba (“sterile plain”) , Pucarai ayllu, Cayaotambo in AGN 1603. Disappears from the records after that date. “Irrigation.” Parco (Hanansaya anexo) Accha (Parco ayllu) Outsider Outsider? Local Name of a nomadic group. The original settlers of the district together with the Ullpus (See chapter 2). Local Huanca (Parco ayllu) Huanca nation. mitimaes from Jauja. Outsider Chachapoya (Parco ayllu) Chachapoya nation. Mitimaes. Identified as Cayaotambo in AGN 1603. Outsider Viringuiri (hacienda in Parco) Hacienda Guaranay (1791). From huayra, “wind”? pueblo viejo= locals Forasteros= outsiders Cusco (Hurinsaya ayllu) There was an Incacuna ayllu in Accha in 1623 (AGN 1623). May have turned into Cusco ayllu (and later split into Hanancusco and Hurincusco). Tambo (Hurinsaya ayllu) Perhaps Tambos from Pacariqtambo. Incas-by-privilege. Today a hamlet on the way to Velille and Parcco. Part of the anexo of Misanapata (Hurinsaya). Local /Outsider? Inca Outsider /Elite Accha (Hurinsaya ayllu) Payan ayllu in the triadic system. autochthonous population. Such group often was named for the whole larger group (Zuidema 1964). Local Nita (Hurinsaya ayllu) Name of a hill in the Velille Valley, Nicta Urqo. Today (jointly with Tambo) part of Misanapata (anexo of Hurinsaya). Local Guamis (Hurinsaya ayllu) Oyaino (Hurinsaya ayllu) Guanos, from guano? Barcelona (Hurinsaya ayllu) Spanish city; identified as Cayaotambo in AGN 1603. Chamina (Hurin hacienda) Sucsulla (Hurin hacienda) ? Hacienda: forasteros. Pilpinto (Hurinsaya anexo) “Butterfly.” Collana (Pilpinto ayllu) collana: “first” in the collana/payan/cayao system Pilpinto (Pilpinto ayllu) payan ayllu: autochthonous population. Cayao (Pilpinto ayllu) cayao ayllu: outsiders population in the triadic system. Local Perhaps from uyway, to raise animals. Local sucsuy: “to permeate, as in irrigation water.” Forasteros. Outsider/ Spaniards? Outsider Outsider Local Elite Locals Outsiders Guarapata (Pilpinto ayllu) “windy plateau”. Note the transformation to “guano” after 1689. Comara (Pilpinto hacienda ) ? Cayaotambo (1603); hacienda Huayaconga 1791 Hamancay (Pilpinto hacienda) Sucsulla (Pilpinto hacienda) Name of a wild flower. Guayaconga “Gorge that diminishes” . Named for a rock tunnel, perhaps the pacarina of (hurin) Accha? (see below, Genesis). Guaigua= Chilques in Salas 1979. Collana (Huayaconga ayllu) First in the tripartite structure. Cayan (Huayaconga ayllu) Probably a misreading of Cayao in the 1689 visita. Becomes Ccallahua in later documents. Outsiders in the tripartite structure. Outsiders Mohína (Huayaconga ayllu) a group of Incas-by-privilege in Quispicanchis (Bauer 1992:24) perhaps named after Lake Muina, pacarina of Huascar, and connected with Cusco Hurinsaya (see Frost and Decoster 1988). Outsiders Tia (Huayaconga ayllu) Locals Outsiders Outsiders “to permeate, like irrigation water,” Outsiders Elite see above Outsiders Antani (Huayaconga hacienda) from anta, “copper” pueblo viejo= locals Forasteros (hacienda workers) = outsiders. Ayabamba (Huayaconga hacienda) “Plain of the dead” becomes Acobamba, “Sandy plain”, Occotuna perhaps “Marshland” pueblo viejo= locals Forasteros (hacienda workers) = outsiders. Outsiders ? Perhaps related to Viquaquirao, the Inca Hanansaya Cusco payan ayllu of Inca Roca. (Zuidema 1990:36; 1964:4) Quirao means ‘cradle’. Could also simply designate a local landmark. This pueblo viejo disappears after the reducción. ? Quiragua (?) Locals /Outsiders 2. 3. Duality, Incas and foreigners I propose that at the time of the reducción, there may have been in place both a functioning dual system and a tripartite system. Incoming groups became integrated in those structures, such as the Cayaotambos whom we saw immediately after the reducción incorporated as outsider ayllus in both moieties. Some of those groups, like the Chachapoyas, the Huancas and the coastal Chilcas, must have spoken distinct languages and have looked and dressed differently from the indigenous populations. When Accha was created, this system might also have taken in populations which were not yet part of it, and assimilated them into an elite, locals and outsiders structure (collana, payan and cayao). This was a dynamic and flexible structure that could accommodate new incoming groups like perhaps ayllu Barcelona, and later the foreigners recruited to work in haciendas (forasteros sin tierra). 186 While what precedes argue for the pre-reducción existence of the tripartite division, there does not seem to be a clear argument for the existence in Accha of the dual structure before the reducción. There is however a noticeable difference between the two post-reducción moieties in the marked presence of Incas and Incas-by-privilege ayllus in Hurinsaya (ayllus Cusco and Tambo, principally), and the increased number in that moiety over time of forasteros (foreigners) both in outsider ayllus and in haciendas. The only evidence of Incas in Hanansaya is the location Tantar Cusco ayllu in Pucaray, an annex of the parish of Accha at the time of the reducción later identified as an anexo of Hanansaya. 187 The fact that the Inca ayllus are not mentioned at the time of the reducción for Accha nor Pucaray leads me to believe that the reducciones were in fact made around the presence of those Inca ayllus. Because of its small size, Pucaray was made an anexo of the whole doctrina. The anexos seem to have been rearranged at a later date, and Pilpinto and Guayaconga appear as anexos of Hurinsaya, while Pocoray and Parco (itself at first an ayllu of Pocoray) as those of Hanansaya (Ulloa 1908; table 3). The presence of Incas and forasteros in Hurinsaya might be explained by a relation between Hanansaya and Hurinsaya, which is and was as primordial for the social, political and economic organization of indigenous communities, The flexibility of the structure is shown in how hacienda Indian population (but not ayllu population) moved in the 19 th century from Hurinsaya and Guayaconga into Pilpinto. As Pilpinto was becoming more important and its mestizo and Spanish population was buying hacienda land, nonexistent in Pilpinto itself (see chapter 2), the forastero Indian population of those haciendas became integrated in the ayllu system of that locality. 186 it is now an anexo of the whole community of Accha, and is trying to be recognized as a comunidad campesina. 187 as it once was for that of the state (Urton 1990, Poole 1984, Guaman Poma 1980, Zuidema passim; see also chapter 4). This relation is often considered to be analogous to one of upper to lower, male to female, day to night, rich to poor, order to chaos (Randall 1982). It has also been suggested that there is a correspondence between Hanansaya and Cusco on the one hand, and Hurinsaya and the outside on the other (Zuidema 1964; Bauer 1986 ms; Randall 1982). I contend that the latter proposition betrays a Cusco centered view that is not necessarily directly applicable to other population centers where the relation might in fact be reversed. I suggest that the opposition would be better expressed as “autochthonous” vs. “stranger”. I believe that this stating of the relationship would actually be applicable both in Incaic Cusco and in the provinces. Furthermore, such interpretation also offers the possibility of a dynamic relation between the dual and the tripartite structure. The view away from Cusco dictates that all foreigners, Incas or not, are integrated in the same moiety (see e. g. Houdart-Morizot 1976; Palomino 1971), with the provision that within that moiety they probably would occupy different ayllus, namely collana and cayao respectively. This integrating moiety in Accha was Hurinsaya, although there is some evidence that it was not always the case elsewhere. 188 The status of noble Inca that I attribute to ayllu Cusco, listed in my reconstruction of pre-Toledan ayllus in Accha, is based on evidence from Paruro (Poole 1984), Copacabana (Zuidema 1964:100) and to references to the military nobility in the Inca empire (Pachacutec Yamqui 1950[1623]:273). Table 3 shows In Copacabana, there was a Cusco ayllu in Hanansaya (Archivo Nacional de Sucre 1729 cited in Zuidema 1964:100). Zuidema says it consisted of Inca conquerors and administrators of the region. Urteaga 1931 cites the same case, and quotes from Ramos Gavilán’ s Historia de Copacabana (Urteaga 1931:55-56, ft 3). But Urteaga’ s case for a generalization of this case is doubtful and rests on a questionable interpretation of data form Uhle and Bandelier. 188 that ayllu Cusco, the Inca ayllu within Hurinsaya, had an intriguing trajectory through the colonial period. At some time between 1689 and 1791 a fission took place within ayllu Cusco. That did not in fact signal the creation of a moiety structure within a moiety structure, but rather the splitting of an abnormally large ayllu: by 1689, ayllu Cusco counted 59 tribute payers (Villanueva 1982), twice to three times as many as any of the other ayllus in Hanan or Hurinsaya. There is no way of knowing if it had been large from the beginning, or if it had acquired more members since the reducción, nor who those new members might have been. What happened after the fission becomes even more puzzling, and suggests that some of the visitadores might have had problems keeping track of the ayllus. In the 1836 list both Hurincusco and Hanancusco are mentioned, but we find no ayllu Accha within Hurinsaya or ayllu Pilpinto within Pilpinto, which indicates that the census taker was thrown by the payan ayllu name duplicating that of the community. In another slightly earlier document, however, ayllu Accha is present (as ayllu Acchacuna, ‘people of Accha’), but there is only Urincusco ayllu, and no corresponding Hanancusco (ADC 1831). Today, the situation has reverted to a unique Cusco ayllu (see chapter 4). We can either speculate that, as there was a diminution in the number of ayllus, the two Cuscos consolidated, or on the contrary, that they accentuated their separation. I support the latter hypothesis, and suggest that one of the two sub-ayllus changed its name to that of its patron saint, which explains the 189 presence in today’s Accha of an ayllu Santa Ana, absent in the earlier documents. One of my reasons for making this suggestion is the fact that the Cacharparimoco identified by Bauer as an important Inca site is found today within the limits of ayllu Santa Ana, and we have no reason to believe that the As might have been the case for ayllu Ullpo in Hanansaya which seems to have become Belén (from Virgen de Belén) at a later date (see below section 8). 189 strong association of the ayllu with its territory (chapters 4 and 5) was not always a reality. If that is true, it would further identify Santa Ana as an Inca ayllu, probably born of the fission of the original ayllu Cusco, itself an Inca ayllu. As a result of the split, Hurincusco would have become plain Cusco ayllu, and Hanancusco Santa Ana ayllu. This historical relation between the two ayllus might explain the narrow ties between them today that are activated in ritual activities (see chapter 4). The Incas in Accha --both Cusco Incas and Incas-by-privilege--were there before the reducción (chapter 2 and 3), and occupied a prominent place in the new settlement. But there is some evidence of the overwhelming presence of another kind of ‘outsiders’ in Accha Hurinsaya beyond the Colonial period. In 1836 -- the date of the last figures in table 3, there were in Accha Hurinsaya 103 forasteros sin tierras (‘landless foreigners’) against just 12 in Accha Hanansaya. The corresponding population of originarios con tierras (i. e. autochthonous landowners) was 121 in Hurinsaya against 144 in Hanansaya (ADC 1836). 190 The question of the uneven presence of forasteros sin tierras in Accha is easily resolved: this name at first served to designate “foreigners” who left there reducción to take advantage of the tax exemption attached to that status at the beginning of the colonial period. In censuses, Indians were defined in two categories: originarios (indigenous) and forasteros (foreigners). The colonial government defined as foreigners those who couldn’ t claim ancestors in the The 1754 census gives for Chilques y Masques no forasteros : Total indigenous population=7,839; tributarios =2, 199; originarios =2,199; forasteros =0 (1859 Memorial de los Virreyes, quoted in Golte 1980b). This figure is clearly unacceptable: there were already haciendas in Accha (and one would assume elsewhere in the province) at the end of the 17th century. But we also know that in 1689, the hacienda workers of Hamancay were recorded as members of Nicta ayllu (Villanueva 1982) thus altogether avoiding the category of forastero. That added proof of the flexibility of the social system is also a proof of the extreme unreliability of historical sources for this kind of material. 190 censuses of the place, and who did not have access to land in the same way as the originarios did (Golte 1980b: 52; also Urton 1991). However, forasteros soon became an integral part of the colonial economy and worked in haciendas and even paid taxes (Sanchez 1978; Matos Mar 1976; Wightman 1990). Then, as hacienda workers, their numbers would be highest where the Spaniards, the criollos and their haciendas were, which in Accha was Hurinsaya. The forasteros lived on hacienda land and during the visitas they were counted as belonging to the ayllu and moiety where the hacienda was located. In some cases --Chamina or Viringuiri, for instance--, forasteros actually constituted an ayllu. The Cayaotambos, being situated as they are on the periphery of the new settlement, do not fit the picture presented here of an incorporation of outsiders into Hurinsaya. Either they had long been integrated into scattered ayllus; or it is also possible that, if they were resettled by the Incas after the creation of the Inca settlement in Accha (the site of Cacharparimoco in Santa Ana, and the two outposts on top of Siwina and in Pucarai), the Cayaotambo population might have been deliberately positioned on the periphery of that Inca settlement, in the same fashion as Inca Cusco was surrounded by a ring of Incas-by-privilege. 2. 4. The two churches We lack historical information to determine whether the relation between the pre-reducción moieties was exceptionally oppositional 191 or if it became so after the physical regrouping of the two populations. Either of those factors would help explain the extreme and enduring nature of the localized Salas implies that this was the case for the Hurin Chilques and Hanan Chilques in Vilcashuaman (1979: 24-26). Urton (1990) and Bauer (1992) have used ethnohistorical and archaeological data to show the existence of prereducción moieties in Pacariqtambo 191 dual structure in Accha throughout the colonial period, and into the present. There is some ethnographical evidence that leads to presume a conflictual situation at the time of the reducción. Assuming, as I have before, a permanence of the intra-community boundaries, a look at a map of Accha (fig. 7) suggests an imbalance between the two moieties. Although the moiety line (i. e. the ditch) runs through the middle of the Plaza de Armas, it is obvious that the moiety of Hanansaya is wedged behind its church and covers very little of the actual territory of the village. Where Hurinsaya and its ayllus Cusco and Santa Ana are located on high and dry ground, the houses of Hanansaya border the marshy edge of the lagoon and are often flooded during the rainy season (see chapter 4). More importantly perhaps, Hanansaya Accheños only have a very limited access to corn chakras, which are mostly under the control of Hurinsaya, in the valley of Velille. Those contemporary distinctions I feel can safely be assumed to have been persistent, as they are based on territorial demarcations. I propose that the unusual expression of the relation between the moieties physically divided on the ground must be seen in relation to the exceptional way in which the reducción was implemented, and that the church played a major role in the perpetuation, if not creation of this overmarked differentiation. As already noted, the aim of the reducción was to facilitate the control and catechization of the populations, and to teach them “human and Christian policy”. The role of the Catholic Church was thus primordial, either directly, as in Huarochirí, where the Jesuits reduced personally sixty pueblos viejos into 8 reducciones, or indirectly in other places, in conformity with the Matienzo plan which gave a central function in the new settlements to the church and the resident priest. This is not to say that the catechization of the Indians started with the reducciones. We have seen in the previous chapter that encomenderos were held responsible for the indoctrination of their encomiendas. The catechization of the Andes had started literally from the first days of the Spanish conquest, 192 led by the regular orders. Some of those, like the Mercedarians had been founded during the Reconquista as military-religious orders and were eager for a new field of action after 1492. 193 On the other hand, the secular clergy had a slow start in the Americas, and it took over two centuries to catch up with the regulars. By the middle of the sixteenth century, each of four orders, Augustins, Dominicans, Franciscans and Mercedarians had a convent in Cusco, situated respectively in the Inca districts of Colcampata, Tococachi, Carmenca and Caucachi and had started the evangelization of the population in the immediate neighborhood of those convents. In the 1560, the secular clergy was feeling powerful enough to expel the orders from the Indian doctrines in Cusco (Perez Rodriguez 1966:348-52). The regulars then proceeded to move out of the city into the provinces following the same geographical orientation they occupied in Cusco. Thus the Mercedarians who in Cusco were based in Santa Ana (Carmenca) in the SE district of Cusco, moved in that direction into Cuntisuyu. By the time Toledo wrote his Ordenanzas, the orders had a total of 400 missionaries divided between the new reducciones. There had been at least 2 priests in the Accha region before the reducción. One was a Franciscan P. Misionero Fray Francisco de Obregon who went around preaching and building churches. He was in Accha from 1549 (before the division of the provinces between the orders) until perhaps as late as 1570. The Mercedarians had a convent in Piura before the fall of Cusco in 1533. (Sanlés 1958). 193 The order La Merced was founded in 1218 and was dedicated to the freeing of Christian prisoners, either by paying a ransom, or by buying Muslim prisoners they could then exchange (Tourón del Pié: 1958) 192 There is an informe on him: “they say that they saw him predicating to the infidels in some places like the Bridge of Accha in the old corregimiento of Chilques, now Province of Paruro” (AGI 74-5-25, Información de servicios, quoted in Perez 1966:363). Then in 1560 came the first Mercedarian, and the first doctrinero of what was then the encomienda of Accha, P. Fray Lorenzo Galindo (AGI, II-2-18 f. 237, quoted in Perez 1966 p:354; and Arch. Merc. Cusco Leg. 1 N°17, quoted in Barriga 1942). In the 1570s, the population of the new reducción of Accha was 705 tribute payers (Ulloa 1908:332) or 805 (Cook 1975:138). The discrepancy between these two figures, puzzling at first, becomes irrelevant as the ‘Accha’ of the visita includes Pilpinto, but not Pocoray, whereas the tasa includes Pocoray, but not Pilpinto. When those two anexos are added, the total figure (947 tribute payers in one case or 1204 in the other) corresponds to more than the double of the recommended by Matienzo and Toledo. In other words, Accha should have been reduced into two villages, each one with a church and a priest. Instead of that, the visita states very clearly that in the original 1571 reducción there were one village, one church and one parish, with Pocoray as anexo of that parish (Ulloa 1908: 332), and one priest, presumably the Mercedarian Lorenzo who was already in place as doctrinero of the encomienda (see above). But by the time the tasa was written in 1583, there is, in the breakdown of the tribute, a provision made for the salary of not one, but two priests (Cook 1975:138). In the twelve years between those two dates, the decision was made to split Accha into two parishes. It seems that initially the annex of Pocoray, which was already a reducción and had a church, was elevated to the rank of parish and given a resident priest. 194 Pilpinto, the anexo in the other valley (the Apurimac) was reduced soon after, but remained a ‘subparish’ (viceparroquia) of Accha until 1987. This date 194 Corregimiento de Chilques y Mascas: Nine priests, one in Yaurisque and Pacaritambo, another in Guanoquite and Omacha, Vilque and Quille, those four are secular clergy, another one in Paruro, another in Colcha and Araypalpa, another in Cuchiriguay, pocopata and Pampacuchi, another in Achapilpinto and Bernave, another in Pocara and Parco, those five, Mercedarian Friars (AGI Escribiana de Camera 503B, 1614 . f37) At the time, then, it appears that there are two parishes of Mercedarians in the new reducción of Accha: one in Accha [and] Pilpinto and San Barnabé (identified in Villanueva 1982 as San Barnabé de Guayaconga): that is to say the totality of Hurinsaya and its 2 anexos; and the other in Pocoray and Parco. It seems clear at that stage that there is only one priest (and presumably one church) in Accha itself, and that the other is in Pocoray, no longer an anexo of the parish of Accha. We know that by 1689 there are two priests in Accha, one for Hanansaya and one for Hurinsaya, and that Pocoray is at that time identified as an anexo of Hanansaya. It is possible, as Perez suggests, that the population of Accha grew to such an extent in the intervening decades that it required the creation of another parish. But the reincorporating of Pocoray as an anexo of Accha Hanansaya, which until then did not exist, or at least was not recognized as a parish, indicates that what happened instead is that the parish was moved from Pocoray to Accha, only a two hour walk away. It is possible but unlikely, that the order of la Merced decided to consolidate its parishes, and moved its priest in Pocoray to larger, better corresponds to the entrance of the Shining Path in Accha. The Archbishop ‘sacrificed’ his priest in Accha and moved another priest into Pilpinto. Until then, the Accha priest was responsible for saying mass there on fiesta days, and for baptisms and marriages. Pilpinto belongs to the province of Acomayo and has long ceased to be an anexo of Accha. In fact, it has taken over (‘stolen’) Guayaconga, the old Accha Hurinsaya anexo as its own (Padre Sergio Mazzuoli pers. com.; Abelardo Fernandez Vaca pers. com.). situated Accha; but that would not explain keeping the parish division in Accha itself. I rather believe that the shift was occasioned by an oddity of the reducción process. I propose that the division was created by the return of a population which might have lived on or near the site that is now the village, perhaps the ellusive Ullpos who appear in various contexts as the original settlers with the Qachas of the Accha region (chapter 2), then resurface with Laura as part of the encomienda of Juan de Berrio, formed with Comara one of the pueblos viejos reduced in Accha (chapter 6 and this chapter), and finally is identified as the predecessor of Belén Ayllu in Hanansaya (below). It seems possible that the population that was forcibly settled in Pocoray at the time of the reducción, moved back to Accha a few years later, a movement inverse but similar to the quite common repopulation of pueblos viejos by their previously uprooted inhabitants. 195 This scenario would explain the odd spatial inversion between the moiety division in the village and the ayllus, and the orientation of their anexos, as seen in figure 7. It would seem logical that the incoming population was forced to settle in the less desirable --because often flooded-- eastern part of the new village. But it maintained its ties with Pucaray and Parco, henceforth its anexos, located on the west side of the Velille Valley. Accha Hurinsaya, located with its ayllus on the west side of the village had its anexos in the east. Fig. 14 Spatial orientation of moieties, ayllus and anexos I believe this is how many contemporary anexos originated, from the repopulation of the destroyed puebos viejos, 195 The manse of Accha was occupied by two priests until the end of the nineteenth century. And until the end of the eighteenth century, both of those were Mercedarians. There was a period of several years that coincided in part with the rebellion of Tupac Amaru during which there were one Mercedarian (in Hanansaya) and one secular priest (in Hurinsaya). This situation and its political implications are described in the next chapter. Never throughout the time of dual occupation was there a suggestion that Accha was one parish being served by two priests. All the revisitas and inspections of the parishes were made separately and often at different dates. And the odd presence of the two churches in such a small village was often commented upon, and was depicted as the salient feature of Accha on maps of the bishopric (AGI: Lima 1110). The moiety division which is marked in such a dramatic way in Accha by the presence of a stream across the Plaza de Armas, also creates a redoubling of the village square, with the two churches standing at each end like mirror images of each other. It also separated the two priests: the central stream that runs through the plaza also runs through the manse dividing its building and enclosed yard in two. 196 Even during the time when there was no secular/regular conflict between the two priests, the existence of the two churches reinforced in each moiety a sense of identity both in relation to their church, and in opposition to the other moiety. In conclusion to this chapter, I present an ethnogenesis of Accha, which reads as a processual rewriting of the historical creation of Accha. In fact, the so-called stream functions as an open air sewer common in Andean localities and collects the soiled water from the priest house through the square where it collects more waste, and into the lagoon. 196 3. Genesis: the creation of Accha and the movable churches I have indicated in chapter 5 my belief in a mythic memory which transmits information about a past that becomes somehow encoded in the story. Don Mariano told me about the genesis of Accha in a way that incorporates identifiable spatial markers which echo the temporal markers that I have been tracking throughout this chapter: The first church was in Waywakunka, but it collapsed, so it was then moved to Ullpo Torre and that one too collapsed. After that, it moved to another place also called Ullpo at the limit of Accha (Hanansaya). This formed the church of Belén. Then came Hurinsaya, a large church. That is why Hurinsaya was always capital. Then Hanansaya was built because Belén was ready to collapse. Then came the ayllus: first Santa Ana and then Cusco ayllu. The human --or supernatural element-- is curiously missing from Don Mariano’s narrative and the story is told in the passive mode. The churches seem to be moving by themselves, yet there is no doubt that this narrative is all about the origin of social groupings in Accha. I have shown in chapter 4 the narrow relation between the group and its church in the production of group identity. Don Mariano’s narrative dramatically underlines this relation by using the churches as metonymic figures for their populations of reference. We know that Toledo’s policy of reducción involved the destruction of pueblos viejos, and their huacas, and the regrouping and consolidation of the populations into a centralized village. I would like to propose that the same logic that prompted the extirpators of idolatry to built Catholic churches and shrines on top of Inca huacas in order to reclaim some of the holiness of the site, and the souls of the worshippers who frequented them, also caused the 197 Indians to adopt the churches as a replacement for their lost huacas a. The extirpators who burned the huacas were deliberately destroying the ayllus’ spiritual, social and religious center. At the same time they were explicitly offering the churches as a substitute. I believe that Accheños were receptive to the change and willing to invest the new constructions with the same attributes their huacas or pacarinas had: the control and index of group identity. This early co-option, rather than the zeal of the clergy can account for the building of the two churches on the two moiety sides of the same plaza, and of the various chapels in the ayllus. In turn, the character of spatial control of the pre-reducción huaca over an area of influence could take the characteristic of a localized barrio within the physical constraints of the reducción, Each church building would thus be exclusively associated with one neighborhood and that population’s social identity be primarily centered on its church. In a kind of feedback process, the dynamic relation between those two connected features --the boundered localization and symbolic focus of Accha’s social groups-- must be seen as decisively instrumental in the maintenance of the moiety/ayllu structure over time. Another element of the genesis story is that as a member of ayllu Santa Ana and of the Hurinsaya moiety, Don Mariano gives precedence to these two groups. His spatial narration giving temporal primacy to his two primary groups of affiliation can be read as a mythical interpretation and justification of the group hierarchy within Accha. More interestingly still, it can be understood as an expression of the mythical memory of an historical event: that of the colonial creation of Accha. This was a tried and true policy that had already been used in the conversion of Ireland. 197 Don Mariano’s narration follows a centripetal movement through which Accha is perceived as built from the outside, which is consistent with the process of the reducción. Some of the place names mentioned (Waywakunka and Ullpo) are recognizable as pueblos viejos. It seems possible that the barrio in Hanansaya known today as Belén, after the name of its disappeared church (see chapter 4), might have corresponded to the localized settlement of the population of the pueblo viejo of Ulpocomara, reduced in Accha as ayllu Ullpo (see preceding section). Waywakunka (Guayaconga) is a place by a cave near the community of Taucabamba, above Pilpinto. It appears in Toledo’s Visita as two separate pueblos viejos, Guaiba and Cunga. From 1689 onwards, it is identified as Guayaconga, and as anexo of Hurinsaya (table 3). Ccori (1978) contributes interesting, information in the matter. He claims that Accha was recognized by the first constitution of Peru on November 1, 1823 with Guayaconga as capital. The law 683 of 21 November 1907 gave it the status of district, and recognized Accha as its capital, “apparently when its ancient capital of Guayaconga disappeared in the flooding of the Apurimac” (Ccori 1978:16). I think that narration too should be read as another story of origin involving a primeval flood (see for instance Guaman Poma 1980, Taylor 1980). It should be noted that both Don Mariano and Ccori’s narratives point at Guayaconga -- and its alleged destruction, or that of its church-- as the point of departure of the creation of Accha. I have seen no other mention of the flood to which Ccori refers, and the current location of Waywakunka is nowhere near the river. Nor is there any mention in any of the early documents on the reducción of Waywakunka (or Guayaconga) as “capital.” 198 On 21 November 1988, I was told by an member of Hurinsaya: “One hundred and sixty three years ago, this village was made into a “villa” by 198 The story of the creation of Accha, as told by Don Mariano does not follow moiety lines, although it does emphasize the dual hierarchy and Mariano’s own ayllu of membership. There is in his account an alternation between the two moieties that suggests a shared history: The place of origin is identified with an anexo of Hurinsaya; the second place mentioned becomes an ayllu in Hanansaya; then comes the main church of the Hurinsaya moiety, then that of Hanansaya, and finally the two Hurinsaya ayllus Santa Ana and Cusco ayllu --the story incorporates the totality of the extant social groups in Accha, and even one which has only disappeared within human memory. Yet outwardly the story is not about people or ayllus or moieties, but about churches and chapels. The church building is inseparable from the identity of the group, which comes into being when the church is built, and disappears when the church is destroyed. Simon Bolivar as part of the first Constitution of Perú. Eighty-nine years ago, it became a district” (Fernandez Vaca). Stiglich (1923): The district of Accha was created by Bolivar who also made urinsaya capital; Urinsaya made a “villa” by a ley del 21 noviembre 1907 . At the time. Hurinsaya had 1500 inhabitants, and Hanansaya 200. In spite of the confusion to whether it was made a villa or a district first, it seems clear that Urinsaya was the capital. CHAPTER EIGHT SOCIAL CONFLICTS AND FAILED REBELLIONS: IMAGES OF CLASS AND ETHNIC IDENTITY. In chapters six and seven, I have used the archival record to document the role of the Spanish institutions in the twin act of denial and invention of local identity. The vision that I have painted of a fairly simple dialectic between the oppressive strategies of the colonial powers and the tactics of resistance of the indigenous population becomes more and more blurred with time, when new categories come into play and the old ones become less easily recognizable. This chapter aims at presenting an historical aspect of this complex picture. I will discuss the underlying cultural discourse of the most important rebellion of the late eighteenth century, that of Tupac Amaru II, and the indirect impact it had on the life of Accha. I will use archival documents to show a vignette of the relations between the clergy, the local elite and the Indians in Accha at the time of the rebellion. 1. Destructuration and resistance. I have shown that cultural identity is both intrinsic to the relational basis of the group (see chapters. 2 and 3), and imposed from the outside (chapter 6). This contradiction gives rise to political processes of integration and exclusion which in the Andes can be traced back through centuries of revolts and rebellions in which the struggle for indigenous identity paralleled the fight for political freedom. The Spanish conquest served to transform the use of external symbols of cultural identity into a new imagery that was in turn used by the conquered populations in new political statements that incorporated the expression imposed by the dominant power (Urton 1990, Rowe 1957, Silverblatt 1988, Spalding 1984, Stern 1982, Scott 1985, Smith 1991). My consideration of the fabrication of a new identity hinges on the idea of the ‘implicit social knowledge’ (Taussig 1986) which underlines, rather than the existence of permanent cultural traits or historical material forces, the nature of the dialectical imagery that embodies the relation between an imposed cultural reality and its reinterpretation by the dominated group. I have made the claim in chapter 5 that traditional Andean society is based on harmonious disequilibrium of differences expressed in terms of the relation of the social group with the natural and supernatural environments. In contrast, the conquest and colonization created an unbalanced dichotomy through the artificial and superficial homogenization of elements -- e. g. the creation of the category of Indian by the ruling class (Campbell 1979, Piel 1970). Through time, the attempted dialogue (Rivera Cusicanqui 1984) between those conflicting discourses has usually resulted in two (often concurrent) responses from the ruling elite: reproduction of oppression or attempts at assimilation. Extreme cases of oppression are the massacre by the dominant powers of rebellious leaders and the suppression of cultural symbols. More subtle examples are the reproduction of economic oppression, known since Las Casas as “self-ransom” through coerced consumption and dependence (Rivera 1984: 18-19). The attempt at assimilation parallels the process of oppression. It can take the form of the appropriation by the dominant culture of the historical and mythical heritage of the dominated group; or it can mean the negation of cultural differences. 2 Rebels in search of an identity: Tupac Amaru II (1780-81) José Gabriel Condorcanqui, known as Tupac Amaru II, is described by Hemming as “the gallant precursor of independence from Spain” (Hemming 1970: 473). After the 1969 Peruvian revolution, the likeness of Tupac Amaru was the emblem of SINAMOS, the national organization for aid to social mobilization. Campbell (1979) comments on the use of the 18th century rebel by the Peruvian Marxist military junta, and claims that by making of Tupac Amaru a symbol of their political actions, and “by developing Tupac Amaru as a revolutionary hero and his movement as the first vestige of an antiimperialistic struggle uniting all classes and ethnic groups, the generals [hoped] to identify themselves symbolically with the continuation of the struggle” (1979:3). 199 This view was also shared by some of the most recent Peruvian governments. The APRA government in power from July 1985 to 1990 issued a new currency bearing the effigy of Tupac Amaru: the inti (‘sun’ in Quechua) replaced the old sol (same meaning in Spanish) as a new monetary unit. 200 Such a claim is also meant to counter the assertion by indigenous political movements and anti-establishment historians that the independence of Peru in 1821 only served to shift the actual power from the hands of the peninsulares (Spaniards from Spain) to those of the criollos. 200 As a sign of the rocketing inflation, the value of the new currency was also adjusted so that not only did the Inca sun replace the Spanish one, but it is also one thousand times more powerful. In this intelligent manipulation of symbols, Tupac Amaru, enemy of the Spaniards, was established as the link between the present and the glorious past, and, in those days of financial chaos, as a promise of a new economic order. Ironically, five years later, the government of Fujimori changed the name of the currency back to sol and was 199 This attitude of the government constituted an attempt to appropriate a symbol of Indian identity by transforming an ethnic relation into a political one, thus creating an artificial historical unity between the government and the Indian masses. 201 This process of co-optation by the dominant culture of symbols of Indian struggle was ironically delayed in Peru by precisely the same events --the indigenous rebellions-- that eventually became appropriated in this attempt at creating a national mythology (Pagden 1987). Moreover, there was a further shift in the nature of symbols through time. The Tupac Amaru rebellion of 1780-81, because its leader was identified with his namesake and ancestor, the Inca rebel executed by viceroy Toledo in 1572, symbolized the Incas and their fight against the Spaniards. When the name Tupac Amaru is used today by either a national government or a guerrilla organization (e.g., the Tupamaros of Argentina and Uruguay or the Movemiento Revolucionario Tupac Amaru of Peru), it is Condorcanqui, the second Amaru, that is being evoked. The figure of Tupac Amaru becomes a complex symbol (Inca noble, Indian rebel, anti-imperialist freedom fighter) that can thus be used, as pointed out by Lewin, by both masses and elites in and out of Peru (quoted in Campbell 1979). Perhaps because the expression of history in Andean traditional cultures is not necessarily linear, past and present epochs are sometimes conceived of as parallel rather than sequential. 202 Historical time and characters can thus be made to coincide and merge. Examples of such processes have been revealed by Zuidema (1964) who shows how several discrete individuals can be made infinitely more successful in stemming inflation. 201 A similar attempt was made by the Bolivian Agrarian Revolution of 1952, when the term Indio was officially replaced by campesino, thus transforming an ethnic category into an occupational one for the purpose of creating an appearance of national unity. 202 See Jacopin 1973 for a discussion of Western and non-Western time. into one single historical character, and how Inca rulers bearing the same name had common characteristics attributed to them. Kubler (1946) remarks on “the striking lack of formal indigenous cultural content” of the Tupac Amaru rebellion. He states that the philosophy behind the rebellion was culturally Spanish, not Indian, and that the Indians didn’t wish to destroy or displace Spanish institutions, but rather to capture them. Yet Ossio suggests that Andean indigenous ‘messianic’ rebellions, if they did propose a return to the time of the Inca, did not advocate a “return to the historical period of the Inca. In a society that was, and went on being ... predominantly oral, the past is constantly remodeled on the present, and thus is never perceived as being independent from the latter” (1973: xxiii). Furthermore, if time is conceived as a succession of cycles punctuated by cataclysms, there is no real return to the past but a structural inversion of the previous world. The idea of the Inca basically means ‘order’, regardless of any historical consideration, and as an ideological claim it must be understood simply as a return to order. By the same token, the Andean ‘millennium’ can only be seen as a rejection of the current order. The Tupac Amaru revolt was simply the largest and most visible example of several regional, multi-class uprisings against Spanish authority (Campbell 1979:4). The reasons for both the astonishing success and the ultimate failure of the revolt are contained in the nature of the system of exploitation described in the previous chapters. In fact, immediately after the end of the revolt, as part of the trial conducted against some of the alleged coconspirators, the religious and civil authorities of Cusco engaged in soulsearching attempts to explain the causes of the rebellion and the popularity of the insurgency among the Indian population. They put the blame squarely on the corregidor who bleeds the Indians, and on the priest who finishes them off: To see a corregidor extract from his province in five years, 200, 000 or 300, 000 pesos and that this fact should be public knowledge and be tolerated and accepted, wasn’t this bound to lead to violence? They have transformed the righteous intent of the repartimiento [distribution of goods] into the greatest tyranny. How can a corregidor respond to the charge of not adhering to the fixed tariffs? Well do I know the answer for I have heard it often, and it is that they wouldn’t be so well-off if they obeyed the precepts of their sovereign. (Letter of Dn. Benito Mata Linares, oidor del Cusco, 1793, in AGI Cusco 29). The ‘messianic’ character of a movement may have as much to do with the perception of the participants than with the personality of its leader. In addition, subsequent popular or political co-optation and reinterpretation may play an important part in ascribing a messianic significance to historical events. Yet some individual leaders, by design or through historical conjunctures, prove exceptionally suited for popular iconizing. José Gabriel Condorcanqui Tupac Amaru (1738-1781) was a mestizo who had claims to Inca, non-Inca, and Spanish nobility. He was a direct descendant of the rebel king Tupac Amaru Inca, who was executed by Viceroy Toledo in 1572. José Gabriel had also inherited from his father the title of Cacique of Pampamuras, Tunigasuca, and Surimana in the Bishopric of Cusco. The very nature of Tupac Amaru’s multicultural identity, his original appeal to the mestizos and criollos of Cusco, and the fact that today he can at the same time be part of the official national pantheon with the criollo heroes of national independence Miguel Grau and Simon Bolivar and be identified as Inkarrí in Quechua weavings -- where he is represented as a human figure drawn and quartered by four horses--, are indications of the complexity of the relations between the cultural identities at play. This multiple identity of Tupac Amaru II was in a great part responsible for the initial success of his campaign. He appealed to the nascent class of mestizo bourgeoisie, who saw in him a champion in their fight against the criollo and Spanish landed aristocracy and the crown, as well as to the Indios for whom he personified Inkarrí, the mythic embodiment of the generic Inca king. Throughout his campaign, Tupac Amaru gave his orders in both Quechua and in Spanish (Valcárcel 1970), in recognition of the dichotomy within his following. According to the make-up of his audience, in some of his addresses he would refer to himself as King of the Incas and emphatically promise the overturn of the Spaniards; in others he would talk in a more moderate tone of tax reform (Vayssière 1983). In 1780 Tupac Amaru began to lobby against the practice of mit’a or forced labor. This led to a personal conflict with Antonio de Arriaga, the corregidor of the province of Tinta, whom he eventually captured, ransomed, and executed. Tupac Amaru’s promise to end the mit’a and to reform taxes and the trade monopoly won him the support of a mixed crowd of Indios, mestizo and criollo traders and artisans, who started collecting arms, money, and ammunition. A week later, he was at the head of an army of 6000, that increased tenfold by the time he laid siege to Cusco at the end of 1780. But Tupac Amaru’s reluctance to attack the city caused his downfall and he was captured two months later, brought to trial and sentenced to be drawn and quartered on Cusco’s main square (O’Phelan 1988, 1989). Vayssière (1983: 51) claims that the 18th century saw among the Indian elite a resurgence of Inca dress and that “caciques would dress as Inca kings with the avowed aim of reviving the purest Inca tradition” . In his analysis of the rebellion, Campbell does not trace Tupac Amaru’ s mass appeal to the fact that he used symbols of his Inca identity or rank. Rather, he gives a detailed account of how Tupac Amaru “wore the dress of a Spanish nobleman, including a black velvet coat, a gold waistcoat, a beaver dress hat, silk stockings and shoes with gold buckles” (Campbell 1979:7-8). However, after describing the execution of Tupac Amaru, Campbell tells us that the Spaniards prohibited the use of Inca nationalistic symbols, among them claims of descent from the last Inca kings, hereditary caciqueships, the wearing of the Inca royal garb, the display of pictures of the Incas, plays or other writings about the empire, the use of Quechua language, and even of the ceremonial conch shell horns (1979:10). This reaction clearly indicates the determination on the part of the authorities to treat the uprising as primarily an indigenous rebellion, in spite of evidence to the contrary. We must give credit to the Spaniards and assume that the cruel execution of Tupac Amaru and his family and the ban on Inca symbols were not just to finish off the rebels, but rather were meant as the elimination of what the colonial authorities perceived, or wanted to identify, as a threat to their own established order. Thus, together with the description of Tupac Amaru’ s dress, the nature of the prohibitions that followed the suppression of the revolt also provides us with a sketch of the external symbols associated -- at least in the minds of the colonial legislators -- with Inca/Indian cultural identity. In contrast to what happened in previous rebellions (especially that of the Taqi Onqoy), in which the rebels rejected all things Spanish, we see in Campbell’ s description the elimination by the dominant group of the cultural symbols of the vanquished in reaction to the revolt. Pearse (1975) notes that during the Tupac Amaru revolt, peasants in Oruro forced the whole criollo population to dress like Indians and chew coca like them. Pearse rightly remarks that the regulation of dress in colonial society was a means of publicly indicating an individual’ s status and the accompanying rights and duties. Deliberate changes in dress either signified the passage of an individual from one status to another or implied the alteration of the social order itself (1975:138-139). Accordingly, after the demise of Tupac Amaru II, the colonial powers imposed the use of clothing that was derived from the dress of Spanish peasants, which the Quechua and Aymara Indians promptly adapted into the colorful ponchos and hats that have become associated with Andean cultures. However, in a pattern reminiscent of de Certeau’ s interpretative tactics, the distinctions that existed in Inca times were reworked in the new clothes, so that to this day it is possible to identify the place of origin of an Andean Indian by the color and design that he or she wears . Thus the attempt to impose a 203 homogenous Indian identity was, at least to that extent, foiled. 3. Tupac Amaru in Accha Accha was indirectly connected with the Tupac Amaru movement even before the start of the rebellion. The events that precipitated Tupac Amaru’ s actions against Arriaga, involved the priest of Coporaque, Vincente de la Puente. A man of great arrogance and violence, la Puente had antagonized his congregation and caused Arriaga to take measures that led to the ambush which cost the corregidor his freedom and later his life. It so happens that before being named at Coporaque, la Puente had been the priest of Accha, and had been forced to leave that parish where he had been accused of “disturbing the public peace” (Rowe 1985: 123; also Valcárel 1970 vol. 1: 615). However, as notes Abercrombie (pers. com.), the groups of identification are not necessarily the same as in pre-conquest times. This can be explained largely by the reshuffling of populations occasioned by the creation of encomiendas and reducciones (see chapters 6 and 7). 203 Later, perhaps because of its location on the way between Tinta and Cusco, Accha seems to have received several visits by the rebels. There is very good evidence that Accheños were not on the side of the revolt. In December 1780, Marcos de la Torre wrote to letter Micaela Batista where he complained that as he was passing in the area he was attacked by a group of men from Accha and Pilpinto, armed with firearms, who stole there mules and equipment and roughed up the peones (Durand Flores 1980-1982, Vol 3: 371). We know for a fact that Tupac Amaru was personally in Accha at least in one occasion: in March 1781 he wrote from there a note to one of his lieutenants Tomás Choquehuanca of Chumbivilcas (Durand Flores 1980-1982, Vol 3: 125). Around the same period, one of Tupac Amaru’ s lieutenant Miguel Anco, was also in Accha where he was accused of committing “many excesses, killing many Spaniards of both sexes, raping women inside the church, preaching and confessing, and immediately afterwards revealing the confession” 204 (Durand Flores 1980-1982, Vol. 3: 762). Elsewhere, Anco is accused of having killed three women in Accha (Durand Flores 1980-1982, Vol. 3: 125). On March 3, 1781, the villages from the doctrine of Accha are said to have been totally destroyed by the rebel forces (Durand Flores 1980-1982, Vol. 2: 233). Finally, in July 1781, José Antonio Arreche, Visitador General, sentences Miguel Anco to be decapitated and to have his head sent to Accha to be displayed on a pole in the most public site (Durand Flores 1980-1982, Vol 3: 774). This last information seems to indicate that the destruction inflicted on Accha was unusual, and for The presentation of the crimes committed by Anco is telling: the murders are made worse by the fact that his victims were Spaniards --in fact there is no mention of whether or not anybody but Spaniards got killed; the rapes are aggravated for having been committed inside the church; and other sacrileges are equated with crimes as murders and rapes. 204 that matter, that Anco treatment of Accha was also untypical: if he had done the same in other villages, why send his head to Accha? What seems to be clear is that the population of the village at large were probably opposed to the rebellion, although it would be difficult to say whether that opposition was a consequence of Miguel Anco cruel treatment, or perhaps a justification for it. 3. 1. Tomás Miguel de Otazú, tupamarista priest? The case of Tomás Miguel de Otazú, friar of the Order of La Merced and priest of Accha Hanansaya during the rebellion testifies in a very vivid way to the complexity of the cultural relations operating at the time of the revolt. The legal documents generated by the suit against Otazú make it clear that an understanding of the conflict cannot be reduced to a schema, however valid, of Spanish oppressors and Indian oppressed. The case against Otazú illustrates the relations existing at the time between Spaniards and Indians, but also between mestizos and criollos, laymen and religious, seculars and regulars, and judges and doctrineros. The conflicting relations of power between all those categories form the backdrop of the historical context of the rebellion at the same time as they allow an approximation of the way each group identified itself in relation to the others. The legal documents to which I will be referring in this section were collected in the Archivo Arzobispado del Cusco (AAC) where the archives of the Cusquenian secular clergy are kept. 205 The suit against Otazú concerns an accusation made against the Accha priest of participating in the Tupac Amaru The various regular orders that are still active in Cusco have their own archives, which are unfortunately not as accessible to researchers as the AAC. 205 rebellion. Cross references to that accusation can also be found in some documents of the Archivo General de Indias in Seville (AGI), collected in an extensive five-volume compilation of documents from Seville on the Tupac Amaru rebellion published in the last decade to celebrate the bicentennial of the rebellion (Durand Flores 1980-1982). In one of the chapters of a companion volume to that collection, the author refers to Otazú as a “cura tupamarista” on the strength of a letter from bishop Moscoso to the Viceroy, in which the priest is mentioned as “having expressed pro-Tupac Amaru feelings” (Aparecio 1980: 84). In contrast, the original AAC documents, which to my knowledge have never been studied, reveal the underlying political rivalries and conflictual nature of class and ethnic relation in Accha itself at the time of the rebellion and in the following years. Those documents also emphasize the extent to which the political and legal discourse of the time was in the hands of the criollo and mestizo elites. The actors as well as the authors of those documents were local representatives of those elites. Yet, throughout all this, the indigenous population of Accha in the late 18th century can be glimpsed at the periphery of the dominant culture’s carefully defined categories of identity. Before turning to the material of the AAC, I need to mention the first accusation of complicity in the rebellion, made against our priest in January 1781, that is to say during the rebellion, found in the aforementioned letter of the Bishop of Cusco to Viceroy Jáujegui. 206 In that letter, Bishop Moscoso y Peralta also states that he has ordered Otazú to present himself under penalty of excommunication. This order was apparently ineffective, because eventually January 1781, Moscoso a Jáuregui. Coleccion documental del Bicentenario de la Revolucíon emancipatora de Tupac Amaru, vol 1. “Documentos varios del Archivo General de Indias” p. 168, Lima: CNBRETA. 206 Moscoso y Peralta sent for Otazú to be arrested and brought to Cusco to answer to the charges. Otazú arrived in Cusco in March 1781, when Tupac Amaru was already imprisoned. From jail, Otazú immediately wrote a letter to Bishop Moscoso. He asked that, “in order to vindicate [his] honor and refute a false accusation” against him, a declaration be taken under oath of “José Gabriel Tupac Amaru, jailed for the execrable crime of lèse-majesté.” He demanded that the following questions be put to Tupac Amaru: First let him say whether he is or ever was friends with me, and on what terms, whether through personal communication or letters, stating where, how and since when. Also, let him declare whether he has consulted with me in his depraved actions and despicable intentions, and how, whether orally or in writing, and in the second case, where or who was the person who delivered the letter or letters. Finally, have him declare if I have, in whatever occult or extraordinary way, had any part in his crimes. (Otazú to Moscoso, April 24, 1781). 207 The questions were put to Tupac Amaru, although in a more succinct form, and the answers are found at the end of a long and moving confession made by Tupac Amaru two weeks before his execution, in which he justifies the rebellion by the mit’a, repartos, 208 and other burdens put on “nosotros los pobres indios” by the corregidores. After this declaration, in the presence of the Visitador Benito de la Matta Linares , Tupac Amaru was asked under oath a 209 number of questions about events of the rebellion and the identity of some of Coleccion documental del Bicentenario de la Revolucíon Emancipadora de Tupac Amaru, tomo III, “Los Procesos a Túpac Amaru y sus compañeros: 1.” p. 175, Lima: CNBRETA. 208 Mit’a was the forced labor, mostly in the mines of Potosi and Huancavelica imposed on the Indians. Accheños together with the rest of the province of Paruro were exemted from the mit’a (Gade and Escobar 1982); repartos are the forced sale of goods to the Indians. 207 his accomplices. The questions and the answers are very specific, and in several instances Tupac Amaru gave the names of individuals and the nature of their participation in the struggle. In turn, when he was asked whether he knew Tomás Miguel de Otazú, priest of Accha Hanansaya, “he said no, and that he couldn’ t certify whether or not the man wrote to him, because many wrote to him without knowing him.” (Coleccion documental, tomo 3: 224) There is no reason to believe that Tupac Amaru, who seemed candid and named names in this declaration, would have lied to protect the priest from Accha. Whether or not Otazú was a Tupac Amaru sympathizer, it would seem that the prosecution no longer had a case after that deposition by Tupac Amaru. This is apparently the conclusion the Visitador reached, and after a further period of inquiry, Benito de la Matta Linares wrote in July of the same year a letter to Moscoso y Peralta stating, “Nothing came up to disprove the good conduct and pure intentions of this exemplary ecclesiastic.” (20 July 1781, de la Matta to Moscoso, Coleccion documental ... tomo 2: 677). 3. 2. Other cases against Otazú The church archives of the AAC in Cusco contain several documents pertaining to this exemplary cleric. Most of them are legal suits against Otazú, starting in 1783, two years after the events related above. In this document, three women, Nicolasa, Marcela, and Casimira Otazú, identified as Otazú’ s This is the same individual who twelve years later wrote the long letter attributing the blame for the rebellion to the excesses of the corregidores, which is quoted above in 2. It is tempting to speculate that his interpretation might have been influenced by this meeting with Tupac Amaru, who makes very much the same point in his confession. 209 daughters, brought an action against him, accusing him of being derelict in his obligations to support them (AAC liv, 1, 6,1783.) In 1785, another charge was made by Bernardino Zenteno, employee of the parish, who claimed two years of salary due him by Otazú (AAC xxxv, 3, 59, 1785.) Then in 1786, Otazú’ s brother Vicente, a secular priest, and his sister Estefania, a Nazarene nun, brought an action against him for refusing to pay them the sum of 1,500 pesos each, as part of their father’ s inheritance (AAC xxix, 3, 69, 1788). In all of these cases, the judge ruled against Otazú. In 1790, a niece of Otazú started an action against him claiming the sum of 3,000 pesos for a house in Accha belonging to her that had been sold by Otazú (AAC lxxxii, 1, 10, f. 14, 1793). This case was still unresolved when Otazú died in 1793. However, the legal actions didn’t end with his death, and the unfortunate Vicente Otazú, who was his brother’ s executor, was sued by Otazú’ s successor as priest of Accha Hanansaya, who claimed that various objects of gold and silver, and even the baptismal font, had disappeared from the church during the tenure of Miguel Otazú (AAC lxiii, 1, 5, 1796). This impressive accumulation of suits against Otazú does paint the picture of a man not over-burdened by scruples, nor terribly concerned with commandments and vows. It is difficult to estimate how unusual such an attitude was in the colonial clergy (see for instance Juan and Ulloa 1978 [1826]). However, rather than to speculate about our priest’s morals, I would simply like to point out that an individual who seems to have been inclined to deceive his close relatives and staff, and steal from his own church, is likely to have been fairly unpopular among his parishioners. It is even conceivable that he would have made enemies willing to have him removed from his position. 3. 3. Contreras vs. Otazú The most interesting of all the AAC documents concerning Otazú is another suit, started in 1783, two years after the original accusation of complicity in the rebellion --and two years after the execution of Tupac Amaru. The accusation amounts to one of inappropriate behavior on the part of the priest. The action is brought by Don Jacinto Contreras, vecino of the village of Poccoray, doctrina of Accha “against Don Thomás Otazú, priest of the said doctrina for excesses committed both at the time of the rebellion, and during the exercise of his pastoral ministry” (AAC lxxiii, 2, 29, 79 ff., f. 2, 1783.) There are seven distinct charges: 1. On the 29 of April, on the day of the celebration of the Assumption of the Lord, Otazú singled out Agustin Contreras (son of the plaintiff) blaming him for the death of the rebel Juan de Dios Valencia [follower of Tupac Amaru], saying loudly that the said Valencia had come to help them; after wounding 210 Agustin Contreras twice in the stomach, which left the young man close to dying, he had him given 200 lashes. 2. For having refused to take arms against our people, he ordered two Indian women, named Isabel Ojeda and Antonia Ccapa, to receive 100 lashes through the streets of the village. 3. When Gaetano Parriagua asked confession for his mother who was quite ill, [the priest] refused to comply with this clear obligation, saying that he had to remain at home as he was expecting a letter from José Gabriel Thupa Amaru in response to the letters that he, [Otazú], had sent him. The presence of Valencia in Accha in January 1780 is documented (Coleccion Documentos... vol. 3: 589). 210 4. A cantor named Ysidro Oviedo was brutally and forcibly married [by the priest], with no other motivation than greed. [Otazú] drenched Oviedo in blood and blessed him against his will. 5. When Joseph Padilla requested confession for his wife, [the priest] refused and the woman died without the holy sacrament. 6. The Indians continue to follow their old customs, and they bury each other in the wilderness. 7. The state of ruin of the churches of Accha and Parcco is so evident, that if it wasn’t for [the plaintiff’s] contribution to the repair of the church of Poccoray in wood, Indians, money and other materials, the said church would be without a temple (ibid. f. 3). The charges seem to fall into two categories. There are two accusations of assault and five of failure to perform the duties of priest and párroco. The accusations of participation in the rebellion are merely secondary to those charges and their import nearly anecdotal: The young man was wounded because of the death of a rebel, the two Indian women were punished for refusing to take part in the rebellion, and the expected arrival of letters from Tupac Amaru kept the priest from doing his pastoral duty. Otazú’ s response to the accusation came through his lawyer. In an attempt to refute the charges, he wrote that the accusations were nothing but slander on the part of a mestizo, who held Otazú in implacable hatred as the latter was responsible for Contreras loss of his post of cacique. It seems that a few months before the suit, Otazú sent a denunciation to the authorities concerning the excessive brutality with which Contreras, then cacique of Pucaray an anexo of Accha Hanansaya, treated the Indians. This resulted in Contreras being relieved of his position. However, on the 15 th of July of the same year, José Pérez, canon in charge of the discipline (canonigo penitenciero) of the cathedral, provost and vicar general of the Bishop, ordered Otazú to appear before him, under penalty of major excommunication and confiscation of his property. At the same time, he sent to Accha a team of notaries and clerics to conduct an investigation of the charges. The way this kind of investigation was conducted was identical in criminal cases and in witchcraft cases. 211 A questionnaire was drawn including all the charges, and the questions were then posed one by one to the witnesses. The following is the resulting testimony of Joseph Padilla of Poccoray whose wife had died without sacraments --the fifth charge in Contreras’ s accusation: Concerning the charges one through four, the witness states that he has indeed heard rumors to that effect, but cannot testify whether they are true or not. To the fifth charge, the witness declares that it is false. It happened a long time ago, when Otazú had just become priest of Accha. The witness’ s wife fell ill as the result of giving birth, in the village of Poccoray. The witness sent an Indian Lorenzo Quispe to Accha to fetch the priest. But the Indian couldn’ t find the priest as the latter was in the anexo of Parco. However, he found Otazú’ s vicar, an Augustinian friar by the name of Sebastian Ayala, whom he asked to come and confess the sick woman. But for lack of a horse, the vicar could not come to Poccoray. Otazú only found out about these events on the day of the funeral. He expressed his regrets and said that had it been him, he would have gone on foot, and that in the future he would reserve one of his own mules for such eventuality (f. 17). From testimony to testimony, the other charges are clarified in the same way. It appears that the two Indian women were whipped and paraded through the streets on donkey back, not because they refused to fight for Tupac Amaru, but because they were witches (f. 18). 212 The same lawyers were involved in Inquisition cases as in internal church cases as this one. 211 Nor did Otazú ever mention awaiting a letter from Tupac Amaru. When he refused to bring the sacraments to Gaetano Parriagua’ s sick mother, it was during the days of fiercest fighting, and he would have had to pass through the battlefield. He did say that he was expecting news of the battle but never mentioned Tupac Amaru. The mother died the following day (f. 18v). The investigators located the Indian Ysidro Oviedo, married by force and drenched in blood by the priest. Oviedo stated that during the marriage ceremony, ‘he had refused to answer the priest’ s question as to whether or not he [Oviedo] wanted to be married. Consequently, the priest gave him a small slap on the face which drew a drop of blood’ (f. 19), and later, in order to foster an amicable relation between the witness and the woman, the priest proceeded to marry them, with the consent of both. Several witnesses gave similar versions of the case of Agustin Contreras, son of the plaintiff, who had allegedly been wounded and lashed in connection with the death of one of Tupac Amaru lieutenants. According to the testimonies, Agustin had indeed been whipped on orders of Otazú, but it was because he had ‘broken the head of a parishioner’ and stolen cattle. In the testimonies, young Contreras is variously qualified as ‘shameless’ (desvergonzado) and as a ‘thieving dog who steals cows from the Indians.’ (ff. 19v. and 20r.) The exact number of lashes varies from 30 to 80 according to the witnesses. One said that Agustin had been slightly hurt when a knife was used to take off his pants prior to the lashing (f. 18v.), but he was now perfectly healthy. All denied that there had been any mention of Valencia, the rebel, or any other supporter of Tupac Amaru. This in turn might simply refer to the use of plants or coca leaves or to other traditional practices that Otazú, as doctrinero of the parish, was responsible for punishing. 212 It is becoming clear that of all the charges, the whipping of Contreras Jr. is the only damaging one, and indeed, the only one that remained after 1 September 1783. On August 14, Otazú volunteered his own version of the events from Cusco. He had gone to the Contreras house to talk to Agustin about the charge that Agustin had ‘broken the head’ of Silvestre Ysasigas, one of Otazú’ s Indian parishioners. Agustin denied the accusation, became abusive, and threatened the priest first with a knife, then with a gun. Otazú had called some parishioners who were passing by and they had whipped Agustin. While the inquiry was going on in Accha, Otazú was being kept in jail in Cusco, and the order to confiscate his belongings had been carried out on August 14. Protesting the damage done to his reputation, he demanded to be allowed to make a confession ‘in verbo sacerdote tacto pectore’, that is to say under religious oath. This demand was granted him, and his deposition was recorded on the 19 th of August in front of Don Matias de Ysunza, religious prosecutor of the Real Audiencia of Lima, who headed the commission investigating Otazú. The same seven charges were put to Otazú, without, however, the least allusion to his complicity in the rebellion. He refuted them all, saying that he always behaved as a ‘good ecclesiastic minister and faithful vassal of his Majesty’ (f. 27). The true nature of the charge becomes apparent at this stage and testifies to the conflicts of power in the communities, to the relations between categories of racial and political identity, and to the limits of the authority of the priest: ‘Why’, asked the judge, ‘have Contreras whipped, when he is a Spaniard, and as such is under the jurisdiction of the appropriate judge to whom any such case should be referred?’ (f. 27) It is perfectly fitting for Otazú to give, in his words, ‘the lightest blow [...] to an Indian like Ysidro Oviedo when he was being deceitful towards the woman who is now his wife’, ‘a short slap that caused the drop of blood in question’ (ff. 27 and 39), or to whip two old Indian women under his jurisdiction. But to do the same to a Spaniard is a clear case of misuse of power on the part of the priest. To this Otazú answered that Agustin Contreras (to whom he had previously referred as a mestizo) might call himself a Spaniard, but in truth he looks more like a Zambo [a black African] and his behavior is perfectly shameless, he is the head of a gang of robbers, thieves, and highway bandits, and he never takes confession or follows the precepts of the church.(ff. 27v. 28r.). In other words, Otazú seemed to claim that young Contreras by his appearance and his behavior did not qualify as a Spaniard. 213 Two weeks after this deposition, Otazú’s lawyer, Alejo de la Vega, tried a different argument. In a letter to Ysunza, he challenged the legality of the accusation and its rationality: Only Indians are protected from whipping by Royal Orders and Laws. And yet, in spite of this, the synods of every bishop allow that they can be punished in moderation, within the limits of the usual 50 to 100 lashes according to the gravity of the crime ... Well, if this practice is permissible towards the Indians who are expressly protected from whipping by Royal decrees, what special privilege does Contreras hold that he thinks the priest cannot punish his excesses (f. 39v.) ? On the other hand, de la Vega also attacked Contreras for ‘except for the fact of his son’ s whipping, having invented crimes of the greatest gravity, all of them imaginary, and that are totally unrelated with the wrong that he believes to have incurred.’ He also accused Contreras of ‘slandering [his client] by The category of ‘Español’ might not be any more clear-cut than those of ‘Indio’ or ‘mestizo’ (see chapter 2, 2. 2. 2. ): There were in 1751, 65 individuals who were classified as ‘Españoles’ in a visita of Accha Hanansaya. Most of them had Spanish surnames, but some did not: the list included a Josefa Pomacondor and a Pedro Quispe (AAC 35. 1, VI, 2, 39, 1751). 213 making a number of false charges, not only regarding his pastoral ministry, but also, what is worse, regarding the horrendous crime of complicity with the rebel Josef Gabriel Tupa amaro, without providing the least proofs for those charges’ (f. 38.) Why should Otazú’ s lawyer bring up in his defense his client’ s alleged participation in the rebellion, when nobody else was mentioning it any longer? It looks as if, recognizing the seriousness of the charge of whipping Contreras, the lawyer used, in order to deflate the charge, the tagged-on accusation of complicity in the rebellion. This, I believe, indicates that Otazú and his lawyer were confident that this accusation could not be made to stick. More importantly, they may have decided that the judges, who had investigated the same charges against Otazú two years earlier and had fully exonerated him, were not taking this accusation seriously. This argument is reinforced by the existence of a letter signed by the plaintiff, Vincente Contreras, and apparently written in his hand, addressed to Juan de Dios de Valdivar, identified as the son-in-law of the corregidor, asking him for his support in Contreras’ s suit against the ‘adversarial kinsman of Thupa Amaro’ (f. 69). The letter somehow found its way into the legal file, but nowhere else in the document is there a mention of this allegation of family ties between Otazú and Contreras. It would be a mistake to think that in this case, as in the 1781 accusation of complicity, Otazú was getting lenient treatment from the religious prosecutors because he was a priest. Quite the contrary: one needs to remember that Otazú was a Mercedarian, and that those who judged him were of the secular clergy. Since the middle of the 16 th century, the seculars had been trying to regain the advantage they had lost by getting late into the business of evangelization in the Americas. In the 18th century, the power equation was rapidly changing, mostly for two reasons: the regulars were losing credibility, and at the same time the crown was increasingly lining up on the side of the secular clergy. The regular clergy, and the Order of la Merced in particular, were being accused of the same offenses that underlay the accusations made by Contreras against Otazú: exploitation of the parishioners, physical and sexual abuse of the Indians in the care of the doctrineros, and lack of zeal in the completion of their duties of education and catechization (Juan and Ulloa 1978 [1826]). There was between the regular and the secular clergy a state of war aimed at either keeping or taking over doctrinas and parroquias, first in Cusco, then progressively in the provinces away from Cusco. A sign of this process was visible in Accha itself. The first two priests of the original reducción had been Mercedarians, and Accha had been a Mercedarian stronghold ever since. At the time of Otazú, however, this was no longer the case. The other priest, the one in Hurinsaya, was a secular priest, Don Ysidro de Vargas. At the beginning of the rebellion, an unnamed priest of Accha wrote to the archbishop of Cusco, expressing his concern about the fact that he had heard rumors that Tupac Amaru upon entering a village would insist on having the priest open up the church, light up the altar and display the holy sacraments (Durand Flores 1980-1982, Vol 1: 157). The priest asked the Archbishop whether to refuse to obey the rebel, should he walk into Accha, or to give in to the demands of the rebel in order to avoid being harmed. Although the identity of that priest is not given in the letter, I content that it must have been the secular Vargas checking in with his superiors: it would have been very unlikely for the Mercedarian Tomás Otazú to ask the Archbishop for directives. The difference between this cautious attitude of the secular priest and Otazú’s alleged acts of fraternization with the rebels reflects the schism existing between the secular and the regular clergy rather than personal political attitudes towards the rebellion. One must also point out that this opposition between the two priests followed the lines of the moiety division. Other cases have been documented where the dual division played a part in the rebellion, with one moiety supporting the rebels, and the other the government forces (Cajías 1988ms) During the procedure against Otazú, the antagonistic aspect of the cohabitation between the two priests became apparent when the Vicar General José Pérez decided to name Vargas to the commission conducting the inquiry in Accha (AAC lxxiii, 2, 29, f. 3, 1783). Otazú reacted immediately to this saying that ‘by right, the judge commissioned to sit on any commission needs to be independent and impartial’ (f. 10). In consequence, it was the coadjutor of neighboring Pampacucho, Lucas Sorayo, who was named by the prosecutor Ysunza to head the commission in Accha. However, in some of the subsequent suits against Otazú, Vargas was regularly involved in the action on the side of the prosecution, either as a witness or an executor when he was entrusted to physically remove gold objects from the house of Otazú in order to pay the latter’ s debts. The coexistence in Accha in 1783 of one Mercedarian and one secular priest is an example of the process of secularization of the doctrinas in the provinces. By that time, bishops no longer had the official power to replace the regular priests with secular ones --as they did during the 16th century-- but could fill all vacancies with seculars, that is to say with people that would be directly under their control. A conviction of Otazú would have created such a vacancy. As he was awaiting judgment in the Cusco prison, Otazú must have been perfectly aware that he was running the very real risk of losing his doctrina, that is to say his job, his social position and his income. What the charge of complicity had not done in 1781, when the rebellion was still alive, it was unlikely that the same charge would achieve two years later. On the other hand, the charges of neglect of his pastoral duty, brutality, and misuse of power were both real and serious. Otazú was eventually vindicated after a counter-investigation of the Contreras. All witnesses agreed in their opinion that those indeed were Spaniards, ‘but of the lowest kind’ (AAC lxxiii, 2, 29, 1783, f66). Judge Pérez ruled that in the case of the whipping the priest had been justified, and sentenced the Contrerases to pay 50 pesos for ‘malicious slander’ (f. 79): Regarding the lashing that the priest gave Agustin Contreras, given the statements by the witnesses concerning the harm and the wrongs that he inflicted upon the Indians, and that caused the good-hearted doctor to punish him, whom I compliment for the way he fulfills his pastoral obligations, I declare sufficient the time spent in jail, and the suspension of his privileges that he endured for five months which more than punish him for his excesses. I declare that his property be returned to him, and that he should be set free and his privileges restored. (f. 78). In this final manipulation of social categories, the judge sides with the defense: Agustin Contreras, who was first identified as mestizo, then as a sambo by Otazú, is recognized as exhibiting the behavior of a low-class Spaniard and his punishment by the priest becomes justified for the good of the Indians. By his actions, Contreras surrendered his status of Spaniard subject to the legal authority of Spanish judges. He fell instead under the jurisdiction of the parish priest, just as Indians did. The case of Contreras vs. Otazú, besides this evidence of manipulation of ethnic and social categories, also exemplifies another form of conflictual relations. The abolition of corregimientos by Jáuregui in 1780 left a political vacuum in the communities that both priests and caciques tried to fill (Cahill 1984). Both were in enough of a position of power to benefit from the availability of extra income. Don Benito Mata Linares, the prosecutor who conducted the interrogation of Tupac Amaru and is quoted above as putting the blame for the rebellion on the corregidores, goes on in the same letter to describe one of the ways for a priest to generate income: [....The] corregidor may well initiate the destruction of the Indios, but it is the priest who annihilates him. At the death of a poor parishioner, the priest seizes all his possessions, his land and chattel, leaving his poor widow and unfortunate family in the most lamentable situation, and if this is not enough to cover the fee that he arbitrarily charges, he makes them into slaves. (Letter of Don Benito Mata Linares, oidor del Cusco, 1793, in AGI Cusco 29) Caciques also were in a position of power that led to the extraction of revenue from the Indians. 214 The position of cacique was the highest rank in the local indigenous hierarchy -- which might explain Otazú’s assumption that the Contrerases were Indians. Traditionally, caciques were exempt from tribute, and had control over the labor of the population. They were in particular responsible for organizing the mit’a labor, which could be an important form of leverage to trade and negotiate favors. Priests and caciques were therefore in competition not only for social control, but also for economic control, over the indigenous population. On a denunciation by Otazú, the cacique Contreras lost his social position and his The name cacique was borrowed from the Arawak language and used by the Spaniards to designate local chiefs throughout Spanish America. In the Andes, it replaced the Quechua curaca to designate the head of ayllu, moiety or marka. Neither term, curaca or cacique, is used any longer. They have usually, as in Accha, been replaced with ‘presidente’. However sometimes, as in Pacariqtambo, the term ‘segunda persona’ (second person, lieutenant) is still used for the heads of the ayllus, suggesting that the system was once dominated by a ‘cacique principal’ at the head of the whole village. 214 source of income. On a denunciation by Contreras, the priest Otazú nearly lost his. Whether or not Otazú deserved the qualification of ‘tupamarista priest’, his modest posthumous glory -- the inclusion of his name in Aparicio’s (1980) article on rebel priests (see above 3. 1.) -- was eventually due to the rivalry between antagonistic elements fighting over the economic and social control at the local level in the provinces. The influence of these conflictual forces was also an important factor in the Tupac Amaru rebellion and did not end with its failure. CONCLUSION: CONTINUITY, CONFLICTS AND COMPROMISES Before this last invasion, there had been one other occupation of church land since I’ve been the priest here. That was about three years ago, I guess. They just walked into the land as they did this time and started hoeing. I tried to argue with them, showing them, with the help of Dr. Frisancho (a mestizo from a hacendado family who has a law degree) the illegality of their action. That didn’t work. So I went on strike. I brought a chair and a table outside of the church and just sat there, refusing to say mass. Finally they gave up. ‘ (Father Sergio 08/88) So he just sat there, on that chair, at that table from 8 o’clock in the morning until 12 noon, day after day after day. And it was going to be the fiesta of Carmen, and obviously he wasn’t going to say mass. People were starting to say, ‘Let’s kick him out of the village. What good is a priest who doesn’t say mass? Let’s just put his stuff in his car and kick him out of the village. ‘ But I said, ‘Careful! A priest isn’t just an individual. He’s got a lot of support behind him. He’s got the whole Church. It just wouldn’t do any good to kick him out. ‘ So we took down the surkus and moved out of the field. The following day, he and that idiot Frisancho were walking arm in arm throughout the streets, feeling so macho...’ (Abelardo Fernandez Vaca 08/88) In conclusion, I want to evoke factors that during my stay in Accha directly or indirectly shaped the processual system of cultural production. One of those was the intermittent presence in the region of members of the guerrilla movement known as Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) and how this presence affected the lives of Accheños. The other factor that I will sketch was once again the Catholic church in the person of the village priest. Father Sergio was a priest in many ways very much unlike Miguel Otazú --a caring expatriate, believer in the theology of liberation-- but whose visions to better the condition of Accheños were oddly blind to the most vital elements in the lives of his parishioners. 1. Sendero Luminoso 1. 1. Fieldwork in a ‘zona liberada’ Between my first trip to Accha in 1985, when I was exploring the possibilities of fieldwork there, and my return in July 1987, the control post of the guardia civil had moved from the entrance of the village to Pilpinto, the locality on the Apurimac river situated forty minutes away from Accha. My official looking letters of recommendation from the National Institute of Culture were given a much more thorough examination than they had received at the occasion of my previous passage. I spent the final leg of the journey in a state close to despair as I listened to truncated news and ironic commentaries on the recent events. I remember that a mild mannered man in his fifties was being teasingly asked whether he now slept with a machine gun in his bed: I learned later that he was the mayor of Huillque, a small village half a day walk south of Accha and part of Sergio’s parish. In May, a group of Shining Path guerrillas had walked into the village, tried and executed two cattle-rustlers, flogged several wife-beaters and redistributed cattle. A few days later, a 215 guardia was found in the lagoon, dead of a knife-wound. This had occasioned the retreat of the guardias to Pilpinto and the de facto abandonment of Accha to the guerrillas. As an anthropologist planning to do an extended period of fieldwork, I was faced with several possibilities. The first that occurred to me was to look 215 Isbell (1992) reported that such actions are common Sendero tactics. for a different and safer place where to do research. However, I remembered the difficulties I had in selecting a site two years before and was not willing to go through that again, and further delay the start of my work. I had also had two years to start thinking about the theoretical issues presented by Accha’ s unusual ayllu and moiety structure and was not eager to give up what I thought would be an intellectually challenging situation. Another possibility was to see the new situation as another kind of challenge and redirect my research on the Shining Path itself. Yet I was concerned that an active investigation of the guerrilla movement while living in a village that it controlled would constitute a threat to my own safety and that of the people I would be staying and working with. Faced with that choice I decided to remain in Accha and stay with my original research project, which was after all the reason for my presence there in the first place. I could postpone making a decision until something happened that forced me to make a choice. It turned out that, over the next two years, I never saw a guerrilla --not knowingly anyway. From time to time, there would be rumors of guerrilla actions in the villages around Accha and of movements of Guardias and Shining Path at the limits of Chumbivilcas to the south. But, in keeping with the decision I had made, I never solicited information on that matter. 216 1. 2. Accheños and cumpas During my stay in Accha, the senderistas were referred to as cumpas, short for compañeros, ‘companions’. Ricardo Roman remarks that this name is That decision was reinforced in December 1988, when, on the birthday of Abimael Guzman, leader of the Shining Path movement, two of my friends working as development volunteers in a village of the Province of Apurimac were summarily tried and executed by a group of teenage women guerillas for having refused to leave the village. 216 less and less used in the sierra for the guerrillas and has been replaced with terms that do not in anyway suggest an identification with the movement: terrucos, senderucos, and --as a mock code-word-- sacos, for sacos largos, i. e. sendero luminoso (Ricardo Roman, pers. com.). References to Sendero Luminoso were often made in jest, as in the case mentioned above of the mayor of Huillque, children would be threatened with the cumpas, or men would jokingly warn each other to amend their womanizing or drunken ways before the cumpas punished them. I felt that for many, the guerrillas were just another threatening presence in a environment already full of dangers. Some, like my compadre Eusebio , preferred their presence to that of the guardias: ‘the 217 cumpas make mistakes, but they make fewer mistakes than the police’. This is not to say that the threat posed by Sendero was not real. In 1987 when they first ‘liberated’ the area, the guerrillas had a meeting with the village authorities, and I have no information about the content of the meeting. But they also visited the priest and he told me later that he had been warned that the movement had no policy against priests at the time but that could change: he should watch his steps. I suspect that the same kind of warning was issued to the village authorities. The presence of Sendero continued after my departure from Accha. The successor of the mayor of Huillque, the quiet gentleman in the truck-- was publicly flogged in 1991 and the same year Sergio had a new encounter with a guerrilla column during his annual tour of the anexos. On Easter Sunday of 1992, a large red flag bearing the hammer and sickle, emblem of Sendero, was unfurled on top of Siwina and stayed there until the following Tuesday when the guardias came from Acomayo (they had left This name, like that of several other Accheños mentioned in this chapter, has been changed. 217 there post in Pilpinto in July 1989) with great demonstrations of firepower and took down the flag. 1. 3. Victims of a foreign war The lives of Accheños were affected by Sendero in various ways. One of my young friends was drafted and while on leave in Accha told how his company had been involved in a clean-up operation and how as a young enlisted man he was put to guard the prisoners who looked, dressed and speak like his parents. An officer caught Faustino in conversation with the suspects and promised him he would “toughen him up”. The following morning Faustino was summoned in front of two of the prisoners who had been hog-tied and blindfolded, and ordered to shoot them point blank as they lay on the ground. Finally the Sendero presence also affected the village in a different way. Ironically, as soon the guardias abandoned Accha in 1987, Accheños became de facto terrorists for the mere reason that they lived in a zona liberada. They were being harassed at police check points and considered with suspicion when they attempted to conduct administrative business in Cusco. Once more, like in colonial times, an identity that they had not chosen was imposed on them by the dominant culture. As a consequence of the constant harassment by the guardias, and the real danger of being arrested and disappeared, instead of an exodus of Accheños out of the village, the reverse happened and villagers tended to travel less. Less of the village production was sent to the city, and people reverted to relying more on traditional networks of exchange and barter. In 1988, before the municipal elections were to take place, compadre Eusebio, a very active, involved and popular individual in the village told me over beer that his compañeros de base were pressuring him into running for mayor. I answered that I thought it was a great idea and that I felt his candidature would be an improvement over the current mayor (the Aprista hacendado mentioned elsewhere). “You don’ t understand,” said Eusebio, “I cannot do it. I have to consider the safety of my family”. “Surely the cumpas would have nothing against you?” I replied. “It’ s not them I’ m afraid of”, said Eusebio. “The day the guardias retake the village, they are going to kill all the authorities.” That year, no one ran for mayor of Accha. 2. Padre Sergio’ s questionable decisions 2. 1. The land invasion This work opened in the introduction with the account of the Kachaqkalla laymi and the villagers’ assembly that preceded it. On that early morning of March 1988, the presentation of my anthropologist’s credentials was not by a long shot the most important item on the agenda, nor was I the only unusual presence among the three hundred faenantes gathered in a circle in the middle of the plain. While I walked out to the laymi, and had my decisive encounter with Don Mariano, the priest and the justice of the peace had driven the five miles from Accha in Father Sergio’s four-wheel drive pick-up truck to resolve a crisis caused by an invasion of land belonging to the church. Every year, at the end of the rainy season, Father Sergio went on a sixweek horseback tour of the anexos and other isolated parts of his parish. During that time he conducted weddings and performed mass baptisms of the babies born in the past year. 218 That year, while he was away there was a faena led by One of Father Sergio’ s tricks of the trade that he related to me was that when he was asked to baptize a baby who seemed abnormally still, he would pinch the child to make sure he was still alive. Parents have been known to bring their dead children to be baptized in order to prevent their souls from 218 some of the Hurinsaya authorities --including my compadre Abelardo Fernandez Vaca, who was also at the time teniente alcalde [deputy mayor] for the village). The faena corresponded to a de facto invasion of some church land located in Achupampa, the vast plateau on the east side of Accha before the drop to Pilpinto and the Apurimac. It was a piece of land that the priest rented out to individuals who used it to grow wheat or beans, or potatoes to people who didn’t have access to laymi land, that is, mostly mestizos. The rent was one arroba per topo, which Father Sergio used to feed lunch to about 80 needy children on school-days. The plots were distributed by the catequista, who tended to help his friends. Renters staked their claim in the same manner as participants to the laymi : by drawing the perimeter of their plot and building a little border made of earth clods, called surku (from the Spanish for ‘furrow’). During the invasion, the invaders destroyed the surkus and turned the land into a fondo (moiety communal land) for Hurinsaya. This was at once the signal and the catalyst of the conflict between the church (in the person of Father Sergio), and the campesinos, in the persons of the invaders. By the time Sergio came back from his rounds, the conflict had escalated to include those perceived as collaborators and there were talks of not only sending Sergio back to France, but of firing the catequista too. 2. 2. History of the conflict Father Sergio says that the land had belonged to the church for at least two centuries. He had a document dated 1910 stating church ownership of the land, 219 which had been willed to the church in exchange for masses for the souls of the dead. Several years ago, he and other priests from the Acomayo wandering in limbo. region had a meeting and decided to put pressure on the Archbishop in Cusco to sell all the land owned by the Church in the communities. The argument was that as the priests collect the rent, they are put in a position of gamonales, of landowners. Indeed in Accha, such land is known as terreno del cura “land of the priest.” The Archbishop’ s response had been somewhat less than forthcoming. The solution reached for the specific land invasion discussed at the assembly in March 1988 was the following compromise between Father Sergio, the justice of the peace, and the president of the community. The priest proposed that the invaders pay him the normal annual rent, which would be used to feed the village children their daily school meal. People displaced by the invasion would have no recourse and be put on the waiting list for the following year. Then with the justice of the peace acting as notary, the land would be sold to the poorest villagers and the product of the sale used for the refection of both churches. This plan was subject to approval by the Archbishop and would be ratified by the village assembly at large. That plan obviously recognized the fait-accompli of the land-invasion, but at the same time reinforced the fact of the ownership by the church. The revised plan, proposed at the assembly by the president as “more logical” was to use some of the communal product from the laymi to feed the children, as they ought to be the responsibility of the whole community. This was the plan that was adopted by the faenantes at the assembly. All parties declared themselves satisfied with the compromise. But in fact, that resolution did not penalize the invaders, and There seem to be several ways in which the Church acquired land. Some was bought, some was granted (Pérez Rodriguez 1966), and some was bequeathed more or less voluntarily by parishioners (see Letter of Don Benito Mata Linares, 1793, quoted in chapter 8; see also Farfán 1942 for a contemporary description of the priest as ghoul). 219 would probably eventually lead to a situation where the people who occupied the land would refuse to recognize the claim of the church. In addition, the fact that the compromise reached proposed to use a surplus from the laymi to settle the priest’s demand is a clear indication that the invasion did not take place out of necessity, 220 but rather as a political act against the priest and also against the mestizos and other non-registered members of the community who did not have access to laymi land. 2. 3. Church land and saints’ land If Accheños had a problem recognizing the land of the priest from the land of the Archbishop, the priest was guilty of not distinguishing between that land and the land of the saints. I believe that his fault lay in the fact that unlike his predecessors, he was not concerned with making a living out of his priesthood. When Father Sergio arrived in Accha in the 1970s, there had been a hiatus of several years without a priest. Yet there was, awaiting him, had he cared to notice, a structure that made the church and, in part, the fiesta system mostly self-sufficient. I am referring to the structure of church and saints chakras. 221 Don Mariano provided me with a list of those specifically ascribed fields, mostly maizales, the product of which is earmarked for specific ritual purposes I doubt that this is an exhaustive list as it exhibits the bias of a member of Santa Ana and Hurinsaya. The distinction between the saints chakras: and the church chakras is mine, not Don Mariano’ s. For him, all those chakras are individual and do not fit into categories. See chapter 1: “potato fields are free, they are everywhere.” This system was probably inherited from the confradías (see Celestino and Meyers 1981; Lebras 1940). 220 221 a) Saints chakras: 1)chakra Santiago in Punapampa; 2) near that a chakra for chicha for Santa Ana, 3) plus two more topos also for Santa Ana near Oyaino; 4) one trigal (wheat field) for Birhin (Virgin) Purificada, planted by Pancho Vargas, the sacristan for Hurinsaya; 5)chakra of the Niño for Christmas, above Saccsahuaman; 6) chakra of San José, which has been sold; 7) Santa Rosa had a chakra of two topos in hacienda Bella Vista, but it was sold to a man from Pilpinto 50 or 60 years ago “and we haven’ t been able to get it back;” 8) Birhin de la Navidad also had a chakra that was sold; 9) Birhin del Carmen (Hurinsaya) has an apple orchard and a maizal in Tambo, 10) Hanansaya has a chakra also for Carmen in the same site. b) Church chakras: 1) Aceitechakra was given to the church by the ancients (i. e. bequeathed at death); it is located in Aya (Oyaino). 2) There is also a small Vinuchakra, near the chakra of Santa Ana, but it is currently being planted by the carguyoq of Santa Ana. 3) to 6) There are also four chakras reserved for the sacristans for their own use. 7) One chakra ‘del señor parroquio Salas’ which that priest used to rent out for profit (this has been sold), 8) and, near Oyaino, a trigal de la iglesia, reserved for the use of the priest, but Sergio was not interested, so it was taken over by the people. The saints’ chakras are given in usufruct to the carguyoqs of the fiestas. They might use the product of thechakra to make chicha and/or sell it to cover part of the cost of the cargo (see chapter 5). In contrast, church chakras serve for the maintenance and the running of the church: vinuchakra (‘wine chakra’, to buy mass wine), aceitechakra (‘oil chakra’) for the kerosene for the lamp that burns in front the altar. There are also chakras for the personal use of the various sacristans (one per church and chapel), and finally chakras for the personal use of the priest, that he may plant for himself or rent out. Father Sergio seemed to have overlooked the importance of those and over the years allowed several saints and church chakras to be sold. The priest’ s lack of interest in the matter, and the fact that he received a stipend from France that covered his personal expenses as well as the cost of kerosene, wine and so on, caused him to misjudge the economics and politics involved. Letting Aceitechakra, Vinuchakra, and the priest’ s own chakras be used for other purposes, created a situation that will be difficult to reverse. More importantly, the fields that he indiscriminately sold were altogether in a completely different category from the income-yielding land that had been invaded in Achupampa, which he was perfectly justified in trying to sell. By selling saints’ chakras he made it impossible for the carguyoq of those fiestas to assume the cost, and therefore, in the opinion of Pancho Vargas,the Hurinsaya sacristan, was responsible for the breakdown of the cargo system. 222 In the 1950s, when Don Mariano served as prioste for fiesta of Carmen, the highest position in the cargo system, there was one prioste in each moiety and more than twenty minor cargos. In 1989, for the whole village there were just one prioste, one torrero (builder of the bullpen see chapter 4) and one albarero who provides the rockets. 222 2. 4. One church or two? When Father Sergio closed the Hurinsaya church, all the saints’ statues and paintings were carried into the Hanansaya church, and placed alongside or underneath the corresponding images in that church. In consequence, the church of Hanansaya had two of everything: two statues of Carmen, two crucified Christs, two supine Christs in their shroud, and so on, which lent a decidedly surrealistic air to the already baroque decor of the church. When there was a fiesta, the Hurinsaya people would carry their image of the corresponding saint across the Plaza to the door of their church and prepare and decorate the statue there, while their Hanansaya counterpart would do the same to their statue in front of the Hanansaya church. Both statues would then be carried in procession around the Plaza de Armas on the shoulders of members of their respective moieties. The performance of church rituals in Accha between 1987 and 1989 betrayed the respective positions of the priest and the villagers and the extent to which they were willing to compromise. For instance, during the performance of Holy Week, Father Sergio would tolerate leading a procession on Holy Monday with the Señor de los Temblores (a crucified Christ) and on Holy Friday with the Señor del Sepulcro (a reclining Christ in a glass coffin) although he saw this as aberration: both logic and liturgy would demand that those saints were reserved for after the Via Crucis. But he categorically refused to have two images of Christ be paraded at the same time, judging that to be “nonsensical”, and, I would suspect, rather sacrilegious. He amended the way Holy Friday was celebrated in Accha before he came and now led a Via Crucis at the normal time (3 p. m. ) with the Hanansaya Señor del Sepulcro and the accompanying female saint, the Virgin de los Dolores. Then at 6 p. m., the priest would lead a ‘procession’ following exactly the same route this time with the Hurinsaya statues of the same two saints. However, for the celebration of Carmen, the major fiesta in Accha, the processions would include side-by-side the two statues of the virgins. The priest, under pressure form Hurinsaya, would also say at least one mass outside the door of the condemned church. I believe that the priest’s behavior betrayed the fact that he was not comfortable with the existence of the dual structure, which offended his understanding of the church doctrine, and his vision of what a parish should be like. The shutting down of the Hurinsaya church is the most obvious sign of that discomfort. The compromises reached in the above example indicate the limits of what the population was willing to accept in exchange for having a resident priest in the village, and securing his participation in fiesta rituals. 3. Imagining Accha: practice and history This thesis is an attempt at sketching the cultural history of the people of Accha, and the way they achieve and maintain a collective identity. I have shown that cultural identity in Accha is mostly determined by the perception and the expression of membership within a group. The actual nature of the group changes according to the context and can be at any one time one or several of the following: humans, Quechua speakers, Accheños, or members of an ayllu. The first five chapters of this thesis describe the mechanisms of production and reproduction of group identity as I was able to identify them. The next three chapters are my reconstruction of some of the historical circumstances that affected those cultural mechanisms. I have followed the path of “reverse history”, recently taken by Wachtel in his study of the Urus of Bolivia (1990), not to explain today’s Accha from its past, or to interpret its history in the light of its present, but to outline a set of the shaping forces and their impact on the community’s contemporary life. Since Marx, it has become a cliché to say that men and women are the product of a history they help create but do not control. It is undeniable that Accha was shaped by the Incas’ settling of various populations and by those latter’s forced relocation by the Spaniards. But Accha is also defined by Don Pancho sowing corn from the chakra Santa Ana through the streets of the ayllu, and by Don Mariano plowing a furrow in Kachaqkalla on a plot that is marked as his own by nothing except by communal agreement. That however should not be taken as a statement of the belief in historical continuity, nor as a claim for historical determinism --although I venture that Accheños’ wariness of Cusco has not changed since Huascar; nor has their anticipation of the first thunder at the end of July; the same faenas that carried faced stones to the tip of Siwina also bring tiles to the roof of the church; and the motivations that directed the building of two potato storehouses in 1989 were precisely the ones that led to the building of two graveyards seven generations before and of two church several centuries ago. The study of historical data dealing with Accha was meant to provide an intersection between local history and large scale (national) history. This anchoring of past events in a social reality that I was able to follow intermittently through several centuries, brought a different sense of tangible reality to the study of historical events and categories otherwise --in my mind-frozen in time, like the reducción or the Tupac Amaru rebellion. There are still people called Otazú who live in Accha. I generally believe that the material I have presented concerning the elements by which contemporary Accheños both define and create their identity (what I have called absolute and relative definition of the group, and the corollary emphasis on boundaries and centers) is valid for Accha in the time-frame of my study. The fact that those defining elements are expressed and created through practice and maintained through time (reproduction and transformation), both allows and limits their applicability to other spaces and other times. I must stress that the structure of practice discussed here is necessarily a reflexive one. I have shown many examples of clearly thought-out expressions of collective identity defined in terms of relative opposition in contexts of coexistence and interaction of multiple groups (building the fences in chapter 4), of linguistic and spatial boundaries (crossing the Huatanay River in chapter 3), of the knowledge of an Inca presence (the myths of Siwina in chapter 5) and of a Spanish colonial past (genesis in chapter 7). Ultimately, I believe that reflectivity is above all evidenced in the various expressions of the fragility of Accheño identity and statements of the necessity for renewal, reproduction and and renegociation in the face of natural and man-made challenges. At the beginning of my consideration of the impact of colonial institutions on Andean social systems (chapter 6), I quoted De Certeau’s (1984) assertion that strategies of domination operate on space, whereas time is the locus for tactics of reinterpretation. I gave the reducción and the creation of new villages as illustrations of the colonial appropriation of Andean space. I propose that indeed through time, some of the tactics of reinterpretation of the indigenous population (like for example the creation/re-creation of a moiety structure and the building of the second church) did lead to their control over space: that of the localized moieties and ayllus. In fact, all ritual practice is concerned with the control of space. The laymis have to do with agricultural and economic space. The ceremonies to the apus are directed at with the recognition and definition of ritual space. The symbolic mapping and claiming of social space is nowhere more acutely apparent than in the faenas of the cemetery walls and the church roof, and in the sowing of the little plaza of Santa Ana that metaphorically represents the physical and social reproduction of the group. Even the Via Crucis mentioned above in this section follows a path that amounts to the shortest possible circuit linking the spatial limits of all four parcialidades. It is, like the building of the fences for the bullfight of Carmen, a clear example of a ritual that stresses the boundaries of the distinct groups in order to emphasize their unity. But this control over space must be achieved primarily through time: whether the temporal sequence of the consecutive cargos that an individual must perform in his or her lifetime or the seasonal and agricultural time of calendrical rituals. The relation between time and space is nowhere more obvious than in the transformation of a spacial structure into a temporal one in the case of the organization suggested to the priest by the president for the faena of the Hanansaya church. Such a relation is also contained in the symbolism of Cacharparimoco, the space of separation for those who leave the village whether as a travelers or almas. Time and space are used both in the absolute and relative definitions of identity. I have shown that space, in the form of toponyms, can serve to anchor regional or mythic history, and that on the contrary time that unearths the deformed skulls of the Ñaupas serves to express distinctinctiveness. More than anything, I have been able to show that through historical accidents, co-options and the ritual maintenance of a complex processual structure, collective identity of Accheños is the product of both their history and their practice. GLOSSARY alcalde (Sp) mayor; one of the position of village-wide authority in Accha. almas (Sp) lit. souls; the dead. anexo (Sp) annex; hamlet that is politically and administratively related to a larger village or ayllu. apacheta (Q) a cairn like shrine connected with the apu and with travel. apu (Q) the mountain-lord; also used for a non-Inca lord (kuraka) and a male saint. arroba (Sp) unit of weight (about 30 pounds). audiencia tribunal; supreme court. ayllu (Q) variously defined Andean social group. In Accha, it is territorily delimited, centered around a church and organized in ritual practice in relation with or within other groups. barbecho (Sp) first plowing; fallow. cacicazgo (Sp from Arawak) cacique (Arawak) position of cacique (see). campesino (Sp) lit., peasant, since the Agrarian Reforms, refers to the indigenous population. cargo (Sp) lit. charge; ritual position of responsibility for a fiesta, or in the ritual-political hierarchy. local chief; used by the Spaniards throughout the Americas; replaces kuraka (see) in the Andes. carguyoq (Q from Sp) Individual holding a cargo. cayao (Q) second division in the Inca tripartite social system; foreigner, outdsider. cédula (Sp) legal document; (royal) edict. ceque (Sp from Q) a line, a division; an alignment of huacas. chakitaqlla (Q) Andean foot plow. chakra (Q) field; principally cultivated corn field in Accha. chicha (Q) corn beer. chuñu (Q) freeze-dried potatoes. ch’eqta (Q) a measure of land equivalent to 1/2 topo. collana(Q) the first division in the Inca tripartite system; elite. compadre (Sp) the general term for male ritual kin; compadrazgo designates the institution. comunero (Sp) inhabitant of a community. In Accha, refers to the Indian population, as opposed to ‘vecino’. consejo (Sp) town hall. corregidor (Sp) Spanish functionary who was responsible for collecting tribute for the crown. criollo (Sp) from ‘criar’ to raise, as in animals and children; the population of Spaniards born in the Americas. curato (Sp) parish. cuwi (Q) also cuy; Guinea pig. doctrina (Sp) parish dedicated to the conversion and catechization of Indians. encomendero (Sp) recipient of an encomienda. encomienda (Sp) grant in Indians that guarantees a set income in tribute to the grantee; the Indian population of the grant. empadronizado (Sp) n. and adj. One who is registered in the community, and therefore votes and works in communal labors. Same as faneante. faena (Q) communal labor done jointly by registered members of the group (faenantes). fanega (Sp) unit of weight and of land. fondo (Q from Sp) the land that is work communally by the 2 moietites. forastero (Sp) foreigner. hacendado (Sp) owner of an hacienda. hacienda (Sp) agricultural exploitation usually owned privately by one individual or family and operated with the help hired labor. hanan/hurin (Q) upper/lower (moieties). hierno (Sp) sometimes used instead of the Quechua qatay to designate a male affine. huaca (Q) a generic term for shrine or sacred object or site. informe (Sp) report. kuraka (Q) also curaca; chief of a local political and administrative unit (ayllu, marka, saya etc.); the term was replaced after the Spanish conquest by cacique. laymi (Q) general communal labor involving the faenantes of the whole community and the annexes; the site where such activity takes place. legajo (Sp) file, dossier. llacta (Q) village, country, place of provenance. maizal (Sp) corn field. maqt’a (Q) an avatar of the apu as a young man. masa (Q) team of 3 men plowing together; also an unit of area. the royal fringe of the Inca king. mascapaycha (Q) mestizo(Sp) indinvidual of mixed ancestry; nowaday connotes more a social class than a genetic group. mit’a (Q) forced labor, mosly in the mines, in colonial times. mitima (Sp from Q) also mitmaq; population relocated by the Incas. mochador (Sp from Q) shrine or place of worship; often used by the extirpators for huaca (see). ñawi (Q) lit. eye, source, center etc... ñusta (Q) Inca princess. pacarina (Q) huaca of the place of origin of an ayllu. pachacuti (Q) revolution, transformation of the universe. papal (Sp/Q) potato field. parcialidad (Sp) section, division. parroquia (Sp) established parish. payan (Q) third division in the Inca tripartite system: indigenous. phukuy (Q) a ritual gesture consisting in blowing on coca leaves before chewing; relates to the apus pleito (Sp) legal suit. qala (Q) q’ala, ‘naked’; someone who has rejected his cultural identity for that of cholo or mestizo qatay (Q) son- or brother-in-law; male affine; in-marrying outsider. reducción (Sp) the resettlement of the Indian population into villages at the beginning of the colonial period; esp. viceroy Toledo. repartimiento (Sp) the population comprising an encomienda. reparto (Sp) 1) forced distribution of goods to the Indian populations. 2) also sometimes distribution of Indians to Spanish encomenderos (see). revisita (Sp) inspection usually of the parishes by religious authorities. runa (Q) human. saya (Q) moiety. senderista (Sp) member of Sendero Luminoso, Shining Path. solar (Sp) plot or lot; corresponds to 1/4 cuadra or city block. suni (Q) high valley plateau. surco (Sp) groove; in Accha, furrow drawn to signify ownership of a plot of land. tambo (Q) an inn or a relay. taruka (Q) high altitude deer. tasa (Sp) evaluation; rate. t’inka (Q) libation. t’inku (Q) meeting, merging; ritual battle. trago liquor made by mixing industrial alcohol and water. topo (Q) unit of measure, principally of area. tucuiricu (Q) also tokoyrikoq, tokrikoq: overseer. vecino(Sp) neighbor, resident, applies to mestizos living in a village. visita (Sp) inspection. wachu (Q) furrow. yanantin (Q) two-bowled drinking vessel used at weddings and for Santiago. yunta (Sp) yoke; team of oxen. ˛ REFERENCES AAC: Archivos Arzobispado del Cuzco (Cuzco) 35.1, 1751,VI, 2, 39. Visita eclesiastica realizada por el sr. doctor don Juan Castañeda Velazquez y Salazar a la doctrina de Accha Hanansaya y provincia de Paruro sobre la vida y costumbre de los eclesiasticos de esta parcialidad y del cura actual P. Fray Joseph Suma, Mercedario. 28.3, 1785, XXXV, 3, 59. Demanda de Bernardino Zentano contra Tomás Miguel de Otazú, cura de Accha, reclamando su salario. 28.2, 1788, XXIX. Vicente Otazu en autos ejecutivos contra su hermano Miguel Tomás de Otazu, cura de Haccha Anansaya, por deuda de 1,500 pesos procedente de la herencia de su padre., 3, 69. 9.3, 1793, LXXXII, 1, 10, f.14. Expediente promovido por Doña Josefa Otazu, mujer legítima de Don Clemente Jose Frisancho, Abogado de las Reales Audiencias de Lima y Cuzco, contra el Br. Dn. Tomá Miguel de Otazú, cura proprio de la doctrina de Hanansaya en el pueblo de Accha, por cantidad de pesos que le debe. 28.3, 1796, LXIII, 1, 5 Causa que sigue el cura de Accha Anansaya D. Matías Alday sobre varias faltas que se reconocen de los bienes de su Iglesia por su antecesor el Br. Tomás Miguel de Otazu contra el Lcdo. D. Vicente Joaquín de Otazo, como albacea de su hermano el Br. Tomás Miguel de Otazo. 28.1-26-, 1783, LXXIII, 2, 29, f. 79 Autos criminales de capítulos seguidos por Jacinto Contreras contra Don Thomás Miguel de Otazú cura proprio de la Doctrina de Accha Hanansaya, relativos a su ministerio parroquial. .. ADC: Archivos Departemental del Cuzco (Cuzco) Libros de Tesoria Fiscal del Cuzco, N°1 1831; Extracto de Castas de Paruro Año de 1831. Tesoria Fiscal, Indigenas, 3, Paruro 1836. AGI: Archivo General de Indias (Seville): Cusco 29, "Causa contra varios.” 1783. Escribania de Camera 503B, Auto de la division de los obispado de Guamanga y Arequipa separados del Cusco 1614. Justicia 405 Autos entre partes ..... s/f Justicia 406 Antonio Villa contra Antonio Vaca de Castro, 1564. Justicia 408. “En la causa que es ... “ 1565. Justicia 419 Don Antonio Baca de Castro con Pedro Gonzalez de Prado. Francisco de Prado y otros sre ciertos repartimientos de Indios. Justicia 1077 Autos fiscales año de 1557 (en 11 numeros) N° 2 "con el lizdo. Baca de Castro del Consejo de su majestad sobre embargo de los bienes que tiene en las Indias.” Lima 199 (#37). Relacion de los repartimientos que el Marques de Cañete halo vacos al tiempo que llego al Peru y los que despues han vacado y lo que se entiende que valen por las tasas. s/f. Lima 1061 Reales cedulas de encomiendas, mercedes y pensiones sobre indios vacos: “Aprobacion de la encomienda de Quispicanchis...” 2 ff (1614). “Encomienda de Omacha,” 1 ff. (1621). “Alonso Nuñez de Guzmán” 2 ff. (1652). “Encomienda de Pilpinto“ 2 ff. (1650). Lima 1062 Reales cedulas de encomiendas, mercedes y pensiones sobre indios vacos Lima 1652La encomienda de los repartimientos de Indios de Guaro y cayaosripa y parcialidade de Guarochape y etc. Lima 1110 Mapas y planos de Perú y Chile #93, Mapa de Chilques y Mascas, Estante 116, cajon 35 95bis, Pablo José Oricaín. AGN: Archivo General de la Nacion (Lima) Derecho Indigena y encomiendas, Leg. 3. Cuad 46, fs 51, 1603 visita y padrón del Repartimiento de Cayautambo y Tauna..” Derecho Indigena y Encomiendas, Leg 5. Cuad 75, fs 56, 1623.“Autos seguidos por Cristobal Marca...” Derecho Indigena, Cuad 452, fs 56, 1791, N. 22565, Lima, Peru. 1791“Extracto de los tributarios matriculados en el partido de Chilques y Masques, por el Sub.do Don Manuel de Fonnegra, y el Apod.do Fiscal Don Bernardo Ramos, Año 1791” Abercrombie, Thomas A. 1986ms “The Role of Doctrina and Reduccion in the Reformation of Killaka Polities” Presented at the conference Reproducción and Transformación de las sociedades Andinas, siglos XVI-XIX, Quito, 28-30 July 1986. 1989ms Paper presented at the Anthropology Colloquium, Feb. 1989, Dept. of Anthropology, Cornell University. Ackerman, Raquel 1985ms The muleteer of the mountain gods: eschatology and social life in a south central Andean community. Ph. D. Thesis University of Cambridge (King's College). Acosta, A. 1982a “Religiosos, doctrinas y excedente económico indígena en Perú a comienzos del siglo XVII” Histórica, Lima. 1982b “Los clérigos doctrineros y la economía colonial, Lima 1600-1630”, Allpanchis XVI, N° 19: 151-172, Cusco. Albó, Javier 1974 Los mil rostros del Quechua: Sociolingüística de Cochabamba. Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. 1982ms “Pacha Mama y q’ara: el Aymara ante la opresion de la naturaleza y de la sociedad”. Paper presented at the symposium “Cognitive Patterns of Continuity in Andean Studies”, International Congress of Americanists, Manchester, U.K., 1982. Albornoz, Cristobal de 1967 [1584] “Instruccion para descubrir todas las guacas del Pirú y sus camayos y haciendas” edited by P. Duviols, Journal de la société des Américanistes 56 n°1, p. 17-39. Alcina Franch, José 1986 "La Cultura de Castilla y Leon en America: La Cultura Material". In Etnología y Folklore en Castilla y Leon. Luis Díaz Viana ed. Salamanca: Junta de Castilla y Leon. Aliaga D., Francisco 1987 “Astronomia y calendario Inka”. Actas y trabajos. VI Congreso Peruano del Hombre y la Cultura Andina, Lima 1987. Allen, Catherine J. 1981 “To Be Quechua: Symbolism of Coca Chewing in a Peruvian Community” American Ethnologist (1): 157-171 1982 “Body and Soul in Quechua Thought” Journal of Latin American Lore 8(2): 179-196. 1988 The Hold Life Has. Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, D.C. Almanaque del Cusco 1985 Almanaque del Cusco para el año eclesiastico, civil, historico, astronomico y para todo el Perú. Año 1985. Cusco: MAS-K S.A. Altamira y Crevea, Rafael 1913-1914 Historía de España y de la civilización española. 4 vol. Barcelona. Anderson, Benedict 1993 Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism London and New York: Verso. Aparecio, Severo, O. de M. 1982 “La Actitud del Clero frente a la Rebelion de Tupac Amaru”. Actas del Coloquio International Tupac Amaru y su Tiempo, Cusco 1980, Lima C.N.B.R.E.T.A. Arguedas, José Maria 1978 Deep Rivers , Trans.. Frances Horning Baraclough Austin: University of Texas Press. Armas Medina, Fernando de 1952 "Evolución historica de las doctrinas de Indios" Ann. de Est. Am. Tomo IX, 101-129. 1953 Cristianización del Perú (1532-1600). Seville: Consejo superior de investigaciones cientificas/ Escuela de estudios Hispano-Americanos de Sevilla. Arnold, Denise Y. 1988 Matrilineal Practices in a Patrilineal Setting: Rituals and Metaphors of Kinship in an Andean ayllu. Ph. D. Dissertation, London University. 1989ms "Somos lo que comemos: creencias en torno al incesto y el cultivo de la papa entre los Aymara del altiplano boliviano." Department of Anthropology, London University. Arriaga, Padre Pablo Joseph de 1920 La extirpación de la idolatría en el Perú [1621], H. H. Urteaga ed., Colección de libros y documentos referentes a la historia del Perú, 2a serie, vol.1 Lima: San Martin y Cia. Aveni, Antony F. 1981 "Horizon Astronomy in Incaic Cuzco" In Archaeoastronomy in the Americas. Ray A. Williamson ed. Los Altos: Ballena Press. Avila, Francisco de 1873 “A Narrative of the Errors, False Gods and Other Superstitions which the Indians of Huarochiri Lived in Ancient Times” [1608] In The Rites and Laws of the Yncas, edited and translated by C.R. Markham, London, 1873, p. 122-147. Bakhtin Mikhail M. 1968 Rabelais and His World. Tr. Helen Islowski. Cambridge: MIT Press. Barnes, Monica 1992 "Catechisms and Confessionarios: Distorting Mirrors of Andean Societies". Andean Cosmologies through Time: Persistence and Emergence. Dover, Seibold and McDovell eds. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Barriga, Victor. 1933 Los Mercedarios en el Perú, (5 vol.) Rome. Barstow, Jean 1981 “Marriage Between Human Beings and Animals… A Structuralist Discussion of Two Aymara Myths” In Anthropology, May 1981, vol. v. N°1 p. 71-88. Barth, Fredrik 1981 "Ethnic Groups and Boundaries" Selected Essays of Fredrik Barth, vol I: Process and Form in Social Life, Adam Kuper ed. London, Boston and Henley: Routledge and Kegan Paul. (Also as 'Introduction' to Fredrik Barth ed., Ethnic Groups and Boundaries, 1969, Boston: Little Brown and Co. Bartra, Enrique T., S.J. 1982 Tercer Concilio Limense, 1582-83, Lima: Facutad Pontifical y Civil de Teologia. Bastien, Joseph 1978a Mountain of the Condor: Metaphor and Ritual in an Andean ayllu. American Ethnological Society monograph No 64, St Paul Minnesota: West Publishing Co. 1978b “Marriage and Exchange in the Andes” Actes du XLIIe Congrés International des Américanistes, Paris (1976),vol 4 p.149164. 1985 “Qollahuaya-andean Body Concepts: A TopographicalHydraulic Model of Physiology” American Anthropologist 87:595-611. Baudot, Georges 1981 La vie quotidienne dans l'Amérique Espagnole de Philippe II, XVIe siècle. Paris: Hachette. Bauer, Brian 1986ms "The Rural Organization of the Inka Empire: Archaeological Investigations in the Region of Pacariqtambo, Peru", ms., Dept of anthropology, U. of Chicago. 1987 "Sistemas Andinos de organización rural antes del establecimiento de reducciones: el caso de Pacariqtambo (Perú). Revista Andina 5(1): 197-210. 1992 The Development of the Inca State. Austin: University of Texas Press. Belaúnde Guinassi, Manuel 1945 La encomienda en el Perú. Lima. Bermudez Plata, Cristóbal 1949 Catálogo de documentos de la sección novena del Archivo General de Indias; redactado por el personal facultativo, bajo la dirección del director del mismo, Cristóbal Bermúdez Plata. Serie 6: Colecciones de documentos, no. 1 v. 1, ser. 1. y 2: Santo Domingo, Cuba, Puerto Rico, Luisiana, Florida y México. Sevilla: Archivo General de Indias, Sevilla, 1949- : Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos (Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas) Publicaciones. Betanzos, Juan de 1987 Suma y narración de los Incas [1551], edited by María del Carmen Martín Rubio, Madrid: Atlas. Blom, Jan Petter, and John J. Gumperz 1972 “Social Meaning in Linguistic Structures”. In Directions in sociolinguistics. J. J. Gumperz and D. Hymes eds. 407-434, New York: Holt, Rhinehart and Winston. Bourdieu, Pierre 1977 Outline of a Theorie of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bourricaud, François 1957 "El Mito de Inkarrí" Folklore Americano. Vol 4: 178-187. Lima. Bradby, Barbara 1982 “Resistance to Capitalism in the Peruvian Andes” In Ecology and Exchange in the Andes. Lehman, David, ed. Cambridge: University Press. Brandes, Stanley H. 1988 Power and Persuasion: Fiestas and Social control in rural Mexico. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, Bravo Guerreira, María Concepción 1981 “L’ agonie de l’ Empire inca” L’ Histoire N° 33, avril 1981, p. 26-36. Briggs, L. T. et al. 1986 Identidades andinas y logicas del campesinado. Lima: Mosca Azul editores/Institut Universitaire d'Études du Developpement, Geneva. Brisseau Loaiza, Janine 1981 Le Cuzco dans sa région: Etude de l' aire d'influence d'une ville andine. Travaux et documents de géographie tropicale N° 44. Paris: CEGT, CNRS, IFEA. Brundage, Burr C. 1985 Lords of Cuzco: A History of the Inca People in their Final Days. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Brush, Stephen 1973 Subsistence Strategies and Vertical Ecology in an Andean Community: Uchumarca, Peru. Ph. D. Dissertation, University of Wisconsin, ms. Bucher, Bernadette 1981 Icon and Conquest: A Structural Analysis of the Illustrations in de Bry's “Great Voyages”. Chicago and London.:Chicago University Press. Burkholder, Mark and Lyman Johnson 1990 Colonial Latin America . New York: Oxford University Press. Caballero, José María 1977 “Sobre el caracter de la reforma agraria Peruana” Latin American Perspectives 4, 3:146-159. Cabello de Balboa, Miguel 1951 Miscelánea Antartica. Una historia del Perú antiguo [1586]. Lima: Universidad de San Marcos Cajías, Fernando 1988ms “Balance de los estudios sobre rebeliones indigenistas en Bolivia, siglo xviii” Coloquio historia y antropología andina: Balance y perspectiva, Centro Bartolomé de las Casas, Cusco, Peru, ms. Cahill, David 1984 “ ‘Curas’ and Social Conflict in the ‘Doctrinas’ of Cuzco 1780-1814” Journal of Latin American Studies vol 16, N°2, Nov 84 p. 241-276 . Calancha, Antonio de la 1981 Crónica moralizada del Orden de San Agustín en el Perú. [1638]. ed. Ignacio Prado Pastor. Lima: Prado Pastor. Campbell, Leon 1979 “Recent Research on Andean Peasant Revolts, 17501820”Latin American Research Review. 14 (1) p.33. Canny, Nicholas and Anthony Pagden eds, 1987 Colonial Identity in the Atlantic World, 1500-1800. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Caro Baroja, Julio 1978 Las formas complejas de la vida religiosa (religión, sociedad y carácter en la España de los siglos xvi y xvii). Madrid: Akal. Castelli, A. M. Koth de Paredes, M. Mould de Pease eds., 1981 Etnohistória y antropología andina: Segunda jornada del Museo Nacional de Historia, Lima: Museo Nacional. Castro Pozo, Hildebrando 1936 Del ayllu al cooperativismo socialista. Lima. Catecismo de Lima 1583 Catecismo y doctrina Cristiana en la lengua Española y Quichua, ordenado por la autoridad del Concilio Provincial de Lima, impresado en la dicha ciudad el año 1583. Ccori Castro, Wilfredo 1978 La Economia del Minifundo: Caso Accha. Tesis para optar al titulo profesional de economista. Programa academica de economia, Universidad San Antonio Abad del Cuzco. ms. Celestino, Olinda 1982 "Cofradía: continuidad y transformacion de la sociedad Andina". Allpanchis vol. xvii, N°20, p. 147-166. Chamberlain, Robert 1939 "Castilian Backgrounds of the Repartimiento-Encomienda". Contributions to American Anthropology and History, Vol. V, N° 25 . Washington D. C. : Carnegie Institution of Washington. Chevalier, François 1967 “Preface” in Gobierno del Perú [1567], Juan de Matienzo, edited and annotated by Guillermo Lohmann Villena, Travaux de l’ Institut Français d’ Études Andines N° XI , Paris/Lima. Choy, Emilio 1958 "De Santiago matamoros a Santiago mataindios". Revista del Museo Nacional Lima, T. 27. pp. 260-264. Christian, William. 1981 Local Religion in 16th Century Spain. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Clément, Jean-Pierre 1984 “La Naissance de l’Hygiène Urbaine dans l’ Amérique Espagnole du xviiie siècle” Séminaire Interuniversitaire sur l’Amérique Espagnole Coloniale, premier coloque, 4 et 5 juin 1982, La Ville Américaine Espagnole Coloniale. Paris: Service des Publications de la Sorbonne Nouvelle, Paris III, pp 109-130. Cobo, Bernabe 1964 Historia del nuevo mondo. [1653] Madrid: BAE, vol. 91-92. 1979 History of the Inca Empire Translated and edited by R. Hamilton [Historia del nuvo mundo .... 1653] Austin: U. of Texas Press. Collier G., R. Rosaldo and J. Wirth eds. 1982 The Inca and Aztec States, 1400-1800: Anthropology and History N.Y.: Academic Press. Comite Arquidiocesano del Bicentenario Tupac Amaru, 1983 Tupac Amaru y la iglesia: antología. Lima: Banco de los Andes. Cook, Noble David 1975 Tasa de la Visita de Francisco de Toledo (1571-1583) Lima: Universidad Mayor de San Marcos. 1982 "Population Data for Indian Peru: Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries." Hispanic American Historical Review (62)1, 73-120. Cotlear, Daniel 1984 “Desigualidad, derecho de propriedad y migración en las comunidades andinas: un estudio de caso de siete comunidades de la sierra sur.” Estudios Andinos, Año 2, No 2:235-287. Cotler, Julio 1968 “La mecánica de la dominación interna y del cambio social en el Perú”. Perú Problema 1. Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. Cusihuamán Gutiérrez, Antonio 1976 Diccionario Quechua: Cuzco-Collao. Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, Lima. Dalle, Luis 1971 “Kutipay o segundo aporque del maíz” Allpanchis 3: 5965, Cusco. De Certeau, Michel 1975 L’ Écriture de l’ Histoire. Paris: Gallimard. 1984 The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. De Certeau, M., D. Julia and J. Revel 1970 "La beauté du mort: le concept de 'culture populaire'". Politique Aujourd'hui. (dec. 1970) p. 3-23. Decoster, Jean-Jacques 1984ms “Foundations of the Andean ayllu” M.A. Thesis , Department of Anthropology, U. of Virginia. 1985ms "Ritual Space in Highland Communities: Cusco, Accha (Perú) and Sorato (Bolivia)" (Fieldnotes). 1987ms “Inkarrí in Exile and the Martyred Virgin: Myth Creation and the Integration of Political Violence in Present Day Peru” LAILA/ALILA 5th International Symposium, Ithaca, NY. 1990ms “Un parróco en el tiempo de Túpac Amaru: historia local y historia nacional en los archivos coloniales peruanos” LAILA/ALILA 8th International Symposium, San José, Costa Rica. 1993. Review of Andean Cosmologies through Time: Persistence and Emergence. in LAILJ Vol. 9, N° 1, Spring 1993. del Busto D., José Antonio 1986 Diccionario Histórico Biográfico de los Conquistadores del Perú. Tomo 1. Lima: Ediciones Libreria Studium. De la Torre, Ana 1986 Los dos lados del Mundo y del Tiempo. Lima: Centro de Investigacion Educacion y desarrollo. Demelas, Marie-Danièle. 1991 "Les croyances du Tambour Major. (Le journal d' un guerillero 1814-1825) In Thiercelin ed. vol. 1 p. 193-215. Desdevises Du Dezert, G. 1917 “L’Église espagnole des Andes à la fin du xviiié siècle” Revue Hispanique , Paris ,vol. 39, p.112-293. Diaz Gomez, Jorge and Wim Pelupessy 1987 Economía Campesina y Desarrollo Regional del CuscoPeru. Lima: Tarea. Dobyns, Henry, Carlos Monge and Mario Vázquez 1962 “Summary of Technical-Organizational Progress and Reactions to it” In Human Organization 21: 109-115. Doughty, Paul 1965 “The Interrelationship of Power, Respect, Affection and Rectitude in Vicos” In American Behavioral Scientist 8 vii p. 13-17. Dover Robert V. H. , Katharine E. Seibold and John H. McDowell, eds. 1992 Andean Cosmologies through Time: Persistence and Emergence. Bloomington, Indianapolis IA: Indiana University Press. Downey, Juan 1992 Réwé. Poem/Video Installation. New York, 1992. Doyle, Mary Eilen 1988 The Ancestor Cult and Burial Ritual in Seventeenth and Eighteen-Century Central Peru. Ph. D. Dissertation in History, UCLA. Ann Arbor: UMI microfilm. Durand Flores, Luis 1980-82 Colleccion Documental del Bicentenario de la Revolution Emancipadora de Tupac Amaru, 5 vol., Lima 1980-82: Comision nacional del bicentenario de la rebelion emancipadora de Tupac Amaru. 1981 La revolucion de los Tupac Amaru: Antología. Lima: CNBRETA. Duviols, Pierre 1971 La lutte contre les religions autochtones dans le Pérou colonial. “L’ extirpation de l’idolatrie” entre 1532 et 1660. Travaux de l’Institut français d’études andines, Lima/Paris. 1976a “La Capacocha” In Allpanchis vol ix, Cuzco, Peru. 1976b “Un symbolism andin du double: la lithomorphose de l’ancêtre” Actes du XLIIème Congrès International des Americanistes Vol. 4, Paris. 1984 “Albornoz y el espacio ritual andino prehispanico: Instruccion para descubrir todas las guacas del Piru y sus camayos y haziendas”. Revista Andina, Año 2, No1: 169-222. Earls, John Egaña, A. de 1971 “The Structure of Modern Andean Social Categories” Journal of the Steward Anthropological Society 3(1): 69-106. 1966 Historia de la Iglesia en la América española desde el descubrimiento hasta comiezos del siglo XIX. Hemisferio Sur, Madrid. Englebert, Omer 1951 The Lives of the Saints. London: Thames and Hudson. Erickson, Clark L. 1989 "Raised Field Agriculture in the Lake Titicaca Basin: Putting Ancient Agriculture Back to Work." Expedition . Espinoza Galarza, Max 1973 Toponimia Quechua del Peru. Lima: Edicion Economica. Espinoza Soriano, Waldemar 1980 "La sociedad andina colonial" Historia del Peru, tomo IV, El Peru Colonial. Lima: Juan Mejia Baca. 1983-84 “Los señorios de Yaucho y Picoy en el abra del medio y alto Rimac; El testimonio de la etnohistoria” Revista Histórica XXXIV P. 157-279, Lima. Fabian, Johannes 1983 Time and the Other. New York: Columbia University Press. Farfán, Mercedes C. 1942 “Costumbres indigenas observadas en Accha y Pampacucho. Prov. Paruro”. Monográfias hechas por los alumnos del curso de geografía humana general y del Perú, sobre temas de caracter social. Catedratico: Dr. Jorge Cornejo Buroncle, Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad del Cuzco, Archivo Departemental del Cuzco. Flores Ochoa, Jorge 1976 “Enqa, Enqaychu, Illa y Khuya Rumi: Aspectos Mágicoreligiosos entre pastores”. Journal of Latin American Lore, vol 2:1 p.115-134. 1988msPaper presented at the T’inku Meetings, Cuzco, 1988 Fock, Niels 1981 “Ecology and Mind in an Andean Irrigation Culture”. Folk.23:311-330 Fonseca Martel, Cesar 1981 “Los ayllus y las marcas de Chaupiwaranga” In Etnohistória y antropología andina: Segunada jornada del Museo Nacional de Historia, Castelli, A. M. Koth de Paredes, M. Mould de Pease eds. Lima: Museo Nacional. Ford, Thomas R 1962 Man and Land in Peru. Gainesville: University of Florida Press. Franquemont, Christine 1992ms "New Potatoes: Indigenous Knowledge and Agricultural Innovation". Paper presented at the Anthropology, Cornell University. Frost, Peter, and Jean-Jacques Decoster 1988ms “The Ritual of Karpay Ayni: Shared Initiation and Exchange of Personal Power”. Presented at the University of Kansas, July 1988. Fuenzalida Vollmar, Fernando. 1980 "Santiago y el Wamani: Aspectos de un culto pagano en Moya". Debates en Antropología, N° 5, Lima. Gade, Daniel 1982 “Lightning in the Folklife ad Religion of the Central Andes”. Anthropos 78, 5-6:770-88.* Gade, Daniel and M. Escobar 1982 “Village Settlement and the Colonial Legacy in Southern Peru” Geographical Review 72 N°4 p.430-449. Galván, Luis 1959 “El ayllu, base de una pedagogía indigenista” Perú Indígena 8 xviii/xix, p. 159-161. García, P. Casiano, O. S. A. 1957 Vida de D. Cristóbal Vaca de Castro, Presidente y Gobernador del Perú. Madrid: Ediciones "Religion y Cultura". Garcilaso de la Vega, Inca, 1966. [1609] Comentarios reales. 3 vols. Coleccion Autores Peruanos, Lima: Editorial Universo. Geertz, Clifford 1973 The Interpretation of Culture. New York: Basic Books. Gelles, Paul and Wilton Martinez 1993 Transnationational Fiestas. movie, realized and produced by Paul Gelles and Wilton Martinez. Gheerbrant, Alain 1961 The Incas, Garcilaso de la Vega. Critical edition anotated by A. Gheerbrant. Tr. from the French by Maria Jolas. New York: the Orion Press. Gibson, Charles 1948 The Inca concept of Sovereignty and the Spanish Administration in Peru. University of Texas Latin American Studies #4, Austin. 1966 Spain in America. New York: Harper and Row. Giddens, Anthony 1985 The Nation-state and Violence. Cambridge: Polity Press. Golte, Jurgen 1980a La racionalidad de la organizacion andina Lima: I.E.P. 1980b Repartos y rebeliones: Tupac Amaru y las contradicciones de la economía colonial. Lima: I. E. P. Gongora, Mario 1951 El estado en el derecho indiano: Epoca de la fundación, 1492-1570 Santiago. 1980 Estudios de Historía de las ideas y de Historía Social. Valparaíso : Ediciones Universitarias de Valparaiso. González Holguín, 1898 Vocabulario de la langua general de todo el Peru llamada Lengua Qquichua o del Inca [1608] Lima: Umiverisdad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos. Gow, Rosalind and B. Condori 1976 Kay Pacha: tradición oral andina, Cuzco: Centro de Estudios Regionales Andinos “Bartolomé de Las Casas”. Gross, Daniel ed. 1973 Peoples and Cultures of Native South America. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Guaman Poma de Ayala, Felipe 1980 El primer nueva coronica y buen govierno [1615]. 3 vols. J.V. Murra and R. Adorno eds., Mexico, D.F.: Sigloveintiuno. Guardia Mayorga, Cesar 1959 Diccionario Kechwa-Castellano, Castellano-Kechwa: Vocabulario del Chinchaysuyu y toponimias. Lima: ed. Los Andes. Guillet, David 1978 “The Suprahousehold Sphere of Production in the Andean Peasant Economy” Actes du XLIIe Congrés International des Américanistes, Paris (1976),Vol 4, p. 89-105. 1980 “Reciprocal Labor and Peripheral Capitalism in the Central Andes” Ethnology, April 1980, vol xix N°2, p. 151-167. Hampé Martinez, Teodoro 1979 “Relacion de los encomenderos y repartimientos del Peru en 1561” Historia y Cultura xii Lima , p. 75-117. 1982 “La encomienda en el Perú en el siglo xvi” Historica vol vi, N°2, p.173-216. Harris, Olivia 1980 “The power of the signs: Gender, culture and the wild in the Bolivian Andes”. Nature, Culture and Gender. C. MacCormack and M. Strathern eds. London: Cambridge University Press. 1982a “Labor and produce in an ethnic economy, Northern Potosi, Bolivia, In Ecology and Exchange in the Andes. Lehman, David, ed. Cambridge: University Press. 1985 “Las múltiples caras de Pachamama”. Presencia, 23 July 1985, La Paz, Bolivia. Harrison, Regina 1989 Signs, Songs and Memory.in the Andes: Translating Quechua Culture Austin: U.T. Press. Hartman, R. 1984 “Achikee, Chificha y Mama Huaca en la tradición oral andina”. América Indígena. Vol. XLIV, N. 4, México p. 649-662. Hemming, John 1970 The Conquest of the Incas. Harcourt Brace Javanovich, New York. Hill, Jonathan D. 1988 Rethinking History and Myth: Indigenous South American Perspectives on the Past. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Holmberg, Alan 1960 “Changing Community Attitudes and Values in Peru: a Case Study in Guided Social Change” In Social Change in Latin America Today, R. Adams et ., al N.Y.: Harper. Holweck, F.G. 1924 A Bibliographical Dictionary of the Saints. London: Herder. Hopkins, Diane 1988 "Ritual, Sodality and Cargo Among Indigenous Andean Women: A Diachronic Perspective" In Manipulating the Saints: Religious Brotherhood and Social Integration in Postconquest Latin America. A. Meyers and D. Hopkins eds. Hamburg: Wayasbah. Houdart-Morizot, Marie France 1976 “Tradition et pouvoir à Cuenca, communauté Andine” Travaux de l'I.F.E.A, Tome XV, vol.2. Howard-Malverde, Rosaleen 1986 “The achkay, the cacique and the neighbour: oral tradition and talk in San Pedro de Pariarca”. Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’ Études Andines. vol. XV, N. 3-4, p. 1-34. Lima. Isbell, Billie Jean 1976 “La otra mitad esencial: un estudio de complementaridad sexual Andina”. Estudios Andinos año 5, vol 5, N°1:37-56. 1977 “Those who Love Me: An Analysis of Andean Kinship and Reciprocity within an Ritual Context” In Andean Kinship and Marriage, R. Bolton and E. Mayer, eds. American Anthropological Association Publications #7, Washington D.C.: AAA. 1978 “Introduction to Andean Symbolism” Actes du XLIIe Congrés International des Américanistes vol 4:259-268. 1983ms “The Ethnographic Context for Acquiring and Transforming Andean Culture” Unpublished paper. 1984ms “Images of Domination and Rebellion in Highland Peru: Competing Ideologies of Violence” ms., The Wilson Center, Washington, D.C. 1985 To Defend Ourselves: Ecology and Ritual in An Andean Village , Prospect Heights Illinois: Waveland Press. 1991ms “From Unripe to Rotten”. Paper presented to the Colloquium Series, Department of Anthropology, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY. 1992 “Shining Path and Peasant Responses in Rural Ayacucho” Shining Path of Peru, David S. Palmer Ed., New York: St Martin Press. -------------, and Ann Fairchild 1980ms. “Moiety System and the Integration of Socioeconomic Space in the Andes” Presented at the American Anthropological Association Meetings, Washington D.C. 1980. Jacob, Jean-Pierre 1986 “Producción de la identidad y poder en el Peru” In Identidades andinas y lógicas del campesinado p. 205-213, Lima/Geneva: Mosca Azul editores, Institut Universitaire d’Études du Développement. Jacopin, Pierre-Yves 1978 “Quelques effets du temps mythologique” CIAM, Paris 1976, XLII, vol 2:217-232. Juan, Jorge and Antonio de Ulloa 1978[1826] Discourse and Political Reflections on the Kingdoms of Peru. Their Government, Special Regimen of Their Inhabitants, and Abuses Which Have Been Introduced into One and Another, with Special Information on Why They Grew Up and Some Means to Avoid Them (Noticias Secretas ...) Edited and with an Introduction by John J. TePaske. Translated by John J. TePaske and Besse A. Clement, NOrman OK: University of Oklahoma Press. Julien, Catherine 1982 “Inca Decimal Administration in the Lake Titicaca Region”. In The Inca and Aztec States, 1400-1800, p. 119-147. Collier, Rosaldo and Wirth eds. New York: Academic Press. 1987 “The Uru Tribute Category: Ethnic Boundaries and Empire in the Andes” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Association. 131 (1): 53-91. Kahle, Günther Keith, Robert 1965 "Die Encomienda als militärische Institution in kolonialen Hispanoamerika", Jahrbuch für Geschischte von Staat, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft Lateinamerikas, II, Köln 1965:88-105. 1971 "Encomienda, Hacienda and Corregimiento in Spanish America: A Structural Analysis". Hispanic American Historical Review 51:3: 431-446. Kessel, Juan van 1982 Danzas y estructuras sociales de los Andes. Cuzco: IPA. Kirkpatrick, F. A. 1939 “Repartimiento-encomienda”, Hispanic American Historical Review, XIX: 372-379. Klaiber, P. Jeffrey S.J. 1982 “Religión y justicia en Tupac Amaru”, Allpanchis XVI. Nº19, 173-186. 1988 Religión y revolucion en el Perú 1824-1988. Lima: Centro de Investigacíon de la Universidad del Pacífico. Koth de Paredes, M & A Castelli, eds. 1978 Etnohistoria y antropologia andina (Primera jornada) Lima: Museo Nacional de Historia. Kristeva, Julia 1967 "Bakhtine, le mot, le dialogue et le roman". Critique No 329 (avril 1967). Kubler, George 1946 “The Quechua in the Colonial World” In Handbook of South American Indians, J. Steward ed. 1946-50. Washington D.C.: Smithsonian Institution. Lara, Jesus 1978 Diccionario Qhëshwa-Castellano Castellano-Qhëshwa seg. ed. La Paz-Cochabamba. Las Casas, Bartolomé de 1992[1552] A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies Edited and translated by Nigel Griffin, with an introduction by Anthony Pagden. London: Penguin. Lavallé, Bernard 1979 "Las «Doctrinas» de frailes como reveladoras de incipiente criollismo sudamicano." Ann. Est. Amer. XXXVI: 447-465, Seville. 1982 "Las doctrinas de indígenas como núcleos de explotación colonial (Lima, 1600-1630)." Allpanchis XVI, N° 19: 151-172. Lehman, David, ed. 1982 Ecology and Exchange in the Andes. Cambridge: University Press. Levillier, Roberto 1942 Don Francisco de Toledo, supremo organizador del Perú: su vida y su obra (1515-1582), Tomo 3: La Historia Indica de Sarmiento de Gamboa que el mando escribir cotejada con los comentarios de Garcilosa y otras cronicas (Con un mapa del Imperio Incaico), Buenos Aires: Colección de publicaciones historicas.de la biblioteca del congreso Argentino. 1946 El imperio incaico: Descripción de sus divisiones, montañas y caminos, nómina de tribus. Buenos Aires, Argentina: Espasa-Calpe. Lévi-Strauss, Claude 1956 “Les organisations dualistes existent-elles?”, Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 112: 99-128. 1963 Structural Anthropology [1958] Translated from the French by Claire Jacobson and Brooke Grundfest Schoepf. London: Penguin. Lira, Jorge A. 1944 Diccionario Kkechuwa-Español. Tucumán: Instituto de Historia, Liguistica y Folklore. Lisson-Chavez, E. 1943- 1956 La Iglesia de España en el Perú. Colección de documentos para la historia de la Iglesia en el Perú 5. vol., Sevilla. Lobo, Susan 1982 A House of My Own : Social organization in the Squatter Settlements of Lima Peru, Tucson, Arizona: Univ. of Arizona Press. Lockhart, James 1969 "Encomienda and Hacienda: the Evolution of the Great Estate in the Spanish Indies" Hispanic American Historical Review, 49:3 p. 411-429. 1972 The Men of Cajamarca. Austin: University of Texas Press. Lohmann Villena, Guillermo 1956 "Las compañias de gentilshombres, lanzas y arcabuces de la guardia del Peru". Anuario de Estudios Americanos XIII, 1956, p: 141-215. 1957 El corregidor de Indios en el Perú bajo los Austrias. Madrid: Ediciones Cultura Hispanica. 1967 “Étude préliminaire” in Gobierno del Perú [1567], Juan de Matienzo, edited and annotated by Guillermo Lohmann Villena, Travaux de l’ Institut Français d’ Études Andines N° XI Paris/Lima, pp. III-XLIX. Lopez, Justiniano 1927 Indios y venados. Lima Málaga Medina, Alejandro 1974 “Las reducciones en el Perú durante el gobierno del Virrey Toledo” Anuario de Estudios Americanos (Seville) 31: 819-842. (Also in Kollasuyu, Revista de Estudios Bolivianos N° 87, 1973-74, p. 43-71). 1975 "Consideraciones económicas sobre la visita de la provincia de Arequipa." In Tasa de la visita general de Francisco de Toledo. Ed.N. D. Cook. Lima: U. N. M. S. M. 1989 Reducciones Toledanas en Arequipa (Pueblos Tradicionales) Arequipa: Publiunsa. Mariátegui, José Carlos 1965 Siete ensayos de interpretacion de la realidad peruana Lima, Peru: Amauta [1928]. Martinez, Gabriel 1980 “Paisajes y Pensamiento” Unpublished M.A. Thesis, Universidad Catolica, Lima, Peru. 1983 “Los dioses de los cerros en los Andes”. Journal de la société des Américanistes, vol. lxix, Paris 1983 p. 85-116. Matienzo, Juan de 1967 Gobierno del Perú [1567]. ed. and annotated by Guillermo Lohmann Villena, Travaux de l’ Institut Français d’ Études Andines N° XI , Paris/Lima. Matos Mar, José. 1976 Yanaconaje y reforma agraria en el Perú. Peru Problema 15. Lima: Instituto de estudios peruanos. Matos Mar, José, ed. 1958 Las actuales comunidades de indígenas: Huarochíri en 1955. Lima, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Serie Monografías etnológicas 1. ----------and Fernando Fuenzalida V. 1976 “Proceso de la sociedad rural” in Hacienda, comunidad y campesinado en el Perú. J. Matos Mar ed. Perú Problema 3. Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. Maurtua, Victor M. 1906 Juicio de Limites entre Perú y Bolivia: Prueba Peruana. Tomo primero: virrenato peruano. Barcelona: Heinrich y comp. Mayer, Enrique 1977 “Beyond the Nuclear Family” In Andean Kinship and Marriage, R. Bolton and E. Mayer, eds.American Anthropological Association Publications #7, Washington D.C.:AAA. 1989 "Steps Towards a coherent Policy for Andean Agriculture", Development Alternatives, Inc., Washington D.C. Means, Philip Ainsworth 1964 Ancient Civilizations of theAndes. [1931] New York: Gordian Press. Meisch, Lynn 1984 A Traveller’s Guide to El Dorado and the Inca Empire (Revised Edition) New York: Penguin. Mercurio Peruano 1964-[1791] “Razones Físicas”, Mercurio Peruano, vol 1, n° 14, p. 126. Lima: Biblioteca Nacional del Peru. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice 1953 Eloge de la Philosophie. Paris: Gallimard. Mesa, Roberto 1989 “La colonización del Perú: una perspectiva Española” Cuaduernos hispanoamericanos, julio-agusto 1989, N°469-470, p.7-41. Métraux, Alfred 1967 “Fêtes religieuses et développement communautaire dans la région andine” In Religion et magies indiennes d’Amérique du Sud Paris: NRF. Meyerson, Julia 1990 ‘Tambo: Life in an Andean Village Austin: University of Texas Press. Molina, Cristóbal de (el Cuzqueño) 1959 Relación de las fábulas y ritos de los Incas, [1573] E. Morales ed. Buenos Aires: Futuro p.132-141. Molinié-Fioravanti, Antoinette 1975 “Contribution a l’étude des sociétés étagées des Andes: la vallée de Yucay (Pérou)” In Études Rurales N°57 p. 35-59 1982 La Vallée Sacrée des Andes. Paris: Société d’Éthnographie 1988 “Sanglantes et fertiles frontières: à propos des batailles rituelles andines”. Journal de la Société des Américanistes 74 p. 48-70. Montesinos, Fernando 1920 Memorias antiguas historiales del Peru. [1644] translated and edited by P. A. Means. London: Hakluyt Sociey. Moreno F. Manuel 1983 La Historía como arma, y otros estudios sobre esclavos, ingenios and plantaciones. Barcelona: Editorial crítica. Morisette, J and L. Racine 1973 “La hiérarchie des Wamamis: essai sur la pensée classificatoire quechua” In Signes et languages: Recherche amérindienne au Québec vol iii, 1-3, p.167-188. Murra, John V. 1964 "Una apreciación etnológica de la Visita." En Visita hecha a la Provincia de Chucuito por Garci Diez de San Miguel. Casa de la Cultura, Lima. 1968a “An Aymara Kingdom in 1567” Ethnohistory 15 p.115-151 1968b “La papa, el maíz y los ritos agricolas del Tawantinsuyu”. Amaru N°8 , oct-dec. 1968, Lima, p.58-62. 1972 "El 'Control Vertical' de un máximo de pisos ecológicos en la economía de las sociedades andinas” In Visita hecha a la provincia Leon de Huanuco en 1562 por Iñigo Ortiz de Zuñiga Visitador, , J.V. Murra ed. Huanuco: Universidad nacional Hermillo Valdizan, tomo 2 p. 429-468. 1973 “Rite and Crop in the Inca State” In Peoples and Cultures of Native South America D. Gross ed. [first published in Culture and History, S. Diamond ed. 1960]. 1975 Formaciones económicas y politicas del mundo andin Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. 1980 The Economic Organization of the Inca State. Greenwich: J.A.I. Press. 1984 "Andean Societies", In Annual Review of Anthropology 13: 119-141. Murúa, Martin de 1925 Historia del origen y genealogía real de los reyes Incas del Perú, de sus hechos , de sus hechos, costumbres, trajes y manera de gobierno. [1590] Ed. H. H. Urteaga and C. A. Romero. Col. Libr. Doc. Ref. Hist. Perú, 2a serie, vol. 4. and 5. Nash, June 1979 We Eat the Mines and the Mines Eat Us: Dependency and Exploitation in Bolivian Tin Mines. New York: Columbia University Press. Needham, Rodney 1973 Right and Left: Essays on Dual Symbolic Classification. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Nickel, Cheryl A. 1984ms “Carved Vectors, Woven Boundaries” ms., Department of Anthropology, Cornell University, 1984. Nuñez del Prado, Juan Victor 1974 “The Supernatural World of the Quechua of Southern Peru as Seen from the Community of Qotobamba” In Native South America: Ethnology of the Least Known Continent, Patricia Lyons. Boston and Toronto: Little Brown. ----------------- and Lydia Murillo V., 1988ms “El sacerdio Andino actual” Paper presented at the Americanists Meeting Amsterdam 1988. Nuttall, Zelia 1921-1922 "Royal Ordinances concerning the laying out of new towns (1573)" Hispanic American Historical Review N°4, 1921, p. 743-753, N°5, 1922, p. 249-254. O’Phelan, Scarlett 1988 Un siglo de rebeliones anticoloniales: Peru y Bolivia 17001783. Cusco: Centro Las Casas. 1989 “Un siglo de rebeldía anticolonial”. in Encuentros: Historia y movimientos sociales en el Peru. C. Arroyo ed. Lima: MemoriAngosta Ortiz Rescaniere, Alejandro 1973 De Adaneva a Inkarrí: una visión indígena del Perú Lima: INIDE. Ossio, Juan. 1973 Ideologia messianica del mundo andino, Lima, Peru: Edicion de Ignacio Prado Pastor Overgaard, L. 1987 “Identity Formation in Spanish America” in Colonial Identity in the Atlantic World, 1500-1800. Canny, Nicholas and Anthony Pagden eds, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Pachacuti Yamqui Salcamaygua, Joan de Santa Cruz 1950[1613] Relacion de Antiguedades deste reyno del Perú. In Tres Relaciones Peruanas. Asuncion del Paraguay: Editorial Guarania. Pagden, Anthony 1982 The Fall of Natural Man. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge Unversity Press. 1987 “Colonial Identity in the Atlantic World”. in Colonial Identity in the Atlantic World, 1500-1800. Nicholas Canny and Anthony Pagden eds, Princeton: Princeton University Press. 1990 Spanish Imperialism and the Political Imagination: Studies in European and Spanish-American Social and Political Theory. New Haven; Yale University Press. 1992 "Fabricating Identity in Spanish America". History Today, v. 42 (May 1992) p. 44-49. Palma, Ricardo 1952 Tradiciones Peruanas. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe S.A. Palomino Flores, Salvador 1968 “La cruz en los Andes” In Amaru 8, Lima, p.63-68. 1971 “Duality in the Sociocultural Organization of Several Andean Populations” Folk 13, p.65-88. Patterson, Thomas C. 1991 The Inca Empire. New York/Oxford: Berg. Paz Soldan, Mariano Felipe 1877 Diccionario geografico estadistico del Perú contiene ademas la etimología aymara y quechua de las principales poblaciones, lagos, rios cerros. Lima: Impreta del Estado. Pearse, Andrew 1975 The Latin American Peasant Cass: London. Perez Bocanegra, Juan 1631 Ritual formulario e institución de curas, para administrar a los naturales de este Reyno los santos sacramentos del Baptismo, Confirmacion, eucarista y viatico, penitencia extreauncion, y matrimonio cn advertencias muy necesarias. Lima 1631. Pérez Rodriguez, Pedro N. (O. de M.) 1966 Historia de las misiones Mercedarias en América. Madrid. Piel, Jean Platt, Tristan 1970 “The Place of the Peasantry in the National Life of Peru in the Nineteenth Century” In Past and Present 46, p.108-133. 1978 Symétries en mirroir: le concept de Yanantin chez les Machas de Bolivie”. Annales ESC No 33 vol. 5-6: 1081-1107. 1982a Estado Boliviano e ayllu andino: tierra y tributo en el Norte de Potosí Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. 1982b “The Role of the Andean ayllu in the Reproduction of Petty Commodity Regime in Northern Potosi (Bolivia)” In Ecology and Exchange in the Andes. Lehman, David, ed. Cambridge: University Press. 1986 “Mirrors and Maize: the Concept of Yanantin among the Macha of Bolivia” In Anthropological History of Andean Polities , J.V. Murra,N. Wachtel and J. Revel eds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press p.228-259 (Traduction of 1978). 1987a "The Andean experience of Bolivian Liberalism, 1825-1900." In Resistance, Rebellion and Consciousness in the Andean World, edited by Steve J. Stern, Madison, University of Wisconsin Press. Polo de Ondogardo, Juan. 1916 Informaciones acerca de la religion y gobierno de los Incas. tomo 1 y 2 [1584], "Coleccion de libros y documentos referentes a la historia del Perú" vol. 3 y 4, eds. Urteaga y Romero, Lima. Poole, Deborah 1982 "Los santuarios religiosos en la economía regional andina (Cusco)" Allpanchis XVI, N° 19: 79-116, Cusco. 1984 Ritual-Economic Calendars in Paruro: The Structures of Representation in Andean Ethnography Ann Arbor: University Microfilms. 1987a “Landscape of Power in a Cattle Rustling Culture of Southern Andean Peru”. Dialectical Anthropology, 12:4, p.367398. 1987b “Korilazos, abigeos y comunidades campesinas en la Provinca de Chumbivilcas (Cusco)”, F. Oshige ed., Comunidades campesinas: cambios y permanencias. Lima: CONCYTEC. Powers, Karen 1990 “Indian migration in the Audiencia of Quito: Crown manipulation and local co-option” Migration in Colonial Spanish America. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Prescott, William 1874 History of the Conquest of Peru : with a preliminary view of the civilization of the Incas. New York: Hurst and Company. Raimondi, A. 1965[1874] Randall, Robert El Perú. Lima: La Confianza. 1982 “Qoyllur Rit’i”, Bulletin de l’I.F.E.A, XI, n°1-2:37-81. Rasnake, Roger 1988 Domination and Cultural Resistance.: Authority and Power among an Andean People. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Regalado de Hurtado, Liliana 1978 “Mitmaquna y controles ecologicos”. In Etnohistoria y antropologia andina (Primera jornada), Koth de Paredes, M & A Castelli, eds Lima: Museo Nacional de Historia. Rivera, Luis N. 1992 A Violent Evangelism: The Political and Religious Conquest of the Americas. Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster/John Knox Press. Rivera Cusicanqui, Silvia 1984 “Oprimidos, pero no vencidos”. Luchas del campesinado Aymara y Quechua 1900-1980 La Paz, Bolivia :HISBOL/CSUTCB. Rivet, Paul 1906 “Le Christianisme et les Indiens de la République de l’Équateur”. L’Anthropologie, XVII:81:10-1, Paris. Roeder, Helen 1955 Saints and Their Attributes London: Longman and Green. Romero, Carlos A. 1921 “Libro de la visita general del Virrey don Francisco de Toledo” Revista Historica. 7:115-216. Romero Sotomayor, Carlos 1978 "Caminos de ayer y de hoy" In Tecnología Andina, R. Ravines ed., p. 627-640, LIma: I. E. P. Rostworowski de Diez Canseco, María 1960 “Succession, Coöption to Kingship and Royal Incest among the Inca” Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 16:417-27. 1981 Recursos naturales renovables y pesca: siglos XVI y XVII. Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. 1984 Estructuras andinas del poder. Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. 1988 Historia del Tahuantinsuyu. Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos Rowe, John Howland 1946 "Inca Culture at the Time of the Spanish Conquest " In Handbook of South American Indians, vol.2. Julian H. Steward ed. Smithsonian Institution, Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin 143, II, The Andean Civilizations, 183-330. 1957 "The Incas under Spanish Colonial Institutions". Hispanic American Historical Review Vol. 37 (2). 1982 “Inca Policies and Institutions Relating to the Cultural Unification of the Empire” in The Inca and Aztec States, 14001800, Collier, Rosaldo and Wirth eds. New York: Academic Press 1985 “Las circunstancias de la rebelión de Thupa Amaru en 1780”, Revista historica xxxiv, 119-140, Peru: Lima. Sahlins, Marshall 1981 Historical Metaphors and Mythical Realities: Structures in the Early History of the Sandwich Islands Kingdom. ASAO Special Publication N° 1. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Salas de Coloma, Miriam 1979 De los obrajes de Canarias y Chincheros a las comunidades indigenas de Vilcashuman, Siglo xvi. Lima: Moncloa Editores. Salazar-Soler, Carmen In prep. “Andean Mines: the Womb of Earth-Mother” in Making History and Culture in the Andes. Billie Jean Isbell ed., Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Sallnow, Michael J. 1987 Pilgrims of the Andes: Regional Cults in Cusco. Washington D. C. : Smithsonian Institution Press. Salomon, Frank 1981 “Killing the Yumbo: A Ritual Drama in Northern Quito” In Cultural Transformation and ethnicity in Modern Ecuador, N. Whitten Jr., ed., Urbana: University of Illinois Press. 1982 “Andean Ethnology in the 1970s: A Retrospective” Latin American Research Review 17(2):75-128. 1986 Native Lords of Quito in the Age of the Incas: The political economy of north Andean chiefdoms. Cambridge University Press, New York. Santa Cruz Pachacuti Yamqui Salcamaygua, Joan de 1927 “Relación de antigüedades deste reyno del Perú.” [1613] Colección de libros y documentos referentes a la Historía del Perú. Tomo ix, 2a serie, Lima. Sanchez, R. 1978 “The Model of Verticality in the Andean Economy: a Critical Reconsideration.” CIAM XLII, Paris 1976, 213-221. Sanlés, Ricardo, O. de M.. 1958 “Trajectora misionera de la Merced en la Conquista de América en el Orden de la Merced”. Madrid: Revista Estudios Sarmiento de Gamboa, Pedro 1906 [1572] Secunda parte de la Historia general llamada Indica, la cual por mandado del excelentísimo señor Don Francisco de Toledo, virrey, gobernador y capitán general de los reinos del Pirú y mayordomo de la casa real de Castilla, compudo el capitán Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa Geschichte des Inkareiches von Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa, Herausgegeben von Richard Pietschmann, in Abhandlungen der Königlichen Gesellschaft der Wissenshaften zu Göttingeb. Philologisch-Historische Klasse. Neue Folge. Band VI, N°1. Aus den Jahren 1902-1906. Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchandlung. Sarmiento Donate, Alberto 1988 De las Leyes de Indias (Antología de la Recopilación de 1681). Selección, estudio introductorio y notas. Scott, James C. 1985 Weapons of the Weaks: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Sempat Assadourian, Carlos 1992 “The Colonial Economy: The Transfer of the European System of Production to New Spain and Peru”. Journal of Latin American Studies, Suppl., 55-68. Sherbondy, Jeanette 1979 “Les réseaux d’irrigation dans la géographie politique de Cuzco” Journal de la Société des Américanistes tome lxvi, 1979 Paris, p. 45-66 1982 The canal systems of Hanan Cuzco, Ph. D. Dissertation, University of Illinois. Ann Arbor: UMI. 1986 “Los ceques: codigo de canales en el Cuzco Incaico” Allpanchis N°27, año xviii vol 1:39-74. 1992 “Water Ideology in Inca Ethnogenesis”. In Andena Cosmologies through Time: Persistence and Emergence. Edited by Robert V. H. Dover, Katharine E. Seibold and John H.. McDowell. Bloomington, Indianapolis IA: Indiana University Press. Silverblatt, Irene 1988 "Political Memories and Colonizing Symbols: Santiago and the Mountain Gods of Colonial Peru" In Rethinking History and Myth: Indigenous South American Persepectives on the Past. Jonathan Hill ed., Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Skar, H. O. Smith, Gavin 1982 The Warm Valley People: Duality and Land Reform among the Quechua Indians of Highland Peru Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. 1991 "The Production of Culture in Local Rebellion." Golden Ages, Dark Ages: Imagining the Past in Anthropology and History. Jay O'Brien and William Roseberry eds., Berkeley: U. of California Press. Solórzano Pereira, Juan de 1972 [1672] Politica indiana. Madrid, Ediciones Atlas. Spalding, Karen 1984 Huarochirí: An Andean Society Under Inca and Spanish Rule. Stanford University Press, Stanford, CA. Stanislawski, Dan 1946 "The Origin of and Spread of the grid-plan town" Geographical Review 36, p. 105-120. 1947 "Early Spanish town planning in the New World" Geographical Review 37, p. 96-105. Stern, Steve J. 1982 Peru's Indian Peoples and the Challenge of Spanish Conquest: Huamanga to 1640. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. 1987 "The Age of Andean Insurrection, 1742-1782. A Reappraisal." In Resistance, Rebellion and Consciousness in the Andean World, edited by Steve J. Stern. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Stern, Steve, ed. 1987 Resistance, Rebellion and Consciousness in the Andean World, edited by Steve J. Stern. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Stiglich, Germán 1923 Diccionarío Geografico del Perú. vol 1. Lima: Torres Aguirre. Sullivan, Lawrence E. 1985 “Above, Below and Far Away: Andean Cosmology and Ethical Order”. In Cosmogony and Ethical Order, R.W. Lovin and F.E. Reynolds eds, Chicago: U. of Chicago Press. 1988 Icanchu's Drum : an Orientation to Meaning in South American Religions. New York : Macmillan; London: Collier Macmillan. Szeminski, Jan 1987 Un kuraka, un dios y una historia (relación de antigüedades de esré reyno del Pirú” por Don Juan de Santa Cruz Pachacuti Salca Maygua. 2 Antropología social e historia . Sección Antropología Social (I.C.A.) Buenos Aeres: Facultad de Filosofia y Letras UBA/ MLAL. Tamayo Herrera, José 1978 Historia Social del Cuzco Republicano. Lima 1978. Taussig, Michael 1980 The Devil and Commodity Fetishism in South America. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. 1986 Shamanism, Colonialism and the Wild Man.: a Study in Terror and Healing. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Taylor, Gérald 1979 Diccionario Normalizado y Comparativo Quechua Paris: l’Harmattan. 1980 Rites et traditions de Huarochirí: Manuscrit quéchua du début du 17é siècle. Paris: série ethnolinguistique amérindienne. Paris: CNRS/Editions L'Harmattan. Thiercelin, Raquel ed. 1991 Cultures et sociétés, Andes et Méso-Amérique: Mélanges en hommage a Pierre Duviols Études recueillies par Raquel Thiercelin, Vol. 1 and Vol. 2. Aix-en-Provence: Publications de l' Université de Provence. Toledo, Francisco de 1867[ Memoriales y Ordenanzas de D. Francisco de Toledo. In Relaciones de los Vireyes y Audiencias que han gobernado el Perú. Tomo I. Publicadas de O. S. Lima: Imprenta del Estado por J. E. del Campo. 1975 Tasa de la Visita de Francisco de Toledo (1571-1583) David N. Cook ed. Lima: Universidad Mayor de San Marcos. Tord Nicoli, Javier 1974 El corregidor de Indios en el Perú: comercio y tributo. Historia y Cultura 8:173-214. Torres Saldamando, Enrique 1888 Primero Libro de Cabilde. "Apéndice N° 2: Apuntes históricos sobre las encomiendas en el Perú". p. 93-135. Anexo N°1 al apéndice n° 2, "Relacion de las Encomiendas existentes en el Perú cuando practicó la visita é hizo reparto general el Virrey D. Francisco de Toledo." p. 137-151. Paris. Tourón del Pié, É. (O. de M.) 1958 “La Orden de la Merced desde 1218 a 1330” in La Orden de la Merced , Revista “Estudios”, Madrid. Troll, Carl 1935 “Los fundamentos geográficos de las civilizaciones andinas en el emperio Incaico” Revista de la Universidad de Arequipa. 1958 “Las culturales superiores andinas en el medio geografico”. Revista del instituto de geografia #5 U.N. M. S. M. Lima. 1968 “The Cordilleras of the Tropical Americas: Aspects of Climatic, Phytogeographical. and Agrarian Ecology”. In Geoecology of the Mountainous Regions of the Tropical Americas Proceedings of the UNESCO Mexico Symposium, August 1-3 1966 p. 13-56. Bonn: Ferd. Dummler Verlag. (Colloquium Geographicum. Band 9.) Tschopik, Harry Jr. 1951 “The Aymara of Chuchuito, Perú, 1 Magic” Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History. Vol 44, part 2, p. 137-308, New York. 1952 "On the Identification of the Indian in Peru". Acculturation in the Americas, Sol Tax ed., Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Turner, Terence 1984 “Dual Opposition, Hierarchy and Value: Moiety Structure and Symbolic Polarity in Central Brazil and Elsewhere”. In Différences, valeurs, hiérarchie, J.C. Galey ed.,.Paris: Éditions de l’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales. p. 335-370. Turner, Victor W. 1969 The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Ulloa, Luis 1908 Documentos del Virrey don Francisco de Toledo Revista Historica. 7:117-120. 1909 Documentos del Virrey Toledo: Visita General de los yndios del Cusco, Año del 1571, provincia Condesuyo” Revista Historica, II:332-47. Urban, Greg 1991 “The Semiotics of State-Indian Linguistic Relationships” in Nations States and Indians in Latin America., G.Urban and J. Scherzer eds. , p. 307-330, Austin: University of Texas Press. Urban, Greg and Joel Scherzer, eds. 1991 Nations States and Indians in Latin America. Austin: University of Texas Press. Urbano, Henrique O. 1979 Mythe et Utopie. La Representation du temps et de l’espace dans les Andes péruviennes. Thèse doctorale, Université de Laval. Québec. 1981 Wiraqocha y Ayar. Héroes y funciones en las sociedades andinas, Cusco: Bartolomé de Las Casas. 1982 “Le destin du héros Inkarrí. Myth, utopie et histoire dans les sociétés Andines Culture N°2, p. 3-14. Urioste, Jorge 1983 Hijos de Pariya Qaqa: La tradición oral de Waru Chirí. Foreign and Comparative Studies Program, Latin American Series, N°6, vol 1 and 2 Maxwell School of Citizenship and Public Affairs, Syracuse, New York. Urteaga, Horacio 1931 El imperio incaico, en el que se incluye la historia del ayllo y familia de los Incas. Lima: Libreria y Imprenta Gil, S. A. Urton, Gary. 1978 “Orientation in Quechua and Incaic Astronomy” Ethnology 17 (2) p.157-167. 1980 “Celestial Crosses: The Cruciform in Quechua Astronomy” Journal of Latin American Lore 6 (1) p.87-110. 1981a At the Crossrods of the Earth and the Sky: An Andean Cosmology University of Texas Press (also 1989). 1981b “Animals and Astronomy in the Quechua Universe” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 125 (2)p.110127. 1984 “Chut’a: El espacio de la prática social en Pacariqtambo, Perú Revista Andina 2:1,p.7-43. 1985 “Animal Metaphors and the Life Cycle in and Andean Community” in Animal Myths and Metaphors in South America, G. Urton ed., p.251-284, Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. 1986 "Calendrical Cycles and Their Projections in Pacariqtambo, Peru". Journal of Latin American Lore 12, No 1 (1980):45-64. 1988 “La arquitectura publica como texto social: La historia de un muro de adobe en Pacariqtambo, Peru (1915-1985)” Revista Andina 6(1) p.225-261. 1990 The History of a Myth: Pacariqtambo and the Origin of the Inkas University of Texas Press. 1991 “The Stranger in Andean Communities”. Cultures et sociétés: Andes et Méso-Amérique. Mélanges en hommage à Pierre Duviols. Études recueillies par Raquel Thiercelin, vol 2. Aix-en-Provence: Publications de l’Université, p. 791-810. 1992 "Communalism and Differenciation in an Andean Community" in Andean Cosmologies Through Time: Persistence and Emergence. D. V. H. Dover et al. eds., Bloomington IA: Indiana University Press. Valcárcel, Carlos Daniel 1970 El retrato de Tupac Amaru, Lima. 1971 La rebelíon de Tupac Amaru. 4 vol. 1980 “Religion Incaica” in Historía del Perú Tomo 3. Lima, Peru: Editorial Juan Mejía Baca. Valcárcel, Rosina 1988 Mitos Dominación y Resistencia Andina. Lima: Editorial de la Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos. van de Guchte 1984 “El ciclo mítico andino de la Piedra Cansada” Revista Andina 2: 2: 539-566. van den Berghe, Pierre L., ed. 1974 Class and Ethnicity in Peru. Leiden: Brill. van den Berghe, Pierre L. and George P. Primov 1977 Inequality in the Peruvian Andes. Columbia, MI: University of Missouri Press. Van Kessel, Juan 1982 Danzas y estructuras sociales de los Andes. Cuzco: Instituto de Pastoral Andina. Vargas Ugarte, R. 1942 1959 Historia del Perú: Virreinato (1551-1590). Lima: La Prensa. Historia de la Iglesia en el Perú Tomo 2, Burgos. Vayssière, Pierre 1983 "Pouvoir créole et contre-pouvoir indien au Pérou: ambigüité des revendications indiennes au XVIIIè siècle". Les Frontières du pouvoir en Amérique Latine, Travaux de l' Université de Toulouse-Le Mirail, série A, Tome XXII p. 49-54. Vázquez, Mario C. and Alan R.Holmberg 1966 “The Castas: Unilineal Kinship Groups in Vicos, Peru” Ethnology 5 (3) p. 284-303. Villanueva Urteaga, Horacio 1982 Cuzco 1689: Economía y Sociedad en el sur Andino Cuzco (Peru): Centro de estudios regionales andinos “Bartolome de Las Casas”. Wachtel, Nathan 1971a La vision des vaincus: Les Indiens du Pérou devant la Conquête espagnole, 1530-1570. Paris: NRF/ Editions Gallimard. 1971b “Pensée sauvage et acculturation: L’espace et le temps chez Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala et l’Inca Garcilaso de la Vega”. Annales E.S.C. VOL.26 N°3-4, P. 793-840. 1982 “The Mitimas of the Cochabamba Valley: The Colonization Policy of Huayna Capac”. In The Inca and Aztec States, 14001800, Collier, Rosaldo and Wirth eds. New York: Academic Press. 1990 Le retour des ancêtres: les indiens Urus de de Bolivie XXèXVIè siecle; essai d’ histoire regressive Paris: Gallimard. Webster, Steven 1970 “Annotated Bibliography of Highland Peru” Behavioral Science Notes/HRAF vol 5 N°2-3 p. 71-96. Wightman, Ann 1990 Indigenous Migration and Social Change: The Forasteros of Cuzco, 1570-1720. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Wolf, Eric 1982 Europe and the People without History Berkeley: University of California Press. Yambert, Karl 1989 “The Peasant Community of Catacaos and the Peruvian Agrarian Reform” in Orlove et al, eds State, Capital and Rural Society: Anthropological Perspectives on Political Economy in Mexico and the Andes., Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Zavala, Silvio A. 1973 La Encomienda Indiana. 2a edición. México: Porrúa. Zuidema, R.T. 1964 The Ceque System of Cusco International Archives of Ethnography. Supplement to vol. 1. Leiden: E.J. Brill. 1973 “The Indian Concept of Ethnicity in Peru” Plural Societies 4 N°2, p.53-59. 1977a “The Inca Calendar” In Native American Astronomy, A. F. Aveni ed., Austin: University of Texas Press. 1977b "The Inca Kinship System: A New Theoretical View." Andean Kinship and Marriage, R. Bolton and E. Mayer, eds. American Anthropological Association Publications #7, Washington D.C.:AAA. 1978a “Mito, rito, calendrio y geografía en el antiguo Peru”. Actes du XLIIe Congrés International des Américanistes, Paris (1976), vol 4, p.347-357. 1978b "Lieux sacrés et irrigation: tradition historique, mythes et rituels au Cuzco” Annales ESC 33 vol.5-6, p. 1037-1056. 1989a "The Moieties of Cuzco." in The Attraction of Opposites. D. Mayberry Lewis and U. Almagor eds. University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. 1989b "A quipu calendar from Ica, Peru, with a comparison to the ceque calendar from Cuzco." World Archaeoastronomy, A.F. Aveni, editor. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. 1989c "At the King's Table: Inca Concepts of Sacred Kingship in Cuzco". History and Anthropology. Vol. 4. p.249-274. Harwood. 1989d Reyes y guerreros: ensayos de cultura andina. Lima:Fomciencias. 1990 Inca Civilization in Cuzco Translated by Jean-Jacques Decoster. Austin: University of Texas Press. 1990ms “Ritual Calendar at the time of the Spanish Conquest”. Lecture presented at the NEH Seminar The Andean World, Cornell University. 1991 “Batallas rituales en el Cuzco colonial” Cultures et sociétés, Andes et Méso-Amérique: Mélanges en hommage a Pierre Duviols Études recueillies par Raquel Thiercelin, vol. 2. Aix-enProvence: Publications de l' Université de Provence. ....................and Deborah Poole 1982 "Los limites de los cuatro suyus incaicos en el Cusco", Bulletin de l"Institut Français d'Études Andines, XIX (1-2):83-89, Lima. ....................and U. Quispe 1973 “A Visit to God: the Account and Interpretation of a Religious Experience in the Peruvian Community of Choque Huancaya” In Peoples and Cultures of Native South America D. Gross ed. New York: Doubleday [originally published in Bijdragen vol 124, 1968.]