Etnicidad, ciudadanía y pertenencia / Ethnicity, Citizenship and Belonging: prácticas, teoría y dimensiones espaciales / Practices, Theory and Spacial Dimensions 9783954871124

Table of contents :
INDEX/ÍNDICE
PREFACE/PREFACIO
INTRODUCTION/INTRODUCCIÓN
I. ETHNICITY AND CITIZENSHIP IN HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE ETNICIDAD Y CIUDADANÍA EN PERSPECTIVA HISTÓRICA
LA CONSTRUCCIÓN DE DIFERENCIA EN LA ZONA DE CONTACTO: INTERROGANTES AL RESPECTO DE LA ETNICIDAD
SHIFTING BOUNDARIES, EMERGING COMMUNITIES – ETHNICITY AND ETHNOGENESIS ON NICARAGUA’S ATLANTIC COAST
GUERRA, FORMACIÓN DEL ESTADO E IMAGINARIO NACIONAL EN EL PERÚ
II. ETHNIC AND SPATIAL ASPECTS OF CITIZENSHIP ASPECTOS ÉTNICOS Y ESPACIALES DE LA CIUDADANÍA
DERECHOS HUMANOS Y CIUDADANÍAS INDÍGENAS EN AMÉRICA LATINA
PROPUESTAS MAYANISTAS E IDEOLOGÍAS ÉTNICAS EN GUATEMALA
CIUDADANÍA ÉTNICA: EL CASO DE LOS MAYAS DE QUINTANA ROO
III. THEORY AND PRACTICES OF BELONGING AND SPATIALITY PERTENENCIA Y DIMENSIONES ESPACIALES EN TEORÍA Y PRÁCTICAS
AUTOCHTHONY, CITIZENSHIP AND EXCLUSION. NEW PATTERNS IN THE POLITICS OF BELONGING IN AFRICA AND EUROPE
FROM ‘IDENTITY’ TO ‘BELONGING’ IN SOCIAL RESEARCH: PLURALITY, SOCIAL BOUNDARIES, AND THE POLITICS OF THE SELF
NOSTALGIA, FOOD AND BELONGING: ECUADORIANS IN NEW YORK CITY
CONTESTED PRACTICES OF BELONGING: SOCIAL MOBILITY, SPATIAL IDENTITY AND THE DÍA DE LOS MUERTOS IN MEXICO
CINE INDÍGENA: VIDEO, MIGRATION AND THE DYNAMICS OF BELONGING BETWEEN MEXICO AND THE USA
LOCAL RESPONSES TO TRANSNATIONAL MIGRATION: CITIZENSHIP, BELONGING AND THE CASE OF LATIN AMERICAN MIGRANTS IN MADRID
THE AUTHORS OF THE BOOK/SOBRE LOS AUTORES
FORTHCOMING VOLUME IN THIS SERIES: EL SIGUIENTE VOLUMEN DE ESTA COLECCIÓN

Citation preview

Sarah Albiez/Nelly Castro/ Lara Jüssen/Eva Youkhana (eds.)

Ethnicity, Citizenship and Belonging: Practices, Theory and Spatial Dimensions Etnicidad, ciudadanía y pertenencia: prácticas, teoría y dimensiones espaciales

Series/Colección “Ethnicity, Citizenship and Belonging in Latin America” This series promotes an international scientific dialogue about the social, political and cultural implications of the concepts ethnicity, citizenship and belonging, which serve as conceptual tools for the interdisciplinary Research Network for Latin America to investigate both social dynamics and processes of inclusion and exclusion in past and present Latin American societies as well as in other regions of the world. Esta colección busca promover el diálogo científico e internacional sobre las implicaciones sociales, políticas y culturales de los tres conceptos etnicidad, ciudadanía y pertenencia que constituyen para la Red de Investigación sobre América Latina instrumentos conceptuales para investigar de manera interdisciplinaria tanto dinámicas sociales como procesos de inclusión y exclusión en sociedades pasadas y presentes de América Latina y en otras latitudes del mundo.

Sarah Albiez/Nelly Castro/ Lara Jüssen/Eva Youkhana (eds.)

Ethnicity, Citizenship and Belonging: Practices, Theory and Spatial Dimensions Etnicidad, ciudadanía y pertenencia: prácticas, teoría y dimensiones espaciales

Iberoamericana

•

Vervuert

•

2011

The project, on which this book is based, has been funded by the German Federal Ministry of Education and Research (Bundesministerium für Bildung und Forschung, BMBF) under the support code 01UC1012A-E. The responsibility for the content of this publication lies with the editors.

Reservados todos los derechos © Iberoamericana, 2011 Amor de Dios, 1 – E-28014 Madrid Tel.: +34 91 429 35 22 Fax: +34 91 429 53 97 [email protected] www.ibero-americana.net © Vervuert, 2011 Elisabethenstr. 3-9 – D-60594 Frankfurt am Main Tel.: +49 69 597 46 17 Fax: +49 69 597 87 43 [email protected] www.ibero-americana.net ISBN 978-84-8489-605-0 (Iberoamericana) ISBN 978-3-86527-658-2 (Vervuert) Depósito Legal: SE-5967-2011 Cubierta: Marcela López Parada Impreso en España por Publidisa The paper on which this book is printed meets the requirements of ISO 9706

INDEX/ÍNDICE

PREFACE/PREFACIO .............................................................................

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Sarah Albiez, Nelly Castro, Lara Jüssen and Eva Youkhana INTRODUCTION/INTRODUCCIÓN ........................................................

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I. ETHNICITY AND CITIZENSHIP IN HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE ETNICIDAD Y CIUDADANÍA EN PERSPECTIVA HISTÓRICA Karoline Noack La construcción de diferencia en la zona de contacto: interrogantes al respecto de la etnicidad ..................................................................

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Wolfgang Gabbert Shifting Boundaries, Emerging Communities – Ethnicity and Ethnogenesis on Nicaragua’s Atlantic Coast ................................................

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Cecilia Méndez G. y Carla Granados Moya Guerra, formación del Estado e imaginario nacional en el Perú .........

93

II. ETHNIC AND SPATIAL ASPECTS OF CITIZENSHIP ASPECTOS ÉTNICOS Y ESPACIALES DE LA CIUDADANÍA Rodolfo Stavenhagen Derechos humanos y ciudadanías indígenas en América Latina .........

121

Santiago Bastos Propuestas mayanistas e ideologías étnicas en Guatemala ..................

137

Manuel Buenrostro Alba Ciudadanía étnica: el caso de los mayas de Quintana Roo ................

157

III. THEORY AND PRACTICES OF BELONGING AND SPATIALITY PERTENENCIA Y DIMENSIONES ESPACIALES EN TEORÍA Y PRÁCTICAS Peter Geschiere Autochthony, Citizenship and Exclusion. New Patterns in the Politics of Belonging in Africa and Europe ....................................................

175

Joanna Pfaff-Czarnecka From ‘identity’ to ‘belonging’ in Social Research: Plurality, Social Boundaries, and the Politics of the Self .............................................

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Maria Amelia Viteri Nostalgia, Food and Belonging: Ecuadorians in New York City ........

221

Eveline Dürr Contested Practices of Belonging: Social Mobility, Spatial Identity and the Día de los Muertos in Mexico ..............................................

237

Ingrid Kummels Cine Indígena: Video, Migration and the Dynamics of Belonging between Mexico and the USA ...........................................................

259

Lara Jüssen and Eva Youkhana Local Responses to Transnational Migration: Citizenship, Belonging and the Case of Latin American Migrants in Madrid ........................

283

THE AUTHORS OF THE BOOK/SOBRE LOS AUTORES .............................

307

PREFACE/PREFACIO

The present anthology is a result of the First International Symposium: Ethnicity, Citizenship and Belonging in Latin America, organised by the Research Network for Latin America (Kompetenznetz Lateinamerika) in October 2010 at the Interdisciplinary Latin America Center (ILZ) of the University of Bonn. These three central terms formed the guidelines for discussions and served as a conceptual tool to investigate both social dynamics and processes of inclusion and exclusion in past and present Latin American societies. Eighteen speakers from different disciplines of humanities and social sciences came from Europe and Latin America to contribute to the conference, as well as more than 100 participants. The event succeeded in gaining a transregional, interdisciplinary and comparative perspective. Case studies that principally – but not only – focused on various countries of Latin America were presented and theoretical approaches from the different disciplines were discussed. To record the content of the conference in written form and to make it universally accessible to everyone, the revised versions of the lectures of the symposium are published within this anthology. The Research Network for Latin America is an association of sociologists, historians, cultural scientists, social anthropologists and scientists of area studies from Cologne, Bonn, Bielefeld, Minster and Hanover, founded in spring 2010. The researchers of the Network investigate the current and historical processes of social differentiation in the subcontinent as well as in spaces of migration beyond Latin America. The analyses are conducted by means of the three guiding concepts: ethnicity, citizenship and belonging, and are divided into three subprojects. The first subproject, political communication, deals with the question of how processes of inclusion and exclusion, linked to ethnically loaded discourses, are communicated in the political sphere and by which factors this communication is influenced. The second subproject analyses the concepts under consideration of politically, socially and culturally inscribed and contested

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spaces by focusing on the examples of migration and translocal relations. Last but not least, the interdependencies of social categorisations of difference such as class, gender and age are investigated with reference to the three key concepts in the third subproject. Besides the continuous scientific discussions within the Network, the conference succeeded in initiating a dialogue with scientists from several continents that will be continued and partly institutionalised. For this purpose, the Network is organising the second symposium Interdependencies of Social Categorisations at the University of Cologne in September 2011. Two more conferences are scheduled for the years 2012 and 2013 in Bielefeld and probably in Mexico. The consequent anthologies will be part of the book series “Ethnicity, Citizenship and Belonging in Latin America” that is initiated by this present volume “Ethnicity, Citizenship and Belonging: Practice, Theory and Spatial Dimensions.” With both the present and forthcoming publications and events, we want to consolidate investigators to take up dialogue, exchange their experiences, theoretical deliberations and methodological approaches that are linked to these three concepts in order to gain a holistic understanding about the described social phenomena. The editors of this volume express their sincere thanks to the German Federal Ministry of Education and Research (Bundesministerium für Bildung und Forschung, BMBF) for the financial sponsoring of the Network that covered expenses for the conference in Bonn and the present publication. We gratefully acknowledge the team spirit held by all members of the Network and the motivating exchange of procreative discussions through which a first conceptualisation of the key terms, discussed further in the introduction, was made possible. We thank everybody who helped us to organise the conference, without which this volume would not have been conceivable, namely Nikolai Grube, Karoline Noack, Antje Gunsenheimer and Jürgen Böhmer, who kindly enabled us to use the infrastructure of the ILZ. We also thank Nadine Alff-Perreira, Anne Burkhardt, Corinna Di Stefano, Menko Behrends and Astrid Schlinkert, who helped with the practical implementation of the symposium and to all those who may not be mentioned here but contributed nonetheless to the success of the conference. Besides this, we want to thank Birgit Sulzer, Astrid Schlinkert and Katharina Farys for their collaboration in the editorial work. Last but not least, we would like to thank the authors for their exciting contributions which form the essence of the volume. Bonn and Cologne, May 2011

INTRODUCTION/INTRODUCCIÓN Sarah Albiez/Nelly Castro/Lara Jüssen/Eva Youkhana

THE THREE KEY CONCEPTS Latin America is a subcontinent marked by an extreme sociocultural heterogeneity. Currently, the division between the poor and the rich is continuously increasing. Ethnic adscriptions only serve to further enlarge this disjuncture and simultaneously determine it. Besides, the rights of political participation are also bound to ethnic criteria. Considering this current situation, and for the first time, some Latin American societies try to do justice to their multiethnicity regarding their concepts of political order, by for example, implementing constitutional amendments and reforms. By this means, they try to overcome historically rooted, social, economic, political and cultural mechanisms of exclusion in order to moderate the social rift within the nation. Global economic developments advance the migration of workers and lead to new transcultural and transregional processes of differentiation. In order to investigate actual as well as historical phenomena of inclusion and exclusion1 along with processes of social differentiation, three concepts have proven to be useful: Ethnicity, citizenship and belonging. While ethnicity and citizenship are well known among various disciplines and have a long history in the research of social sciences (c.f. e.g. Gabbert 2006; Banks 1996; Barth 1969; Pedone 2003; Elwert 1989; Anderson 1993; Conrad and Kocka 2001; Isin and Turner 2002; Cachón Rodríguez 2009), belonging is a rather new theoretical term. It was recently conceptualised in

1 The terms inclusion and exclusion as description of social processes in modern societies derive from Luhmanns approach in systems theory (Luhmann 1995). The term inclusion is defined in social research as a “consideration of persons in social systems, whereas exclusion means their marginalization respectively their non-consideration” (Hahn and Schorch (2007, 253); Stichweh (2007, 231)).

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social sciences such as social psychology, sociology and anthropology (YuvalDavis 2006; Anthias 2006; Bogner and Rosenthal 2009). The concepts themselves have different definitions within the framework of different disciplines. Ethnicity, citizenship and belonging describe processes of social differentiation. These concepts aid our ability to understand and analyse the contextbound, and historically specific, peculiarities of social boundaries and perceptions of order; not only in Latin America, but also in other parts of the world. Ethnicity is a social categorisation comparable to others such as class, gender and age. As such, it serves to analyse human behaviour in and between social and political groups. As Tajfel previously stated in the 70s, “there can be no intergroup behaviour without the relevant aspects of the social environment having been categorised in terms of whatever may be the pertinent social criteria for the lines of division of people into ‘us’ and ‘them’, into ingroups and outgroups.” (Tajfel, Billig, and Bundy 1971, 151) The different social categorisations relate to each other in a complex interwoven manner, they are indeed interdependent. However, by no account do we suppose a simple causal correlation of one categorisation from any other. Rather these social categorisations are processes that mutually influence each other. While the concepts ethnicity, citizenship and belonging are used by political agents, interest groups, and other actors to express their uniqueness, power and sometimes superiority, they do also serve as scientific categories to describe and analyse social reality. One problem related to scientific categorisations, even though they are indeed necessary, is the very fact that they also construct social reality. These categories, once created, are then introduced into political and social discourses. We do agree with Hugenberg and Sacco (2008) that social categorisations may lead to stereotyping and bias within a person’s perceptions. We therefore question normative categorisations of difference and stress the importance of the historical and context specific embeddedness of these phenomena. Accordingly, we seek the comparison of differentiating phenomena with other global regions by continuing scientific discussion and cooperation with experts engaged in regions outside of Latin America. The contributions by Pfaff-Czarnecka, Geschiere and Jüssen and Youkhana show the substantial gains of this comparative approach and highlight why territorial boundaries need to be overcome to describe ethnicity, citizenship and belonging.

Introduction/Introducción

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BELONGING Perceptions and ideas of belonging, or not belonging vary. The different notions of belonging have in common that they are primarily orientated towards the interaction between individuals and the environment they are part of. In a first interpretation, belonging can appear as both a self-attribution and an attribution by others, as a desire and a claim. As such, belonging can be understood as a meta-concept including other social categorisations such as ethnicity and citizenship. The concepts of ethnicity and citizenship, besides their meaning as a formal or legal membership or affiliation, can therefore be expressions of collective belongings. These collective belongings, be they imagined or assigned, undeniably convey processes of inclusion and exclusion in order to distinguish between in-groups and out-groups. Another conception of belonging is located at the juncture of other categorisations of difference and includes the importance of power relations to processes of social differentiation, as highlighted by Anthias (2006) and Yuval-Davis (2006) and stresses more individual belongings. According to these authors, belonging is more about personal locations and positionings shaped by individuals amongst social, cultural, political and spatial demarcations. This is also reflected in its use as an analytical tool for the investigation of transnational movements, migration and translocality (Savage, Bagnall, and Longhurst 2005; Yuval-Davis 2006; Anthias 2006; Freitag 2005; Freitag and von Oppen 2010; Brickell and Datta 2010; Christensen 2009; Christiansen and Hedetoft 2004; Castles and Davidson 2000; Jackson, Crang, and Dwyer 2005). Within the framework of migration studies, belonging reflects the complex relations that people and their descendants have to different locales, multiple realities and shifting social and political landscapes. Accordingly, belonging is situated at the “intersection of social position and positioning” (Anthias 2006). Studies on migration help to move from static and essentialised views of identity to ideas of multiplicity, fluidity and fragmentation described here as belonging. Coherently, a more fluid conception of belonging describes attachments of individuals to other individuals, groups and objects, including locations, artifacts and other kinds of media through which a sense of belonging can be both produced and reproduced. These situational and multiple attachments originate from interactions with the social, political, cultural, technical and natural environment and are subject to ongoing transformation and transi-

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tion (Yuval-Davis 2006; Pfaff-Czarnecka, this Volume). Due to the production of this understanding of the concept belonging being a result of everyday practices and daily experiences, belonging defies any kind of control and final regulation. Instead, belonging happens as a result of sequences of events that are composed by underlying individual narratives. We agree with Anthias’ (2006) estimation that the term belonging is overused akin to that of identity, but without being positioned within a satisfactorily theoretical context. Pfaff-Czarnecka angles towards the same direction: Belonging is a central dimension of life that is easily felt and tacitly experienced (…) and that is very difficult to capture through analytical categories. (Pfaff-Czarnecka, this Volume, 199).

One problem related to the conceptualisation of belonging is connected to the concept of identity. How can belonging be distinguished from identity in order to give it sufficient meaning and scientific usability? As also stressed by Pfaff-Czarnecka in this volume, both concepts are often used interchangeably. In contrast to the concept of identity, which frames a socially constructed or often essentialistic imagination,2 belonging does refer to the multiple, alterable and situated attachments (social, sensual and material in nature) that effectively educe from everyday practices and experiences of individuals, and from their interaction with the social and material environment. Such a fluid conception of belonging allows the analysis of social processes that are embraced by increasing global flows of people, images, beliefs, discourses, concepts, technologies and other commodities which have an influence upon human behaviour and shape social order (Urry 2003). It also emphasises the need to go beyond the analysis of human behaviour and face-to-face interactions to understand social relations and to integrate the analysis of actorsnetworks that are related to a certain social phenomena. Belonging, understood as an experience and a practice, considers the social power of objects, their nature, and the increasing awareness of spatial and temporal processes that are materialised (e.g. buildings, parks). In comparison to identity, which is sometimes perceived as a property that cannot be 2 For critique on that “groupism”, cf. Brubaker (2009), also Heinz (1996) giving the example of ethnicity and ethnic identity.

Introduction/Introducción

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easily changed or replaced over time, belonging is enacted daily by everyone: whereby social borderlines are overridden rather than established. By using individual strategies and tactics, poetics and rethorics, feints and ruses to position themselves into the social and material environment (de Certeau 1988) and thus, make belonging happen, it can be shown how people invent and produce belonging with the resources at hand. The performative dimension of belonging as described in Yuval-Davis’ (2006) essay on the “politics of belonging” adds another important facet to the concept as it raises the issue of social representations that result from repetitive practices. These representations at certain locations serve as connections between the social, sensual and material elements of belonging and collective belonging or those bound to ethnic, national or other kind of groups. Taking the described empirical interdependencies into prospect, the conceptual integration of these different locales of belonging is increasingly important. The empirical reality and operationalisation of belonging often differs from the theoretical constructions of belonging because it is neither fixed, nor inscribed or labelled. Bogner and Rosenthal (2009) suggest the accomplishment of biographical studies to incorporate spatial and temporal dimensions, historical contexts and individual histories into the holistic analysis of practices of belonging. The reconstruction of life histories seems to be a promising approach. The analysis of visual material can also be a useful tool to position the manifestation and materialisation of belongings into context and meaning. Practices and representations of belonging are further described and analysed by the contributions of Dürr, Kummels, and Viteri within this volume. It must be mentioned that the operationalisation of belonging in historical sciences is not that straightforward, and it is for this reason that a disciplinary conceptualisation has yet to be realised.

ETHNICITY Ethnicity is a social categorisation that has been the subject of heated debates over the last few decades. There exists a vast literature along with numerous definitions and discussions on the topic. Some authors reject the use of the term “ethnic group” altogether, or at very least the prefix “ethno-“ as in terms like ethnohistory, this being mentioned by Noack in this volume. The most

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influential text about this concept is without doubt Barth’s introduction to the 1969 anthology Ethnic groups and boundaries (Barth 1969). According to Barth “ethnic groups are categories of ascription and identification by the actors themselves, and thus have the characteristic of organising interaction between people” (Barth 1969, 10). That means that self- and external ascriptions are the fundamental characteristics of ethnicity and that the characteristic of a common culture has been generally overvalued. He reckons that a common culture is more an implication or result and not a primary and defining characteristic. Related to this is Gabbert’s critique of the “‘unholy trinity’ of ‘one language – one culture – one people’” (Gabbert 2006, 92). Barth’s essential contribution was to move the discussion away from considerations of ethnic markers such as clothing, food, language etc., highlighting the limitations of a culturalistic approach. It needs to be stated that these types of distinguishing markers are certainly used by social actors to carry out collective external and self-ascriptions to differentiate themselves from others. However, these markers are to a certain extent arbitrary and can be altered by the actors.3 Besides from being a process, ethnicity can also be seen as a condition or a (political) resource that actors employ in order to pursue their own interests. One important question is connected to the issue of how the concept and categorisation ethnicity can be separated from that of race, which is a highly contested term. This topic led to intense debates during the symposium, with some investigators defending the usage of the term due to its importance for social actors and some advocating its abolition because the employment of the term could, unintentionally, imply that human “races” actually existed. It can be argued, that it is possible to talk about ethnicity when the actors use – mainly assumed – cultural demarcations, and about race, when it is about demarcations along assumed biological differences. An important reference point in the varying semantics of the ethnic is the belief in a common origin. But the different semantics of ethnicity may also refer to figures of temporality (e.g. primordiality), territoriality (e.g. dis3 According to Apitzsch, this doesn’t mean that ethnic belonging can be freely chosen. In her opinion, ethnic belonging is mostly “imposed on individuals by ethnic politics, and the individuals have to live through different ethnic regimes in order to reorganize their and their families’ biographies through biographical work and through coping with different group identifications throughout their lives” (Apitzsch 2009, 94).

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courses about primary arrival), injustice (e.g. discourses of victimisation) and cultural diversity (e.g. ethnobusiness). Over the last two decades, ethnicity has become especially relevant in Latin America, and notably within processes of political communication. Within these processes, public images (of societal groups) are created, emotionally charged and politically instrumentalised. The “ethnic paradigm” obtained political status in Latin America with the seizure of political power through indigenous social movements and in particular the election of President Evo Morales in Bolivia in 2006. Interestingly, Morales’ opponents began to refer to an ethnic paradigm in equal measure, creating what is called the Movimiento Nación Camba de Liberación. The cohesion of this pressure group seems to be founded upon a common opposition to the national government, postulating simultaneously the existence of a common historically grown ethnic-cultural background. Who belongs to the Nación Camba is thereby still under discussion, but generally, it appears to be seen as including white descendants of Spanish conquerors and settlers, as well as mestizos born in the district of Santa Cruz – the stronghold of the movement – and immigrants, as long as they assimilate to the cultural characteristics of the region. The image of the Nación Camba was prominently articulated within the district of Santa Cruz: where through its use in local media and public demonstrations, local elites were able to obtain both emotional and practical support, along with loyalty from the district’s wider population. The main aim of this was the secession of the region from the national state, claimed with reference to the right to self-determination of peoples, as formulated by the UN (Brocks 2010, 37ff and 93ff ). The Nación Camba is a striking case of the instrumentalisation of ethnicity carried into the political arena, flanked by a discourse of strategic differentiation, and thereby tackling both the state’s integrity and (implicitly) the question of citizenship and belonging. Current processes of ethnicisation are also analysed by Santiago Bastos within this volume. He takes the example of the mayanist movement in Guatemala to demonstrate what he refers to as different ethnic ideologies, or ways of understanding difference. Although the current situation is highly interesting, we shouldn’t forget to study ethnicity in historical processes. Within this volume, the articles by Noack and Gabbert in particular, address historical questions of ethnicity. Whether ethnic groups existed in pre-hispanic Latin America and if ethnicity was a relevant categorisation within ancient societies has been answered dif-

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ferently by historians and archaeologists in recent debates. Gabbert states that for the Mesoamerican pre-conquest Maya, “there was, apparently, no group consciousness that encompassed all masewalo’b [commoners] or almeheno’b [nobles]” and that “the pre-Conquest polities of Yucatán cannot be regarded as ethnic units” (Gabbert 2004, 35-36). According to Gabbert, among the Mixtec, up until very recently, there existed primarily a sense of belonging to the communities rather than to an ethnic group. Social communities were constituted by the locality, kinship or political vassalage (Gabbert 2006, 90-91, ibid. 2004, 35-36). This reminds us that especially in pre-colonial times, existent notions of belonging – understood as a meta-concept – were more subtle and complicated than the Western idea of a clearly bounded socio-political unit. There was a net of differentiations and intersected and partially overlapping loyalties, as for example villages, clans, hunter associations, cult shrines, polities, etc. The notions of “people” or “nation” were quite different from the Western concept. In contrast to Gabbert’s hypothesis for the Maya, Sandstrom and Berdan state with relevance to central Mexico that “ethnic groups definitely existed” (Sandstrom and Berdan 2008, 219). However, the authors also acknowledge that ethnicity wasn’t very relevant.4 It was neither a decisive factor in ordering peoples’ lives nor did it determine social and political decisions (Sandstrom and Berdan 2008, 214, Berdan 2008, 130-131). It seems that the existence of ethnic groups in the Tarascan state of Western Mexico is also verifiable. However, while many authors like Perlstein Pollard (cf. e.g. Perlstein Pollard 1993; 2003; ibid. in press; Martínez Baracs 2003; Ochoa Serrano and Sánchez Díaz 2003; Paredes Martínez 2006) have no doubt about the high relevance of ethnicity, the recent work of Albiez (2011) relativises the role of this categorisation and highlights the importance of multiple identities (Ströbele-Gregor 2004; DeGregori 1993) and different forms of belonging (kinship, lineage, ward or social group, nobles, village, city-state, to the señorío and also the affiliation to political units such as the Tarascan State). In consideration of ancient societies worldwide, Emberling has suggested that “ethnic groups similar in fundamental ways to modern ethnic groups

4

Instead, they stress the importance of corporate groups such as calpulli and teccalli which were followed in significance by the altepetl (village or city state). Cf. Berdan (2008). For more detailed information about calpulli and teccalli, cf. Brumfiel (1994, 91-92).

Introduction/Introducción

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existed in the past, and that archaeologists can identify ethnicity in cases in which ethnicity was a salient social identity” (Emberling 1997).5 This also implies that ethnicity is not necessarily always an important social categorisation. Moreover, its importance can change even during the lifetime of a person, it may “wax and wane during people’s lives” (Lentz 2009, 200-201). CITIZENSHIP Contemporary theoretical thinking on and about citizenship was mainly influenced by Marshall (1950) and his famous trias of civil, political and social rights alongside responsibilities that the subjects of citizenship, the citizens, hold and are respectively obliged to fulfil. As Isin and Turner summarise, “modern citizenship rights that draw from the nation-state typically include civil (free speech and movement, the rule of law), political (voting, seeking electoral office) and social (welfare, unemployment insurance and health care) rights” (Isin and Turner 2002, 3). In Europe, the French Revolution created the nation-state as the unit of political organisation and nationality as its condition of membership. Compulsory education, obligatory military service, and national welfare created exclusionary boundaries that came to denote citizenship and were reinforced through the introduction of national identity cards in the early 20th century. This of course holds true for most European countries, whereas large numbers of inhabitants in other countries do not hold national identity cards to this day and thus are unregistered and have to e.g. participate in voter registration campaigns before general elections commence, such as in Bangladesh before the 2008 general elections (Bangladesh Election Commission 2000-2008). In most Christian states, up to the 18th/19th century there did not exist central public registries but only baptism registries in the parishes or local registries. In another light, citizenship rights also have responsibilities or obligations attached to them, as has been the case with military service (and/or civil service as in the case of Germany), which is becoming increasingly privatised in some states. Moreover, it is a citizen’s obligation to pay taxes, which is more or less forcefully implemented, and in some states, as for instance in Greece or Argentina, even to take part in general elections.

5

It remains doubtful, however, if archaeology alone can identify ethnicity.

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In the post-war era and in contradiction to this process of “creation” of citizenship, other scholars hold that the Marshallian trias of civil, political and social rights was “progressively disentangled from citizenship and extended to non-citizens in the democratic welfare states of Western Europe” (Baganha 2010, 129), which is especially the case when observing the evolution of migrant rights and social movements. Turner points out that it might be misleading to think of citizenship as fixed and inflexible, but that the social and cultural context of citizenship’s evolution matters (Turner 1993, 9). For historians this notion poses a special challenge or might even prove inapplicable for pre-republican times; at the same time historical studies that analysed how the modern concept of citizenship evolved (e.g. Herzog 2003) have proven especially fruitful, because they showed how the “neighbour” (vecino) turned into the “fellow citizen” (Irurozqui 2005). In this volume, Méndez Gastelumendi and Granados Moya analyse the example of 19th century Peru. Generally, two theoretical strands of conceptualising citizenship can be distinguished: The first uses citizenship as a notion that captures the formal status of an individual within a state. This conceptualisation derives from the underlying idea that only the state can confer and define citizenship. It has to be seen in the liberal tradition that contextualises citizenship around the rights of individuals. Brubaker (2002) points at citizenships’ internal inclusiveness and external exclusiveness which is why the rights of migrants are a point in question for this definition of citizenship. In the view of this theoretical strand of thinking about citizenship it is always the state that defines where the limitations of migrants’ rights are (Joppke 2010). The necessity to broaden this perspective was increasingly demonstrated by bottom-up and citizenship rights movements in the second half of the twentieth century, e.g. through women’s movements, gay movements, black movements, ecological movements, and other social movements, who articulated their demands by claiming rights (Isin and Turner 2002, 2ff ). The success of many of these movements, as proven through the actual expansions of rights could not be ignored and also influenced the theoretical debate on how citizenship is constituted. This led to the development of a more open application of the term citizenship that constitutes the second strand of conceptualising citizenship. It derives from the idea that contemporary conditions no longer coincide with that of the 1950s when Marshall proposed his theory centered upon social, political and civil rights and responsibilities.

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The concept of citizenship is further extended through the restructuring of socio-political spaces; globalisation and the increased bypassing of the state; and the extension of rights of non-citizens, in particular those of migrants. In this light, Sassen calls for a reassignment of nationally defined citizenship in an age of growing globalisation, deterritorialisation and post-nationalisation, thus deriving the definition of citizenship from the everyday practices of migrants. She moulds denational and postnational citizenship as alternative to nationally defined citizenship (Sassen 2002). Scholars of this conceptualisation of citizenship do not deny state sovereignty but acknowledge that citizenship is a process that can be enacted through people. Isin even calls for a consideration of “acts of citizenship” through which the constitution as citizen becomes real (Isin 2009). Cultural citizenship, as termed by Rosaldo, encompasses the necessity of inclusion of differences and diversity into dominating discursive and institutional practices (Consejería de la Inmigración y Cooperación de la Comunidad de Madrid 2009). As Isin (2009) rightly points out, both theoretical strands of conceptualising citizenship determine and pre-suppose each other, as formalised rights often come into existence through social pressure or practices through claims, while claims, negotiations and acts of citizenship (practices) refer to rights. Soysal’s idea of the breaking up of citizenship can be positioned somewhere in between these two theoretical strands. In her study of post-war migrants in Europe she is careful not to attach the notion of citizenship to them directly. Rather, her aim is to show that “a more universalistic model of membership comes to contest the exclusive model of citizenship anchored in national sovereignty” (Soysal 1997, 8), which is based on universal, deterritorialised rights, contradicting the bounded, territorialised nation-state. In practice, a special case of rights movements are indigenous, aboriginal or autochthonous movements which have been confronted with either developing separately within their own ”state”, or assimilating into existing citizenship structures. The latter meant all too often changing or destructing the indigenous culture, while both options convey a rather repressive trait to citizenship. In this volume, Stavenhagen retraces how indígenas have been treated by Latin American state policies. In the last decade, indigenous social movements in Latin America have managed to pose presidential candidates and acquire state power. To a greater or lesser extent they have tried to change the political context, which was primarily done, at least in some countries, by decreeing new constitutions, as in Ecuador, Bolivia (officially: Estado Plurina-

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cional de Bolivia) and Venezuela. The 2008 constitution in Bolivia (Asamblea Constituyente de Bolivia 2008) emphasises the cultural diversity of the state’s peoples and admits communitarian rights parallel to individual rights, while in the liberal tradition of citizenship the individuals are the only unit holder of rights. As such, the individuals and the communities became the units holding rights in some constitutions. In his contribution, Stavenhagen also points out the conflictive nature of the recognition of communities as subjects of rights. This is shown mainly in regard to collective land property vis-à-vis the traditional liberal and individual private property. With the stipulation of these communal conditions in the constitution, the reference frame of “citizenship as a formal status” was remarkably altered, if seen from the point of view of Western conceptualisations of citizenship, as they are formed around the individual as the only main holder of civil, political and social rights in the Marshallian sense. The reifying institution for this new content of citizenship is none other than the state, though approved by the population through referenda. Buenrostro Alba, within this volume, gives the example of the “traditional judges” in Mexico, a figure that highlights how the bridge between collective and individual rights within the judiciary is intended to be built.

THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN SPACE AND THE THREE CONCEPTS To stress the importance of spatiality for the concepts of ethnicity, citizenship and belonging, a rather relational conception of spatiality is considered, in order to overcome, where possible, normatively related social categorisations. Space is understood as a relational composition of bodies (social and material bodies) that are continuously in motion and whereby spatial arrangements between them change permanently (Löw 2001). Thus, space and place is seen as a hybrid characterised by the material and symbolic components of life. These components mark the complexity of spatial constitutions that are based upon spatial structures and space as well as place producing agency. The approximation from a sociological, socio-geographical and anthropological point of view strongly adds a spatial dimension to the concepts of ethnicity, citizenship and belonging. In scientific and political communication the concepts have often been (and still are) used with inherent spatial and territorial references. The concept of ethnicity, for example, has been connected to the notion of a joint spatial origin or heritage, an argument used by different political actors

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from states to activists of indigenous rights movements in order to instrumentalise the primordial elements of ethnicity. In the Latin American context and worldwide, conflicts about land rights and access to natural resources are linked to people’s livelihoods, the economic and cultural necessities of both the rural population and ethnic groups, and their claim for land use rights. Territorial demarcations are therefore essential to the claim for free access to land and land resources. This territorial boundary making, also implying inclusive and exclusive aspects, has been marked as “strategic essentialism”, a term that describes the temporary creation of group identities to be used as a strategic resource in contentious politics. The term was introduced by Spivak (1996) in order to conceptualise political agency of nations, states, ethnic and minority groups (cf. Ströbele-Gregor 2010). These politics of belonging are carried out at different levels (community, national, regional) with implied spatial boundaries and acquisitions linked to larger group formations. A spatial dimension also sticks to the debate about citizenship, understood as a legal status being issued by hegemonic state authorities. In order to give consideration to political transformations, the de-nationalisation of politics and economies and the rise of translocal social relations, and to understand citizenship as a political practice rather than a status, a more open conception of citizenship was introduced. It is argued that such a conception of citizenship gives justice to de-territorialised political landscapes such as international activism (Isin 2009), feminist movements (Yuval-Davis 1997) and urban place making (Lepovsky and Frazer 2003). The concept of belonging, understood as both, a metaconcept to describe different social categorisations (such as ethnicity and citizenship) as well as a multiple and alterable attachment originating from everyday practices, implies a spatial perspective too. Increasingly used within the framework of migration studies and to frame the multiplicity and intersectionality of social relations, the concept of belonging is located at the interface between the local and the global, and by that means is able to dissolve the binary semantic of these spatial dimensions. Anthias (2006; 2008) introduced the term “translocational positionalities” to contest the inherent spatialities of concepts of belonging and identity, to break up with essentialised categorisations of social difference and to stress the growing complexity of forms of otherness. Here, the spatial reference is twofold and reflects the importance of place based interaction on the one hand, and movement on the other, or, to speak like Urry (2000, 133), the dialectic of roots and routes. Anthias’ term corresponds to the debate of

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transnational identities and critically reflects notions of diaspora, hybridity and cosmopolitism by pointing at social relations that are not necessarily linked to groups or group identities and thus, implied spatial boundaries.

THE STRUCTURE OF THE BOOK The articles in this book are altogether adapted versions of papers presented at the First International Symposium of the Research Network for Latin America, with the exception of the contribution by Jüssen and Youkhana, members of the Bonn subproject of the Research Network who present their ongoing research. As this event constituted the inaugural conference of the Research Network, its aim was primarily to present an overview over the state of the art into the investigation of ethnicity, citizenship and belonging and to initiate a transdisciplinary and transregional debate concerning these guiding concepts. As a result, the contributions and the authors present a wide array of perspectives, methods and disciplines. While some present case studies relate to one or more of the concepts, others go more deeply into theoretical debates. This diversity is intentional, as it reflects the manifoldness of the members, projects and approaches that integrate to create the Research Network and engage together to bring fructiferous debate. The contributions have been divided into three subchapters. In the first, historical approaches to ethnicity and citizenship are presented; the articles in themselves combine case studies and theoretical reflections. In the second chapter, ethnic and spatial aspects of citizenship are discussed. With the exception of the article by Stavenhagen, which serves as an introductory text, the articles use a regionally delimited case study to illustrate their deliberations about different dimensions of citizenship, going beyond “classical” notions of citizenship and occasionally addressing questions of ethnicity and belonging. The third chapter, which focuses principally upon belonging, can be subdivided into two parts. The first two articles by Geschiere and PfaffCzarnecka contain mostly theoretical reflections about the concept of belonging; neither author has a special research focus on Latin America and consequently they illustrate their considerations with examples from other parts of the world. The remaining contributions focus on practices of belonging and its spatial dimensions, analysing diverse case studies. Here follows a brief résumé of each article.

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ETHNICITY AND CITIZENSHIP IN A HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE The conference volume is opened by an article that has considerable historical and theoretical depth. Karoline Noack analyses the example of the north Peruvian city of Trujillo in the first century after the Spanish conquest. Based upon a significant number of historical sources she uses the example of the production, exchange and consumption of textiles as a lens to society in Trujillo. While the colonial societies in Latin America are normally categorised as sociedades de castas (“caste societies”) and these castas are often seen as ethnic categories, Noack found no evidence for the existence of ethnic categories in Trujillo and concludes that differences in the contact zone must be investigated by other means as for example by the analysis of material practices in daily life and employing the concept of transculturality. The contribution by Wolfgang Gabbert also has a historical and theoretical approach. It focuses upon different aspects of the concept ethnicity. He exposes a typological distinction between ethnie and ethnic group and illustrates his argumentation with an example from Nicaragua’s Atlantic Coast. His theoretical deliberations about ethnicity are entwined with a description of the ethnogenesis of two groups: the Miskitu Indians and the Afro-American Creoles, offering a broad historical perspective on the region and various internal and external factors in the process of ethnogenesis. The approach by Cecilia Méndez Gastelumendi and Carla Granados Moya is a historical one. However, they focus not so much upon ethnicity, but more on citizenship. Using the example of the “forgotten” civil wars of Peru at the beginning of the nineteenth century, they show how citizenship develops in a very young nation state. They underline the importance of the civil organisation of the rural people in the irruption of the war and, in a broader sense, in the construction of the State.

ETHNIC AND SPATIAL ASPECTS OF CITIZENSHIP The contribution by Rodolfo Stavenhagen gives a broad overview over the situation and the constant renegotiations of citizenship concerning indigenous peoples throughout Latin America. His deliberations encompass a panorama that starts with the Spanish conquest of America and continues until the present day. He highlights important theoretical currents over time and influen-

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tial historical processes, as for example, the formation of the nations and the role that the indigenous population played in it. Especially instructive is the theoretical discussion of the recent processes around multicultural and intercultural citizenship and its entanglement with human rights. Santiago Bastos discusses aspects of ethnic citizenship by means of the Maya in present day Guatemala, with explanatory references to the historical background. He analyses the different postures that exist among social actors, especially indigenous organisations in Guatemala. The different existing postures that express diverse versions of culture and identity are structured by Bastos in what he calls three “ideological poles”: a syncretic pole, a modernising pole and a mayanist pole. He explains how the references to these poles shape current social and political developments in Guatemala and also how they are entangled. Questions of ethnic and differentiated citizenship are also guiding the considerations of Manuel Buenrostro Alba. He focuses on the example of the “traditional judges” in Maya communities in the Mexican district of Quintana Roo on the peninsula of Yucatán. Apart from presenting some theoretical deliberations concerning the tension between individual and collective citizenship rights, he mainly analyses the experiences of the “traditional judges” who have existed since 1997 in Quintana Roo. The analysis of the relatively new figure of “traditional maya judge” is a good demonstration of the tensions that exist between different notions of the judiciary in multicultural societies such as Mexico.

THEORY AND PRACTICES OF BELONGING AND SPATIALITY The article by the social anthropologist Peter Geschiere takes a deep look at the concept of belonging, analysing current political developments outside Latin America, namely in Africa and Western Europe. He not only makes a comparison between current processes in several African countries and the Netherlands, but also dedicates quite a few pages to theoretical considerations. He goes back to the roots of the term autochthony, which is closely related to belonging; and this search leads him to classical Athens. Furthermore, based on his experience in the symposium, he carries out some brief deliberations about the term autochthon, as used in Africa, Western Europe and Canada, opposed to the term indigenous, used widely in Latin America.

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In the contribution by Joanna Pfaff-Czarnecka, a theoretical concept of belonging is developed as an emotionally charged social location, which the author bases on the three concepts of mutuality, commonality and attachments, inserting examples that demonstrate her point. Through this, she enables a distinction between identity and belonging. She also differentiates between an individual’s relation to a collective and collective belonging. She ends by giving an outlook on implications for the politics of belonging. Eveline Dürr, in her analysis of a festivity in Oaxaca, Mexico, takes a close look on another important aspect of belonging: its practices. She investigates the practices of belonging in the process of “touristification” of the celebration of the Day of the Dead (Día de los Muertos) in the Oaxacan town of Mitla. Special attention is paid to spatial and representational dimensions of belonging and to the role of different actors in the community, especially the socalled profesionales and the political implication their comportment entails. Like Eveline Dürr, Maria Amelia Viteri analyses a practice of belonging, this time the consumption and importance of food between Ecuadorian migrants in New York City. After some theoretical considerations in which she highlights that neither citizenship nor identity can enclose the notion of belonging, she stresses the importance of nostalgia and proceeds to analyse the situation of the Ecuadorian migrants in more detail, basing her deliberations mainly upon interview-material and the analysis of a multi-media installation she conducted in the Queens Museum of Art. The situation of transnational migrants is also a dominant theme in the contribution by Ingrid Kummels. She investigates how migrants between Mexico and the USA express collective feelings of belonging by analysing the example of “indigenous” filmmaking. The contribution follows the origins and dynamics of migration and filmmaking especially since the 1990s. The case of the p’urhepecha filmmaker Dante Cerano and two of his films are presented paradigmatically. Based on this analysis, conclusions about the connections of dynamics of belonging to new forms of geographic and virtual mobility are drawn; wherein some considerations about ethnicity and cultural citizenship are also mentioned. The contribution of Lara Jüssen and Eva Youkhana uses a space-based approach to the three key concepts of this book, ubicating them within a migration context. It is investigated how Latin American migrants in Madrid “make space” for labour, leisure and religious practices. The cases of Ecuadorian vendors in Casa de Campo, and of La Tabacalera and San Lorenzo in the

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neighbourhood of Lavapiés are followed as places of ethnic reproduction and reconstruction, as articulation and negotiation of citizenship and as vitalisation and making of belongings.

REFERENCES ALBIEZ, Sarah. “Contactos exteriores del Estado tarasco: Influencias desde dentro y fuera de Mesoamérica.” PhD dissertation. Bonn 2011. ANDERSON, Benedict. Die Erfindung der Nation: Zur Karriere eines folgenreichen Konzepts. Frankfurt am Main: Campus-Verlag 1993. Reihe Campus 1018. ANTHIAS, Floya. “Belongings in a Globalising and Unequal World: Rethinking Translocations.” The Situated Politics of Belonging. Ed. Nira Yuval-Davis, Kalpana Kannabiran, and Ulrike Vieten. London: Sage 2006. 17-31. Sage studies in international sociology 55. — “Thinking through the Lens of Translocational Positionality: an Intersectionality Frame for Understanding Identity and Belonging.” Translocations: Migration and Social Change, 4.1 (2008): 5-20. APITZSCH, Ursula. “Ethnicity as Participation and Belonging.” Ethnicity, Belonging and Biography: Ethnographical and Biographical Perspectives. Ed. Gabriele Rosenthal and Artur Bogner. Berlin: Lit Verlag 2009. 83-98. Ethnologie 16. ASAMBLEA CONSTITUYENTE DE BOLIVIA. Nueva Constitución Política del Estado 2008. Web. 19 Apr. 2011. . AYUNTAMIENTO DE MADRID. Población extranjera por país de nacionalidad (grandes zonas geográficas y países más significativos) y Distrito a 1 de enero de 2009. 20032010. Web. 2 May 2011. . BAGANHA, Maria I. “The Extension of Citizenship Rights to Non-Citizens.” Conflict, Citizenship and Civil Society. Ed. Patrick Baert, et al. London: Routledge 2010. 129-40. Routledge; European Sociological Association studies in European societies 11. BANGLADESH ELECTION COMMISSION. Ongoing Voter Registration 2000-2008. Web. 19 Apr. 2011. . BANKS, Marcus. Ethnicity: Anthropological Constructions. London: Routledge 1996. BARTH, Fredrik. “Introduction.” Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Culture Difference. Ed. Fredrik Barth. Bergen-Oslo; London: Universitets Forlaget, George Allen & Unwin 1969. 9-38.

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BERDAN, Frances F. “Concepts of Ethnicity and Class in Aztec-Period Mexico.” Ethnic identity in Nahua Mesoamerica: The View from Archaeology, Art History, Ethnohistory, and Contemporary Ethnography. Ed. Frances F. Berdan. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press 2008. 105-32. BOGNER, Artur, and Gabriele ROSENTHAL. “Introduction: Ethnicity, Biography and Options of Belonging.” Ethnicity, Belonging and Biography. Ethnographical and Biographical Perspectives. Ed. Artur Bogner and Gabriele Rosenthal. Berlin: Lit Verlag 2009. 9-23. BRICKELL, Katherine, and Ayona DATTA. “Introduction: Translocal Geographies.” Translocal Geographies: Spaces, Places, Connections. Ed. Katherine Brickell and Ayona Datta. Burlington: Ashgate 2010. 3-20. BROCKS, Simon. Die Autonomiebewegung in Bolivien am Beispiel von Santa Cruz. Köln 2010. Arbeitspapiere zur Internationalen Politik 1. Web. 6 Apr. 2011. . BRUBAKER, Rogers. Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany. Cambridge: Harvard University Press 2002. — “Ethnicity, Race and Nationalism.” Annual Review of Sociology, 35 (2009): 21-42. BRUMFIEL, Elizabeth M. “Ethnic Groups and Political Development in Ancient Mexico.” Factional Competition and Political Development in the New World. Ed. Elizabeth M. Brumfiel and John W. Fox. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press 1994. 89-102. New directions in archaeology. CACHÓN RODRÍGUEZ, Lorenzo, ed. La “España inmigrante”: Marco discriminatorio, mercado de trabajo y políticas de integración. Rubí: Anthropos 2009. Autores, textos y temas. Ciencias sociales 66. CASTLES, Stephen, and Alastair DAVIDSON. Citizenship and Migration. Globalization and the Politics of Belonging. London: Macmillan Press Ltd. 2000. CERTEAU, Michel de. Kunst des Handelns. 1980. Berlin: Merve Verlag 1988. CHRISTENSEN, Ann-Doerte. “Belonging and Unbelonging from an Intersectional Perspective.” Gender, Technology and Development, 13.1 (2009): 21-41. CHRISTIANSEN, Flemming, and Ulf HEDETOFT. “Introduction.” The Politics of Multiple Belonging: Ethnicity and Nationalism in Europe and East Asia. Ed. Flemming Christiansen and Ulf Hedetoft. Burlington: Ashgate 2004. 1-19. CONRAD, Christoph, and Jürgen KOCKA. Staatsbürgerschaft in Europa: Historische Erfahrungen und aktuelle Debatten. Hamburg: Ed. Körber-Stiftung 2001. CONSEJERÍA DE LA INMIGRACIÓN Y COOPERACIÓN DE LA COMUNIDAD DE MADRID. Plan de Integración 2009-2012 de la Comunidad de Madrid 2009. Web. 2 May 2011. . DEGREGORI, Carlos Iván. “Identidad étnica, movimiento sociales y participación política en el Perú.” Democracia, etnicidad y violencia política en los países andinos. Ed. Alberto Adrianzén. Lima: IFEA (Instituto Francés de Estudios Andinos) 1993. 113-33. Serie: América problema 16. ELWERT, Georg. Nationalismus und Ethnizität: Über die Bildung von Wir-Gruppen. Berlin: Verlag das Arab. Buch 1989. Ethnizität und Gesellschaft, Occasional papers Nr. 22. EMBERLING, Geoff. “Ethnicity in Complex Societies: Archaelogical Perspectives.” Journal of Archaelogical Research, 5.4 (1997): 295-344. FREITAG, Ulrike. “Translokalität als ein Zugang zur Geschichte globaler Verflechtungen.” H-Soz-u-Kult (2005): 1-11. Web. 6 Apr. 2011. . FREITAG, Ulrike, and Achim VON OPPEN, eds. Translocality: The Study of Globalising Processes from a Southern Perspective. Leiden: Brill 2010. Studies in Global Social History 4. GABBERT, Wolfgang. Becoming Maya: Ethnicity and Social Inequality in Yucatán since 1500. Tucson: University of Arizona Press 2004. — “Concepts of Ethnicity.” Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies, 1.1 (2006): 85-103. HAHN, Alois, and Maren SCHORCH. “Tests und andere Identifikationsverfahren als Exklusionsfaktoren.” Grenzen, Differenzen, Übergänge: Spannungsfelder interund transkultureller Kommunikation. Ed. Antje Gunsenheimer. Bielefeld: transcript 2007. 253-68. HEINZ, Marco. Ethnizität und Ethnische Identität: Eine Begriffsgeschichte. Bonn: Mundus 1996. HERZOG, Tamar. Defining Nations: Immigrants and Citizens in Earlymodern Spain and Spanish America. New Haven: Yale University Press 2003. HUGENBERG, Kurt, and Donald SACCO. “Social Categorization and Stereotyping: How Social Categorization Biases Person Perception and Face Memory.” Social Cognition, 2 (2008): 1052-72. INSTITUTO NACIONAL DE ESTADÍSTICA (INE). Instituto Nacional de Estadística (INE) 2011. Web. 2 May 2011. . IRUROZQUI, Marta. “De cómo el vecino hizo al ciudadano en Charcas y de cómo el ciudadano conservó al vecino en Bolivia, 1809-1830.” Revolución, independencia y las nuevas naciones de América. Ed. Jaime E. Rodríguez O. Madrid: Fundación MAPFRE 2005. 451-84. ISIN, Engin F. “Citizenship in Flux: The Figure of the Activist Citizen.” Subjectivity, 29 (2009): 367-88.

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ISIN, Engin F., and Bryan S. TURNER. “Citizenship Studies: An Introduction.” Handbook of Citizenship Studies. Ed. Engin F. Isin and Bryan S. Turner. Los Angeles: Sage 2002. 1-10. — ed. Handbook of Citizenship Studies. Los Angeles: Sage 2002. JACKSON, Peter, Philip CRANG, and Claire DWYER. “Introduction: The Spaces of Transnationality.” Transnational Spaces. Ed. Peter Jackson, Philip Crang, and Claire Dwyer. London: Routledge 2005. 1-23. Transnationalism 6. JOPPKE, Christian. Citizenship and Immigration. Cambridge: Polity 2010. LENTZ, Carola. “Constructing Ethnicity: Elite Biographies and Funerals in Ghana.” Ethnicity, Belonging and Biography: Ethnographical and Biographical Perspectives. Ed. Gabriele Rosenthal and Artur Bogner. Berlin: Lit Verlag 2009. 181-202. Ethnologie 16. LEPOVSKY, Jonathan, and James FRAZER. “Building Community Citizens: Claiming the Right to Place-making in the City.” Urban Studies, 40.1 (2003): 127-42. LÖW, Martina. Raumsoziologie. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp 2001. LUHMANN, Niklas. Das Recht der Gesellschaft. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp 1995. MARSHALL, Thomas H. Citizenship and Social Class and Other Essays. Cambridge: CUP 1950. MARTÍNEZ BARACS, Rodrigo. “Etimologías políticas michoacanas.” Autoridad y gobierno indígena en Michoacán: Ensayos a través de su historia. Ed. Carlos Salvador Paredes Martínez and Marta Terán. Zamora: El Colegio de Michoacán et al. 2003. 61-90. Colección Investigaciones. OCHOA SERRANO, Álvaro, and Gerardo SÁNCHEZ DÍAZ. Breve historia de Michoacán. México, D.F.: El Colegio de México et al. 2003. Serie Breves historias de los Estados de la República Mexicana. PAREDES MARTÍNEZ, Carlos. “Charo: Capital de los Matlatzincas en Michoacán.” VIII Coloquio Internacional sobre Otopames, Homenaje a Roberto Weitlaner y Doris Bartholomew. Zitácuaro; Morelia. 6 Nov. 2006. PEDONE, Claudia. “Tú siempre jalas a los tuyos”: Cadenas y redes migratorios de las familias ecuatorianas hacia España. Barcelona: Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona 2003. PERLSTEIN POLLARD, Helen. Taríacuri´s Legacy. The Prehispanic Tarascan State. Norman; London: The University of Oklahoma Press 1993. — “The Tarascan Empire.” The Postclassic Mesoamerican World. Ed. Michael Ernest Smith and Frances Frei Berdan. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press 2003. 78-86. — “Un mapa étnico del Estado tarasco prehispánico.” Atlas etnográfico de los pueblos originarios de Michoacán. Ed. Aida Castilleja, in press. ROSENTHAL, Gabriele, and Artur BOGNER, eds. Ethnicity, Belonging and Biography: Ethnographical and Biographical Perspectives. Berlin: Lit Verlag 2009. Ethnologie 16.

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SANDSTROM, Alan R., and Frances F. BERDAN. “Some Finishing Thoughts and Unfinished Business.” Ethnic Identity in Nahua Mesoamerica: The View from Archaeology, Art History, Ethnohistory, and Contemporary Ethnography. Ed. Frances F. Berdan. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press 2008. 204-20. SASSEN, Saskia. “The Repositioning of Citizenship: Emergent Subjects and Spaces for Politics.” Berkeley Journal of Sociology, 46 (2002): 4-24. SAVAGE, Mike, Gaynor BAGNALL, and Brian LONGHURST. Globalization and Belonging. London; Thousand Oaks: Sage 2005. SOYSAL, Yasemin Nuhog˘ lu. Limits of Citizenship: Migrants and Postnational Membership in Europe. Chicago: University of Chicago 1997. SPIVAK, Gayatari Chakravorty. “Subaltern studies: Deconstructing Historiography.” 1985. The Spivak Reader. 1985. Ed. Donna Landry and Gerald MacLean. London: Routledge 1996. 203-36. STICHWEH, Rudolf. “Inklusion und Exklusion in der Weltgeschichte: Am Beispiel der Schule und des Erziehungssystems.” Intention und Funktion: Probleme der Vermittlung psychischer und sozialer Systeme. Ed. Jens Aderhold and Olaf Kranz. Wiesbaden: Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften 2007. 113-20. STRÖBELE-GREGOR, Juliana. “Indigene Völker und Gesellschaft in Lateinamerika: Herausforderungen an die Demokratie.” Indigene Völker in Lateinamerika und Entwicklungszusammenarbeit. Ed. Deutsche Gesellschaft für Technische Zusammenarbeit (GTZ) GmbH. Eschborn: GTZ 2004. 1-27. — “When Difference Matters: The Construction of Identity, Gender, ‘Otherness’ and Citizenship in Indigenous Discourses in Andean Societies.” Universität Bonn. Bonn. 5 Oct. 2010. TAJFEL, Henri, M. G. BILLIG, and R. P. BUNDY. “Social Categorization and Intergroup Behaviour.” European Journal of Social Psychology, I.5 (1971): 149-78. TURNER, Bryan S. “Contemporary Problems in the Theory of Citizenship.” Citizenship and Social Theory. Ed. Bryan S. Turner. London: Sage 1993. 1-18. Politics and culture. URRY, John. Sociology beyond Societies: Mobilities for the 21st Century. London; New York: Routledge 2000. — “Global Flows and Global Citizenship.” Democracy, Citizenship and the Global City. Ed. Egin F. Isin. London; New York: Routledge 2003. 63-78. YUVAL-DAVIS, Nira. Gender & Nation. London; New York: Sage 1997. Politics and Culture. — “Belonging and the Politics of Belonging.” Patterns of Prejudice, 40.3 (2006): 197-214.

I. ETHNICITY AND CITIZENSHIP IN HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE ETNICIDAD Y CIUDADANÍA EN PERSPECTIVA HISTÓRICA

LA CONSTRUCCIÓN DE DIFERENCIA EN LA ZONA DE CONTACTO: INTERROGANTES AL RESPECTO DE LA ETNICIDAD

Karoline Noack

RESUMEN A partir del “encuentro colonial” se examinan los discursos antropológicos e históricos de la etnicidad en la sociedad colonial. Se comparan estos discursos con los términos de identidad que utilizaron los actores sociales de la época para indicar la diferencia cultural. Se propone que en Hispanoamérica, entendida como zona de contacto, los actores transculturales crearon categorías de identidad interactuando por medio de prácticas materiales, relacionadas con la producción, el intercambio y el consumo de los textiles, y también crearon categorías discursivas. De esta manera, dichos actores establecieron nuevas representaciones de la diferencia desde los “márgenes” de la sociedad, interactuando con la metrópoli.

INTRODUCCIÓN Desde los años noventa del siglo pasado, iniciados por los festejos de conmemoración de los 500 años del “descubrimiento” de América por Cristóbal Colón y luego con la aparición pública del Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (EZLN) el 1° de enero de 1994, los términos étnico y etnicidad1 entraron con vehemencia a las prácticas y discursos políticos, sociales y –mediados por ellos– en los académicos. La irrupción en tales discursos se puede considerar como una segunda ola de fuerza explosiva de popularidad de lo étnico, después de los años 60, cuando la etnicidad empezó a desplazar el término cultura en el discurso antropológico (Noack en prensa; Wolf 1993, 343-45).

1 En este artículo se emplea la cursiva para indicar el carácter de construcción teórica del término en cuestión.

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Hoy día, paralelamente al discurso étnico, se puede observar un retorno de la categoría de raza al discurso antropológico, algo que ya se había creído superado a comienzos del siglo XX (Hale 2004, 211). Se ha visto que la raza siguió y sigue funcionando en contextos sociopolíticos, si bien de una manera invisible (Gilroy 1993; de la Cadena 1998; Weismantel y Eisenman 1998). El problema de este discurso es que no aparece sólo referido a la raza, sino, aunque soterradamente (de la Cadena 1998), también como discurso sobre la cultura y la etnicidad. La cultura, dice Hale, bajo el término de racismo cultural (Gilroy 1993), llega a ser el “principio articulador” que ocupa sigilosamente el lugar del esencialismo biológico (Hale 2004, 213). Analizar, cómo funciona este mecanismo sería la labor de una antropología crítica (ibíd.). La distancia entre la cultura y la etnicidad no es muy grande. Con el desplazamiento del término cultura hacia el de etnicidad que se dio en los años sesenta, entraron a escena los procesos de construcción y autodefinición de grupos sociales, sobre todo respecto a la demarcación de éstos frente a otros grupos. Las relaciones de poder que se hicieron visibles con la “entrada” de la etnicidad a los procesos sociales habían sido ignoradas por la antropología durante mucho tiempo (Wolf 1993, 34344). Este nuevo distanciamiento del esencialismo cultural, al cual Wolf le había dado la bienvenida (ibíd., 344), hoy día, casi 20 años después, aparentemente ya ha perdido vigencia. Experimentamos, como mencioné arriba, el retorno del esencialismo –que ahora es un esencialismo étnico–. Este dispositivo es vigente no sólo en los procesos actuales, sino también en las realidades socio-históricas de la época colonial y en los discursos científicos sobre este período que voy a analizar a continuación. A partir del “encuentro colonial” como situación ejemplar, examinaré los discursos antropológicos e históricos de la etnicidad y sus términos relacionados. Además, propondré una serie de características de las diferencias que estaban presentes en la sociedad de la época colonial.

ENCUENTROS Y DISCURSOS DE ETNICIDAD En las Américas, la época colonial dio lugar a un primer encuentro de grupos poblacionales que llegaron de Europa durante la conquista, y también de África y Asia, con los indígenas del continente. En estos encuentros se produjo un espacio social que se puede conceptualizar como zona de contacto (Pratt

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37

1992). Esta conceptualización del encuentro colonial hace énfasis en las representaciones culturales y prácticas, que los actores sociales de Europa, pero también de África, Asia y de las Américas, intercambiaron mediante relaciones de poder muy desiguales, pero, no obstante, de manera recíproca (ibíd., 2). En esta situación inicial se pueden “leer” y analizar la forma, los procesos sociales, culturales, económicos y políticos, las estructuras y los diversos actores que construyeron esa “nueva” sociedad dentro de relaciones de poder coloniales en un contexto globalizado. Precisamente, ese complejo tejido nos brinda la oportunidad de comprobar la relevancia social y el desarrollo histórico de un fenómeno que describimos como etnicidad. La etnicidad, o bien las categorías étnicas, están pensadas en muchos trabajos como el fenómeno central que estructuró la sociedad colonial y que sigue estructurando las sociedades actuales latinoamericanas. La sociedad colonial de Hispanoamérica es conocida como una sociedad de castas. El problema es que sin explicar, definir ni considerar el proceso histórico respectivo, las castas han terminado siendo imaginadas como grupos étnicos. En este artículo se describirá el proceso histórico de la génesis de la sociedad colonial para ilustrar el fenómeno mismo de etnicidad, justamente, como un proceso histórico. Para empezar, voy a presentar primero el estado actual de la investigación que considera a la sociedad colonial como una sociedad de castas. La pregunta que se plantea entonces es, ¿cómo describir la sociedad colonial hispanoamericana? ¿Es la sociedad de castas, muchas veces considerada como una sociedad sistematizada en categorías étnicas, una manera adecuada de determinar la sociedad colonial? ¿En qué medida conceptos como etnicidad, o incluso raza, nos ayudan a entender la estructura de la sociedad colonial? Al mismo tiempo quiero preguntar qué implicaciones tienen estas propuestas para el estudio de la situación actual en el Perú. En este punto se evidenciará mi convicción acerca de la lectura que se ha hecho de la etnicidad en la historia. Basándome en mis observaciones argumento que tal lectura le ha dado forma a la situación actual de las relaciones étnicas en el Perú y en otros Estados nacionales de América Latina. La idea de la sociedad de castas aparece como una “pirámide de castas” (Mörner 1980) o una hidra de hasta 50 “colores por números”, o sea, clasificaciones de casta (Cahill 1994). Además, la sociedad colonial es descrita como un “mercado de identidades” (Mangan 2009). La casta, el color, la identidad son los componentes de la “etnicidad colonial”, para retomar un térmi-

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no de Cahill. Con este término, Cahill recalca el carácter cambiante de la etnicidad en las sociedades coloniales hispanoamericanas. Una primera cesura importante se produjo en la conquista española, ya que, según Cahill, hasta 1532, la etnicidad había sido una sub-categoría de la raza en Perú (Cahill 1994, 332). El autor se refiere a la transformación del carácter de la etnicidad que ocurrió en la época colonial, ya que el criterio genealógico dejó de funcionar en la “clasificación étnica” como, según Cahill, había funcionado durante la época de los Incas. Uno de los “pioneros” en analizar la sociedad de castas a base de fuentes cuantitativas como registros de matrimonios, de bautizos y defunciones fue Cope (1994) con su trabajo sobre la sociedad plebeya de la ciudad de México (1660-1720). En este estudio, Cope trata el tema de la relación entre la raza, la etnicidad y la casta. Nos explica que las “marcas raciales” forman parte de la adscripción étnica y que las cualidades físicas y morales están relacionadas directamente con la “herencia biológica”. Según Cope, en el México colonial esta supuesta procedencia de un actor social fue uno de los rasgos más importantes para determinar la categorización social. Frecuentemente, la procedencia se expresaba en términos físicos como limpieza de sangre o mala raza. Con este argumento justifica el investigador norteamericano la aplicación del término raza y lo antepone en vez del término etnicidad.2 Cope también considera en su estudio que el “uso de la identidad étnica” en el México colonial fue empleado libre, flexible y estratégicamente. Sin embargo, por su proceder metodológico, el término raza llega a tener un carácter estático, aunque lo entienda como un fenómeno socialmente construido (ibíd., 5-6). Las adscripciones étnicas del concepto de raza, después de todo, están presupuestas como algo ya dado. En sus conclusiones de la antología Imperial Subjects. Race and Identity in Colonial Latin America (Fisher y O’Hara 2009), bien es verdad que Cope destaca que raza y casta no son sinónimos, pero, enlaza el término raza con casta y también con la sangre como si fuera una sustancia inalterable (Cope 2009, 250, basándose en Lewis 2003).3 2

“Racial labeling is here viewed as a subset of ethnic adscription, one in which physical and moral qualities are directly linked to biological heritage. Since putative ancestry (often expressed in very physical terms, e.g., limpieza de sangre or mala raza) was central to social categorization in colonial Mexico, I will generally employ the term ‘race’ rather than ‘ethnicity’” (Cope 1994, 171, nota 9). 3 Véase Stolcke y su argumentación sobre el significado de la sangre en aquella época (Stolcke 2009, 56-57; íd. 2008).

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39

Según estos estudios, raza, color, casta y etnicidad interactúan de alguna manera en el proceso de la construcción de una sociedad heterogénea colonial, basada en diferencias que de alguna manera son “matizadas” por los términos mencionados. Esta situación fue uno de los puntos de partida de la investigación que he llevado a cabo a partir del desarrollo de la sociedad urbana de Trujillo, en la costa norte del Perú, como un caso ejemplar de una zona de contacto (Noack 2009). El enfoque de este trabajo es “traducir” los conceptos de etnicidad y raza a las nociones de diferencia –expresada en las diversas adscripciones– y de identidad. Este paso me parece necesario para no predeterminar el tipo de diferencia, es decir, para no preclasificar la diferencia como étnica. En su lugar, habría que determinar si se trata de diferencia en términos culturales, sociales o jurídicos. De tal manera, se puede explicar la noción de la diferencia en sus múltiples formas y contextos como un resultado del proceso histórico mismo. Con ese fin, lo más importante fue decidir qué tipo de fuentes resultaban más idóneas para indagar la cuestión. Resultó que las fuentes más adecuadas fueron aquellas que no se habían utilizado hasta el momento.

LAS FUENTES Se planteó la cuestión de cómo se puede evitar reproducir simplemente las categorías dadas en la documentación de la administración colonial. Decidí no basar el análisis en primer lugar en registros administrativos como los de matrimonios, bautismos, difuntos y censos. Estos documentos registraron las categorías que buscaron imponer instituciones como el fisco y la Iglesia. Por eso entiendo estas categorías como representaciones de las clasificaciones de la institución correspondiente y no como adscripciones de identidad inalterables. Como alternativa busqué una base de datos tan grande como fuera posible, que representara un amplio número de categorías. Encontré una descripción amplia de la población en un sinnúmero de archivos notariales de Trujillo que contenían testamentos, cartas de dote, poderes y varios tipos de contratos como transacciones de casas, solares o terrenos, contratos de aprendizaje, de trabajo y de cooperaciones. A partir de estos datos pude averiguar tipos de auto-identificación y también de identificaciones hechas por “otros” pobladores, sus ocupaciones, sus lugares de procedencia y las relaciones de parentesco, incluso de parentesco social. De esta manera he reunido una base

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de datos de aproximadamente 4.000 entradas de pobladores, que cubren un lapso de tiempo de 80 años, desde 1539 hasta 1619. Las fuentes muestran que una persona puede ser descrita como mestizo en cierta situación y dependiendo del tipo de fuente, pero, si se trata de un pleito o de un contrato, en otra situación no aparece ninguna adscripción identitaria. Estas diferencias en las adscripciones de las personas están registradas en la base de datos. Con este material es posible documentar un espectro amplio de actores, las relaciones cuantitativas entre los diferentes grupos de actores y la diversidad de sus orígenes, adscripciones identitarias, actividades económicas, relaciones de género y parentesco. La pregunta es, ahora, cómo construyeron los actores concretamente su espacio físico y social, así como su lugar cultural. ¿Cómo se definieron los actores involucrados en estos procesos en cuanto a su identidad, o de qué manera fueron definidos por “otros”? Mediante este análisis espero poder establecer cómo se estructuró la sociedad colonial local y cotidianamente, y qué significado tuvieron en este contexto las adscripciones de identidad. Junto con los actores sociales conceptualizo los textiles y la ropa como medios de los procesos de negociación transculturales y sociales, porque desempeñaron un rol importante en la producción de diferencia tanto en Europa como en las Américas. Se puede suponer que los pobladores actuaron sobre todo mediante prácticas relacionadas con la producción, el intercambio y consumo de textiles, construyendo de esa manera la “nueva” sociedad colonial.

PLANTEAMIENTO DEL TEMA: TRUJILLO Trujillo con sus valles sirve de manera casi ideal como espacio de estudio. La ciudad está ubicada en el corazón del antiguo imperio Chimú, lo cual permite sospechar la posibilidad de ciertas continuidades históricas del pasado prehispánico en la sociedad colonial. A pesar de su carácter provincial, Trujillo fue central para la economía colonial. La cantidad de población factible (en comparación con ciudades como Lima, p. ej.) hace posible un estudio que abarca a la sociedad urbana en su conjunto, en vez de mirar separadamente los diferentes grupos que la componían (como españoles o indios o negros o mujeres). Dos estudios históricos de los años noventa marcan dos momentos específicos en la historia de Trujillo durante la época colonial (Fraser 1990; Rizo-

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Patrón Boylan y de Aljovín Losada 1998). Caracterizando a Trujillo como “una ciudad llena de indios” que “acaso se veía como ciudad española” en el momento de su fundación, Fraser, por un lado, señala una nueva perspectiva de ésta y de otras ciudades del virreinato del Perú (Fraser 1990, 69), que habían sido consideradas como fundaciones en novo en territorios no poblados (Durán Montero 1978, 72). Por otro lado, Rizo-Patrón Boylan y de Aljovín Losada describen la ciudad de Trujillo del siglo XVIII como una urbe en donde los “indios y mestizos” representaban una minoría dentro de la “plebe”, y en cuyas “familias más destacadas” no se advertía el “mestizaje con otras razas, ni siquiera con indios de origen noble” (Rizo-Patrón Boylan y de Aljovín Losada 1998, 244, 289). Estos dos trabajos señalan composiciones de la sociedad urbana trujillana muy distintas. Llama la atención que los autores en ninguno de los casos se refieren a una sociedad de castas. En este artículo, recurriré a esta situación inicial –ubicada en Trujillo, en la costa norte del Perú– como una perspectiva ejemplar, desde la cual se puede conceptualizar la sociedad colonial de América Latina en su proceso histórico. Trujillo y su entorno se pueden entender como zona de contacto, un espacio transcultural y social, constituido y estructurado por los actores mismos. Fraser fue la primera en señalar que Trujillo, al igual que otras ciudades como p. ej. La Paz, Sucre o Huamanga, había sido fundada sobre un asentamiento prehispánico (Fraser 1990, 64). En el caso de Trujillo, se trata del asentamiento de Chan Chan, centro ceremonial de la sociedad chimú, situado en las cercanías, cuyos conceptos urbanos y elementos arquitectónicos fueron muy importantes para la “nueva” sociedad urbana. En Chan Chan se habían sintetizado las largas experiencias de los centros de poder del norte peruano. Tal continuidad, de alguna manera demuestra la estabilidad con la cual funcionaban las formas de organización social y política en esa área. Las características condensadas en la sociedad chimú fueron retomadas en el orden urbano social y espacial y reapropiadas en la sociedad colonial temprana. Entre ellas se encuentran algunos elementos arquitectónicos como las viviendas, que se levantaron sobre terraplenes, con un patio o con paredes construidas con nichos. En el interior de éstas había cuartos y patios de diferentes niveles a los que se podía acceder por medio de rampas. También la sencilla arquitectura quincha de rancherías y baharaques es una clara reminiscencia de la arquitectura prehispánica. Otro principio estructural durante la época colonial temprana que se puede atribuir a la organización social de Chan Chan fue el “principio dual”

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de la vivienda de los indígenas encomendados, cuyos caciques tenían casas para ellos mismos, así como para “su gente”, al lado de los solares de los encomenderos. Mientras en otras ciudades coloniales las jerarquías de poder se manifestaron en la traza de la ciudad (es decir, el centro del espacio urbano, entendiéndose éste como tablero de ajedrez), en Trujillo la expresión del poder fue un principio dual. En esta ciudad no hay evidencias de que el prestigio social de los barrios urbanos disminuyera entre mas distantes se encontraran de la plaza mayor, como ocurre en otras ciudades coloniales. En cambio, encontramos el fenómeno de la conversación como parte de la traza, según se desprende de la siguiente cita: la viña [de Juana de Figueroa] esta en la traza desta cibdad y por la delantera della vive este to y otras personas aunque esta lejos de la conversaçion de la cibdad mas q. por las espaldas de la dha. biña ques donde bive el dho. Alonso Caro y la calle sobre que este pleyto esta en parte despoblada y q. no hay maz bezindad del dho. Alo y solares de indios [las marcaciones son mías, KN] (Archivo Departamental de la Libertad 01.03.1566).

La conversación, como lo manifiesta la fuente, es algo parecido al centro del centro, es decir, el centro de la traza. Logramos determinar que la traza estaba compuesta por diferentes partes, ya que además de su centro también había zonas despobladas o menos pobladas, donde se ubicaban los “solares de indios”, huertas y viñas, pero donde también vivía una persona tan reconocida como el procurador Alonso Caro. La conversación era algo parecido a un centro móvil, que se constituyó a lo largo de las relaciones entre los pobladores que actuaban en determinados contextos. Con la ayuda del término conversación, la traza puede ser definida como un espacio en el cual las transiciones entre grupos sociales, políticos y culturales por un lado, y los ámbitos públicos-privados y urbanos-rurales por otro lado, eran continuas y fluidas. En el momento de este pleito en que se mencionaba la conversación, como durante todo el siglo XVI, los indígenas continuaron teniendo participación en las relaciones urbanas. En la mitad del siglo XVI hubo casos de indios que adquirieron el estatus de vecino (con connotación española, o sea con solar, casa etc.) y que por lo tanto, ya no fueron clasificados fiscalmente como indios. Los indígenas que llegaron a la ciudad al final del siglo XVI, de igual manera compraron casas y solares. Los archivos notariales registran una nueva categoría para aquel momento: el solarero / la solarera (Graubart 2007, 82).

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Según nuestro conocimiento, este término sólo se conoce a partir de los documentos de Trujillo (cf. ibíd.). Este nuevo término denomina a los propietarios de origen indígena de solares y no coincide en nada con las castas. Posiblemente, los propietarios de origen indígena inventaron esta categoría para mantener la equidad con los vecinos. Pero, lo importante es, que no es una categoría del fisco ni de la Iglesia. Mi hipótesis es que en estos ejemplos, términos como conversación y solarero –que representan nuevos fenómenos coloniales–, hacen visible un “vocabulario de la transculturación”. Vamos a ver, de qué manera los pobladores que interactuaron mediante prácticas relacionadas con la producción, el intercambio y el consumo de textiles, procedieron mediante la diferencia, utilizando adscripciones de identidad.

TEXTILES: PRODUCCIÓN Principalmente, se puede diferenciar entre la producción de textiles en el contexto de la encomienda –ropa de la tierra– y en el contexto urbano. Trujillo se integró al mercado mundial mediante la producción de la ropa de la tierra, la cual constituía una mercancía destinada a la minería de plata. Para el fin de este trabajo, sin embargo, se va a considerar solo la producción urbana de textiles. Los textiles dedicados al consumo de los pobladores de la ciudad se producían en los talleres de los sastres, costureros, calceteros, sederos etc. Con base en los archivos notariales he analizado las adscripciones de identidad de las personas ocupadas en la producción. Además he examinado las relaciones entre deudores y acreedores –siempre con sus adscripciones correspondientes– que están reflejadas en los testamentos. Estas relaciones ofrecen información sobre las formas de intercambio entre los pobladores. He analizado el consumo a partir de las categorías de bienes que se mencionan en los testamentos. Con 100 personas, los obreros textiles conformaron el grupo de artesanos más grande de Trujillo en aquella época. Entre las 143 diferentes ocupaciones registradas en total (cf. tabla 1 en el Apéndice), se encuentran siete categorías que se refieren al sector textil: sastre, sedero, calcetero, costurero(a), bordador, cordonero y sombrerero.4 Las únicas ocupaciones con un número más 4

Lo que llama la atención es la falta de los hilanderos y los tejedores. Parece que este tipo de producción fue delegado a las comunidades indígenas y los obrajes.

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TABLA 2 Trabajadores textiles registrados entre 1539 y 1619 Ocupación

Total

Sastre

58

Sedero

14

Sombrerero

9

Aprendiz de sastre

8

Calzetero

7

Aprendiz de calzetero

1

Cordonero

1

Costurero

1

Bordador

1

Total

100

alto de trabajadores fueron los clérigos, esclavos, el personal de servicio y los mercaderes. Entre los artesanos siguen los carpinteros (54 personas), plateros y zapateros (con 35 personas registradas respectivamente). Los obreros textiles de Trujillo aparecen con el mayor número de categorías de identidad adscritas. Los sastres (58) están registrados en diez categorías de identidad: indio, (indio)5, indio ladino, mestizo, español, negro esclavo, mulato esclavo, negro, moreno horro, vizcaino; además sin adscripción de identidad. La tabla 4 presenta la distribución de ocupaciones textiles a lo largo del tiempo con relación a las categorías profesionales y adscripciones identitarias. Se nota que el número más alto de obreros textiles se encuentra en la década que va de 1559 a 1568. A este conjunto de obreros textiles le corresponden cuatro ocupaciones diferentes: la de calzetero, sastre, sedero y aprendiz de 5

En los documentos revisados estas adscripciones aparecen con paréntesis y sin paréntesis. Éste signo ortográfico indica que la adscripción identitaria de una persona concreta depende del contexto.

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45

TABLA 3 Cantidad de adscripciones encontradas para cada tipo de trabajador textil entre 1539 y 1619 Ocupación Aprendiz de calzetero

Número de adscripciones 1

Aprendiz de sastre

6

Bordador

1

Calzetero

4

Cordonero Costurero

1 1

Sastre

11

Sedero

4

Sombrerero

3

Tipo de adscripciones indio indio indio criollo indio ladino mulato libre sin adscripción zambahigo español español indio indio ladino sin adscripción sin adscripción español (español) (indio) (mestizo) español indio indio ladino mulato esclavo negro negro esclavo sin adscripción vizcaino indio indio ladino mulato sin adscripción (indio ladino) español sin adscripción

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Karoline Noack

TABLA 4 Trabajadores textiles por categorías de identidad en las décadas más relevantes Periodo 1549-1558 Ocupación Sedero

Casta

Hombre

Mujer

sin adscripción

1

0

1

0

Total

Periodo 1559-1568 Ocupación

Casta

Hombre

Mujer

Aprendiz de calzetero

indio

1

0

sin adscripción

3

0

español

1

0

sin adscripción

8

0

(español)

1

0

español

2

0

indio

2

0

negro

1

0

negro esclavo

3

0

vizcaino

1

0

sin adscripción

4

0

27

0

Calzetero

Sastre

Sedero Total

47

La construcción de diferencia en la zona de contacto

TABLA 4 (Cont.) Periodo 1569-1578 Ocupación

Casta

Hombre

Mujer

Aprendiz de sastre

indio

1

0

sin adscripción

5

0

(indio)

1

0

indio

4

0

esclavo

1

0

12

0

Casta

Hombre

Mujer

indio ladino

1

0

sin adscripción

2

0

indio ladino

1

0

sin adscripción

2

0

indio

2

0

mulato

1

0

9

0

Sastre

Total

Periodo 1579-1588 Ocupación Calzetero Sastre

Sedero

Total

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Karoline Noack

TABLA 4 (Cont.) Periodo 1589-1598 Ocupación

Casta

Hombre

Mujer

mulato libre

2

0

Cordonero

sin adscripción

1

0

Costurero

español

0

1

sin adscripción

0

1

sin adscripción

3

0

indio

2

0

sin adscripción

4

0

12

2

Casta

Hombre

Mujer

Aprendiz de sastre

zambahigo

1

0

Calzetero

indio ladino

1

0

sin adscripción

4

0

(mestizo)

1

0

español

1

0

indio

3

0

indio ladino

2

0

sin adscripción

2

0

(indio)

1

0

español

1

0

17

0

Aprendiz de sastre

Sastre

Sedero Sombrerero Total

Periodo 1599-1608 Ocupación

Sastre

Sombrerero

Bordador Total

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calcetero, y se clasifica en ocho categorías identitarias. Llama la atención que en las últimas dos décadas del período estudiado se registró un gran número de obreros en textiles, ocupados en cinco o seis categorías profesionales y clasificados en seis o bien siete categorías identitarias. Se puede resumir que tanto el número de las categorías profesionales como la cantidad de las categorías identitarias fueron creciendo en el transcurso del tiempo. Si comparamos a los obreros textiles con los plateros y los zapateros –que después de los obreros textiles constituían los grupos de artesanos más numerosos–, se nota que los plateros están registrados en menos categorías de identidad que los obreros textiles. A su vez, los zapateros se ven diferenciados por más categorías identitarias que los plateros. Lo que llama la atención en este caso es que un gran número de esas adscripciones está asociado con la categoría indio.

TEXTILES: INTERCAMBIO Los testamentos son las fuentes que ofrecen más información sobre el intercambio de mercancías entre los pobladores de Trujillo. Los testadores frecuentemente enlistan una serie de acreedores y deudores. Este hecho nos permite una mirada a las redes locales, regionales y transregionales. Muchos de los testadores documentaron deudas y cobros pendientes con detalle e independientemente de su posición social. Eso significa que también los pobladores que contaban con muy pocos ingresos, disponían tanto de listas de deudores como de acreedores. Los pobladores que tenían deudas estaban involucrados en el sistema de créditos. Eso les permitía mantener amplias redes de relaciones. Como materia de deudas y cobros pendientes se mencionan textiles y ropa, efectivo y productos agrarios como trigo, maíz, azúcar, fécula y vino. Casi dos tercios de los testamentos registrados documentan estas relaciones acreedor-deudor. Un 10% de ellos demuestran más de 20 relaciones de este tipo. La red de un comerciante, p. ej., llegó a abarcar 83 relaciones, lo que quiere decir que tenía deudas con personas o grupos de personas (p. ej. con “los indios de”) que se encontraban incluso en Chile, Panamá o en la Península ibérica. Partiendo de los resultados acerca de estas relaciones, se puede formular la hipótesis de que la posición social de los pobladores se manifiesta en el número y en el volumen de dinero y bienes que circulaban en las relaciones acreedor-deudor.

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Ahora bien, la pregunta que resulta interesante, de acuerdo con la información mencionada, es: ¿quiénes eran las personas que se relacionaban de esta manera?, o, en otras palabras, ¿en qué categorías identitarias están clasificadas las personas involucradas en relaciones acreedor-deudor? Del análisis se desprende que los acreedores-deudores se encuentran diferenciados por 16 categorías de identidad. Si consideramos las categorías de los testadores en función de los acreedores-deudores, vemos que las categorías de adscripción identitaria entre los testadores y los acreedores-deudores son muy variadas. Esto significa que las adscripciones identitarias no llegaron a predestinar un grupo a ser deudor o acreedor. Los pobladores de varias categorías de identidad aparecen documentados tanto en el “rol” de acreedor como en el de deudor. Eso significa, p. ej., que los españoles no solo son acreedores y los indios deudores, sino que en el grupo de los acreedores se encuentran españoles, indios y personas de otras categorías de identidad como los hay en el grupo de los deudores también.

TEXTILES: CONSUMO La importancia de los textiles y de la ropa en el consumo de los pobladores de Trujillo, se pudo establecer también a partir del análisis estadístico de los testamentos. En los testamentos estudiados –más de 300–, se pueden distinguir 19 categorías de adscripción de identidad para los testadores. La relevancia que tenían los textiles y la ropa para los pobladores, se hace visible en el número de testamentos que enlistan estos objetos. Entre ellos, se pueden determinar 20 categorías de bienes. Dos de ellas están relacionadas con textiles: textiles/ ropa y ropa de cama (como mantas, almohadas, pabellones, sábanas y otros productos textiles). Las otras categorías de bienes son inmuebles, esclavos, medios de producción y productos agrícolas (como maíz, azúcar, trigo, tabaco), muebles, plata y oro, enseres de casa, armas, joyería, objetos de arte, instrumentos musicales, objetos religiosos, libros, etc. “Textiles/ ropa” es la categoría de bienes más mencionada. Si miramos las categorías de identidad de los testadores, vemos que ellos están clasificados en la mayor diversidad de adscripciones identitarias. Cabe concluir que las personas que preferían legar textiles en vez de otros objetos, se encontraban conectadas a extensas redes crediticias, caracterizadas por una variedad de categorías de adscripción identitaria, tanto en el caso de las muje-

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res como de los hombres. Aquellos pobladores que tenían redes de relaciones de acreedores-deudores más amplias, habían llegado a altas posiciones sociales dentro de la sociedad colonial urbana. Mientras más extensas las redes, más variadas eran las categorías de adscripción identitaria de los pobladores involucrados. Los datos analizados afirman que los textiles tenían una función constituyente en las relaciones sociales, identitarias y entre los géneros. Este resultado nos lleva a concluir que la producción, el intercambio y consumo de textiles y de la ropa fueron campos primarios en los procesos de negociación transcultural y en la construcción de la diferencia. Especialmente tres constataciones conducen a esta conclusión: en primer lugar, el hecho de que los artesanos y obreros relacionados con textiles formaban el grupo más grande entre los artesanos; en segundo lugar, la comprobación de que “textiles/ ropa” es la categoría de bienes más frecuente en los testamentos y, en tercer lugar, los datos acerca de la presencia de los textiles en las relaciones acreedor-deudor, en las cuales las personas involucradas resultaron clasificadas en un mayor número de categorías de identidad.

CONCLUSIÓN Mediante el concepto de la transculturalidad se puede enfocar la producción de la diferencia desde los “márgenes”, es decir no a partir de los discursos de la Corona y de la Iglesia y tampoco a partir de la metrópoli, sino con base en la vida cotidiana en una sociedad local. El análisis confirma que difícilmente puede hablarse de una sociedad de castas. Las castas aparecieron como un discurso de la Corona y de sus autoridades en Hispanoamérica en la segunda mitad del siglo XVII. Su surgimiento a partir de ese momento, a manera de discurso, puede considerarse como correspondencia del “sueño de un orden” (CEHOPU 1989). Considerando el concepto de la raza, el análisis ha revelado que durante el periodo que abarca el estudio realizado, la diferencia se manifestó en diferentes momentos históricos de maneras muy diversas y sin seguir un desarrollo continuo. Para imaginar la diferencia existieron varias opciones. Los textiles constituyen una opción. Mediante la reconstrucción de las relaciones sociales que se dieron en torno a la producción y el uso de la ropa fue posible indicar la diferencia dentro de

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ciertas estructuras de la comunicación visual. El lenguaje visual que manejaban los pobladores hizo posible un uso bien flexible del “poder marcador” de los textiles y de la ropa. La ciudadanía constituyó otra forma de cristalización de la diferencia. En los primeros momentos de la época colonial, mediante la “conversión” fueron “producidos” nuevos vecinos, que antes se encontraban registrados como indios en los archivos notariales. Por razón de la “conversión” y practicando la vecindad, estos pobladores perdieron su adscripción de indios. “Practicar la vecindad” significaba actuar a favor de la comunidad de vecinos, que en aquella época se vio materializada en la ciudad hispanoamericana. Otra opción para imaginar la diferencia es el color que se asocia a una persona. El color estaba ligado, en primer lugar, a cierto estatus social. Con el cambio del estatus social, los pobladores “cambiaban” también de color en el transcurso de su vida. Los archivos notariales denotan que las mismas personas fueron percibidas con colores diferentes en diferentes estadios de su vida. Incluso en algunos casos los colores desaparecieron, de modo que la adscripción de las respectivas personas aparecía denotada como “sin color”. A partir del fin del siglo XVI, los “nuevos” vecinos de Trujillo se transformaron en solareros. Con el término de solarero como representación de diferencia, se subrayó la propiedad de terrenos urbanos, es decir, los solares, como una condición de ciudadanía. El término solarero, hasta donde sabemos único en la ciudad de Trujillo, se puede considerar como representación de un “vocabulario transcultural” que habían desarrollado los pobladores de la ciudad. A partir de la condición de solarero resulta otra posibilidad de indicar la diferencia, mediante la diferenciación espacial en el casco urbano. Otro término de “vocabulario transcultural” fue la conversación. Este vocablo denota comunicación e interacción. Indica que la diferencia no se negoció necesariamente mediante las estructuras arquitectónicas sino a través de interacciones cotidianas. ¿Dónde queda en el contexto aquí planteado el concepto de etnicidad? Si consideramos la variedad de las adscripciones de identidad que cambian según las posiciones de los pobladores y durante la vida de una persona, ¿cómo aplicar entonces el concepto de etnicidad? El único grupo étnico que se ha encontrado en este contexto son los supuestos “blancos” que formaban la sociedad trujillana en el discurso del siglo XVIII: con un origen, un color y una cultura común asumida. Para determinar, en qué momento resultó importante una adscripción de identidad en esta sociedad urbana colonial y para poder señalar, cómo cam-

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biaron estas adscripciones y su importancia en el transcurso de la historia, se debería seguir la historia individual de ciertas personas de una manera ejemplar. Esto es posible si se toman de base los archivos notariales, tal como ha enseñado el estudio realizado. La producción, el intercambio y consumo de textiles y ropa fueron campos primarios para los procesos de negociación transcultural y la construcción de diferencia. Los procesos transculturales estaban ligados a factores local-históricos específicos. Características históricamente continúas, como la arquitectura, y elementos discontinuos, como la producción de textiles, constituyeron de manera crucial la zona de contacto como un nuevo espacio transcultural para la construcción de la diferencia colonial. Finalmente es necesario recalcar que el resultado del presente estudio no solamente tiene relevancia para el grupo de investigadores de la época colonial –cada vez más pequeño–, sino para la concepción misma de disciplinas como la etnohistoria. Los resultados obtenidos enseñan que en la sociedad colonial urbana de Trujillo interactuaban los representantes de todas las categorías de identidad registradas, por lo que debe considerarse como una sociedad con una historia. Estos resultados nos hacen recordar la esperanza que tenían Murra y Franklin Pease, respecto a la reformulación del contenido y del nombre mismo de la etnohistoria. Los investigadores plantearon la conveniencia de la desaparición del prefijo “etno” que señala a las “etnías” como si tuviesen una historia aparte de “otra” historia. Los resultados de este estudio pueden contribuir a percibir otra experiencia histórica. De modo similar, el historiador peruano Estenssoro Fuchs enfoca su investigación en las relaciones, interacciones, entrelazamientos, convenciones compartidas por todos los miembros de la sociedad colonial. Estenssoro Fuchs relaciona “la tesis de un país históricamente dividido [que] ganaba en la autorepresentación la partida frente al mito mestizo de fundación de la sociedad peruana que se había querido consolidar haciendo del Inca Garcilaso el primer peruano” con el “desconcertante informe de Uchuraccay que pretendía dar las explicaciones históricas de la violencia y el miedo en el Perú a partir de una incomprensión y separación del mundo indígena” (Estenssoro Fuchs 2003, 22-23).6 6

Estenssoro remite al informe de Uchuraccay, formulado por Mario Vargas Llosa, quien había dirigido a un grupo de antropólogos que intentaron averiguar los motivos de la muerte de ocho periodistas en el pueblo de Uchuraccay. La información central del informe fue que

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El hecho de que hubiera una experiencia compartida, de prácticas y de discursos, de conversación, es un fundamento importante para los discursos históricos y antropológicos actuales, así como para la práctica política y social.

los indígenas viven de una manera primitiva, formando una sociedad aparte de la sociedad de la costa en Perú, concluyendo que la sociedad peruana está dividida en dos sociedades, entre las cuales no es posible ninguna comunicación (véase Mayer 1992).

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BIBLIOGRAFÍA ARCHIVO DEPARTAMENTAL DE LA LIBERTAD. Probanza que hace Juana de Figueroa en el pleito con Alonso Caro; sobre un camino de una calle que va a la huerta de la dicha Juana. Archivo Departamental de La Libertad. Los Reyes, Corregimiento, C.O., Leg. 148, Exp. 63. CADENA, Marisol de la. “Silent Racism and Intellectual Superiority in Peru.” Bulletin of Latin American Research, 17.2 (1998): 143-64. CAHILL, David. “Colour by Numbers: Racial and Ethnic Categories in the Viceroyalty of Peru, 1532-1824.” Journal of Latin American Studies, 26.2 (1994): 325-46. CEHOPU. La Ciudad Hispanoamericana. El Sueño de un orden. Madrid 1989. COPE, Douglas. The Limits of Racial Domination: Plebeian Society in Colonial Mexico City, 1660-1720. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press 1994. — “Conclusion.” Imperial Subjects: Race and Identity in Colonial Latin America. Ed. Andrew B. Fisher y Matthew D. O’Hara. Durham; London: Duke University Press 2009. 249-62. DURÁN MONTERO, María Antonia. Fundación de ciudades en el Perú durante el siglo XVI: Estudio urbanístico (Publicaciones de la Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos de Sevilla. Sevilla: Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos de Sevilla 1978. ESTENSSORO FUCHS, Juan Carlos. Del paganismo a la santidad: La incorporación de los indios del Perú al catolicismo, 1532-1750. Lima: PUCP; IFEA 2003. FISHER, Andrew B., y Matthew D. O’HARA, eds. Imperial Subjects: Race and Identity in Colonial Latin America. Durham; London: Duke University Press 2009. FRASER, Valerie. The Architecture of the Conquest: Building in the Viceroyalty of Peru 1535-1635. Cambridge; New York; Port Chester; Melbourne; Sydney: Cambridge University Press 1990. GILROY, Paul. The Black Atlantic. London: Verso 1993. GRAUBART, Karen. With our Labor and Sweat: Indigenous Women and the Formation of Colonial Society in Peru, 1550-1700. Stanford: Stanford University Press 2007. HALE, Charles R. “Racismo cultural: Notas desde Guatemala sobre una paradoja americana.” Racismo en Guatemala: De lo políticamente correcto a la lucha antiracista. Ed. Meike Heckt y Gustavo Palma Murga. Guatemala: AVANCSO 2004. 211-32. LEWIS, Laura. Hall of Mirrors: Power, Witchcraft, and Caste in Colonial Mexico. Durham; London: Duke University Press 2003. MANGAN, Jane E. “A Market of Identities: Women, Trade, and Ethnic Labels in Colonial Potosí.” Imperial Subjects: Race and Identity in Colonial Latin America. Ed. Andrew B. Fisher y Matthew D. O’Hara. Durham; London: Duke University Press 2009. 61-80.

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MAYER, Enrique. “Peru in Deep Trouble: Mario Vargas Llosa’s “Inquest in the Andes” Reexamined.” Rereading Cultural Anthropology. Ed. George Marcus. Durham; London: Duke University Press 1992. 181-219. MÖRNER, Magnus. Estratificación social hispanoamericana durante el período colonial: Versión preliminar de un capítulo preparado para la Historia general de América. Stockholm: Institute of Latin American Studies 1980. NOACK, Karoline. Textilien und die Produktion von kolonialer Differenz in der Kontaktzone: Trujillo in der nördlichen audiencia Lima, Peru im 16. und frühen 17. Jahrhundert. Berlin: Freie Universität Berlin, FB für Geschichts- und Kulturwissenschaften 2009. — “Pueblos originarios: ¿Una nueva categoría antropológica? Reflexiones desde la historia y desde la actualidad de los Andes.” Metrópolis desbordadas. Poder, culturas y memoria en el espacio urbano. Ed. Alejandro Cerda, et al. México D.F.: Universidad Autónoma de la Ciudad de México (en prensa). PRATT, Mary Louise. Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation. London: Routledge 1992. RIZO-PATRÓN BOYLAN, Paul, y Cristóbal DE ALJOVÍN LOSADA. “La élite nobiliaria de Trujillo de 1700 a 1830.” El norte en la historia regional: Siglos XVIII-XIX. Ed. Scarlett O’Phelan Godoy e Yves Saint-Geours. Lima: IFEA-CIPCA 1998. 241-93. STOLCKE, Verena. “Los mestizos no nacen sino que se hacen.” Identidades ambivalentes en América Latina (siglos XVI-XXI). Ed. Verena Stolcke y Alexandre de La Coello Rosa. Barcelona: Edicions Bellaterra 2008. 14-51. — “Wie Mestizen zu Mestizen wurden: Zur Geschichte einer sozialen Kategorie.” Differenz und Herrschaft in den Amerikas: Repräsentationen des Anderen in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Ed. Anne Ebert, et al. Bielefeld: transcript 2009. 37-68. WEISMANTEL, Mary, y Stephen F. EISENMAN. “Race in the Andes: Global Movements and Popular Ontologies Bulletin of Latin American Research.” Bulletin of Latin American Research 17.2 (1998): 121-42. WOLF, Eric R. “Gefährliche Ideen: Rasse, Kultur, Ethnizität.” Historische Anthropologie, 1 (1993): 331-46. Web. 19 Apr. 2011. .

SHIFTING BOUNDARIES, EMERGING COMMUNITIES – ETHNICITY AND ETHNOGENESIS ON NICARAGUA’S ATLANTIC COAST Wolfgang Gabbert

ABSTRACT Based upon empirical data from the Atlantic coast of Nicaragua, this article defines ethnicity as a specific form of social differentiation whereby actors use cultural or phenotypic markers to distinguish themselves from others. In addition, a typological distinction between “ethnie” and “ethnic group” is proposed, thus accounting for the huge differences between the social foundations and political potential of individual ethnic communities. The Afro-American Creoles of Nicaragua are characterised as an ethnic group as they are fully integrated into the regional society. The Miskitu Indians, in contrast, can be seen as an ethnie living to a great extent within an ethnically homogeneous territory and with access to the basic means of production. Beyond this, the complexities of internal and external factors in processes of ethnogenesis are discussed by using both the Creoles and the Miskitu as examples.

INTRODUCTION Over the past thirty years, ethnicity has become one of the most widely used and hotly debated concepts within the social sciences.1 Today, it is fashionable to refer to what are effectively very different phenomena as “ethnic”; ranging from the individual search for a satisfactory social identity in the industrialised and highly bureaucratic Western societies to conflicts that concern national integration in countries of the so-called Third World. The breadth of the problem is reflected by the diversity of concepts employed. Nation, ethnie (as derived from the French), or ethnic group, all are widely used terms. However, there is no agreement upon their usage and the concepts are frequently held to refer to the same thing (Rothschild 1981; Connor 1984; Brass 1991). However, if these terms are to unravel their ana1 Earlier versions of some of the material presented here were published in Gabbert (1992, 1995, 2006 and 2011).

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lytical potential, a conceptual differentiation seems necessary. This is not a question of determining what nations, ethnies, or ethnic groups are; that would mean to look for their respective essences. Rather it means to consider which classes of empirical phenomena should be labelled by these concepts. This endeavour has its drawbacks though, as the terms discussed are not only scientific concepts but also subjects of political debate at the same time. However, scientific reasoning follows a different logic than that of political discourse. Its aim is, or at least should be, to add to knowledge and not to further the particular interests of any one group or more. Thus, scientific concepts and definitions must not accept the ambiguities and vagueness that are characteristic of everyday speech and political language. A critical stance towards the academic as well as the actor’s discourse is also essential when it comes to statements about the history of ethnic or national communities. Actors often project their origins into a mysterious past in order to legitimatise the mundane interests of the present through the sanctification of history. Many scholars, on their part, erroneously consider ethnicity as a “primordial” phenomenon which has been present throughout history and amid all human societies.2 In the following text, the structure of different ethnic communities in Nicaragua’s Atlantic region (also known as Mosquitia) is discussed. Proceeding from this empirical material and based upon a sketch of key conceptual issues related to ethnicity, a typology that is able to give structure to the complex empirical universe of ethnic and national communities is proposed. Finally, the dynamics of ethnogenesis are exposed.

ETHNIC COMMUNITIES ON NICARAGUA’S ATLANTIC COAST Nicaraguan society has mainly developed in the Pacific coastal plains and the central highlands. The bulk of the population lives in these regions, the most important economic centres are located there while the infrastructure is also the most developed. In contrast to the central and Pacific regions of the country, the Atlantic plains are only sparsely inhabited and differ both in

2

Cf., for example, Isaacs (1974); Smith (1991, 24ff, 43ff ); Grosby (1994, 164ff ); Hutchinson and Smith (1996, 3ff ); Jenkins (1997, 46f, 74, 77); Proschan (1997, 106).

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ethnic make-up and historical development. Both culturally and historically, they more closely resemble the English-speaking Caribbean than the rest of the Central American mainland where a hispanicised Mestizo culture predominates. Amerindian languages or English are the first or second language for a significant number of the Atlantic coast’s population, while in contrast to the traditionally Catholic Pacific and central parts of the country Protestantism has been widespread since the second half of the nineteenth century. The Atlantic region is also geographically isolated from the rest of the country, and with few road or river connections, this structural separation is the cause of severe problems regarding national integration. The Nicaraguan government has long propagated such an idea of national integration but its incorporation has remained nominal, and in cases where it has materialised the inhabitants of the Caribbean region frequently experienced it as a negative. The rhetoric of national integration and the pressure for cultural Hispanicisation were accompanied in many instances by ethnocentrism and racist attitudes towards the region’s ethnic communities. The Atlantic coast of Nicaragua shows a marked internal bipolarity. Whereas its northern part is mainly characterised by the more than 120,000 Miskitu Amerindians, around 20,000 Afro-American Creoles make up the largest local group in the south.3 In contrast to the largely rural Amerindians, the Afro-Americans are mostly town dwellers. These differences, however, do not merely reflect the region’s social geography. Creoles and Miskitu also represent different types of ethnic communities. As a mostly urban population, the Creoles are fully integrated into the processes of production, distribution and consumption in the regional society. Although they constitute a major percentage of the population in the southern part of the coast, in ethnic terms they do not live in a largely homogeneous area, forming only a minority of the inhabitants in many settlements. The Creoles are not only part of the regional class structure, but are internally stratified into a small upper class, a relatively broad middle class

3 In addition to Miskitu and Creoles there are about 10,000 Sumu, 500 Garifuna or Black Carib, 1,400 Rama, and 120,000 Spanish-speaking Nicaraguans (Mestizos) most of them recent campesino immigrants from western Nicaragua INEC (2005). The Creoles are the descendants of people of African descent who came to the shore mostly as slaves, workers or artisans since the seventeenth century. For extended discussions the of the Creoles’ history cf. Gabbert (1992), and Gordon (1998).

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and a numerically important lower class (Gabbert 1992, 319ff, 345f; 1995; Gordon 1998, 56f, 66f, 82). Many Miskitu, in contrast, still live in small and remote villages within an ethnically homogeneous area (Buvollen and Buvollen 1994, 12, 14f ). It was only as a result of the large-scale dislocations during the war between the Nicaraguan Sandinist army and US-sponsored counter-revolutionaries as well as Miskitu guerrillas (1980-1985) that an important urban Miskitu population emerged in Puerto Cabezas (Bilwi) and Waspam (Rizo 1990, 35ff; Gabbert 1992, 313f, 348; Buvollen and Buvollen 1994, 16f ). Many Miskitu still retain some economic autonomy. Wage labour and the cultivation of cash crops have not yet become the sole means of livelihood, and in many cases not even the most important. Most people work as migratory wage labourers for a certain period of time (a few months to a year) and return to their villages afterwards. Consequently, wage labour is not “a way of life” as in the case of the classic proletarian, but is instead seen mainly as a source of cash and hence desired imported goods. Despite increasing land conflicts since the 1970s, many Miskitu still have access to the basic means of production: arable land, or boats and fishing equipment on the coast. Until now and even in times of crisis, traditional subsistence production has been able to secure the physical continuity of these communities (Helms 1971, 111, 229ff; Gabbert 1985, 83ff; CIDCA 1987, 247f; Dennis 2004, 107ff ). There is little social differentiation and the Amerindian elite, that is, those people with higher levels of schooling and relatively well-paid skilled jobs as teachers, priests, nurses, engineers, and mechanics, is still small (Nietschmann 1973, 182ff; CIDCA and Development Study 1987, 223, 227ff; Richter 1987, 147; Gabbert 1992, 265ff ). The Nicaraguan government itself had little or no presence in the villages until the 1970s with local village headmen (wita) acting as intermediaries between the villages and the state prior to this time. These wita settled grievances, organised communal labour, registered births, marriages, and deaths, and generally maintained the peace (Helms 1971, 158f, 166, 174ff; Nietschmann 1973, 59f; Vilas 1987, 66; CIDCA and Development Study 1987, 230). After 1979, the Sandinist administration increased efforts to integrate the indigenous population into the Nicaraguan state. However, this did not lead to an influx of governmental officials into the villages. Although the number of state institutions in the region did increase, they remained confined to the few urban centres and

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indigenous brokers generally executed government projects in the villages. Upon the defeat of the Sandinistas in the 1990 elections, the central government returned to the accustomed pattern of largely neglecting the Atlantic region’s population and thus village communities regained a significant degree of de facto political autonomy (Howard 1993, 13ff; Buvollen and Scherrer 1993; Buvollen and Große 1994, 136; Williamson and Rivera 1997; Dennis 2004, 240ff ).4

ETHNIC COMMUNITIES AND THE AUTONOMY PROJECT Structural differences between both ethnic communities – Miskitu and Creoles – decisively shaped discussions about the project for regional autonomy in the 1980s. In opposition to the Sandinist government, Miskitu organisations claimed an ethnic autonomy. The “indigenous nations and peoples” (Miskitu, Sumu, and Rama) were to be the body corporate of autonomy rights and the owners of the territory (Yapti Tasba). According to this conception of autonomy Creoles and Black Carib were regarded as “ethnic communities”, having only usufruct rights upon the land and its resources (MISURASATA 1985; 1987, 19; Diskin 1986, 20). Miskitu organisations did not limit their territorial claims to the northern part of the Atlantic region, an area where Miskitu constituted the majority of the population, but also demanded the southern coast that was primarily inhabited by Creoles and Mestizos as well. Even in the southern part of the region the “indigenous nations” were intended to be the subjects of territorial autonomy whereas Creoles, Black Carib, and Mestizos would only have the status of inhabitants (MISURASATA 1987, 19; YATAMA 1989, 3, 7; Hale 1994, 192). Creoles, in contrast, did not promote a conception of autonomy that explicitly assigned them, as an ethnic community, a dominant position or preferential status. In the proposals made by Creoles the subject of autonomy was not their own group but the inhabitants of the Atlantic coast (costeños) in general. Creoles developed plans for regional self-government 4

The Atlantic region has been considered by most Nicaraguan governments as a place with abundant natural resources which could be made profitable by selling or leasing the exploitation rights to foreign firms (Gabbert (1992, 168ff, 255ff ); Hale (1994, 45ff, 119ff ); Gordon (1998, 60ff ); Anaya (2000)).

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that integrated other population groups. However, different ideas existed about which groups should be included in the project. One plan was to build a united Atlantic region which would in turn cause Indians to become the majority of the population. A different conception of autonomy proposed by Creoles was to establish two autonomous regions: one in the north and the other in the south. The autonomous region in the southern Atlantic coast was to encompass areas that were previously separated from the former department of Zelaya Sur as a result of the regionalisation of administration in 1982/83, this area being mainly inhabited by Mestizos (Butler 1986, 26f ). Thus, Mestizos would become the overwhelming majority of the population in the southern autonomous region and in stark contrast to the Miskitu, any notions of an “ethnic territory” had no place among the Creoles. How can these different conceptions of autonomy be explained? The advance of the pioneer front, as expedited by Mestizo peasants and ranchers since the 1950s, has caused few problems for the Creoles. In contrast, this issue has been of central importance to the Miskitu as most of the population is dependent upon the land to secure their very subsistence as rural producers. Agriculture has only ever been of secondary importance to the Creoles as even those living in rural communities subsist mainly upon fishing. To urban Creoles the advance of the pioneer front does not present a threat at all: quite the opposite in truth. It has already offered new employment and commercial opportunities in Bluefields, an area that functions as the commercial and administrative centre of the southern Atlantic coast. The educated Creole middle class has only had to compete with urban Mestizos for administrative jobs in governmental institutions or private enterprises. Therefore, during the autonomy process the Creole middle class directed their attention towards economic problems, and in particular, the extension of their political participation. They claimed a stronger representation in the leading political and administrative positions of the region. In this sphere and due to their relatively high level of education, the Creoles had no need to fear any competition posed from the mostly poor and uneducated Mestizo peasants. While in order to secure and expand their position with regard to skilled jobs and politics, Creoles did not claim for the expulsion of Mestizos but only demand that those not born within the region should be deprived of the right to elect the government of said autonomous region (Diskin 1986, 18).

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HISTORICAL BACKGROUND Creoles have repeatedly considered themselves as part of more encompassing political projects and have not developed ideas of national autonomy for their own group. During the 1830s, the necessities of international trade in mahogany and the possibility to use the San Juan River as the point of entry for a projected canal linking the Atlantic and Pacific oceans led to the renewal of British interest in the Mosquitia. Therefore, in April 1844 Britain established a protectorate over the region. The long and intense quarrels that followed between, on one side, the Central American Republics supported by the United States, and on the other Great Britain with its protectorate (the “Kingdom of Mosquito”), were temporarily settled in 1860 when Great Britain recognised Nicaragua’s sovereignty over the Atlantic lowlands in the Treaty of Managua. Conversely, the treaty granted the region’s native population special rights within a newly established territory, a territory that would be self-governing and known as the Mosquito Reserve (Reserva Mosquita). The special status of this region was ended in 1894 as a result of military occupation by Nicaraguan troops: an event called “reincorporation” by Mestizo Nicaraguans and “overthrow” by Creoles (Gabbert 1992, 74ff, 99ff, 138ff; Vilas 1992, 69ff; Gordon 1998, 40ff ). Due to both their urban lifestyle and education, Creoles filled most positions of political leadership within the Reserve (Hale 1988, 79ff; Gabbert 1992, 118ff, 139ff; 1995, 267ff; 2011). However, the Reserve was not a Creole state. This was prevented by the Creoles’ relatively small number and by their economic and social position as a predominantly urban lower and middle class. Indians, living mostly in rural areas, made up the greatest part of the population.5 What is more, the Treaty of Managua granted the right of self-governance in the Reserve explicitly to the “Mosquito Indians” and did not even mention the Creoles.6 Thus, the national discourse that developed among the Creole-elite was not a claim for autonomy from Nicaragua limited to those of their own group but for the whole population of the Mosquito Reserve encompassing the Indian population as well (e.g., John O. Thomas

5

Creoles made up around ten per cent of the Reserve’s population around 1880 (Wünderich (1990, 63); Gabbert (1992, 119, 140 note 7)). 6 Cf. the treaty’s text in von Oertzen, Rossbach, and Wünderich (1990, 315ff ).

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to Mr. Baker, Bluefields, 28 April, 1894, in Oertzen, Rossbach and Wünderich 1990, 375-8; cf. Gordon 1998, 57f ). After the annexation of the Atlantic region by Nicaragua in 1894, the political projects of the Creoles went in two main directions. One was to restore the political independence of the region within the bounds of a protectorate by writing petitions to foreign powers (Great Britain or the United States). The other was to formulate regionalist claims against the Nicaraguan state. In either case, Creoles argued for the interests of the entire population of the region and tried to legitimise their claims by alluding to the rights of the Indian population.7 Exemplary of this is a Creole petition, dated to 1925, that complains about the neglect of, and discrimination against, the Atlantic region by the Nicaraguan government. The people suffering from these rigours are characterised as “the natives and residents of the coast”, or as “coast-dwellers” (costeños) (Exposición de los Costeños, Bluefields, 20 August, 1925, in Ruiz y Ruiz 1927, 133, transl. mine). In a speech delivered to the National Assembly in 1934 Creole senator Horacio Hodgson explicitly included the Mestizos living on the Atlantic Coast too. Hodgson postulated that these Mestizos should, like all other inhabitants of the region, benefit from the economic autonomy which had been established by the “Mosquito Convention”, a document that had formally legitimised the annexation of the Atlantic region in 1894 (Hodgson 1934, 8).8

THEORETICAL PERSPECTIVES 1: TYPES OF ETHNIC COMMUNITIES The example of Nicaragua’s Atlantic Coast has shown that the political potential and strategies of ethnic communities differ widely. It is my view that these differences reflect the infrastructural conditions of each case, especially where variations in social organisation and complexity exist. In earlier publications I proposed to distinguish between two types of ethnic commu-

7 Cf. e.g. Exposición de los Costeños, Bluefields, 20 August, 1925, in Ruiz y Ruiz (1927, 135); Hodgson (1934, 6); The Miskito Indian Patriotic League to the US Government, Bluefields, 10 February, 1926 and Creole Liberals to the US Government, Bluefields, 4 May, 1926, both in von Oertzen, Rossbach, and Wünderich (1990, 454ff ). 8 Therefore, I do not agree with Hale (1988, 85) who suggests that at that time Creoles claimed specific rights for themselves as an ethnic group.

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nities – ethnie and ethnic group – to take such differences into account at a conceptual level.9 The term ethnie refers to a population with a relatively high degree of “institutional completeness” (Breton 1964). This requires access to the basic means of production and the production of a significant amount of its own foodstuffs. Beyond this, the society must be able to provide for the basic social needs of its members (physical survival, child-rearing, human relations etc.). The capacity to secure its reproduction over time and for the most part independent of a larger, encompassing society is also required. It is accomplished through the physical reproduction of its members through endogamy or by cultural means (the incorporation of the offspring of exogamic unions and child-rearing practices). Its members’ relations to the social environment are better characterised as contacts than as full integration (as in the case of classes who are, by definition, parts of an encompassing society).10 As such it seems reasonable to reserve the term ethnie for societies with little social differentiation and division of labour lacking the infrastructural conditions for state formation. Ethnies, thus defined, have also to overcome existing inequalities and conflicts. However, in contrast to societies that we call nations, they are not ridden by class cleavages. In saying this, links between different local groups are fragile. Their cohesion rests upon their opposition to, or dissociation from, other populations in the social environment: even more so, than in the case of nation type societies. The term ethnic group, in contrast, is proposed for populations that lack the material base for a separate existence due to their embeddedness in an encompassing society. In contrast to ethnies, they form an integral part of the processes of production, distribution, and consumption of that larger society (think of a trading minority). Consequently such groups can only 9 Cf. Gabbert (1992, 34ff, 334ff; 2006, 93ff ) for the full argument. There, I have also suggested to use the term nation for those societies with the structural potential to develop a state-level form of political organisation which presupposes a certain degree of social complexity (Fried 1967, 224ff ); Johnson and Earle (1987, 246ff, 269f, 302f, 318ff ). Therefore, only those “imagined communities” should be referred to as nations which comprise several social classes. It is true that these communities have the problem of reconciling antagonistic class interests. However, the existence of social classes also implies certain cohesive forces. These follow from an advanced division of labour which creates important relationships of mutual dependence between social segments. 10 Cf. also the remarks on “indigenous peoples” made by Eriksen (2002, 13f, 125f ).

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exist as part of that social organisation. Their members have to interact permanently with the rest of the society. In contrast to ethnies, they can also be internally class stratified.11 The Miskitu are an example of the ethnic communities that I refer to as “ethnie”. They are in a position to make realistic demands for an independent existence and political autonomy or sovereignty when confronted with attempts at integration by a nation state. This is reflected in the demands for ethnic or Indian autonomy by different Miskitu organisations. In contrast, I consider the Creoles as an ethnic group, as they lack the material base for a separate existence by being an integral part of the processes of production, distribution, and consumption of a larger society. Unlike the Miskitu, they have neither their own relatively homogeneous ethnic territory nor any respective system of subsistence; both of which could serve as a material basis for political autonomy. On the contrary, the Creoles’ major settlement Bluefields largely subsists on the Mestizo peasants living in the southern part of the Atlantic region. For these people, the settlement functions as a market and administrative centre. Thus, Creoles are in no position to raise realistic claims of independence and ethnic autonomy.12 The types of ethnic communities hitherto proposed – both ethnie and ethnic group – are thus suitable to represent the situation of populations in other parts of the world as well. In Southeast Asia, one may consider the slash-and-burn or swidden agriculturalists called hill tribes in comparison to the Chinese minorities that have a leading position in wholesale, retail distribution, finance, small industry, transport and skilled trades (McKinnon and Vienne 1989; Esman 1975). Evidently, ethnic communities are not static and may undergo important processes of social change. Although generalisations are difficult to make, one historical tendency has become quite obvious: More and more ethnies are becoming either nations, through the development of an internal class 11

Nation, ethnie, and ethnic group are employed here as sociological “ideal”, that is abstract or pure, types. They are analytical constructs, syntheses of elements selected from the concrete totality of reality, which have an explanatory value. Since the aim of typologies is comparison, types necessarily have to disregard the innumerable peculiarities of concrete empirical cases. 12 It is of fundamental importance to keep in mind that the characterisation of a society as an ethnie is only valid for a specific time. It may, of course, become a nation through a process of social differentiation.

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structure, or ethnic groups, by being integrated into the division of labour of existing states and losing their territory and own subsistence system.

THEORETICAL PERSPECTIVES 2: ETHNICITY IN HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE But what makes certain social communities “ethnic”? In a previous paper I defined ethnicity as a phenomenon of social differentiation in which actors use cultural or phenotypic markers or symbols to distinguish themselves from others. It is a method of classifying people into categories that include individuals of both sexes and all age groups organized into several kin groups using a (socially constructed) common origin as its primary reference (Gabbert 2006, 90).

As with nations, ethnic communities can be seen as “imagined communities”. They are imagined both as limited and as a community, that is, as “deep, horizontal comradeships” (Anderson 1991, 6f ). Only groups that exist above the level of the face-to-face group and local community should be referred to as “ethnic” or “national” since they have to integrate individuals who cannot be united through direct social, economic or kin relationships. This requires special mechanisms of social integration, among them being those of ethnicity and nationalism. The boundary processes that underlie ethnicity may lead to different results. Here the distinction between category and group (or community) is of key importance.13 As social psychologist Kurt Lewin once stated: ... similarity between persons merely permits their classification, their subsumption under the same abstract concept, whereas belonging to the same social group means concrete, dynamic interrelation between persons. (...) It is not similarity or dissimilarity that decides whether two individuals belong to the same or to different groups, but social interaction or other types of interdependence. A group is best defined as a dynamic whole based on interdependence rather than on similarity (Lewin 1948, 184, emphasis mine).

13 For a fuller discussion of this and of the following ideas cf. Gabbert (1992, 31ff; 2006, 90f ). More recently Brubaker (2002, 169f ) has made the same point.

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A social category, then, is a classificatory unit of individuals that share one (or more) characteristic(s). A social group is a behavioural unit, i.e. its members do something together. The attempt to define ethnic collectivities using objectively determinable features (language, artefacts, etc.) – which has been the rule in ethnology for a long time – leads only to the delimitation of cultural categories. The resulting entities need in no way correspond to social behavioural units. Where the limits between different cultures are drawn depends upon the interests of the observer.14 Thus, it is possible to speak of the varying cultures of different Indian groupings in the North American Plains but it seems likewise conceivable to consider the entire Plains as a cultural unit that can be compared with the eastern woodland culture. According to the notion of culture used within this essay it is perfectly feasible to describe the culture of any chosen human group or category (for example the tramps of Berlin, Germany) (cf. Cohen 1976, 85f, 88). Likewise, any chosen social class (or stratum) presents certain specific cultural features (language, clothing, values, child training devices etc.) that distinguish it from other classes (or strata) (cf., for example, Gottschalch, Neumann-Schönwetter, and Soukup 1971). Thus, what makes ethnic categories or communities different from social classes or strata is not the existence of cultural difference but the foundations of solidarity and loyalty. While classes use their economic position as both the primary criterion for membership and the focus of their social cohesion, ethnic communities stress real or assumed cultural and / or phenotypic differences.

THEORETICAL PERSPECTIVES 3: ETHNOGENESIS – FROM CATEGORY TO COMMUNITY

Ethnic communities, as defined above, are, pace Eriksen (2002, 11), Jenkins (1997, 46f, 74, 77) and many others not “as old as society” as Worsley (1984, 14 The term culture refers to the totality of conscious and / or unconscious rules of conduct which are not genetically predetermined. According to this definition, artefacts as such do not constitute culture but are viewed as manifestations of such rules. Culture, then, is an etic term, i.e., it designates a pattern, abstracted from the behaviour of individuals (by an outside observer). Cf. Steward (1977, 219f, 246).

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248) puts it. They are not a ubiquitous form of social organisation but rather the result of a historical process related to a specific technique of social distinction.15 They are neither the “natural” form of organisation for those people who do not live within a nation nor can they be reduced to socio-economic interest groups. Ethnogenesis is frequently a prolonged process that implies the creation of ethnic boundaries as well as the development of some internal structures within the group. Consequently, ethnic categories may become ethnic communities and labels of social units may change their meanings and contents over time. It would be erroneous to conclude from the existence of a single category denoting a certain aggregate of individuals that social cohesion, solidarity, and group consciousness automatically exist within that population. It is therefore of the utmost importance to distinguish between the ethnic (or other social) categories present in a specific society, the groups or organisations based on such categories, and the individuals that use these categories in daily interaction. Therefore, the starting point for the analysis of ethnicity should not be the ethnic communities themselves but the individuals that use ethnic categories as part of their own social interaction. Self-identification and ascription by others are not indissolubly linked to a person as is suggested by the notion of ethnic identity. Frequently, they do not even coincide. The history of ethnonyms shows this quite clearly. In many cases they referred originally to certain characteristics of the landscape or meant simply “people from here”. Thus, in Borneo the term murut means “people from the mountains” (King 1982, 28). Subanun, the name of a language group in western Mindanao, is derived from the word subanen “people of the upstream”. Other designations are relative to the observer’s position when referring to, for example, people living in a certain direction. Thus, sukuma originally meant “north” in Tanzania (Southall 1970, 36f ). But how are ethnic categories transformed into communities? Ethnicity has been conceptualised here as phenomenon of social differentiation. Thus, the notions of ethnie or ethnic groups are meaningful only in their plural terms. Ethnic communities are not things-unto-themselves but rather “the product of relationships” with other ethnic communities, as Worsley puts it

15 Other forms of social organisation are, for example, the dynastic realm, residence or kinship groups (Gellner 1983, 48f, 55; Elwert 1989, 25ff; Anderson 1991, 4, 19ff ).

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(1984, 248f ). Thus, numerous African “tribes” emerged only after people had been treated as such by the colonial administrations (Southall 1970; Ranger 1981). The Semai-speakers of Malaysia lived in politically autonomous communities at the beginning of the twentieth century and solely a few communities were related through frequent interaction, i.e. the exchange of marriage partners etc. It was only upon their partial involvement in market-relations and efforts made by the Malaysian state towards integration, that the consciousness of an ethnic group emerged in recent years (Gomes 1988). If ethnic cohesion is to develop and to what degree of inclusiveness, depends on the contingent historical circumstances and the political and / or economical interests involved etc. This is also true for the boundaries and cultural markers that become relevant. As Tajfel puts it: The characteristics of one’s group as a whole (such as its status, its richness or poverty, its skin colour or its ability to reach its aims) achieve most of their significance in relation to perceived differences from other groups and the value connotations of these differences (1981, 258; cf. also Barth 1969, 14f; Worsley 1984, 249).

Ethnic communities are the result of a dialectic process between self-definition and ascription by others that are both determined by the different actors’ backgrounds and interests. Their emergence is the result of a dialectic process of self-definition and categorisation by “others”. The outcome of this process ultimately depends upon the relations of power between the groups involved. So it is perfectly feasible that one group (or category) of people has no choice other than to accept the definition imposed upon it by a dominant group (Tajfel 1981, 237). Such was the case with the Sumu in eastern Nicaragua. The term Sumu is derived from a Miskitu word meaning “savage”. Miskitu and Europeans began to use the term in the nineteenth century to refer to several indigenous populations who spoke linguistically related languages that were not always mutually intelligible. At a later time, members of these groups adopted the term Sumu as an auto-appellation (Wickham 1895, 200; Conzemius 1929, 64ff; 1938, 913, 928, 936; Houwald 1990, 16, 28-38). The relation between social mobility and social change is of the utmost importance for the persistence of ethnic boundaries. Belonging to an ethnic category or community will be of less importance if (upward) social and eth-

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nic mobility is easy (Tajfel 1981, 238ff, 312ff; Okamura 1981, 453ff ). The relevance of membership to an ethnic group may, of course, also result from a situation in which one group is guarding against competition from other groups with regard to certain privileges such as a position of high status, wealth, etc.. To stress the situational character of ethnic boundaries does not mean that the cohesion of ethnic groupings is constituted anew in every moment, resulting merely from a careful consideration of actual politic or economic interests. Such an assumption is already prevented by the fact that membership to an ethnic group or category is also ascribed by outsiders. Therefore, an ethnic community cannot be conceptualised as a mere interest group, as for example, Cohen (1974, ixff ) and Patterson (1975, 305ff ) suggest. Beyond this, the actors’ interpretations of the present are shaped to an important extent by the history of interethnic relations. This history co-determines the actors’ interpretation of the present. Thus, Tajfel remarks: “Once [social stereotypes] have come to exist they become causal factors that must be included into an analysis of inter-group relations” (1982, 66, transl. W.G.; cf. Horowitz 1975, 119).

ETHNOGENESIS ON NICARAGUA’S ATLANTIC COAST Originally, the term Creole referred to any descendants of Spaniards born in the New World. In the West Indies it was also employed for people born locally but of European stock. Further still, a distinction was made between slaves that were taken from Africa and those who grew up in the Americas (Long, [1774] 1970, II, 406, 408, 410, 413, 427, 444; Todd 1974, 24-5). Until the nineteenth century, all individuals who did not belong to the Indian population, but were natives of the Caribbean, were called Creoles in the Mosquitia. After the 1840s, the term was used as a category to cover all of the English-speaking people in the Mosquitia who were neither white nor belonged to the Indian communities.16 It is important to note that Creoles were considered as an Afro-American population at this time despite the fact

16

Cf. the different uses by Roberts (1827, 103, 108, 283), Dunham (1850, 93, 1899, 17, 20f ), MB (1893, 245), Dunn (1829, 12) and Young (1842, 42, 167).

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that genetic considerations were not decisive in this instance. For this reason, half-Indian persons with no black ancestors, were also considered as Creole on the condition that they mainly spoke English and lived outside of the Indian communities (PA, I:22, 349). It was not until the establishment of a slave-based economy by British settlers during the second half of the eighteenth century that a separate AfroAmerican population, discernible from the native Indian groups, emerged in the Mosquitia. Africans who had sporadically reached the region either as individuals or small groups before this time were assimilated into the local Indian population. Neither did Afro-Americans consider themselves as a homogeneous group nor were they seen as such by Whites in eighteenth century Mosquitia. This category included people of different legal status – free and slave – but also with vastly different cultural backgrounds and degrees of wealth (some were born in the New World, while others were born in various regions of Africa). Although skin colour played a significant role in the social hierarchy, it was legal status that was decisive. Phenotypic differences were significant primarily within these broad categories. Slave status was closely related to African ancestry but a growing number of Afro-Americans were indeed free. These people tried as hard as possible to dissociate themselves both socially and culturally from their African heritage and to conform to the European standards imposed (Gabbert 1992, 111f; ibid. 1995). Thus, the Creoles showed a marked heterogeneity and did not constitute a selfconscious community. It was upon the abolition of slavery in 1841 that the basic division within the Afro-American population, between slaves and the free, disappeared. Despite this, skin colour continued to play an important role for the ascription of status (MB 1848, 204, 244; 1859, 123). Social groups were not, however, merely formed upon the basis of different shades of colour (Coloured people versus Blacks). Wealth and education seem to have been more significant. Thus, the resulting social groups essentially were not so much racial than socio-cultural. When, in the following, “poor Blacks” are mentioned: the term refers to Afro-Americans of the lower class who show cultural forms mainly of African or Afro-American origin. The “Creole-elite”, in contrast, is characterised by possessing forms of wealth, education and by cultural adaptation to European forms. Indeed, part of the Creole-elite was once described as black or as dark mulattoes in the sources (US Consulate to James Porter, Ass. Secretary of State, Belize, May 17, 1886, LAL, MIC 736, US. Dept. of State, Despatches from US Consuls in Belize,

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Sept. 30, 1875 - June 30, 1886, reel 5; MB, 1869, 144; 1873, 243; 1883, 141). Members of the Creole-elite tried firmly to set themselves apart from the “poor Blacks”. This division was broadened with the massive immigration of lower class West Indians who came to work in the enclaves established by US-companies that were dedicated to the exploitation of minerals and wood, as well as the cultivation and export of bananas, post 1880 (MB 1916, 125). It is important to note that at the time the Afro-American population was conceptualised as consisting of two separate groups, “Creoles” and “West Indian Negroes” (Conzemius 1932, 7; Mueller 1932, 56f; Herman Wilson cited in Gordon 1998, 115). However, what truthfully separated the two categories was not geographic origin but social and cultural differences. While Creoles were held to be of fairer skin colour, wealthier, and members of the Moravian Church who had begun working on the Atlantic Coast in 1847, “West Indian Negroes” were considered darker and poor. Nevertheless, there were also circumstances that promoted unity among the entire Afro-American population and set the foundations for ethnogenesis: the enclaves dominated by US-companies were characterised by institutionalised racism. Racial and cultural distinctions played an important role in the organisation of the relations of production. Residential segregation was established in the company towns as well as in the work camps. Different cultural or national groups filled distinct positions in the division of labour and work hierarchy. In the setting of the enclave, social conflicts readily assumed racial overtones. Spanish-speaking Nicaraguans reached the Atlantic region in significant numbers from the 1880’s onwards but especially after the Reincorporación of 1894, where they would look for employment in the mining area or on banana farms. Thus post 1925, when jobs became scarce on the Atlantic Coast, Afro-Americans were seen merely as rivals for such a limited resource. Repeatedly, Hispanic workers protested violently against the presence of black labourers (petition by Daniel Sierra, secretary of the Sociedad Obrera ‘El Avance’, Puerto Cabezas, August 10, 1925, cited in Ruiz y Ruiz 1927, 61; Gutiérrez Mayorga 1977, 60; Centro de Investigación y Estudios de la Reforma Agraria (CIERA) 1981, 59). The outbursts of violence were not only directed against newly-immigrated black workers but also a threat to those Afro-Americans who had already resided on the Coast for a long time (H.D. Scott to Mr. A.J. McConnico, American Consul, Bluefields, September 18, 1925, NA, Record Group 59, Records of the Depart-

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ment of State Relating to the Internal Affairs of Nicaragua, 1910-29, Microfilm M-632, Roll 70; Proceedings 1927, 61-2). As in the case of conflicts with Nicaraguan officials “poor Blacks” and the Creole-elite were treated as belonging to the same category of people by Hispanic labourers and their North American bosses. The English language and the presence of more or less pronounced African phenotypic features were decisive in categorisation. Thus, differences in wealth, education and religious affiliation became less important for interethnic relations than language and “race”. The common experience of discrimination was an important reason for the emergence of a Creole-community. But this boundary drawing imposed from the outside had to be supplemented by the development of internal structures to make ethnogenesis possible. The Moravian Church played the decisive role in developing internal community structures among Afro-Americans on the coast by creating sodalities (parishes, YMCA, boy scout groups etc.) that integrated people of different localities, sexes, age-grades and social classes. The unions provided a protected social room to discuss community affairs and political matters, and sometimes, they were involved in economic projects too (such as buying a rice mill or planting cash crops) (MB 1914, 284; 1916, 126-7; 1920, 201; 1921, Jahresbericht:18; 1925, 222-6; Proceedings 1927, 69). By creating sodalities, organising lay meetings, church conferences, or religious community feasts, and providing facilities for communication and education the Moravian Church helped to establish the institutional skeleton of the Creole community. Through the organisation of its parishes and church districts according to linguistic criteria it provided the “outer skin”, the boundary with other ethnic groupings (Miskito and Sumu Indians, Mestizos, Chinese) to the English-speaking Afro-American community (Proceedings 1934, 76; 1935, 72-4; MB 1935, 142; TM 1961, Annual Report, 13; 1967, Annual Report, 23; 1968, Annual Report, 24). Starting in the 1930s and along with the decline of North American dominated enclave production, large-scale immigration also came to an end, and a gradual process of assimilation among the different social groups within the Afro-American population set in. The banana steamers ceased to call at the port towns of the Mosquitia, and consequently Bluefields lost much of its contact with the United States and Caribbean. Many of the earlier AfroAmerican immigrant workers who had stayed changed their aspirations as for them and their offspring; a return to their Caribbean Island homes was

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increasingly less feasible. Integration and individual upward social mobility within the context of the local society became their main aims. To “poor Blacks”, education as mostly supplied by Moravian institutions, and integration into the dominant established Protestant church, were the central mechanisms for social advancement (Gabbert 1992, 225ff ). A common self-definition of the Creoles has developed which includes the Afro-American elite as well as the “poor Blacks”. Thus, “Creole” changed its meaning from an ethnic category to the term for an ethnic community. As we will see in a moment, the Moravian Church also played a key role in the ethnogenesis of the Miskitu. Originally, the term “Mosquitos” was the name European sailors gave to a group of small islands off the eastern coast of Nicaragua. It was extended to refer to the inhabitants of the coast in the seventeenth century (Potthast 1988, 66; cf. Offen 2002, 333). Up until the end of the nineteenth century, however, “Mosquito Indians” not only referred to the speakers of several related dialects but, in a more general sense, to the indigenous inhabitants of the entire Atlantic region of Nicaragua (cf., for example, Fellechner, Müller, and Hesse 1845, 19). Thus, the “Mosquito Convention” that established the integration of the Atlantic region into the Nicaraguan state in 1894 was also signed by delegates of Rama-speaking settlements.17 The term Mosquito Indians, or more recently Miskito or Miskitu, was primarily a category defined by outsiders (Spaniards, British, Nicaraguans and German missionaries). It was based upon linguistic similarities and did not pay attention to the actual social organisation of the indigenous groups based on locality and (fictive) kinship. Especially since the development of US-dominated economic enclaves in banana planting, gold-mining and lumbering at the end of the nineteenth century, the Miskitu were faced with fundamental changes in their social structure and way of life: amongst others, the commodification of the economy, the spread of wage labour, the weakening of kin relations, population loss due to epidemics and changes in settlement patterns. All of this contributed towards the increasing isolation of villages (Gabbert 1985, 53ff, 83ff; ibid. 1996, 83ff, 91ff ). The conversion of foodstuffs into commodities, for example, led to a decline in inter-village contact, as joint consumption of surplus food during feasts had previously been a major social integration

17

Cf. the text in von Oertzen, Rossbach, and Wünderich (1990, 391ff ).

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mechanism beyond the level of residence groups (Helms 1971, 76ff, 106f, 226, 232; Nietschmann 1973, 197, 201ff; Gabbert 1996, 99f ). The first step towards consolidating the Miskitu as an ethnic community was made in the late nineteenth century by Protestant Moravian missionaries. They contributed to the linguistic unification of the different Miskitu dialects by making one of them a written language.18 In addition, the Moravian church worked against the isolating tendencies by contributing to the development of new means of communication and organisational structures that linked Miskitu residence groups. Thus, they created a material basis (organisation and communication) that allowed speakers of Miskitu to become aware of their common membership to this category. The missionaries established schools, organised community feasts, evangelisation meetings, and from 1917 onward, “workers’ conferences”. In addition, they published the monthly newsletter “Miskito Moravian” for Miskitu-speaking evangelists and lay workers (Gabbert 1992, 228ff, 270; Hawley 1997, 114ff ). Hence Moravian missionaries paved the way for the emergence of a common ethnic Miskitu consciousness among the different kin and dialect groups in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, converting the Miskitu category into an ethnic community.19 Life in larger settlements, language standardisation and the development of community structures beyond the local level were a prerequisite for the introduction of a we-feeling that encompassed all speakers of Miskitu. It is precisely this kind of subjective self-awareness that marks the essential difference between an ethnic category such as a linguistic group and ethnic communities. Creoles and Miskitu became ethnic communities in the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries through a process of differentiation from the other population groups in the region and from the Spanish-speakers of central and pacific Nicaragua. In both cases the Protestant Moravian Church played a key role in the consolidation of ethnic boundaries and the development of integrating structures within the ethnic collectivities. The Church consolidated and institutionalised the hitherto ill-defined boundary between Miskitu and Creoles by organising their practical work (e.g. church services) as well as their administrative subdivisions and activities (e.g. church dis-

18 19

For the various dialects, cf. MB (1880, 89). For a fuller discussion of Miskitu ethnogenesis cf. Gabbert (2008; in press).

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tricts, district conferences) according to language criteria (Gabbert 1992, 229ff ).

CONCLUSION Ethnic groups and nations or their ideologists tend to “make” a history of their communities. Peoples are treated like organisms provided with a unitary fate and will. Their “hour of birth” is projected into a mysterious past to legitimatise the mundane interests of the present through the sanctification of history. In contrast, this paper has argued that a scientific view of such “imagined communities” has to focus on the internal divisions of such collectivities and understand ethnicity as a result of the complex interaction between self- and other ascription. Furthermore, it has to ask for the reasons of ethnic cohesion. Ethnic identifications have always been situational and context-dependent (Nagata 1974). Being the product of inter-group relations ethnicity is inherently historical. Its complete understanding is therefore impossible when the analysis is restricted to the actors’ present conditions and interests. The differentiation between levels of ethnicity – ethnic categories used by individuals in interaction and the groups or organisations based on such categories – allows for the analysis of ethnicity in different contexts and its conceptualisation as a process rather than the substance or property of a group.

REFERENCES Archival sources and periodicals LAL – Latin American Library, Tulane University, New Orleans. MB – Missionsblatt der Brüdergemeinde, Herrnhut. Vols. 1848-1900. NA – National Archives, Washington, D.C. PA – Periodical Accounts relating to the Foreign Missions of the Church of the United Brethren. London. I. Series, Vols. 19-22 (1847-1858); II. Series, Vols. 1-2 (18901895). Proceedings of the Society for Propagating the Gospel. Bethlehem, Pa. Vols. 1918-1947. TM – The Moravian. Bethlehem, Pa. Vols. 1953-1970.

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Other Sources, Books and Articles: ANAYA, S. James. “The Mayagna Indigenous Community of Awas Tingni and its Effort to Gain Recognition of Traditional Lands: The Community’s Case before the Human Rights Institutions of the Organization of American States.” 2000 meeting of the Latin American Studies Association. Miami. 16 Mar. 2000. ANDERSON, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London; New York: Verso 1991. BARTH, Fredrik. “Introduction.” Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Culture Difference. Ed. Fredrik Barth. Bergen-Oslo; London: Universitets Forlaget, George Allen & Unwin 1969. 9-38. BELL, Charles N. Tangweera. Life and Adventures among Gentle Savages. London: Edward Arnold 1899. BRASS, Paul R. Ethnicity and Nationalism. New Delhi; Newbury; London: Sage 1991. BRETON, Raymond. “Institutional Completeness and the Personal Relations of Immigrants.” American Journal of Sociology, 70.2 (1964): 193-205. BRUBAKER, Rogers. “Ethnicity without Groups.” European Journal of Sociology, 43.2 (2002): 163-89. BUTLER, Judith. “Proyectos pilotos de autonomía zonal: Una nueva etapa para la Costa.” Wani, 4 (1986): 23-27. BUVOLLEN, Hans P., and Hai Almquist BUVOLLEN. “Demografía de la RAAN.” Wani, 15 (1994): 5-19. BUVOLLEN, Hans P., and Robert GROßE. “Die Mühen der Autonomie: Die Atlantikküste von Nicaragua.” Lateinamerika: Analysen und Berichte. Ed. Dietmar Dirmoser et al. Unkel: Horlemann 1994. 131-43. BUVOLLEN, Hans P., and Christian P. SCHERRER. “Assembly of Nicaraguan Indians and New Alliances.” IWGIA, 55.4 (1993): 22-29. CENTRO DE INVESTIGACIÓN Y ESTUDIOS DE LA REFORMA AGRARIA (CIERA). La Mosquitia en la Revolución. Managua 1981. CIDCA. “Vom Rio Coco nach Tasba Pri: Chronik einer gescheiterten Umsiedlung.” Mosquitia - die andere Hälfte Nicaraguas: über Geschichte und Gegenwart der Atlantikküste. Ed. Klaus Meschkat, et al. Hamburg: Junius 1987. 219-53. CIDCA, and UNIT DEVELOPMENT STUDY, eds. Ethnic Groups and the Nation State: The Case of the Atlantic Coast in Nicaragua. Stockholm: University of Stockholm 1987. COHEN, Abner. “Introduction.” Urban Ethnicity. Ed. Abner Cohen. London: Tavistock Publications 1974. ix-xxiv. — Two-Dimensional Man: An Essay on the Anthropology of Power and Symbolism in Complex Society. Berkeley; Los Angeles: University of California Press 1976.

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CONNOR, Walker. “Eco- or Ethno-nationalism.” Ethnic and Racial Studies, 7.3 (1984): 342-59. CONZEMIUS, Eduard. “Notes on the Miskito and Sumu Languages of Eastern Nicaragua.” International Journal of American Linguistics, 5 (1929): 57-115. — Ethnographical Survey of the Miskito and Sumu Indians of Honduras and Nicaragua. Washington D.C. Smithsonian Institution 1932. US American Ethnology Bulletin 106. — “Les tribus indiennes de la Cote des Mosquitos.” Anthropos, 33 (1938): 910-43. DENNIS, Philip A. The Miskitu People of Awastara. Austin: University of Texas Press 2004. DISKIN, Martin et al. Peace and Autonomy on the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua: A Report of the LASA Task Force on Human Rights and Academic Freedom. Pittsburgh 1986. DUNHAM, Jacob. Journal of Voyages. New York: Hucstis & Cozans 1850. DUNN, Henry H. Guatemala, or the United Provinces of Central America, 1827-28: Being Sketches and Memorandums Made during a Twelve Months Residence in that Republic. New York: G. & O. Garvill 1829. ELWERT, Georg. “Nationalismus, Ethnizität und Nativismus: Über Wir-Gruppenprozesse.” Ethnizität im Wandel. Ed. Peter Waldmann and Georg Elwert. Saarbrücken: Breitenbach 1989. 21-60. ERIKSEN, Thomas Hylland. Ethnicity and Nationalism. Anthropological Perspectives. London: Pluto Press 2002. ESMAN, Milton J. “Communal Conflict in Southeast Asia.” Ethnicity: Theory and Experience. Ed. Nathan Glazer and Daniel P. Moynihan. Cambridge: Harvard University Press 1975. 391-419. FELLECHNER, A., MÜLLER, and C. HESSE. Bericht über die im höchsten Auftrage seiner Königlichen Hoheit des Prinzen Carl von Preussen und Sr. Durchlaucht des Herrn Fürsten v. Schoenburg-Waldenburg bewirkte Untersuchung einiger Theile des Mosquitolandes. Berlin: Alexander Duncker 1845. FRIED, Morton H. The Evolution of Political Society. New York: Random House 1967. GABBERT, Wolfgang. Die Atlantikküste Nicaraguas - fehlende nationalstaatliche Integration, Erbe von Kolonialismus und Bereicherungsdiktatur. Kassel 1985. Entwicklungsperspektiven 15/16. — Creoles: Afroamerikaner im karibischen Tiefland von Nicaragua. Münster: Lit Verlag 1992. — “Two Cultures or One? Social Stratification and Cultural Diversity among AfroAmericans on Nicaragua’s Mosquito Coast.” Born out of Resistance. Ed. Wim Hoogbergen et al. Utrecht: ISOR Press 1995. 263-73. — “Gesellschaftlicher Umbruch und relative Deprivation - eine religiöse Heilsbewegung in der Atlantikregion Nicaraguas 1881/82.” Sociologus, 46.1 (1996): 78106.

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— “Concepts of Ethnicity.” Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies, 1.1 (2006): 85-103. Web. 3 Jun. 2010. . — “From Generalized Reciprocity to Imagined Community: Ethnogenesis and Social Differentiation among the Miskito Indians of Eastern Nicaragua.” Culturas en movimiento. Contribuciones a la transformación de identidades étnicas y culturas en América. Ed. Wiltrud Dresler, Bernd Fähmel, and Karoline Noack. México, D.F.; Berlin: UNAM; IAI 2007. 307-26. — “The Kingdom of Mosquitia and the Mosquito Reservation: Precursors of Indian Autonomy?” National Integration and Contested Autonomy: The Caribbean Coast of Nicaragua. Ed. Luciano Baracco. New York: Algora 2011. 11-43. — “Ethnicity and Social Change: Miskitu Ethnogenesis in Eastern Nicaragua.” New World Colors: Ethnicity, Conflict, and Belonging in the Americas. Ed. Josef Raab. Münster: Lit Verlag in press. GELLNER, Ernest. Nations and Nationalism. Oxford: Basil Blackwell 1983. GOMES, Alberto G. “The Semai: The Making of an Ethnic Group in Malaysia.” Ethnic Diversity and the Control of Natural Resources in Southeast Asia. Ed. A. Terry Rambo Rambo, Kathleen Gillogly, and Karl L. Hutterer. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan 1988. 99-116. GORDON, Edmund T. Disparate Diasporas. Identity and Politics in an AfricanNicaraguan Community. Austin: University of Texas Press 1998. GOTTSCHALCH, Wilfried, Marina NEUMANN-SCHÖNWETTER, and Gunther SOUKUP. Sozialisationsforschung. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp 1971. GROSBY, Steven. “The Verdict of History: The Inexpungeable Tie of Primordiality A Response to Eller and Coughlan.” Ethnic and Racial Studies, 17.2 (1994): 164-71. GUTIÉRREZ MAYORGA, Gustavo A. “Dos etapas en la historia del movimiento obrero de Nicaragua.” Tesis. San José de Costa Rica 1977. HALE, Charles A. “Relaciones interétnicas y la estructura de clases en la costa atlántica de Nicaragua.” Estudios Sociales Centroamericanos, 48.3 (1988): 71-91. — Resistance and Contradiction. Miskitu Indians and the Nicaraguan State, 18941987. Stanford: Stanford University Press 1994. HAWLEY, Susan. “Protestantism and Indigenous Mobilisation: The Moravian Church among the Miskitu Indians of Nicaragua.” Journal of Latin American Studies, 29.1 (1997): 111-29. HELMS, Mary W. Asang - Adaptations to Culture Contact in a Miskito Community. Gainesville: University of Florida Press 1971. HODGSON, Horacio. Discurso sobre la Convención Mosquito: Mimeo 1934. HOROWITZ, Daniel. “Ethnic Identity.” Ethnicity: Theory and Experience. Ed. Nathan Glazer and Daniel P. Moynihan. Cambridge: Harvard University Press 1975. 111-40.

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HOUWALD, Götz Freiherr von. Mayangna=Wir. Zur Geschichte der Sumu-Indianer in Mittelamerika. Hohenschäftlarn: Klaus Renner 1990. HOWARD, Sara. “Autonomía y derechos territoriales indígenas: El caso de la RAAN.” Wani, 14 (1993): 1-17. HUTCHINSON, John, and Anthony D. SMITH. “Introduction.” Ethnicity. Ed. John Hutchinson and Anthony D. Smith. Oxford: Oxford University Press 1996. 3-14. INEC. VIII Censo de Población y IV de Vivienda. Nicaragua 2005. ISAACS, Harold R. “Basic Group Identity: The Idols of the Tribe.” Ethnicity, 1.1 (1974): 15-41. JENKINS, Richard. Rethinking Ethnicity. Arguments and Explorations. Thousand Oaks; New Delhi: Sage 1997. JOHNSON, Allen W., and Timothy K. EARLE. The Evolution of Human Societies. From Foraging Group to Agrarian State. New York: Random House 1987. KING, Victor T. “Ethnicity in Borneo: An Anthropological Problem.” Southeast Asian Journal of Social Science, 10.1 (1982): 23-43. LEWIN, Kurt. Resolving Social Conflicts. New York: Harper and Brothers 1948. LONG, Edward. The History of Jamaica. London: T. Lownudes 1970. MCKINNON, John, and Bernard VIENNE, eds. Hill Tribes Today. Problems in Change. Bangkok: White Lotus-Orstom 1989. MISURASATA. “Grundsatzerklärung von MISURASATA vom 12. September 1985.” Mosquitia - die andere Hälfte Nicaraguas: über Geschichte und Gegenwart der Atlantikküste. Ed. Klaus Meschkat, et al. Hamburg: Junius 1985. 301-03. — “Proposal of MISURASATA for a Treaty of Peace.” Akwesasne Notes, 19.3 (1987): 18-20. MUELLER, Karl A. Among Creoles, Miskitos and Sumus. Eastern Nicaragua and its Moravian Missions. Bethlehem: The Comenius Press 1932. NAGATA, Judith A. “Situational Selection of Ethnic Identity in a Plural Society: What is Malay?” American Ethnologist, 1.2 (1974): 331-50. NIETSCHMANN, Bernard. Between Land and Water: The Subsistence Ecology of the Miskito Indians, Eastern Nicaragua. New York: Seminar Press 1973. OERTZEN, Eleonore von, Lioba ROSSBACH, and Volker WÜNDERICH, eds. The Nicaraguan Mosquitia in Historical Documents, 1844-1927. Berlin: Reimer 1990. OFFEN, Karl H. “The Sambo and Tawira Miskitu: The Colonial Origins and Geography of Intra-Miskitu Differentiation in Eastern Nicaragua and Honduras.” Ethnohistory, 49.2 (2002): 319-72. OKAMURA, J. Y. “Situational Ethnicity.” Ethnic and Racial Studies, 4 (1981): 452-65. PATTERSON, Orlando. “Context and Choice in Ethnic Allegiance: A Theoretical Framework and Caribbean Case Study.” Ethnicity: Theory and Experience. Ed. Nathan Glazer and Daniel P. Moynihan. Cambridge: Harvard University Press 1975. 305-49.

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POTTHAST, Barbara. Die Mosquitoküste im Spannungsfeld britischer und spanischer Politik 1502-1821. Köln; Wien: Böhlau 1988. PROSCHAN, Frank. “‘We are all Kmhmu, just the same’: Ethnonyms, Ethnic Identities, and Ethnic Groups.” American Ethnologist, 24.1 (1997): 91-113. RANGER, Terence. “Kolonialismus in Ost- und Zentralafrika. Von der traditionellen zur traditionalen Gesellschaft - Einsprüche und Widersprüche.” Traditionale Gesellschaften und europäischer Kolonialismus. Ed. Jan-Heeren Grevemeyer. Frankfurt am Main: Syndikat 1981. 16-46. RICHTER, Ernesto. “ALPROMISU: Die Entstehung einer ethnischen Bewegung, 1970-1979.” Mosquitia - die andere Hälfte Nicaraguas: über Geschichte und Gegenwart der Atlantikküste. Ed. Klaus Meschkat, et al. Hamburg: Junius 1987. 141-63. RIZO, Mario. “Identidad étnica y elecciones. El caso de la RAAN.” Wani, 8 (1990): 28-51. ROBERTS, Orlando W. Narrative of Voyages and Excursions on the East Coast and in the Interior of Central America: Describing a Journey up the River San Juan, and Passage across the Lake of Nicaragua to the City of León. Edinburgh: Constable & Co 1827. ROTHSCHILD, Joseph. Ethnopolitics. A Conceptual Framework. New York: Columbia University Press 1981. RUIZ Y RUIZ, Frutos. La Costa Atlántica de Nicaragua. Managua: Tipografía Alemana 1927. SMITH, Anthony D. National Identity. London: Penguin 1991. SOUTHALL, Aidan W. “The Illusion of Tribe.” Journal of Asian and African Studies, 5.1-2 (1970): 28-50. STEWARD, Julian H. Evolution and Ecology. Essays on Social Transformation. Ed. Jane C. Steward and Robert F. Murphy. Urbana: University of Illinois Press 1977. TAJFEL, Henri. Human Groups and Social Categories. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1981. — Gruppenkonflikt und Vorurteil. Entstehung und Funktion sozialer Stereotypen. Bern: Huber 1982. TODD, Loreto. Pidgins and Creoles. London; Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1974. VILAS, Carlos M. “Revolutionary Change and Multi-Ethnic Regions: The Sandinista Revolution and the Atlantic Coast.” Ethnic Groups and the Nation State: The Case of the Atlantic Coast in Nicaragua. Ed. CIDCA and Unit Development Study. Stockholm: University of Stockholm 1987. 61-100. — Estado, clase y etnicidad: La costa atlántica de Nicaragua. México, D.F.: Fondo de Cultura Económica 1992. WICKHAM, Henry A. “Notes on the Soumoo or Woolwa Indians of Blewfields River, Mosquito Territory.” Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, 24.2 (1895): 198-208.

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WILLIAMSON, Dennis, and Virgilio RIVERA. “Breve caracterización conceptual de la problemática socioeconómica de la costa caribe de Nicaragua.” Wani, 22 (1997): 24-29. WORSLEY, Peter. The Three Worlds: Culture and World Development. Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1984. WÜNDERICH, Volker. “The Mosquito Reserve and the Aftermath of British Presence.” The Nicaraguan Mosquitia in Historical Documents, 1844-1927. Ed. Eleonore von Oertzen, Lioba Rossbach, and Volker Wünderich. Berlin: Reimer 1990. 60-87. YATAMA. Plan básico del gobierno regional. Bilwi 1989. YOUNG, Thomas. Narrative of a Residence on the Mosquito Shore during the Years 1839, 1840, & 1841: with an Account of Truxillo, and the adjacent Islands of Bonacca and Roatan. London: Smith, Elder & Co 1842.

GUERRA, FORMACIÓN DEL ESTADO E IMAGINARIO NACIONAL EN EL PERÚ Cecilia Méndez G./Carla Granados Moya1

“Y nosotros (…) que hizimos más de lo que debíamos, es preciso decirlo, militar a nuestra costa, y que habiendo quitado esta piedra de escandalo de la nacion, hemos reducido al orden y a sus deberes á los rebeldes…” Pobladores de San Miguel y Chilcas, Ayacucho, 1831 (AGN 1831). “Sendero ha entrado otra vez a Chungui desde Marzo del 2009. Entonces, con los ronderos nos organizamos. Como policía nacional, como ejército estamos actuando.” Alcalde de Chungui, 2009 (Jiménez 2009).2 RESUMEN A diferencia de otros países americanos, el Perú carece de una memoria nacional de sus guerras civiles decimonónicas. Estas han sido opacadas por la avasalladora memoria de la Guerra del Pacífico, que el Perú y Bolivia perdieron ante Chile (18791883). Esta ponencia se propone rescatar del olvido a las guerras civiles peruanas del siglo XIX, empezando por las guerras de la independencia. Las preguntas que planteamos están motivadas por la guerra reciente que desató el Sendero Luminoso entre 1980 y fines de la década de 1990, en la que los campesinos andinos asumieron las funciones represivas del estado al tomar las armas para derrotar a la insurgencia senderista. Esta situación exhibe interesantes paralelos con las guerras civiles del siglo XIX.

1

La investigación que sustenta este artículo se benefició de “pequeñas becas” (small grants) del Academic Senate y del Interdisciplinary Humanities Center de la Universidad de California en Santa Bárbara y su redacción fue concluida gracias a un Fellowship del Stanford Humanities Center. A todos ellos nuestro reconocimiento. 2 Chungui es un pueblo situado en la ceja de la selva, en el departamento de Ayaucho, que sufrió bajo la violencia de la guerra interna del Perú (1980-2000). Recientemente, este pueblo fue atacado de nuevo por un grupo reconstituido de Sendero Luminoso que tiene vínculos con el narcotráfico.

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Proponemos que el estudio de las guerras civiles decimonónicas del Peru, a la luz de la reciente guerra interna, ofrece una oportunidad fecunda para discutir las nociones de ciudadanía y pertenencia, la relación entre guerra y la constitución del Estado, así como los alcances y límites del concepto weberiano del Estado como el ente que monopoliza la violencia legítima. Subrayamos la importancia de la organización civil de las poblaciones rurales en el devenir de la guerra y, más ampliamente, en la construcción del Estado.

MEMORIAS AUSENTES Este ensayo propone una exploración del proceso de formación del Estado republicano en el Perú a través de sus guerras civiles del siglo XIX y, más específicamente, a través de la participación de las poblaciones rurales en dichas guerras. Como hemos discutido en otras oportunidades, en las primeras décadas republicanas estas guerras –empezando por las campañas de la independencia– se convirtieron no sólo en un vehículo de “ascenso social” sino en una instancia a través de la cual los pobres del campo podían negociar sus derechos y obligaciones para con el Estado, es decir, su condición ciudadana. En esta oportunidad queremos ir un poco más allá y sugerir que las poblaciones rurales que participaron en las guerras civiles no sólo lo hicieron con las armas sino que ejercieron tareas de gobierno y control social que fueron claves en el proceso de formación del Estado nacional. A diferencia de otros países americanos, el Perú no recuerda sus guerras civiles del siglo XIX. Mientras las identidades políticas y los imaginarios nacionales del siglo XX de países como Estados Unidos, Argentina, Colombia, o Uruguay han sido marcados por la memoria de sus guerras civiles del XIX, nada semejante ha ocurrido en el Perú.3 En Colombia, por ejemplo, los partidos Liberal y Conservador, que se enfrentaron en varias guerras durante el siglo XIX, continuaron su historia de disputas a lo largo del siglo XX.4 En Argentina la proverbial rivalidad decimonónica entre unitarios y federales también se reeditó en el siglo XX, mediante

3

Sobre guerras civiles y revoluciones en América Latina durante el siglo XIX, la literatura es abundante. Para algunos ejemplos cf. Zeitlin (1984), Sánchez y Aguilera (2001), LópezAlvez (2000); Earle (2002), Paz (2007) y Sabato (2008). 4 Sobre el siglo XIX en Colombia cf. Sanders (2004) y Prado Rueda (2004)

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la rememoración peronista de los célebres caudillos federalistas Facundo Quiroga y Chacho Peñaloza y de sus ejércitos de montoneros. Incluso México, a pesar de su masiva revolución del siglo XX, rastrea las raíces de su liberalismo en las guerras de la Reforma y en el venerado Benito Juárez. Por su parte, los Estados Unidos, donde la bandera de los confederados en la guerra de secesión, que es un símbolo pro-esclavista por excelencia, no sólo sigue flameando en los estados del sur hoy día, sino que forma parte del sentido de identidad regional de muchos blancos del sur, ciertamente no sin controversia. La amnesia de las guerras civiles decimonónicas en el Perú no se debe a la ausencia de conflicto. Entre 1820 y 1842 el país pasó por catorce años de guerra, según Basadre (Basadre 1983). Posteriormente hubo al menos tres guerras civiles de alcance nacional (1854-1855, 1865 y 1894-95). Ninguna de ellas ha sido estudiada como tal.5 Más aún, pese a que desde la proclamación de la independencia en 1821 hasta el final del siglo XIX, salvo dos breves interregnos, el Perú estuvo gobernado por líderes militares, la historiografía del periodo ha dedicado más atención a estos momentos excepcionales de gobierno civil –particularmente al gobierno del civilismo, 1872-1876–6 que a ocho décadas de gobiernos militares, marcados por enfrentamientos armados. Las guerras civiles decimonónicas peruanas han sido opacadas por la guerra del Pacífico, que el Perú y Bolivia perdieron ante Chile (1879-1883). Como el historiador Manrique señaló alguna vez, la memoria de la Guerra del Pacífico ha tenido en el Perú mayor peso en la formación de sentimientos nacionalistas y ha ofrecido un sentido de identidad nacional más prominente que la memoria de las guerras de independencia. De esta manera, una guerra internacional, que tuvo el carácter de excepción, ha moldeado la agenda de los historiadores y el imaginario nacional peruanos en mayor grado que las guerras civiles, que fueron la norma. La coloquialmente llamada “guerra con Chile” constituye quizá el único conflicto bélico en que el nacionalismo de Estado converge con sentimientos 5

Una excepción para 1895 es Jacobsen y Díez Hurtado (2002). Cf. también Escobar Ohmstede y Falcón (2002). 6 El gobierno del Partido Civil llegó al poder en 1872 con su fundador, Manuel Pardo, primer presidente civil del Perú. Existe una abundante literatura sobre Pardo y el civilismo (cf. Mc Evoy 1997, 2004, 2007; Monsalve 2005; Mücke 2004). Valga acotar que muy recientemente Mc Evoy ha incursionado en temas militares del periodo inicial de la República con una valiosa compilación de cartas que no hemos podido aprovechar lo suficiente por haberse publicado cuando nuestro ensayo ya estaba casi concluido (cf. Mc Evoy and Renique 2010).

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nacionalistas populares. El hecho de que esta guerra involucrara a todas las clases sociales y a vastas regiones del Perú, tanto en la costa como en la sierra –aunque menos en el oriente– puede explicar, en parte, la persistencia de su huella a través de las generaciones. Sin embargo, como bien sabemos, la memoria histórica nunca es meramente espontánea. Para que perdure públicamente exige la intermediación del Estado a través de monumentos, conmemoraciones, textos escolares, mapas e iconografía oficial. Como hemos sugerido en otros textos, el hecho de que la memoria de la guerra con Chile haya sido activamente promovida desde el Estado podría deberse a que es la guerra en que las clases altas peruanas, especialmente la oligarquía de la costa y de Lima, perdieron más que en ningún otro conflicto (Méndez G. 2010).7 Como contrapunto y bajo una bandera explícitamente antiologárquica, antiimperialista y pro-campesina, el general Juan Velasco Alvarado instauró oficialmente la memoria de Túpac Amaru II, durante su gobierno militar correspondiente al periodo de 1968 a 1975. De esta manera se distanció del recuerdo de la guerra con Chile y, en su lugar instauró oficialmente la memoria del cacique indígena, quien entre 1780 y 1781 había liderado desde Cuzco la rebelión más devastadora que hubo contra el orden español en América antes de la independencia. Velasco otorgó a la imagen de Túpac Amaru una prominencia que hasta entonces nunca había tenido en el discurso público de Lima, y que nunca volvió a adquirir de allí en adelante. Lo convirtió en el emblema de la revolución militar, icono de los programas sociales del gobierno –principalmente de la reforma agraria– y en el “héroe nacional” por antonomasia, en tanto que precursor de la independencia contra España. Irónicamente, mientras el gobierno militar de Velasco reivindicó a una figura indígena en el panteón oficial de héroes nacionales, los gobiernos civiles que le siguieron reivindicaron, en su lugar, la guerra perdida ante los vecinos del sur. Debido a su contenido violento, su composición étnica mayoritariamente indígena, y su mensaje antiespañol, la memoria de la rebelión liderada por el cacique cuzqueño ha suscitado incomodidad entre las clases altas peruanas y en particular entre las élites criollas de Lima. Esta incomodidad se ha mani-

7 También disponible en la web: .

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festado como un silencio historiográfico que puede rastrearse desde el célebre Mercurio peruano de 1790 hasta al menos la década de 1940.8 No deja de ser significativo que las únicas historias de síntesis decimonónicas que dedican al menos un capítulo a esta rebelión fueran escritas por extranjeros (Markham, y Lorente), por autores provincianos, especialmente cuzqueños y por autores militares. Tal es el caso del general historiador Manuel de Mendiburu, cuyo Diccionario histórico-biográfico del Perú, de 1890, dedica un largo acápite a Túpac Amaru, basándose en gran parte en el recuento de Markham9 (de Mendiburu 1890). Dada esta larga historia de silencios, la adopción oficial de Túpac Amaru como símbolo nacionalista en la era de Velasco, puede ser considerada subversiva, aun cuando haya tenido un carácter oficial. No sería descabellado suponer que la Gran Rebelión, como se llamó a la rebelión de Túpac Amaru en su tiempo, haya jugado en el Perú un papel análogo al de las guerras civiles decimonónicas de otros países americanos, por lo menos en cuanto a dos aspectos claves, es decir, la fricción regional y el componente de tensión étnica.

GUERRAS CIVILES Y LA FORMACIÓN DEL ESTADO Opacadas por las incómodas –y usualmente reprimidas– memorias de una sublevación indígena de fines del siglo XVIII, y por una prolongada invasión externa que devastó el país hacia el final del siglo XIX, las guerras civiles del siglo XIX en el Perú se presentan en apariencia como un objeto de estudio irrelevante. Sin embargo, no lo son. Su importancia está dada por el desafío que nos presenta nuestra guerra civil más reciente, aquella lanzada por Sendero Luminoso entre 1980 y fines de la década de 1990, contra el Estado y la sociedad peruanos. Esta guerra interna, presumiblemente la más devastadora

8

El silencio historiográfico limeño en torno a Túpac Amaru se quebró en las décadas de 1940 y 1950 cuando las obras monográficas de los historiadores Lewin y Valcárcel –significativamente, un cuzqueño y un argentino– contribuyeron a consagrar al cacique cuzqueño como “precursor de la independencia”, no sin haber previamente depurado su rebelión de sus connotaciones violentas, según Cahill (1999). Muy probablemente estas obras dieron a Velasco el capital intelectual necesario para proceder a la consagración oficial del héroe a fines de la década de 1960. 9 Cf. también Méndez G. (2008).

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en la historia republicana, nos exige replantear el pasado, formulándole nuevas preguntas. El presente artículo constituye un paso en esa dirección.10 Intentamos, en otras palabras, reactivar la memoria de las olvidadas guerras civiles del Perú en el siglo XIX a la luz del conflicto armado reciente. Se trata de un avance preliminar de un proyecto mayor dedicado a estudiar la relación histórica entre los militares y las poblaciones campesinas e indígenas y el papel de la guerra en el sistema político. En tanto es posible argumentar que las guerras de la independencia sentaron el patrón con el que se llevarían a cabo las guerras civiles subsiguientes, creo correcto considerarlas también nuestras primeras guerras civiles del periodo –casi– nacional. Esta consideración se opone a aquellas tendencias de la historiografía latinoamericana que denominan “guerra civiles” a las guerras de la independencia para subrayar el faccionarismo, las fracturas étnicas y sociales y la “ausencia de nacionalismo” y de “Estado”.11 Nuestro análisis se centra, por el contrario, en el examen de tales guerras como parte de los procesos más tempranos de la formación del Estado nacional. Esta forma de abordar las guerras civiles se inspira, en parte, en el célebre planteamiento de Charles Tilly, acerca de la estrecha interrelación entre la guerra y la formación del Estado (Tilly 1985),12 que se opone a la tendencia generalizada de asociar a las guerras civiles únicamente con desgobierno y anarquía. Nuestro trabajo, en cambio, observa cómo la guerra sostiene, delimita –y no sólo desafía– al Estado. En este sentido discrepamos de la interpretación del sociólogo Centeno, quien en un vasto estudio dedicado al tema concluye que la interrelación entre guerra y formación del Estado señalada por Tilly no es válida para América Latina. Centeno escribe que “después de las guerras de la independencia el conflicto militar desaparece como fuente de legitimación del Estado” (Centeno 2002, 191). Contrariamente, sin

10

Tal revaloración ya ha empezado a tener lugar como lo atestigua el trabajo en curso de Jacobsen sobre la revolución de Piérola, que se dio entre 1895 y 1899. 11 Por ejemplo cf. Bonilla y Spalding (1972) y Bonilla (1981) con respecto al Perú. Para otros enfoques a nivel de América Latina cf. Earle (2002). 12 A diferencia de Tilly, que se concentra en las guerras externas que enfrentaron a los Estados europeos en el siglo XVII, en competencia por espacios y mercados coloniales (lo que Marx llamó el proceso de “acumulación primitiva” de capital), analizamos las guerras civiles peruanas en un contexto de escasa agresividad externa y contracción de mercados internos.

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embargo, la guerra no fue sólo el método más común para tomar el control del Estado después de la independencia, sino una forma legítima de hacer política.13 Más aún, la guerra, concebida como un mecanismo para acceder la poder del Estado fue el aspecto que diferenció las prácticas políticas republicanas del siglo XIX con respecto a aquellas que se habían tenido en la era colonial.14 Y este mismo factor fue lo que diferenció el Estado del siglo XIX del Estado del siglo XX, porque fue en el transcurso de esta centuria que un ejército profesional centralizado, ahora en comando del monopolio de la fuerza, iría relegar las guerrillas y montoneras que pudieran emerger el reino de la ilegitimidad; esto es, hasta que la guerra de Sendero Luminoso revirtió al país a una situación de guerra civil análoga a la del siglo XIX. Asimismo, a diferencia de las guerras más modernas, que son libradas por los “especialistas en la guerra”, las guerras del XIX exigieron el concurso organizado de la población civil, ya que las propias fuerzas del “ejército de línea” (es decir, el ejército regular) eran insuficientes.15

GUERRA Y GOBIERNO Los oficiales del ejército del siglo XIX dependían de comunidades, principalmente rurales, para hacer la guerra. Dicha dependencia tuvo lugar desde los

13 Parafraseando a Sharma y Gupta, “las fronteras del Estado se constituyen como resultado del ejercicio del poder”, en este caso, a través de la guerra (Barragán y Wanderley 2009). Dicho en otros términos, concebimos al Estado como un lugar en disputa: el lugar de la lucha por el monopolio de la violencia legítima (Weber 1980). 14 Cecilia Méndez ha expuesto esta idea con anterioridad: “In the colonial period, obviously but worth keeping in mind, no such struggles for control of the state occurred between rival factions. So-called anticolonial rebellions pursued reform rather than state takeover and had no legitimate place within the framework of the imperial polity. Conversely, early republican politics were marked by permanent strife over state control; this struggle, moreover, defined much of the state’s political fabric through that period. Beyond all other claims political factions seeking legitimacy first and foremost laid claim to the state” Méndez G. (2005, 237). Otras obras relevantes relacionadas de Méndez G. son: Méndez G. (2001) (la traducción de este texto al español es: ibíd. (2002); cf. además ibíd. (2006); para una versión revisada y expandida de este texto cf. ibíd. (2009)). 15 El ejército regular alude al ejército profesional de hoy, es decir, soldados de tiempo completo comandados por oficiales. En el siglo XIX lo que hoy se conoce como “ejército regular” era denominado “ejército de línea”.

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niveles más básicos hasta los más estratégicos. Esto exige trasladar el examen de la política del ámbito formal, doctrinario y puramente discursivo, al ámbito material, pragmático y cotidiano, que ha sido el más descuidado en los análisis. Las guerras decimonónicas no hubieran podido pelearse en un desierto como pueden hacerlo las guerras modernas. Los soldados de hoy pueden descansar en su propia infraestructura, y en el suministro, por ejemplo, de comida empacada que les puede ser arrojada desde un helicóptero. Los oficiales mejor calificados del siglo XIX, en cambio, debían calcular en su estrategia rutas y lugares de campamento cercanos a centros poblados bien provistos, lo cual suponía estar en buenos términos con las poblaciones. Las cartas de los altos oficiales durante la guerras de la independencia están llenas de admoniciones a sus subalternos para salvaguardar la reputación de sus ejércitos ante las poblaciones, pues eran conscientes que la guerra no se ganaría “contra la opinión de los pueblos”, existiendo un especial énfasis en el buen trato a los “naturales”.16 Claro que estas instrucciones no siempre se cumplían y los pobladores reaccionaban contra el abuso, lo que llevó a los oficiales a flexibilizar sus estegias. Por ejemplo, el General Gamarra, conocido por su autoritarismo y despotismo, se vio obligado a abolir, a fines de la década de 1830, las requisas obligatorias de caballos y mulas para el ejército, porque daban muy malos resultados, auspiciando, en su lugar, la crianza de ganado caballar y mular (Seraylan Leiva 1989, 676). Por tanto, si bien es cierto que los ejércitos saquearon, reclutaron a la fuerza y cometieron innumerables abusos, frecuentemente tuvieron que atenerse a lo que los campesinos aceptaban darles a sus combatientes ya que el Estado carecía de la capacidad coercitiva que habría de adquirir más tarde, con un ejército institucionalizado. Los caudillos dependían así de pobladores 16 Por ejemplo, el 25 de octubre de 1821 el General San Martín escribía, desde Lima, a Toribo Dábalos, Comandante Militar de la Provincia de Canta: “He dispuesto que Ud. se encargue del mando militar de la provincia de Canta y su jurisdicción, en razon de su buena comportación y trato amable que tiene con esos naturales”, en Dunbar Temple (1971, 419). Por su parte, el General Juan Antonio Álvarez de Arenales señalaba al Gobernador Intendente de Tarma, Coronel Francisco de Paula Otero, que “alli se pueden obrar y hacer mucho los indios bien colocados en las dos alturas del estrecho, con galgas y hondas, sin riesgo de perder gente por nuestra parte, con tal que los indios sean conducidos con la politica y buen modo, que exige el carácter pues en esto se debe poner todo el con ato conveniente y que V.S. no ignora” (Dunbar Temple 1971, 224).

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con destrezas y recursos específicos. En la guerra civil de 1834, por ejemplo, generales criollos y aristócratas, héroes de la independencia, e incluso un presidente del país, llegaron a implorar a campesinos quechuahablantes iletrados –de quienes hacía poco se habían mofado llamándolos “indios traidores realistas” y “borrachos”– a que se sumaran al bando liberal para defender al Estado de un golpe, lo cual lograron con éxito (cf. Méndez G. 2001, 200417 y 2005, ahí especialmente el capítulo 7).18 Tan extremo es el argumento de que todo se obtuvo a la fuerza en estas guerras como la idea de que los campesinos colaboraron con los militares gracias a un “patriotismo natural”. Ambos argumentos han obstruido la comprensión del proceso mediante el cual la población civil legitimó la violencia, así como la disquisición de las razones pragmáticas que llevaron a las poblaciones a aliarse con uno y otro bando, algunas veces en forma de guerrillas, sin desmedro del sentido político que otorgaran a sus actos. Esta dinámica cambió con la profesionalización del ejército y la consiguiente separación entre Ejército y población civil, que fue instituida a partir de 1896, durante la administración de Nicolás de Piérola. Con el apoyo de una misión militar francesa, el presidente peruano profesionalizó las Fuerzas Armadas, mediante la creación de escuelas militares y el establecimiento del servicio militar. De allí resultó una planta de soldados y oficiales de tiempo completo. A medida que el Ejército se fue convirtiendo en una institución más centralizada y dependiente del presupuesto nacional, las sierras rurales empezaron a perder el lugar central que habían tenido en las contiendas nacionales desde las guerras de independencia. La ironía de este proceso reside en el hecho de que el presidente responsable de la profesionalización de las Fuerzas Armadas y del fin de la era de las guerrillas y las montoneras, Nicolás

17

También disponible en la web: . 18 Pese a que desde hace varios lustros se han venido publicando investigaciones que dan cuenta de la participación campesina en las contiendas políticas del siglo XIX (Rivera Serna 1958, Dunbar Temple 1971, Vergara Arias 1973, Méndez G. 1996, 1997), algunos investigadores han seguido afirmando que el campesinado peruano despertaría a la “conciencia nacional” sólo con la Guerra del Pacífico. Este es, por ejemplo, el parecer de Mallon, quien es, irónicamente conocida por sus estudios sobre campesinado y nación. Escribe Mallon: “Only with the War of the Pacific and the crisis of the Chilean occupation (1881-1884), would opportunities open up for indigenous and village montoneras to participate in defending and redefining the nation” (Mallon 2002, 24).

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de Piérola, llegó al poder en 1895 impulsado por un movimiento montonero masivo. El mundo que se formó en la sierra en los años que siguieron a la administración de Piérola, es decir, los primeros años del siglo XX, es de alguna manera más fácil de aprehender que aquel que dejó atrás, porque es más familiar para nosotros. Las nuevas instituciones y escuelas militares crearon espacios desde los cuales los militares empezarían a concebirse a sí mismos como una institución separada de los civiles y del mundo rural. Así, los militares comenzaron a percibir a los campesinos como personas que era necesario civilizar e integrar a la nación, no mediante la guerrilla, o el pago del tributo indígena, sino por medio del servicio militar y las escuelas que llegaban junto con las carreteras y la modernidad. Por tanto, en el transcurso del siglo XX, un Estado más centralizado, ahora en comando efectivo del monopolio de la fuerza, relegó a cualquier guerrilla o montonera que pudiera emerger al reino de la ilegitimidad, esto es, hasta que la guerra de Sendero Luminoso entre 1980 y 1999 –que alcanzó cifras de casi 70,000 muertos, la mayor parte de ellos campesinos quechuahablantes– revertió al país a una situación de guerra civil análoga a la que había caracterizado el siglo XIX: nos referimos a la alianza que tuvo lugar entre el campesinado y el ejército para derrotar a la insurgencia. Esta alianza, demandada por los campesinos y fomentada (algo tardíamente) por el Estado rompió con el monopolio de la violencia legítima que habían ejercido las fuerzas armadas a lo largo del siglo XX y llevó al país a un estado de guerra civil similar al que había experimentado durante el siglo XIX. Es decir, un estado en que los jefes político-militares o caudillos, compensaban la insuficiencia del ejército de línea (esto es, el ejército regular) mediante la movilización armada de los pobladores civiles en forma de guerrillas y partidas, que asumieron las funciones represivas del Estado, aplacando insurrecciones y ejerciendo control social.19 De manera similar, en la década de1990 el Estado se apoyó en campesinos armados –los llamados ronderos– para derrotar a Sendero. De esta manera los civiles armados –a semejanza de los ronderos actuales– no constituían precisamente una amenaza en contra del gobierno, sino que más bien ayudaron a reforzar su legitimidad.

19

Hemos estudiado estas situaciones específicamente para la provincia de Huanta (cf. Méndez G. 2005, capítulos 1, 7, y epílogo).

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El registro documental del Archivo Histórico Militar –insuficientemente atendido por los historiadores– proporciona una ventana privilegiada hacia el mundo previo a la centralización y profesionalización del Ejército, un mundo en que los límites entre lo civil y lo militar eran aún difusos. Las observaciones que siguen son el resultado de un examen preliminar de esta documentación, particularmente aquella correspondiente a la Sierra Central durante la primera campaña por la independencia, dirigida por el General José de San Martín entre 1821 y 1823. Esta zona fue el teatro final y decisivo de las guerras de independencia sudamericanas y proporciona, por tanto, la documentación más rica. Se trata de cartas oficiales y documentos de guerra intercambiados entre los oficiales de altos rangos y ministros de guerra y jefes militares de las más diversas graduaciones en diferentes regiones del Perú. Llaman la atención sobre todo los documentos intercambiados entre las autoridades militares que se acaban de mencionar y las autoridades locales civiles tales como gobernadores y alcaldes, incluso, de los más remotos pueblos. Los textos, consignados a veces en pequeños pedazos de papel, y en un castellano fuertemente impregnado de una fonología y sintaxis quechuas, transmiten conmovedoramente la urgencia, entusiasmo, desesperación, o frustración en los que fueron escritos, de acuerdo al caso. La documentación de este archivo es complementada otra procedente del Archivo General de la Nación, en Lima y el Archivo Departamental de Ayacucho y fuentes colecciones documentales publicadas. El patrón que siguieron estas campañas militares fue inspirado por la guerra librada en España contra la invasión napoleónica.20 En dicha guerra el ejército regular promovió la formación de guerrillas y partidas21 entre la población civil, principalmente en las zonas rurales22. Estos ejércitos irregulares debían apoyar al ejército de línea en formas muy variadas, que abarcaban por ejemplo el aspecto logístico del avituallamiento, la obstrucción de cami-

20

En España se produjeron varios manuales que reglamentaron la forma de organizar guerrillas entre 1808 y 1814. Estos manuales fueron reproducidos en América e inspiraron otros semejantes (cf. por ejemplo Archivo Militar de Segovia (1808, f. 6); para los ejemplos americanos cf. Seraylan Leiva, Vega, y Valcárcel (1989)). 21 “Guerrilla” y “partida” se usaron muchas veces como sinónimos pero “partida“ tenía otras connotaciones además de la militar.. 22 Los llamados “cuerpos cívicos” se formaron en las zonas urbanas.

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nos para repeler los avances de las tropas enemigas, e impedir que el ejército oponente accediera a recursos. Por ello, la guerra de partidas se llamó también “guerra de recursos”.23 En otros casos, las guerrillas apoyaron al ejército regular mediante el combate propiamente dicho. Es importante resaltar que si bien las unidades guerrilleras eran entrenadas por oficiales del ejército, quienes las comandaban en las bases eran las autoridades civiles locales, constituyéndose así en nexo crucial con los altos jefes militares. Tales autoridades fueron en la sierra central, los alcaldes y gobernadores de los pueblos, dada la preponderancia de la organización comunal en la zona, mientras que en otras zonas fue clave la intermediación de hacendados y notables24. En las campañas de la sierra central los más altos jefes militares, tales como San Martín, Álvarez de Arenales y Francisco de Paula Otero, fueron muy conscientes de la necesidad de asignarles la organización de guerrillas a los oficiales que conocieran el área y las poblaciones especialmente bien. El cúmulo de evidencias sugiere, así, que la guerra no hubiera sido posible sin gobierno, más específicamente, sin gobierno local. En efecto, a pesar de que convencionalmente la guerra tiende a ser asociada con caos y anarquía, en este periodo temprano los oficiales del ejército se apoyaron enormemente 23

En Enero 4 de 1821, desde el Cuartel General de Retes, José de San Martín escribía al Gobernador Intendente de la Provincia de Tarma Don Francisco de Paula Otero lo siguiente: “[…] por pretexto alguno comprometa una accion formal con los enemigos, y solo debe Vuestra Señoría ceñirse á una guerra de recursos, tanto mas ventajosa en un Pais donde se tiene la opinión de sus habitantes, que sabiendolos dirigir con actividad, y juicio, es imposible que el Ejército mas numeroso y aguerrido pueda asistir a ella: partidas cortas, la que mas de cien hombres mandadas por patriotas de alguna intilegencia y con conocimientos del terreno donde hacen la guerra: ostilizando el enemigo con preferencia por sus costados y retaguardia, deben hacerlo sucumbir en el termino / de dos meses” (Dunbar Temple 1971, 186-87). Años después esta misma estrategia siguió empleándose. Por ejemplo, estando en Lima, el 8 de Junio de 1837, en medio de otro conflicto civil, el general Andrés de Santa Cruz daba instrucciones a Domingo Nieto para “hacer la guerra de partidas y recursos a ejemplo de lo que hicieron los españoles y los rusos a los franceses” (Mc Evoy y Renique 2010, 547) a la cual se refiere luego como “la más segura” (Mc Evoy y Renique 2010, 550). 24 En otras zonas como en la costa de Lima se trató de incorporar a la lucha guerrillera a grupos previamente armados, como por ejemplo a bandoleros. Estas prácticas fueron probablemente inspiradas por las disposiciones del Estado español que se dictaron en 1808, con miras a la formación de guerrillas que repelieran la invasión napoleónica mediante el otorgamiento de incentivos a los contrabandistas y otros personajes fuera de la ley (cf. Archivo Militar de Segovia 1808).

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en una población civil organizada. La intervención de alcaldes y gobernadores fue absolutamente crucial para movilizar a los pueblos hacia la lucha, según puede deducirse de la cantidad de misivas que intercambiaron estas autoridades y los ofíciales militares para coordinar las acciones más diversas. ¿De qué otro modo, si no mediante las autoridades locales, habrían podido convencer los oficiales que llegaban de lugares tan distantes como Jujuy y Tucumán, a los peruanos de luchar en la campaña de San Martín? Aún Lima podía permanecer en una situación de desgobierno y confusión, pero el gobierno local fue esencial para el éxito de las campañas de la independencia, y lo volvería a ser para la supervivencia del ya instalado Estado republicano, en la décadas siguientes (Méndez G. 2005, capítulos 5, 7 y epílogo). Las autoridades locales no sólo coordinaron movimientos militares con los oficiales y organizaron su base logística, sino que, en algunas zonas, se encargaron de la recolección de los diezmos para las finanzas militares, lo cual requería un gran despliegue organizativo (ibíd. 2005, especialmente capítulos 2, 6, y 7). Los alcaldes incluso, se pusieron a la cabeza de sus respectivas guerrillas, tanto de los ejércitos patriotas como de los realistas. Los alcaldes que tomaron el bando independentista se llamaron a sí mismos, “alcaldes de la patria” mientras aquellos que apoyaban al rey se denominaron “alcaldes constitucionales” (CEHMP-AHM 1822). Ambas denominaciones remiten a la lucha por la legitimidad que los dos bandos pretendían ganar. El término “constitucional” aludía a la Constitución liberal española de 1812 que tuvo una amplia acogida en América, incluso mediante proclamas en quechua.25 Es probable que mediante la designación de “alcalde constitucional”, los oficiales realistas buscaran enfatizar que sus fuentes de legitimidad también provenían de los mismos pobladores locales. 25 Esta constitución extendía la ciudadanía española a los “hombres libres” de las colonias españolas de ultramar, incluidos los indígenas. Cf. algunas proclamas de la constitución de 1812 y de los decretos liberales de las cortes de Cádiz en lenguas indígenas en de Rivet Paul (1951). Sobre el impacto de la Constitución de 1812 en las poblaciones indígenas del Perú son pocos los estudios que se realizaron después del trabajo pionero de Christine Hünefeldt (1978), pero cf. Sala Vila (1992-93). Fuentes oficiales refieren que en tiempos de Abascal se repartieron unos 4.000 ejemplares de la Constitución en el virreinato del Perú. La cifra puede ser exagerada, pero hay fascinantes evidencias rituales de la proclamación de la constitución en algunos pueblos andinos (cf. el capítulo 4 de Méndez G. 2005; para el caso de Quito cf. Rodríguez Ordóñez 2005; cf. también Igue 13.08.09).

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Hacia la misma época, sin embargo, los republicanos preparaban la formación de su propio congreso y de una constitución política republicana en el Perú, lo cual permite suponer que la apropiación de ciertos términos correspondía a la mencionada lucha política por la legitimidad, se daba también en el campo del lenguaje de la guerra. En cualquier caso, la adopción de la etiqueta “constitucional” por las autoridades de los pueblos quechuahablantes que favorecían a los españoles fue muy rápida, como atestiguan los fuertes trazos de fonética quechua en una carta firmada por Santiago Muneves [Munívez], quien se identificaba a sí mismo como “yo yo, el alcalde constetuceonal del pueblo de Santiago de los Chongos” (CEHMP-AHM, 8 de Agosto 1822, f. 2). Este es uno de los muchos casos que podría citarse. Al resaltar su identidad como “alcaldes constitucionales”, las autoridades de los pueblos de la sierra central que favorecían a los realistas muy probablemente intentaban deslegitimar la autoridad de los llamados “alcaldes comisionados” que eran nombrados por los oficiales que favorecían la independencia. Los alcaldes de este bando, sin embargo, parecían estar más a gusto con el apelativo de “alcaldes de la patria”. De forma similar, los documentos contienen denominaciones como “partidas por la patria”, “gobernadores de la patria”.26 Tal como fue usado el término en los documentos de guerra que hemos observado, “patria” transmitía menos la idea de un territorio “nacional” que la idea de soberanía. Quienes se declaraban “patriotas” o “patrianos” eran conscientes de estar apoyando una posición de ruptura con España que signaba el comienzo de una entidad política autónoma. Por tanto, el significado de “patria” en su sentido actual de “nación” habría empezado a tomar cuerpo apenas en el campo de batalla, tal como Thibaud ha argumentado para el caso Venezuela (Thibaud 2003). En otras palabras ni el bando de los “patriotas” ni el de los “realistas” estuvo conceptualmente definido antes de la guerra. Tanto para las bases civiles 26 Para una ilustración de las diferentes denominaciones que recibieron las autoridades locales y, en especial, los alcaldes, cf. las comunicaciones enviadas por Tadeo Telles, Sargento Mayor del Ejército, Gobernador Político y Militar de Yauyos al Ministro de Guerra y Marina, 13 de Mayo del 1822. Entre ellas se adjuntan partes (algunos de ellos confiscados a los realistas) donde encontramos las siguientes referencias: “A los señores Alcaldes constitucionales del pueblo de Colca” y “Al Comandante Don Juan Evangelista Rivas, Comandante de Guerrillas por la Patria”. El 12 de Agosto de 1822 se adjuntan en el mismo expediente, partes firmado por “Alcalde nro 1 Santiago Muneves ‘alcalde constetuceonal (sic)’ de Santiago de los Chongos”, e “Ildifonso (sic) Sosa Alcalde de la Patria” (cf. CEHMP-AHM (1822)).

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como para los oficiales militares ambos términos se fueron definiendo en el proceso de la lucha. Lo que sí estaba claro, es que a partir de 1822 –probablemente incluso desde 1821–, en la sierra central, el término “patriota” dejó de referirse a la Monarquía española como había sucedido hasta hacía poco en toda Latinoamérica. El bando independentista y republicano se apropió así de la designación de “patriota”. Por otra parte, si hubo un territorio asociado a la idea de patria, este no fue “nacional” sino continental, es decir, América. Esto se deduce de la prominencia con que se asocia a los “patriotas” con los “americanos” en la documentación de la guerra correspondiente al año 1822 en diversas regiones.

LA SIERRA, ESPACIO CLAVE DE POBLACIÓN ORGANIZADA Todo lo dicho hasta aquí sugiere la necesidad de restituir en la historiografía el lugar que la sierra tuvo en la historia como un centro definitorio de la política nacional y de la constitución del Estado, un lugar que le ha sido arrebatado por la convicción limeñocéntrica de que fue un espacio marginal al devenir político nacional. Sugerimos, en otras palabras, que el Perú no fue una excepción en el proceso de “ruralización del poder”, que según Halperín, tuvo lugar en Hispanoamérica después de la independencia (Halperin Donghi 1969, 1991). Un ejemplo claro de la importancia logística y estratégica de la sierra; en particular, la sierra central, lo constituyen los campamentos que los ejércitos establecieron en esta zona por órdenes de San Martín, en vista de los ricos recursos agrícolas y ganaderos de la región.27 Esta estrategia siguió poniéndose

27

Cf., por ejemplo “Instrucción de San Martín al General Álvarez de Arenales” (Pisco, 4 de Octubre, 1820) en de la Barra (1971, 357-358). El conocimiento del terreno y los recursos siguió siendo indispensable para decidir rutas del ejército y estrategias de guerra. Por ejemplo, el 18 de Agosto de 1842, el general Domingo Nieto escribía al General José María Plaza desde Huanta que si bien Huanta tenía abundante alfalfa, lo cual era bueno para la caballada, era preferible descansar en Huamanaga por ser “abundante en granos” (Mc Evoy and Renique 2010, 656-59). Para más ejemplos cf. Mc Evoy and Renique (2010, 549). Leiva, refiere que en 1842, “por razones de austeridad…. [entre otras] se suprimió a la tropa –excepto a la de Lima– el socorro diario con el que pagaba su alimentación”. Por tanto, “cuando se movilizaba el ejército, eran los pueblos de tránsito los que proporcionaban los alimentos al ejército, pero sólo hasta finalizar la campaña” (Seraylan Leiva 1989, 680). Este autor añade que apenas en 1869

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en práctica en años posteriores. No es casual que la sierra sur-central se convirtiera en el teatro decisivo de las últimas campañas por la independencia. Esta región fue el granero de Lima y de los centros mineros que alimentaron la economía minera colonial. Tampoco es casual que estas mismas zonas hayan sido el último bastión de resistencia campesina frente a las tropas invasoras de Chile durante la Guerra del Pacífico y que haya sido igualmente codiciada por Sendero Luminoso en tiempos más cercanos a los nuestros. En el difícil y poco explorado territorio de la relación que las poblaciones campesinas de la sierra establecieron con los oficiales de ambos bandos quisiéramos rescatar un notable aporte del antropólogo Salomon. Se refiere a la cuestión del ganado, un recurso tan crucial en la guerra. En el pueblo de Rapaz, distrito de Oyón, en la sierra del departamento de Lima, Salomon descubrió, entre otros khipus de antigua data aún usados por los pobladores, uno muy distintivo que llevaba colgados dos figurines. Uno de ellos representaba lo que parecía ser un uniforme de gala usado por las tropas de San Martín –y luego por los ejércitos grancolombianos– en el Perú, y el otro representaba lo que parecía ser un montonero con su poncho. Luego de descartar una variedad de interpretaciones, y cotejar con carbono catorce la evidencia de testimonios de los militares que sirvieron en la zona durante las campañas tanto de San Martín como de Sucre, Salomon concluyó que el khipu fue en efecto manufacturado en el marco temporal de las campañas militares de independencia (Salomon 2010). Salomon sugiere que el khipu de los figurines, que él ha bautizado como el “khipu patriano”, expresa una forma en que los pobladores de Oyón identificaban el ganado que era entregado a los ejércitos independentistas a su paso por esta provincia: primero a los ejércitos de San Martín y luego a los de Bolívar. Más interesante aún resulta el exorbitante número de 10.000 cabezas de ganado, que según Salomon, cuidaron los pobladores, a pesar de que no les pertenecía. Buena parte de este ganado provenía de otras comunidades y se incluyó en el presupuesto nacional el costo de la alimentación del soldado (ibíd., loc cit). Sin embargo, la “guerra con Chile” fue otro momento de intensa formación de guerrillas, en que los ejércitos volvieron a depender de los pueblos para su subsistencia en campaña. Como lo reconoce el autor, la dependencia del ejército de bienes importados para su avituallamiento, incluso de alimentos en la era del auge del guano, causó serios problemas. Probablemente por ello se siguió acudiendo al apoyo de los pueblos con su producción local. Gran cantidad de estos centros de aprovisionamiento se encontraban en la sierra (cf. los mapas que proporciona Seraylan Leiva 1989).

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había sido salvaguardado o “escondido” en Oyón para que no fuera tomado por los realistas cuando estos atravesaran la zona. Confirmando el carácter crucial de la organización y del gobierno local para efectos de la guerra, que hemos subrayado hasta aquí, Salomon escribe: Since khipu were the characteristic rural way to keep track of herds, it is plausible that both those who yielded cattle to the “patrianos” and those who were charged with caring for sequestered cattle would have kept cord records. A lapse in record-keeping would have been a bad situation, because the very real possibility that the patriots might not pay for the animals they consumed was a threat to all parties. Caring for such huge numbers of guest cattle would have involved the services of many villages, and would demand strict coordination between “Indian” village officers and patriot officers (Salomon 2010, 23).

Otros testimonios dan cuenta de hasta 40.000 cabezas de ganado que debían ser administradas por los pueblos durante la guerra.28 Teniendo en cuenta que la riqueza no está dada en los Andes naturalmente sino que depende de la capacidad de la sociedad para organizar y movilizar mano de obra con miras al trabajo colectivo, ya que la mayor parte de sus tierras son eriazas y su ecología debe batirse entre extremos,29 se refuerza la idea de que la guerra no era posible sin gobierno local. Es decir, los oficiales en campaña dependieron de poblaciones organizadas de la sierra, no sólo para proveerse de recursos sino también para coordinar estrategias de guerra aprovechando las ventajas topográficas y geográficas del paisaje, y las técnicas de contabilidad y mnemotecnia de origen prehispánico que se pensaban extintas, como lo muestra la historia del khipu patriano elocuentemente. Además de la abundante evidencia encontrada por Salomon acerca de intensas movilizaciones militares en el Oyón, así como de claros indicios de

28 “El 30 de Agosto llegaron los enemigos que fueron al cerro trajeron como cuarentamil cabezas de ganado lanuda (sic)…” Este parte firmado por Antonio Aliaga se encuentra en las comunicaciones enviadas por Tadeo Telles, Sargento Mayor del Ejército, Gobernador Político y Militar de Yauyos al Ministro de Guerra y Marina, 12 de Agosto de1822 (CEHMP-AHM 1822). Otro ejemplo es la siguiente cita: “He dispuesto en vista de la necesidad que hay para el Exército de carne salgan quatro mil cabesas de este ganado correspondiente al estado en un número de cuarenta mil, que existen en estos sitios al cuidado de varios administradores” (Toribio Dabalos al Excelentísimo Señor, 1971). 29 Cf. el estudio clásico de Spalding (1984).

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la adhesión de los pobladores a la causa independentista mediante el aporte de recursos, el antropólogo pudo establecer también su participación directa en las guerrillas. Esta lealtad descansaba aparentemente en la buena relación establecida en un momento temprano de las campañas militares con Álvarez de Arenales, uno de los generales más prestigiosos y de confianza del ejército de San Martín, en quien San Martín delegó el comando supremo de la sierra central desde 1820. Entre otras cosas Álvarez de Arenales creó un hospital y confió a los pobladores “heavy equipment”.30 Dichas evidencias coinciden también con los vestigios del apoyo brindado a las tropas patriotas por otras regiones de la sierra central, como es el caso de Yauyos, según los documentos que hemos encontrado en el archivo militar de Lima. Yauyos fue un foco especialmente militante de guerrillas (Beltrán Gallardo 1977, Rivera Serna 1958, Vergara Arias 1973).31

REFLEXIONES FINALES Al comienzo de este ensayo sugeríamos que el Perú adolece de una amnesia histórica en relación a sus guerras civiles decimonónicas. Nuestro propósito al rescatarlas del olvido es resaltar su importancia como dinámicas constructoras de tejido social y político. La interacción entre oficiales del Ejército y los pobladores de los pueblos campesinos durante estas guerras tiene que haber afectado la vida de estas comunidades de una manera que aún aguarda ser revelada por los historiadores y que resulta importante en el examen de la formación del Estado peruano en sus orígenes. Nuestro análisis subraya que las relaciones políticas tienen un sustrato material que no puede aislarse de la construcción de imaginarios colectivos. Sin las contribuciones tangibles de 30 “Because Álvarez de Arenales wanted his troops to move quickly with light provisions, he left behind in Oyón the army’s hospital, commissary, heavy equipment, and accompanying family members (1832: 18). In this way Oyón became something of an independentista township” (Salomon 2010, 22). 31 Particularmente ricas al respecto son las comunicaciones enviadas por Tadeo Telles (CEHMP-AHM 1822); las de Juan Antonio Álvarez de Arenales, General Jefe del Estado Mayor al General de los Ejércitos del Perú al Ministro de Guerra y Marina (CEHMP-AHM 1822); las de Francisco de Paula Otero, Coronel Presidente de Tarma al Ministro de Guerra y Marina (CEHMP-AHM 1822). Véase también la abundante recopilación de Dunbar Temple (1971).

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los pobladores a las guerras de independencia y guerras civiles posteriores un Estado soberano no hubiera sido posible. Es también sobre la base de estos aportes que los pobladores forjaron un su sentido de pertenencia (o no) en una comunidad política soberana, y negociaron sus derechos y obligaciones como ciudadanos. Decíamos, asimismo, que, a diferencia del Perú, otros países latinoamericanos sí tienen presentes sus guerras civiles decimonónicas. Pero estas memorias han sido asociadas en la historiografía con una historia de caudillos más que con una historia de Estados. En efecto, países como Argentina y Venezuela han sido estigmatizados como tierras de caudillos y “tiranías” en la literatura anglosajona: una imagen que estos países también han hecho suya. Probablemente debido a Sarmiento y a sus epígonos, Argentina ha sido considerada (equivocadamente) el paradigma del “caudillismo latinoamericano”.32 Como una reacción a estas historias de “caudillos bárbaros”, y supuestamente contrarios a toda institucionalidad –y coincidiendo con el retorno de la democracia tras una era de dictaduras militares– surgió hace casi un par de décadas una explosión de trabajos que querían resaltar más bien el lado “civilizado” o, digamos, civil, de la política hispanoamericana. Estos estudios se centraron en las instituciones políticas, en los mecanismos de representación política y en la construcción de “espacios públicos”, que existían en paralelo con las guerras.33 Por otro lado, una mirada a los nuevos títulos permite establecer que la guerra y la revolución están de vuelta.34 El caso del Perú es diferente porque este país ha sido omitido, tanto en su propia percepción, como en la historiografía hispanoamericana, del paradig32 El libro de Lynch (1992) ha contribuido a resucitar algunos mitos decimonónicos sobre el caudillismo latinoamericano, que designan a Argentina y a Venezuela como las tierras de los “caudillos paradigmáticos”, que se replican “en pequeño” en los otros países. Lynch, como muchos otros, trata el “caudillismo” como si no estuviera ligado a la formación del Estado. En muchos textos de historia latinoamericana en los Estados Unidos el mito romántico del caudillo héroe o del caudillo bárbaro se sigue reproduciendo sin modificación alguna. 33 Por ejemplo, los trabajos de Marta Irurozqui, Antonio Annino, Hilda Sabato, Marcela Ternavasio, Carlos Forment, y Jorge Myers, entre otros. 34 Hay actualmente en toda América Latina un renovado interés por las revoluciones y las guerras. Este interés tiene ue ver, en parte, con el auge de los estudios sobre nacionalismo y el papel de los sectores populares en la forja del Estado nacional en el siglo XIX. La literatura que empieza a florecer en Argentina es bastante rica. Aparte de los trabajos citados en la nota 4, arriba, cf. de La Fuente (2000), Fradkin (2006, 2008), Di Meglio (2006), Ratto (2007), Mata (2008), Demélas (2007) y Ferrer (1999).

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ma de los caudillos bárbaros y las tiranías excesivas. Bolivia por su parte tiene sus propias discusiones al respecto.35 Como hemos sugerido al comienzo, el Perú del siglo XX ha moldeado una identidad histórica que pasa por el recuerdo ambivalente de la insurgencia indígena de fines del XVIII y la memoria de una guerra externa un siglo después, borrando así las guerras que se dieron entre ambos momentos. Ni siquiera las guerras de la independencia han logrado adquirir en el Perú el peso histórico, político y mediático de aquellos dos acontecimientos. Sirvan pues estas páginas como invitación a abordar el pasado peruano de un modo diferente, es decir, a la luz de un presente que todavía humea. Esta no es la propuesta de un paradigma hispanoamericano, pues cada historiografía nacional tiene sus propias urgencias, necesidades domésticas y formas de responder a su presente. Para finalizar, quisieramos recordar, aunque sea obvio decirlo, que el pasado es diferente que el presente: el siglo XIX es diferente del siglo XX, y así sucesivamente. En palabras de David Lowenthal “el pasado es un país extranjero” (Lowenthal 1985): el caso peruano, un país en el que las sierras rurales constituyeron el escenario central de la política y no los lugares marginales que han sido retratados tan largamente en el imaginario hegemónico de Lima. Tomar conciencia de que el pasado es diferente podría contribuir a desterrar estigmas racistas tan fuertemente asociados a los campesinos andinos y habitantes de la sierra en general –ni que decir de la selva– de ser “atrasados”, “anti-Estado” y, en general, “obstáculos” para el desarrollo de la nación. Pero tomar conciencia de que el pasado es diferente no significa dejar de admitir que pueda volver, pues la historia nunca es lineal y los procesos de modernización y centralización del Estado pueden revertirse o truncarse, en formas difícilmente predecibles, como lo atestigua dolorosamente la guerra civil peruana más reciente.

BIBLIOGRAFÍA AGN. Pobladores de San Miguel y Chilcas. 1831. AGN. Ayacucho, PL 11-96. ARCHIVO MILITAR DE SEGOVIA. Reglamento para la organización de Partidas de guerrillas. 28 Dec. 1808. Archivo Militar de Segovia, Segunda Sección 10a división, Cuerpos en General: guerrillas, legajo 154.

35

Cf. Irurozqui (2000).

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TILLY, Charles. “War Making and State Making as Organized Crime.” Bringing the State Back in. Ed. Peter Evans, Dietrich Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1985. 169-91. “Toribio Dabalos al Excelentísimo Señor General Don José de San Martín, Protector del Perú: Huamantanga el 2 de octubre de 1821.” La acción patriótica del pueblo en la emancipación. Ed. Ella Dunbar Temple. Lima: Comisón del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú 1971. 411. Colección documental de la Independencia del Perú Vol. 1, Tomo 5. VERGARA ARIAS, Gustavo. Montoneras y Guerrillas en la Etapa de la Emancipación del Perú, 1820-1825. Lima: Imprenta y Litografía Salesiana 1973. WEBER, Max. El político y el científico. Madrid: Editorial Alianza 1980. ZEITLIN, Maurice. The civil wars in Chile. Princeton: Princeton University Press 1984.

II. ETHNIC AND SPATIAL ASPECTS OF CITIZENSHIP ASPECTOS ÉTNICOS Y ESPACIALES DE LA CIUDADANÍA

DERECHOS HUMANOS Y CIUDADANÍAS INDÍGENAS EN AMÉRICA LATINA Rodolfo Stavenhagen

RESUMEN Este texto examina la situación de los derechos de los pueblos indígenas en América Latina, señalando que estos fueron excluidos desde el principio de la ciudadanía efectiva, a pesar de la igualdad jurídica formal que adquirieron poco a poco. El modelo de nación adoptado por los grupos dominantes criollos no incluía a los pueblos indígenas, quienes fueron sometidos a políticas de asimilación bajo el concepto de “indigenismo.” El nacionalismo cultural ha subrayado la importancia del mestizaje, pero sólo a partir de fines del siglo veinte surge la visión de los países multiculturales y plurinacionales, basada en los derechos humanos, la participación democrática, el desarrollo alternativo y la autodeterminación de los pueblos indígenas.

INTRODUCCIÓN En varios países de América Latina se celebró en el 2010 el bicentenario del inicio de la lucha por la independencia política, que finalmente se alcanzó más de una década después. Un juicio superficial de este proceso dejaría la impresión de que los pueblos indígenas de América, siendo la mayoría de la población en aquella época, consiguieron su libertad y organizaron sus respectivos Estados nacionales. Nada más equivocado. La independencia fue para los criollos, la clase minoritaria que asumió el poder después del retiro del imperio español. Los indígenas, por lo general, siguieron igual, salvo excepciones, y en muchos casos, bastante peor que en el pasado. Por ello hoy se debate de nuevo en nuestros países, doscientos años después, la compleja cuestión de la ciudadanía de los pueblos indígenas, las identidades, la pertenencia, y las características de los Estados que se formaron después de la etapa colonial. Esta problemática asume aspectos teóricos, prácticos y políticos. En esta exposición me referiré principalmente a dos perspectivas teóricas que dominan actualmente estas discusiones. Por una parte, encontramos la discusión acerca de la naturaleza y dinámica de las sociedades multiculturales, incluyendo los conceptos de identidad,

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nación, pueblo, minoría, Estado y, por supuesto, el de indígena y sus derivados. Esta temática es relativamente reciente en las ciencias sociales latinoamericanas y no podría afirmarse que existe algún paradigma hegemónico que la enmarque. De esta perspectiva surgen las agitadas controversias en torno a las praxis del multiculturalismo en campos tan diversos como las políticas educativas, la administración de justicia, la protección ambiental, los procesos electorales, el desarrollo y las autonomías territoriales y políticas. Por otra parte, han surgido numerosas polémicas teóricas y doctrinarias en el campo de los derechos humanos relacionadas con los derechos de los pueblos, los derechos individuales y colectivos, la universalidad y la relatividad de las libertades fundamentales, los derechos culturales, y otros conceptos que se desarrollaron a partir de la adopción de los principales instrumentos jurídicos internacionales en materia de derechos humanos, comenzando con la Declaración Universal de los Derechos Humanos hasta la reciente proclamación de los derechos de los pueblos indígenas, por la Organización de las Naciones Unidas (2007). Me atrevería a afirmar que el debate, al menos en Europa, comenzó hace más de medio milenio, cuando junto al descubrimiento de América, el mundo moderno procedió al encubrimiento del indio, como sostiene Dussel (1992). Las polémicas que engendró el fatídico viaje de Cristóbal Colón encendieron los ánimos y las fantasías de los doctos juristas españoles, seguidos posteriormente por otros europeos. Desde entonces, la visión de los indios salvajes no ha desaparecido del imaginario europeo y de sus descendientes criollos en las Américas, como lo ejemplifica el presidente del Perú Alan García, quien ha tildado de bárbaros, salvajes y retrógrados a los nativos amazónicos que reclaman sus derechos (Stavenhagen 2010). Después de la época en la que se discutía si los naturales eran seres humanos o animales, si tenían alma o no, si podían ser esclavizados, cómo debían ser evangelizados, bajo qué circunstancias era legítimo hacerles la guerra y despojarlos de sus bienes y riquezas, si los conquistadores podían cruzarse con sus “hembras”, si los hijos de estas uniones podían pretender a los privilegios de los españoles como herederos legítimos, etc.; después de todo ello parecía que la suerte de los pueblos indígenas estaba sellada, como lo estaba la de los africanos arrancados de sus comunidades y esclavizados en tierras americanas. Tres siglos más tarde, sin embargo, los paradigmas fueron modificados. En las repúblicas independientes de Hispanoamérica a principios del siglo diecinueve cambió la correlación de fuerzas políticas, pero poco se modificó la

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situación social de las comunidades indígenas. En todo caso, durante las primeras etapas de la expansión agrícola capitalista y la constitución de la gran propiedad terrateniente no fue preciso para la oligarquía dominante cuestionar la posición de subordinación que, en el orden natural de las cosas, se le atribuía a la población indígena. Aunque formalmente en algunas constituciones políticas hispanoamericanas, inspiradas por las ideas liberales europeas, fue abolida la esclavitud, la democracia liberal tardó en abrirse camino en los nuevos Estados republicanos. A final de cuentas fue declarada la igualdad jurídica formal de los ciudadanos, con las consabidas restricciones limitando la de las mujeres, los analfabetas y los que no poseían propiedades. Dentro de estas dos últimas restricciones se encontraba la mayoría de indígenas, quienes por lo tanto estaban excluidos de facto del restringido círculo de los ciudadanos reales.

NACIONES SIN INDIOS El modelo de país que emergió de las luchas intestinas que azotaron buena parte de América Latina durante el siglo diecinueve no contemplaba a los indígenas como parte de la nación o del Estado. En algunos países se les seguía viendo como extranjeros cuando no francamente como enemigos, a quienes era necesario someter y pacificar, como sucedió en Argentina, Chile y Uruguay. El Estado y la nación habían sido apropiados por los criollos y mestizos, y después por los descendientes de los nuevos inmigrantes europeos. Unificar el territorio significaba unificar a la nación; crear el Estado moderno implicaba construir una nación con identidad y personalidad propia. Lo importante era diferenciarse del vecino, combatir y vencer al invasor y, sobre todo, integrar a los inmigrantes a la nueva nacionalidad. Así nació hacia la segunda mitad del siglo diecinueve el discurso nacionalista, inspirado –una vez más– en los modelos europeos. Los indígenas no figuraron en este discurso ni en el modelo de nación; lo que es más, mientras mayor era la presencia indígena en el país, más virulento se tornaba el discurso nacionalista contra los vestigios de la presencia indígena. Tal vez la excepción prueba la regla. En México se glorifica el pasado indígena prehispánico y se desprecia a los pueblos indígenas contemporáneos. Las glorias de los incas quedaron en el pasado de los países andinos, y lo que queda de estos pueblos es considerado por las clases dominantes como un lastre. El mismo Chile que destruyó a los pueblos mapuche en violentas cam-

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pañas de pacificación a fines del siglo diecinueve, erige en héroe nacional al jefe Lautaro quien siglos antes se resistió al avance español. Las contradicciones se encadenan hasta la actualidad, como cuando los gobiernos latinoamericanos negocian con la UNESCO la inscripción de los sitios y monumentos precolombinos en las listas del patrimonio cultural mundial, y a la vez venden a las empresas transnacionales lo poco que queda del patrimonio indígena en sus territorios, es decir, sus tierras, bosques, aguas, recursos y aún monumentos prehispánicos. La nación surge en América Latina como un concepto recio y militante (aquí se percibe nuevamente la influencia europea), no sólo contra el pasado colonial sino también contra las ambiciones imperialistas de América del Norte y de algunos Estados europeos, tales como la Gran Bretaña y Francia. Pero también se utiliza como instrumento ideológico para reducir a los pueblos y comunidades indígenas a meros fragmentos de su propio pasado, ahora desestimados como indignos de pertenecer a las naciones civilizadas modernas y desechados como un pesado obstáculo para el desarrollo de estas nuevas naciones del “Nuevo Mundo”. “Civilización o barbarie,” la consigna lanzada por Faustino Domingo Sarmiento, quien fue presidente de Argentina (1868-1874), hizo fortuna a lo largo de las Américas durante décadas. La civilización llegaría del “norte” a través de la refinada vida urbana, mientras que la barbarie, representada por el gaucho y los campesinos, y desde luego por los indígenas salvajes e incivilizados, sería vencida por aquellos. Pronto, la misión civilizadora fue atribuida a los inmigrantes europeos quienes además tendrían la tarea de “blanquear” a la población. Las teorías racistas europeas fueron adoptadas por las clases dominantes y los indios fueron calificados de “razas inferiores” con todas las limitaciones y restricciones que esta calificación implicaba. En algunos sectores sociales surgió la preocupación por la miseria de los indios y hacia fines del siglo diecinueve unas pocas instituciones benévolas se ocupaban de promover el progreso de estas poblaciones mediante acciones voluntarias de tipo social y educativo. La poca instrucción formal que recibían algunos indígenas era impartida por los curas, permitiendo así que un pequeño número de egresados lograra integrarse a la sociedad mestiza. Tal vez el ejemplo más connotado es de Benito Juárez, indio zapoteco de la sierra de Oaxaca, quien emprendió una larga carrera política y fue presidente de México a mediados del siglo diecinueve, en donde destacó su postura en defensa de la independencia de México contra el imperio de Maximiliano y a favor

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de las ideas liberales en contra del clero conservador. La figura de Juárez, admirada en México hasta hoy día, impulsó la ideología del mestizaje, es decir, la visión de que la identidad nacional mexicana debía ser ni criolla ni indígena sino precisamente mestiza. Más que una clasificación racial, se trataba aquí de una construcción étnica vinculada a la integración nacional y la consolidación del Estado. El mestizaje fue idealizado posteriormente por la élite intelectual del país y se entrelazó con el nacionalismo cultural. Uno de sus exponentes más articulados fue Andrés Molina Enríquez, escritor y hombre público en la época de la Revolución. Posteriormente, otro hombre público, José Vasconcelos (1882-1959), acuñó el término “la raza cósmica” para referirse a todos los pueblos mestizos que había encontrado en sus viajes por América del Sur. En ningún otro país latinoamericano ha tenido el mestizaje, como construcción social e ideológica, la importancia que tuvo en México, pero países como Chile y Perú también descubrieron sus virtudes en el proceso de promover la “chilenización” y la “peruanidad” respectivamente.

NACIONALISMO, RAZA Y CULTURA En el proceso de construir naciones modernas, que se dio a partir de fines del siglo diecinueve, los estudiosos de la materia se debatieron entre dos grandes tendencias de pensamiento, que penetraron en las reflexiones y los análisis así como en las políticas públicas y los planteamientos políticos. Durante una primera etapa dominó el debate en torno a la visión étnico-racial de la llamada “cuestión indígena” y en una segunda etapa que se abrió camino con el cambio de siglo, llegó a predominar la cuestión indígena como un “problema de clase.” Ambas perspectivas dejaron sus huellas en los años posteriores, y siguen estando presentes en las ciencias sociales y en los discursos de los diversos movimientos sociales, religiosos y políticos que intervienen en los espacios públicos. El discurso étnico-racial emerge con la popularidad del positivismo entre las élites letradas y establece claramente la idea que tienen los grupos dominantes, de que los indígenas son decididamente inferiores e incapaces de acceder a la civilización occidental. Con el tiempo la creencia en la inferioridad racial, basada en atributos biológicos inmutables comenzó a desvanecerse para ser sustituida por una visión más cultural y menos biológicamente determinista. Con el advenimiento de la antropología académica, la atención de los estudiosos se centró en los complejos y los rasgos culturales de las

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poblaciones indígenas y apareció en los estudios y las discusiones la noción de las etapas de la evolución social y cultural, para ser sustituida a su vez por las teorías del desarrollo cultural. Bajo esta perspectiva, los indígenas ya no serían racialmente, sino sólo culturalmente inferiores a los blancos (en la región latinoamericana léase criollos y mestizos). Ya no era negada la capacidad innata de los indígenas para evolucionar hacia la civilización; ahora la “cultura” resultaba culpable del “atraso de los pueblos indígenas.” Al comenzar el siglo veinte, las teorías sobre el cambio cultural se fueron estableciendo en las ciencias sociales y las diversas corrientes del llamado “racismo científico” perdieron su atractivo aunque no han desaparecido completamente. Desde el siglo diecinueve algunos pedagogos habían señalado las bondades de la escolarización para preparar a los niños y jóvenes indígenas para la vida moderna. Sus experimentos demostraron a quienes necesitaban ser convencidos que los niños de comunidades indígenas podían sin dificultad aprender habilidades “modernas” cuando se les presentaba la oportunidad. Con el tiempo se consolidó la idea de que la educación resolvería el “problema indígena” y en algunos países, como Bolivia y México, fue promovida la “educación indígena” por instituciones privadas y, con el tiempo, también por los gobiernos. Pocos recordaban que la Iglesia católica había hecho grandes avances a lo largo de trescientos años coloniales con el adoctrinamiento de los indígenas a su cargo; y nuevamente, en esta etapa, sus métodos y conocimientos fueron invocados y aprovechados. Pero por lo general, los alcances y resultados de la educación formal dirigida a niños y niñas indígenas durante la primera mitad del siglo veinte fueron modestos y dieron resultados insatisfactorios, a pesar de los considerables esfuerzos de un número creciente de maestros que asumieron las tareas de esta nueva “evangelización,” la de la modernización y el progreso. En numerosos espacios surgieron enconados debates en torno a los objetivos, los métodos y las estrategias de la educación orientada a los pueblos indígenas. Huelga decir, que la discusión se mantuvo en el ámbito restringido de los académicos e intelectuales de formación monocultural en castellano.

LAS CORRIENTES MARXISTAS Pero antes de profundizar en este aspecto tan importante para la relación entre el Estado nacional y los pueblos indígenas, es preciso señalar también la

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fuerte influencia del marxismo en la construcción de la visión de distintos sectores de la sociedad nacional sobre esta problemática. Algunas corrientes marxistas llegaron a diversos países de América Latina tales como Argentina, Chile y Perú, desde fines del siglo diecinueve con los inmigrantes obreros españoles, franceses e italianos, entre otros. Al principio dichas corrientes no se interesaron en los pueblos indígenas, pero con el tiempo esta actitud fue cambiando. El componente reivindicativo agrario de la Revolución Mexicana (1910-1917) reconoció que los peones de hacienda que demandaban “tierra y libertad” (la consigna del revolucionario Emiliano Zapata) eran en su mayoría indígenas y ocupaban una determinada posición de clase en el sistema económico-social del latifundismo como trabajadores del campo pobres y explotados. Las controversias sobre la cuestión agraria que condujeron a la nueva constitución política de 1917 prácticamente hicieron tabla rasa de la condición étnico-cultural de los campesinos indígenas y subrayaron en el artículo 27 constitucional las reivindicaciones y los derechos propiamente agrarios: tierra, trabajo y libertad. En años posteriores, durante la etapa de la reforma agraria y la reorganización de la vida en el campo –sobre todo a lo largo de la década de los treinta– los gobiernos trataron de implantar formas de organización cooperativa inspiradas en la experiencia soviética, aunque las formas primarias de tenencia de la tierra seguían siendo las que había reconocido el régimen colonial español tales como los ejidos y las comunidades, formas que el liberalismo del siglo diecinueve había querido borrar por completo. En otros países latinoamericanos que décadas más tarde –como Bolivia en 1952– realizaron sus propias reformas agrarias, la condición indígena de los campesinos entró sólo muy marginalmente en los debates teórico-políticos. La notoria excepción fue el aporte del activista y estudioso peruano, José Carlos Mariátegui (1894-1930) quien quiso enfrentar directamente el desafío que significaba el pasado y presente indígena en el Perú. Mariátegui tuvo una enorme influencia en el pensamiento sociopolítico de la izquierda, sobre todo en los países andinos, y sus principales planteamientos siguen siendo discutidos en las aulas académicas y en las organizaciones sociales y políticas. En ese país, los planteamientos que durante algunos años hicieron las ciencias sociales sobre la realidad peruana, a partir de las investigaciones del Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, fueron fuertemente cuestionadas por una realidad inesperada: el ciclo de la violencia asociada al movimiento guerrillero Sendero Luminoso.

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“¿Etnia o clase?” es la pregunta que muchos investigadores y activistas se han planteado a lo largo de estas décadas, sin haber llegado a una respuesta teórica satisfactoria. Más difícil ha sido darle una respuesta en el marco de los movimientos sociales revolucionarios que agitaron a la región, durante varias décadas en la segunda mitad del siglo veinte. El caso emblemático, y sin duda el más trágico en costos humanos y sociales, fue la guerra civil guatemalteca que comenzó con un golpe de Estado instrumentado por Estados Unidos contra un gobierno democrático reformista en 1956 y terminó (aunque hay quienes insisten que aún no ha terminado) con unos acuerdos de paz bajo la supervisión de la ONU en 1995. La guerrilla revolucionaria, liderada por estudiantes universitarios de clase media y alta, hizo pocos avances hasta que se movilizaron los campesinos indígenas en respuesta a la brutal política de represión del gobierno. Entonces el movimiento se transformó en resistencia indígena e incorporó a amplios sectores de la población, lo cual eventualmente condujo a las negociaciones de paz. La población indígena de Guatemala se ha transformado ahora en una fuerza política importante en el país respondiendo en la práctica de su acción a la tramposa pregunta planteada anteriormente. Es posible que el proceso de ladinización, preconizado por los antropólogos desde los años cuarenta, esté siendo sustituido por un proceso de mayanización, como señalan los estudiosos hoy en día (Bastos 2008).

EL INDIGENISMO OFICIAL El primer congreso indigenista interamericano, convocado por los gobiernos de la región en 1940, dio inicio a la formalización de una política indigenista que en la práctica se llevó a cabo de manera diversa según las circunstancias de cada país. Su principal objetivo fue lograr la integración de las comunidades indígenas a la vida económica y social nacional mediante acciones educativas, de promoción económica y de desarrollo de la comunidad. Aunque nunca se planteó abiertamente como un objetivo, la idea era que con el tiempo los indígenas desaparecerían como tales y se transformarían en ciudadanos plenos de sus respectivos países. El mestizaje fue la ideología dominante, la visión final del proceso; así lo expresaron los ideólogos del indigenismo, entre ellos el antropólogo mexicano Gonzalo Aguirre Beltrán (1908-1996) quien llegó a ser el líder intelectual de la política indigenista continental.

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Esta ideología indigenista incorporaba elementos del nacionalismo romántico (fortalecer la unidad y la identidad nacional frente a los peligros que acechan del exterior), del marxismo revolucionario (los indígenas se incorporarían al proletariado con conciencia de clase), del evolucionismo social (los pueblos indígenas ascenderían a una etapa superior de su evolución), del economicismo liberal (mediante su integración al mercado los indígenas se transformarían en ávidos consumidores de los productos del capitalismo industrial), del culturalismo psicológico (compartirían la visión del mundo moderno que caracteriza nuestra época), del desarrollismo (la mejor política pública para los indígenas y para todo el mundo) y finalmente, del liberalismo político (como ciudadanos con iguales derechos los individuos indígenas participarían plenamente en la vida democrática de su país). Si bien diversos informes rendidos a lo largo de los años por las instituciones oficiales mostraban algunos avances en el logro de metas educativas, obras de infraestructura, la promoción de actividades económicas a nivel local, el balance del indigenismo después de medio siglo fue flaco. El Instituto Indigenista Interamericano desapareció después de algunas décadas y las oficinas nacionales descendieron en importancia hasta llegar a ser muy marginales en las políticas oficiales así como para los propios pueblos indígenas. Desde los años setenta los antropólogos y otros profesionales formularon críticas al indigenismo. En primer lugar se señalaba la participación prácticamente nula de los indígenas en los niveles decisorios del indigenismo y la falta de consulta con los propios pueblos. Aunque se podían señalar algunos éxitos en programas piloto a nivel local, el indigenismo no logró revertir las tendencias de creciente desigualdad en las sociedades nacionales, la persistente pobreza de las comunidades indígenas, el continuado despojo de sus tierras y recursos, y la perenne discriminación social y cultural en las instituciones públicas, la administración de justicia, la burocracia, y los medios de comunicación (Bello 2004). Más complejo resultó ser el cuestionamiento creciente del objetivo de la “integración”, o la asimilación de los indígenas, como meta deseada de la política nacional. En la segunda mitad del siglo pasado el postmodernismo y la deconstrucción como procedimientos críticos penetraron en las ciencias sociales y las humanidades, a la vez que los discursos metahistóricos de la realidad social sufrieron numerosos retrocesos tanto en la academia como en la práctica política. A nivel internacional fue abriéndose espacio la noción de la diversidad cultural como un derecho humano que necesitaba ser protegido, y

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la noción de multiculturalismo como una visión del mundo más acorde con los procesos de globalización, y a su vez como una orientación de las políticas públicas democráticas y equitativas.

LA EDUCACIÓN INDÍGENA Una instancia ilustrativa de esta tendencia es el área de la educación indígena en la que se debaten no solamente métodos y contenidos pedagógicos sino también visiones de la historia y del país así como el papel de la educación en la revalorización de la persona, la comunidad y la nación. Durante una larga etapa en las esferas públicas predominó la doctrina de la castellanización directa y la aplicación simple y sencilla a la población indígena de los modelos de la educación que se practicaba en las ciudades con un espíritu “nacional” universal. Los resultados de este enfoque no fueron considerados muy satisfactorios y el modelo fue criticado por pedagogos, lingüistas y antropólogos. Surgió entonces la idea de que durante los primeros años de escolarización la enseñanza se hiciera en lengua indígena, para pasar luego sin mayores tensiones a la enseñanza directa en español. A esto se le llamó la educación bilingüe y durante varias décadas fueron discutidos y experimentados distintos métodos y enfoques. En México y Perú, entre otros países, se generaron nuevos modelos pedagógicos y se hicieron esfuerzos por extender esta versión de la educación indígena a los pueblos y comunidades indígenas en distintas regiones. Uno de los primeros problemas era la falta de docentes preparados en enseñanza de lenguas indígenas, y esto condujo a distintos proyectos de formación y capacitación de jóvenes indígenas en el oficio de la docencia a nivel de educación básica; un proceso largo, complicado y costoso que, por lo general, las instituciones oficiales no tenían muchos deseos de emprender. Junto con el problema de los docentes, se presentaba también la falta de material didáctico en lenguas indígenas. Para solventar esta deficiencia, algunos gobiernos latinoamericanos aceptaron el ofrecimiento de una institución privada norteamericana evangélica cuyos misioneros estudiaban las lenguas indígenas para luego traducir la Biblia y facilitar la conversión de los indios. El Instituto Lingüístico de Verano (SIL en inglés) ayudó a varios gobiernos, incluido el de México a establecer alfabetos y elaborar cartillas en lenguas indígenas. En este proceso también lograron formarse lingüistas nacionales que luego llegaron a ocupar puestos en la educación indígena bilingüe oficial de sus países.

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El panorama fue empañado, sin embargo, por acusaciones a partir de los años sesenta, según las cuales el Instituto realizaba también otras actividades que tenían que ver con los intereses geopolíticos del gobierno de Estados Unidos en las regiones indígenas latinoamericanas. Por estas razones varios gobiernos latinoamericanos rompieron sus vínculos con los lingüistas del SIL, aunque la institución sigue operando privadamente como organismo misionero religioso en algunos países, en tanto que en otros fue expulsado. Ya para los años ochenta, la educación indígena bilingüe intercultural había recibido el apoyo de la UNESCO y de la cooperación técnica y científica internacional, y surgieron numerosos proyectos piloto, programas de capacitación, producción de manuales y cartillas bilingües, junto con proyectos de educación a distancia con medios audiovisuales. A pesar de sus dificultades, la educación bilingüe, ya para entonces designada también como “intercultural”, fue vinculada a la discusión emergente en torno a las sociedades “multiculturales”; discusión que empezaba a recibir atención creciente. El discurso de los derechos humanos, especialmente el “derecho a la diferencia” fue reorientando los argumentos en torno a la educación indígena. Se consideraba que los gobiernos ya no eran los únicos actores que debían decidir sobre la educación en nombre de un supuesto “interés nacional.” A lo largo de los años, en diversos congresos de las organizaciones indígenas y en seminarios y talleres con creciente participación de los indígenas, así como en otros espacios públicos, fue surgiendo la concepción de la nación pluricultural y, más recientemente, la de país multinacional.

SURGEN LAS NACIONES PLURICULTURALES Con el impulso a la democratización de las sociedades latinoamericanas que tuvo una de sus principales expresiones en una ola de reformas constitucionales a partir de la década de los años ochenta, fueron también modificadas las legislaciones nacionales en torno a los pueblos indígenas. Así, en varios países se reconocieron estos pueblos por primera vez como sujetos de derecho público y sus derechos humanos fueron señalados constitucionalmente. Las lenguas, culturas, y costumbres indígenas recibieron un estatus constitucional o legal, junto con las tierras y los recursos como derechos colectivos y no solamente individuales. Estas modificaciones, que tuvieron lugar como resultado de un juego complejo de diversos intereses y fuerzas políticas, distintas

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en cada uno de los países, abrieron un debate de alcance nacional en el cual participaron activamente varios sectores sociales. Por ejemplo, el derecho a la jurisdicción indígena y al derecho propio de los pueblos indígenas (que aparece en varias de estas constituciones) abrió el debate en torno a la posibilidad de un pluralismo legal en América Latina que durante los dos siglos de vida republicana fue rotundamente negada por las estructuras del poder (Yrigoyen Fajardo 2000). El derecho de los pueblos y comunidades indígenas al territorio y los recursos naturales sigue encontrando fuertes obstáculos en las teorías jurídicas sobre la propiedad privada, que se entiende como la propiedad de individuos o empresas particulares. En los últimos años, la Corte Interamericana de Derechos Humanos ha contribuido en varias sentencias al reconocimiento del derecho de los indígenas al territorio y los recursos tradicionales de sus comunidades en el marco de los principios de la Convención Interamericana de Derechos Humanos. Diversas constituciones políticas de los Estados latinoamericanos reconocen ahora el derecho de los pueblos indígenas a un conjunto de normas jurídicas propias, lo que también se califica algunas veces como “usos y costumbres.” Se han establecido jurisdicciones comunitarias indígenas y juzgados indígenas. Algunas cortes nacionales –territoriales y supremas–, han comenzado a incluir las “costumbres tradicionales indígenas” en sus consideraciones y sentencias como referencias obligadas. Ello significa que además del derecho positivo estatal, los sistemas de justicia oficiales comienzan a reconocer jurisdicciones propiamente indígenas para el tratamiento de diversas cuestiones tales como delitos cometidos tanto por indígenas y no indígenas en circunscripciones indígenas y algunas cuestiones de derecho civil y familiar. Especial atención están recibiendo los problemas vinculados al uso, la tenencia y la propiedad de las tierras y sus recursos, campo en el cual están surgiendo formas especiales de jurisprudencia que con frecuencia chocan con ciertos aspectos del derecho positivo nacional que está basado en el derecho romano. Han surgido numerosos casos de conflictos entre los derechos colectivos de las comunidades indígenas y los intereses económicos particulares de grandes terratenientes, las empresas comerciales y transnacionales y la posesión agrícola individual de colonos y propietarios particulares. También se producen conflictos entre los terrenos tradicionalmente ocupados y utilizados por pueblos indígenas y la concepción de “terrenos baldíos” o tierras nacionales que los Estados post-coloniales asignó a estos espacios en su propio beneficio. Esta visión estatista o individualista de la tierra ha venido siendo cuestionada

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por los pueblos indígenas solamente desde hace algunas décadas, con base en una nueva concepción de los derechos humanos colectivos de los pueblos. La perspectiva de la colectividad poseedora de derechos humanos comunitarios se extiende también al tratamiento de los conocimientos o saberes tradicionales que se contraponen cada vez más al concepto mercantilista de “marca registrada” o “copyright” protegido por el derecho mercantil. Numerosos casos han sido presentados ante los tribunales e incluso ante organizaciones internacionales por las comunidades indígenas. Asimismo se generalizan los conflictos sociales y políticos en torno al progresivo deterioro del medio ambiente antropogenerado, del que son víctimas perennes las comunidades indígenas y sus territorios. Estos procesos se intensifican en la actualidad por la expansión del extractivismo mineral que se está apoderando de los recursos indígenas con franco y abierto apoyo de los Estados integrados a la globalidad. Con estos acontecimientos, se ha reabierto en América Latina el viejo debate sobre el centralismo y el federalismo que sacudió a la polis latinoamericana a lo largo del siglo diecinueve. ¿Qué significa el derecho de autonomía para los pueblos indígenas? ¿Cómo tendrían que negociarse y regularse las nuevas relaciones entre los pueblos indígenas y el Estado nacional? ¿Cuáles son los componentes del “Estado multinacional” en países en donde la tradición ha sido la de un Estado centralizador que se esfuerza desde hace dos siglos por construir una sola identidad nacional? Las controversias sobre la nación monocultural o multicultural no han terminado y se han concentrado en años recientes en las posibilidades de construir Estados multiculturales (o multinacionales) democráticos y respetuosos de los derechos humanos. Los pueblos indígenas desempeñan un papel importante en este proceso, como también lo van asumiendo cada vez más los pueblos afrodescendientes. Esta temática conduce a la inclusión del concepto de ciudadanía que ha venido a enriquecer los análisis sobre ideologías del desarrollo y políticas públicas, que durante tanto tiempo dominaron el quehacer de los científicos sociales latinoamericanos.

DEL CORPORATIVISMO A LA CIUDADANÍA MULTICULTURAL PASANDO POR EL NEOLIBERALISMO

El modelo asimilacionista del indigenismo, al que me referí anteriormente, tuvo su mayor expresión en el marco de los regímenes corporativistas como el

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mexicano durante la hegemonía del Partido Revolucionario Institucional, el peruano durante la etapa del velasquismo en los años setenta o Bolivia durante los primeros gobiernos del MLN después de la revolución de 1952. En estas circunstancias, los indígenas comenzaron a ser reconocidos como ciudadanos marginados, necesitados de la acción comprometida de los Estados benévolos, pero sin que colectivamente se les reconocieran cualidades ciudadanas especiales o distintas a las de otros ciudadanos. Con la caída de los regímenes corporativistas la relación especial que se había construido entre los Estados y los indígenas se fue debilitando, y la etapa subsiguiente se caracterizó por la extensión de la globalización y el fortalecimiento del neoliberalismo económico. Dentro de esta corriente económica el concepto de ciudadanía indígena se redujo a la de un agente económico y político más, en evidente desventaja frente a otros ciudadanos con más poder económico y político. Durante esta etapa tal situación se reflejó en la ausencia del discurso teórico sobre la “cuestión indígena”, cuando menos en las esferas oficiales (Yashar 2005). Por otro lado, en el marco de las reformas constitucionales mencionadas y del ambiente internacional favorable al reconocimiento de los derechos culturales de los indígenas, se están abriendo nuevos espacios para la construcción de una ciudadanía multicultural e intercultural, que significa reconstruir las relaciones Estado-pueblos indígenas sobre nuevas bases. El movimiento indígena latinoamericano, en sus diversas manifestaciones y expresiones y a través de distintas voces, plantea ante la sociedad el reto de esta construcción que no se limita, desde luego, a reformas legislativas ni a un listado formal de derechos reconocidos. El cambio de orientación que se produjo durante los años ochenta del siglo pasado no habría sido posible sin la emergencia del movimiento indígena continental que se manifestó en torno a la visión de “500 años de resistencia” a la invasión europea. Este cuestionamiento se produjo en relación a los preparativos que los Estados latinoamericanos y algunos organismos internacionales como la ONU y el sistema iberoamericano realizaron para conmemorar los quinientos años del “descubrimiento de América” en 1992. Gracias a las presiones indígenas el evento fue rebautizado como “el encuentro de dos mundos” y la ONU pronto declaró 1993 como el “año internacional de los pueblos indígenas”, al cual fueron agregados posteriormente dos décadas internacionales de los pueblos indígenas. Este activismo permitió a las organizaciones indígenas de la región latinoamericana vincularse con los movimientos indígenas en otras partes del

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mundo y coordinarse para sus actividades internacionales. Como resultado de estos esfuerzos la Organización Internacional del Trabajo produjo el Convenio 169 sobre pueblos indígenas y tribales en países independientes en 1989, y la Asamblea General de la ONU adoptó, después de más de veinte años de preparativos, la Declaración de la ONU sobre los derechos de los pueblos indígenas del año 2007. Como dijo el secretario general de la ONU, los pueblos indígenas ahora ya eran reconocidos como nuevos ciudadanos del mundo. También son ahora nuevos sujetos de derecho internacional a quienes se aplica una legislación internacional especial en materia de derechos humanos. Los avances en el sistema internacional repercuten a su vez en las estrategias político-legislativas a nivel doméstico. En este proceso se destacó el papel de un nuevo liderazgo intelectual indígena que actuaba tanto a nivel internacional como nacional. Resultado de múltiples influencias ideológicas, esta intelectualidad indígena se debate entre la lucha por el respeto de los derechos humanos y la búsqueda de nuevas visiones indianistas de la globalidad. En su conformación destaca la influencia de diversas corrientes de marxismo, y particularmente la Teología de la Liberación que a partir de los años setenta aparece en el seno de la Iglesia católica y se expande en numerosos países latinoamericanos. Cualquier reconocimiento de una ciudadanía multicultural, basada en derechos y obligaciones mutuas institucionalizadas, no puede dejar de lado que, en el caso de los pueblos indígenas latinoamericanos, la diversidad cultural ha estado ligada históricamente con la desigualdad estructural. La proclamación de la ciudadanía multicultural, si no va acompañada de una auténtica descolonización no será más que una forma de fortalecer la idea de la etnicidad como una construcción cultural que pronto se transforma en un producto mercantil más. La descolonización significa el “empoderamiento” de los pueblos indígenas en el marco de las sociedades nacionales, lo cual conduce a una reforma del Estado y a una reconfiguración de la nación. Esto lo pretende lograr actualmente Bolivia y es lo que plantean múltiples organizaciones indígenas en otros países latinoamericanos. Así, el movimiento indígena es llevado a proponer estrategias electorales y políticas y alianzas con otros sectores sociales, lo cual ha conducido a nuevos planteamientos sobre las identidades indígenas en el mundo contemporáneo. En unas cuantas décadas estas identidades han pasado, según las distintas perspectivas, desde el aislamiento cultural, a la modernización, la marginación, la asimilación, la integración, el pluralismo, el derecho a la diferencia, la multinacionalidad, la

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liberación nacional, la descolonización, el empoderamiento, el poder indígena, la ciudadanía, el desarrollo alternativo, el buen vivir, para sólo citar algunos de los muchos términos que aparecen –y a veces desaparecen– en la literatura respectiva. En la época en que los Estados latinoamericanos celebran el bicentenario de sus luchas por la independencia, es relevante que unos y otros –indígenas y mestizos, intelectuales y académicos, activistas y políticos– reevalúen la condición de los “naturales de las Indias Occidentales” de cuya existencia Cristóbal Colón informó a sus reyes soberanos en 1492, y que cambiaron el rumbo de la historia universal.

BIBLIOGRAFÍA BASTOS, Santiago, ed. Multiculturalismo y futuro en Guatemala. Guatemala: FLACSO; OXFAM 2008. BELLO, Álvaro. Etnicidad y ciudadanía en América Latina: La acción colectiva de los pueblos indígenas. Santiago de Chile: Comisión Económica para América Latina y el Caribe CEPAL 2004. Libros de la CEPAL 79. DUSSEL, Enrique. El Encubrimiento del Indio: 1492. Hacia el Origen del Mito de la Modernidad. Madrid: Editorial Nueva Utopía 1992. ORGANIZACIÓN DE NACIONES UNIDAS. Declaración de las Naciones Unidas sobre los derechos de los pueblos indígenas. 13 Sep. 2007. STAVENHAGEN, Rodolfo. Repensar América Latina desde la subalternidad: el desafío de Abya Yala. San José de Costa Rica: FLACSO 2010. Serie de Cuadernos Repensar América Latina 8. YASHAR, Deborah. Contesting Citizenship in Latin America. The Rise of Indigenous Movements and the Postliberal Challenge. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2005. Cambridge studies in contentious politics. YRIGOYEN FAJARDO, Raquel Z. “Reconocimiento constitucional del derecho indígena y la jurisdicción especial en los países andinos (Colombia, Perú, Bolivia, Ecuador).” Revista Pena y Estado, 4 (2000): 2-19.

PROPUESTAS MAYANISTAS E IDEOLOGÍAS ÉTNICAS EN GUATEMALA Santiago Bastos

RESUMEN Las propuestas hechas por las organizaciones indígenas en Guatemala han provocado diversas reacciones entre los mayas a los que van dirigidas. Este artículo propone que esta diversidad se basa en tres ideologías étnicas o formas de entender la diferencia. Las propuestas mayanistas se encuentran con los planteamientos que provienen de los polos sincrético y modernizante, desde los cuales los mayas de Guatemala han dado sentido a su identidad, a la diferencia cultural y a su relación con la exclusión.

En Guatemala, como en toda América Latina, los indígenas han desarrollado una serie de luchas durante las últimas décadas, para revertir la situación de exclusión en que históricamente se han hallado. Para ello se han basado en la idea de que forman el pueblo maya. La manera en que los mayas de Guatemala han reaccionado ante las propuestas de reconocimiento de la diversidad cultural y los derechos indígenas se puede entender como parte de la propuesta mayanista1 –enfrentada a otras dos ya existentes: la sincrética y la modernizante. Dichas propuestas se corresponden con tres formaciones ideológicas que han surgido históricamente: la segregacionista, la asimiladora y ahora la multicultural.

MULTICULTURALISMO Y PROPUESTAS MAYANISTAS EN GUATEMALA En todo el mundo, en la segunda mitad del siglo XX fue surgiendo un conjunto de movimientos y demandas que cuestionaba la forma homogénea de entender la nación y una ciudadanía que ocultaba gran cantidad de exclusio1

Mayanista es el apelativo usado para denominar a los activistas mayas que propugnan esta visión de la acción política desde el pueblo maya (Cojtí Cuxil 1997; Bastos y Camus 2003; Bastos y Cumes 2007). Hace referencia pues a una ideología y se usa para diferenciarlo de la categoría étnica general de mayas.

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nes bajo su supuesta universalidad. Estos movimientos proponían el reconocimiento de la diversidad identitaria y cultural en los Estados nacionales existentes (Comaroff 2006; Stavenhagen 2000; Dietz 2003). En América Latina, la lucha de los indígenas por sus derechos y contra la exclusión histórica se fue consolidando desde la categoría de unos pueblos –es decir, colectivos con una historia común, manifestada en una serie de rasgos culturales específicos– que reclamaban autodeterminación por ser originarios, o sea previos a los Estados nacionales que los dominan (Bengoa 2000; Burguete Cal y Mayor 2010). En Guatemala, estas propuestas se fueron haciendo presentes desde que a mediados de los setenta del siglo XX, algunos actores políticos indígenas empezaron a reclamar un reconocimiento explícito de la diferencia cultural en Guatemala. Tras la represión genocida de los años ochenta (Comisión de Esclarecimiento Histórico Guatemala CEH 1999), en los noventa los indígenas mayas se organizaron reclamando su reconocimiento como pueblo maya, descendientes directos de los mayas que habitaron el territorio antes de la llegada de los europeos (Cojtí Cuxil 1997; Bastos y Camus 2003; Esquit 2003; Uk’u’x B’e 2005). Los mayanistas organizados se propusieron como objetivo transformar la forma de pensar de los mayas y de la sociedad guatemalteca en su conjunto, con respecto a la diferencia étnica. En forma más directa, el objetivo era lograr cambios en la política estatal a través de una concepción de ciudadanía basada en una doble pertenencia. Como miembros de la nación guatemalteca, reclamaban aplicación equitativa de los derechos universales básicos, negados por siglos de racismo. Y como miembros del pueblo maya, demandaban una “ciudadanía étnica” (cf. Leyva 2007) que se basara en la aplicación de unos “derechos específicos” (COMG 1991) que no aplicarían a los guatemaltecos no mayas. Estos derechos serían sobre todo de dos tipos: derechos culturales asociados a la diferencia no reconocida hasta ahora (educación bilingüe, oficialización de idiomas, respeto por la práctica de la espiritualidad maya); y derechos políticos asociados al carácter de pueblo hasta ahora dominado, relacionados con el autogobierno y la autonomía. En el contexto del proceso de paz, lograron que se reconociera su existencia como pueblo indígena en una Guatemala reconocida como “nación multiétnica, pluricultural y multilingüe”.2 A partir de la firma de la paz en 1996, 2

Los pueblos indígenas reconocidos en el Acuerdo de Identidad y Derechos de los Pueblos Indígenas son el mayoritario maya (39.26% del total de la población), el xinka (0.14%)

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el Estado guatemalteco puso en marcha una serie de políticas derivadas de este reconocimiento (Cojtí Cuxil 2005; Bastos y Brett 2010). La diversidad se “oficializó” y las organizaciones y activistas mayas dejaron de tener el monopolio sobre el discurso multicultural: la iglesia, cooperaciones, universidades, actores locales y el Estado guatemalteco, generaron diferentes versiones sobre “lo maya”. Pero las estructuras de poder y las formas políticas no se tocaron.3

LOS ELEMENTOS DE TENSIÓN Cuando nos propusimos investigar cómo la sociedad guatemalteca estaba “entendiendo, asumiendo y cuestionando” la propuesta mayanista, la mayoría de las propuestas que la gente de la calle y las comunidades identificaba como “mayas”, estaban basadas en el cambio de actitud ante ciertos elementos culturales; y muy poco en cuestiones más políticas.4 En concreto, nos encontramos ante tres temas que provocaban más controversia –no rechazo, controversia. Ellos remiten a diferentes formas de apreciar elementos culturales en la definición de “lo indígena” y “lo maya”, diferencias que a su vez nos remiten al binomio tradición-modernidad, muy relacionado al de pobrezasuperación, y a las formas bajo las que históricamente se ha forjado la identidad étnica y la política hecha en su nombre.5

–de lengua no maya– y los afroamericanos garífunas de la costa atlántica (0.04%). En el Acuerdo no se menciona al ahora llamado “pueblo ladino”, que agrupando a todos los guatemaltecos que no se consideran indígenas (60.56%), sería desde esta óptica el “cuarto pueblo” que formaría Guatemala, a pesar de la dificultad de darle ese apelativo Bastos (2007). Los porcentajes provienen del Censo de 2002 Instituto Nacional de Estadística (INE) (2004) y por lo tanto son sólo indicativos. 3 Burguete (2010) sostiene que frente al “paradigma de la autonomía” desde el cual los pueblos indígenas de América Latina reclaman su autodeterminación como tales pueblos, los Estados han puesto en marcha políticas de reconocimiento desde el “paradigma de la multiculturalidad”, que sólo concibe a estos pueblos como colectivos culturalmente definidos. 4 Se trata del proyecto “Mayanización y vida cotidiana” desarrollado entre 2004 y 2008 (Bastos y Cumes 2007), que se basó en las etnografías realizadas en 18 espacios sociales indígenas, no indígenas e institucionales, de todo el país. 5 Lo que sigue es un apretadísimo resumen de estas cuestiones. En el volumen 1 del estudio Bastos (2007, 229-273) se expone de forma extensa toda la información que acá se presenta muy resumida, y a su vez proviene en su mayoría de los casos contenidos en el volumen 2.

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Como parte de las políticas públicas multiculturales y de iniciativas mayanistas, existen establecimientos que imparten una educación simplemente bilingüe o directamente “maya”, que busca “rescatar los valores de la cultura maya” reelaborándolos tanto respecto a las prácticas como a los contenidos. Esto ha provocado diferentes respuestas entre los padres de familia. Pero las reacciones se han dado sobre todo ante la idea de una educación que sea bilingüe. La gran preocupación de muchos mayas es salir de la situación de “atraso” y pobreza en la que se encuentran y la educación debe ayudar a cambiar aquellas características de la gente que les impide “progresar” (Adams y Bastos 2003). El aprendizaje del español es la función básica de la escuela, ella es quien otorga la posibilidad de saber leer y escribir castellano para poder acceder a las mismas oportunidades que los ladinos. Por otra parte, en la rearticulación de los contenidos identitarios como parte de la lucha mayanista, ha ido tomando forma una propuesta religiosa que abiertamente se autodenomina maya. Ha implicado la “purificación”, codificación e institucionalización de unas prácticas (Morales Sic 2007) que hasta ahora se venían practicando de forma sincrética y consuetudinaria, más o menos ligadas a un catolicismo popular muy poco ortodoxo. A los practicantes de estas formas populares les cuesta entender la idea de una religión “nueva” diferente a la que han conocido y practicado “desde siempre”, pero que dice ser la misma. Otros mayas que han asumido un catolicismo renovado o una versión protestante del cristianismo, ven estas propuestas como ya se veían las tradicionales, es decir, como “paganismo”, “brujerías”, “supersticiones”, que van en contra de lo moderno y la “superación” que se busca a través de estas formas de creencia. Al ser entendida como un rasgo de esa identidad maya, esta espiritualidad se presenta como un rasgo cultural propio de lo maya más que como una forma de religiosidad. Por ello, las “ceremonias mayas” se han convertido en representaciones de lo maya. En el proceso de construcción de “lo propio” como puro, la cosmovisión y la espiritualidad se han ido convirtiendo en requisito indispensable para “ser maya”. Pero existen evangélicos y católicos para quienes no es comprensible la exigencia de abandonar sus credos para asumirse como tales mayas. La propuesta mayanista busca crear una identidad de carácter nacional, pan-mayanista (Warren 1998; Montejo 1997) frente al Estado de Guatemala como ámbito de disputa. Por eso en el discurso mayanista apenas hay cabida para los símbolos y contenidos de las identidades locales. Estas sólo aparecen

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en un discurso idealizador de una “comunidad” genérica como sociabilidad “pura” y casi perdida (Ajxup, Rogers, y Hurtado 2010).6 Como la identidad local es tan fuerte para los mayas, estas ausencias se convierten en una traba para sentirse identificados con el proyecto mayanista.7 En algunos lugares existe un orgullo local anclado sobre las transformaciones ocurridas en el último medio siglo. Los cambios que en el discurso mayanista son causantes de la pérdida de la cultura maya son vividos no sólo con orgullo local, sino étnico: se es “orgullosamente indígena”. Por todo ello, la propuesta maya de dotar a la política étnica de un carácter nacional-estatal es algo nuevo. Históricamente, lo étnico –la calidad de indígenas– ha sido manejado de forma local por instituciones muchas veces ligadas a lo religioso, como factor de cohesión y reproducción identitaria. En cambio lo político era y es algo de carácter nacional, es decir, se hacía y se hace fuera de la localidad y por instituciones que poco o nada tienen que ver con lo étnico: los partidos políticos, las iglesias, los sindicatos, las organizaciones campesinas y las revolucionarias. Casi todas estas instituciones han apelado a los mayas como guatemaltecos y no se han preocupado por lo étnico como tal.8

IDEOLOGÍAS ÉTNICAS Y RASGOS CULTURALES Todas estas tensiones muestran que entre los mayas existen diferentes formas de entenderse y entender su cultura y su identidad, y también diferentes for6

De hecho, el movimiento maya no ha prestado hasta ahora mucha atención a la dimensión municipal del poder, dejando este espacio a los partidos políticos de carácter nacional e ideología universalista de Sáenz Tejada Rojas (2005). El caso contrastante es el Comité Cívico Xel-Ju, de Quetzaltenango, formado en los años setenta y que manejó la alcaldía en los noventa, con un discurso abiertamente mayanista e intercultural Velásquez Nimatuj (2002). 7 Por la construcción histórica de lo étnico en Guatemala, lo local tiene mucha importancia en el ser indígena, tanto a nivel de identidad como de sociabilidad y de participación política (Adams y Bastos 2003). Es una de las herencias más importantes de la construcción de los “pueblos de indios” en la época colonial, mantenida después en la figura de las alcaldía indígenas y las cofradías. 8 Estas tensiones han dado lugar en algunos sitios a “mayanismos locales”, es decir, propuestas de entender lo maya menos “puras” que las desplegadas por los actores nacionales. Tales propuestas retoman algunos elementos identitarios “impuros” –los sones o las danzas de la conquista, ser evangélico, hablar inglés– y les dan un carácter propio que deviene en fuente de orgullo y sirve para la autoidentificación como tales mayas.

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mas de pensar en cómo salir del atraso, la discriminación y la pobreza, formas que son parte de conjuntos más o menos coherentes de ideas. Nos referimos a las ideologías étnicas que en este momento coexisten en Guatemala.9 Podemos ordenar las diversas versiones de la propia cultura e identidad a partir de tres polos ideológicos: el sincrético, el modernizante y el mayanista, los cuales se corresponden con las ideologías segregadora, asimilacionista y multicultural (Bastos 2000-2001; Bastos, Cumes, y Lemus 2007). Entendemos que no hablamos de ideologías vividas, sino de ideologías de referencia. Dentro de nuestras pesquisas no hemos encontrado a nadie ni tampoco ninguna postura que se halle en sólo uno de estos tres polos, pero sí podemos ubicar cada una de las situaciones halladas, en un punto intermedio entre ellos.10

El polo sincrético La primera forma encontrada, de entender y valorar los elementos culturales propios, se basa en la forma de vida del indígena, históricamente creada desde la colonia. En ella los elementos culturales que se entienden como propios, son los que surgen de la imposición de lo español / católico sobre lo maya, previamente existente, que no desapareció. De esta imposición surgió algo nuevo, sincrético, como respuesta –de adaptación y resistencia– a la segregación, que fue la forma de considerar y gestionar la diferencia en este periodo. Asociado a la visión estamental de la sociedad –que partía de considerar a los grupos sociales con derechos y deberes jerárquicamente diferenciados–, este fenómeno se basaba en la idea de que la diferencia de origen era causa legal de desigualdad. Con ello, se pusieron las bases del racismo como forma social asociada a la Colonia (Quijano 1993). La vivencia de la etnicidad en espacios 9 Estas ideologías son entendidas como la representación social que un sector, grupo o sujeto social tiene sobre las causas, consecuencias y formas concretas que toma la diferencia étnica. Destacamos que estas ideologías tienen un carácter de marco de compresión social, algo parecido a lo que Wolf llama “ideas”, es decir, “la gama completa de las construcciones mentales que se manifiestan en las representaciones públicas” (2001, 180). Según este mismo autor, tales construcciones mentales son también, evidentemente, “configuraciones o esquemas unificados que se desarrollan para ratificar o manifestar el poder” (ibíd.). 10 Por otro lado, se habla de ideologías, formas de entender la cultura, pero esa cultura indígena está presente en todos los individuos y sectores, con las diferencias internas que puedan darse por la experiencia histórica y social.

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locales propios, con una cierta autonomía cultural e identitaria, como forma de vivir cotidianamente la segregación, creó una forma de entender el ser indígena, de acuerdo a la cual la construcción cultural que no se cuestiona, se vive como “indígenas” o “naturales”. En la cultura maya guatemalteca actual persisten elementos, producto de esa fusión impuesta, que son considerados como propios por quienes los viven, y que contribuyeron a forjar al grupo en situación de subordinación étnica. La fuerza de la identidad local y sus formas de manifestación son quizá el elemento más evidente de este polo ideológico. Esa manera de entender las relaciones sociales, esa fuerza de la identidad basada en lo municipal, son elementos que marcan el “ser indígena” –y parte del “ser maya”– de hoy en día. La religión es otro espacio en el que se aprecia la fuerza que mantiene la construcción sincrética en tanto que los elementos provenientes de la tradición maya persisten gracias a su vinculación con los elementos católicos. La unión de ambos es percibida por quienes la viven como una sola cosa. En esta forma de entenderse étnicamente no hay una lectura explícitamente política de la condición étnica ni de los elementos culturales que la conforman, aunque está claro que su ejercicio tiene consecuencias políticas.

El polo modernizante El polo que llamamos modernizante corresponde a la forma de entender la cultura y la identidad que proviene de las políticas de modernización y su efecto sobre el ser indígena. Podemos entenderla como una respuesta maya a las políticas de asimilación que se dieron con el liberalismo universalista desplegado por el Estado nacional, que planteaba el trato político igualitario para todos, pero dentro de una cultura nacional oficial que no es la de los indígenas sino la de los herederos de los españoles. Este polo busca empujar hacia él, es decir, asimilar a quienes no comparten tal cultura, como requisito para lograr la igualdad legal, pues asume los elementos culturales indígenas como sinónimos de atraso. Así, esta ideología modernizante se centra en la idea de la “superación” del atraso a través del esfuerzo propio. Por ello la educación es, sin duda, el elemento “modernizador” por excelencia, pues permite asumir los códigos culturales “universales”, y acceder a la vida urbana y a las ocupaciones no campesinas, y con ello romper con los elementos que han justificado el “atraso”

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de los indígenas. Por eso entre los indígenas no se ve como elemento de ladinización –que era la propuesta desde el poder–, sino de igualación con el ladino. Además, tiene referencias claras en las posturas religiosas ortodoxas ligadas a la Acción Católica y las iglesias evangélicas, que pretenden desligarse de las “brujerías” y “supersticiones” sincréticas. Por último, la idea de una ciudadanía universal que se puede reclamar al Estado guatemalteco es la base de la acción política que se busca a nivel nacional, dejando de lado lo étnico. Esta ideología aparece como respuesta a la situación de pobreza que ha sido históricamente consustancial al “ser indígena”, pues la idea básica que está detrás es que la “modernidad” es la forma de salir del “atraso”. Como esta pobreza se ha vivido asociada a la vivencia cultural sincrética, se asume que son los elementos culturales “tradicionales” los causantes del atraso y la pobreza. Esta idea llega a los mismos indígenas y se piensa que la modernización –abandonar la tradición– ha de traer bienestar. Esta ecuación no está confirmada, y en muchos lugares la modernización lo que ha traído es más pobreza. Pero ideológicamente es muy exitosa. Al asociarse “lo moderno” con el bienestar, la tradición queda unida a la pobreza, por lo que hay que deshacerse de esos elementos tradicionales para superar “el atraso”. Por ello la exclusión se enfrenta ocultando públicamente los elementos que caracterizan el “ser indígena”. Las reflexiones de Jones sobre San Juan Sacatepéquez lo explican muy bien: (…) por debajo de lo explícito parece haber otro nivel reprimido, más profundo (…) apunta hacia un fuerte sentido de vergüenza hacia sí mismo, un rechazo de lo propio (…). Esta vergüenza se extiende desde el idioma a toda expresión de la espiritualidad maya y la costumbre, incluidos, a veces, hasta el traje y los propios rasgos físicos. (…) Por un lado, la larga historia traumática del racismo y la discriminación contra la población indígena han sembrado un temor de ser, o aparecer, “atrasado”, o de estar considerado como “indio”, “analfabeto”, “pobre”, “campesino” (…). El complemento necesario de este trauma histórico es una rabia que empuja a la gente a “modernizarse”, “actualizarse”, “superarse”, etcétera. Y lo interesante de esta rabia es que cuando estas personas hablan de su deseo de superarse quieren hacerlo como indígenas y no tienen intención de cambiar de cultura e identidad para convertirse en ladinos. Al contrario, son orgullosamente indígenas, al mismo tiempo que su esencia indígena pasa por un proceso de profundos cambios que no están orientados a un destino fijo: lo único que importa es que no se quiere estar donde se ha estado en las épocas dolorosas del pasado (Jones 2007, 390).

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Así, se busca crear una imagen de lo indígena que no se asocie a los rasgos que han estado asociados al atraso y la pobreza, sino a los logros por los que se sale de la pobreza. La igualdad se busca a través de la economía de mercado más que a través de la movilización, como una cuestión económica individual, no política colectiva. No se plantea luchar contra el racismo y sus estructuras, más bien se acepta adaptarse a ellas para poder seguir siendo ellos mismos. Por ello esta ideología supone una propuesta para salir de ese atraso diferente a la mayanizadora, basada en desafiar la dominación desde unos códigos de identificación que los partidarios de la modernización rechazan. “Lo maya” es visto como un retraso por su insistencia en retomar los códigos culturales que son síntomas del atraso del que quieren huir. Tampoco se acepta que lo étnico sea la base de una acción política que ha de hacerse como ciudadanos guatemaltecos. El orgullo indígena queda en lo privado –como mucho en lo local– y se une sin conflictos a un nacionalismo guatemalteco y a la reivindicación de la modernidad. Todo esto implica valorar más la identidad en sí que los elementos culturales que la simbolizan, pues son los símbolos causantes del “atraso”. En buena medida se trata de una huida, un modo de esconder esta condición, como consecuencia de la subordinación y la discriminación cotidiana que tal condición conlleva; pero, aunque suene paradójico, también supone una forma de enfrentamiento y resistencia a esa ideología, que implica romper con la idea de la ladinización. Es así como se crea la figura de los “indígenas modernos”, figura que sería imposible en la ideología étnica ladinizadora, y gracias a la cual los indígenas le han ido quitando a los ladinos el monopolio de la modernización. El costo de esta postura es la limitación de la identidad étnica al ámbito doméstico y local, mientras que la dimensión nacional, ciudadana, moderna, se vive de forma desetnizada, sólo como guatemaltecos y guatemaltecas.

El polo mayanizante En este esquema, la propuesta mayanista, que como se dijo, fue creada por las organizaciones indígenas y ahora manejada por una variedad de actores, constituiría el tercer polo ideológico desde el que los indígenas pueden leer y entender la vivencia de la cultura, la identidad y la política. Al proponer dar

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un sentido positivo a los elementos culturales que fundamentan la identidad, y hacerlos base de una serie de derechos políticos, esta propuesta se inscribe dentro del marco de la multiculturalidad presente en el contexto mundial que vimos al inicio. Se pretende romper la ecuación que iguala tradición-cultura y atrasopobreza para buscar una forma en la que la modernidad pueda vivirse desde la diferencia cultural. Por ello, se pide a los mayas que asuman con orgullo los elementos culturales que les diferencian. El costo de esta operación es entender “la cultura” o la “tradición” de una forma “purificada” de los elementos provenientes de la dominación colonial y neocolonial, diferente por lo tanto de la forma sincrética en que la entienden quienes la viven. Como dice Fisher, supone la “reestructuración de la visión del mundo” (2001, 247), pues aunque propone basarse en la continuidad, es vivida como ruptura por muchos. Así se aprecian en la religión y la educación, y en la misma acción política, espacios en los que las propuestas desde lo maya rompen con gran parte de los sentidos existentes allí hasta ahora. Supone la novedad de convertir a la cultura en base explícita de una serie de reclamos políticos, con lo que los elementos culturales adoptan un status diferente, muy novedoso con respecto al que habían tenido hasta ahora. Se trata de una propuesta nueva en relación a las otras dos, y que por tanto carece de su fuerza social, aunque según hemos visto, sí cuenta con apoyo, pues es manejada por actores poderosos no autoidentificados como mayas –la iglesia, universidades, actores locales, el Estado guatemalteco. Según Hale, de todas formas el polo mayanizante sí ha influido de alguna manera a los indígenas “no organizados”, que saben que “ante la desigualdad humillante o el insulto racista ya no tienen la necesidad de quedar en silencio” (27-29 de octubre, 152).

LA VIVENCIA CONJUNTA DE LAS IDEOLOGÍAS Estos polos ideológicos dan sentido a una misma realidad y han sido construidos históricamente en un proceso de continuidad. Por ello no están aislados entre sí, al contrario, hablan de los mismos elementos y, en ocasiones, dicen las mismas cosas sobre ellos. Además, normalmente las posturas de la gente no responden a uno solo de estos polos, sino que son el resultado de su entrecruzamiento. Como se ve en el cuadro siguiente, cada dos de las ideolo-

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gías comparten elementos que no tiene la tercera. Eso es lo que permite la combinación que encontramos en la vida diaria. Y es también lo que permite entender las diferentes respuestas halladas con respecto a la propuesta maya. SINCRÉTICA

MODERNIZANTE

MAYANISTA

EDUCACIÓN

No escolarizada Identidad y valores

Escolarizada Superación

Escolarizada Identidad y valores

RELIGION

Propia Mezclada Apolítica

Universal Purificada Apolítica

Propia Purificada Politizada

POLÍTICA

Étnica Local “Moral-costumbre”

Aétnica Nacional Ciudadana-derechos

Étnica Nacional Ciudadana-derechos

CULTURA

Atraso Define identidad

Atraso No define identidad

Orgullo Define identidad

Las tensiones en los ámbitos que hemos visto, se pueden entender precisamente porque en ellos convergen, de diferente forma, versiones de los tres polos ideológicos: • Si desde la versión sincrética se practicaba una educación no escolarizada para reproducir los valores culturales e ideológicos –de una forma que ya prácticamente no se da–, desde lo mayanizante, esta reproducción se hace a través de una escolarización que se considera un derecho, pero que desde lo modernizante sólo ha de servir para universalizar y salir del atraso. • Frente a la asunción de un carácter híbrido en la vivencia religiosa sincrética, cada una de las otras dos busca purificar lo religioso hacia uno de los dos componentes históricos que lo conforman: el universal, impuesto por los modernizantes y el propio originario, de los mayanistas. • Por último, las tensiones entre lo étnico/universal y lo local/nacional que veíamos en la política adquieren más sentido al ser vistas entre estas tres propuestas. La ideología sincrética ha estado más ligada al carácter local de la política étnica. Por su parte, el componente político de la

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ideología modernizante se ha caracterizado por su proyección nacional, a costa de la pérdida de la especificad étnica. Los mayanistas pretenden unir ambas propuestas, es decir, que la política étnica sea de cobertura nacional. La comprensión se enriquece si se tiene en cuenta cuál es la base de la participación: si la costumbre comunitaria o los derechos –universales o propios– que otorgan una noción de ciudadanía, inexistente en el ámbito sincrético. • En cuanto a la cultura, hemos encontrado que ésta es percibida como sinónimo de atraso por la mentalidad sincrética y también por la modernizadora, mientras que las propuestas mayanistas la consideran objeto de orgullo. Por otra parte, tanto la ideología sincrética como la modernizadora entienden la cultura como la base de su identidad étnica. Queremos recalcar que no hay personas, sectores sociales o actores políticos que se puedan identificar exclusivamente con una de las propuestas, sino que se sitúan en algún lugar de ese espacio intermedio. Este lugar quedaría definido por los elementos que provienen de cada polo en la forma de entenderse y de entender la realidad étnica.11 No existe un comportamiento uniforme ni “equilibrado” entre los polos ideológicos que estamos analizando, cada uno de ellos tiene fuerzas diferenciadas. La fuerza del polo sincrético se basa en su profanidad histórica, y el modernizante en ser la ideología hegemónica desde hace más de cien años. Además hay elementos que rebasan el marco de cada polo y marcan todo el triángulo: • La importancia de la identidad local a lo largo y ancho del territorio indígena es algo que proviene de lo sincrético pero mantiene una fuerte presencia en todo el espectro, “empujando” las opciones hacia ese lado. • Por el contrario, las visiones aislacionistas de este polo respecto a la educación están prácticamente superadas en general, prevaleciendo las ideas modernizantes – igualitarias o mayanizantes. • En lo religioso, por el contrario, podríamos hablar de tres propuestas institucionales que coinciden con los polos, pero las prácticas y la fe de la gente se sitúan de forma más diversa.

11

Para mostrar esta diversidad, haría falta cierta cantidad de ejemplos que por cuestión de espacio no es posible presentar en este artículo.

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GRÁFICA 1

sincrético lo local

la educación

modernizante

mayanista Hasta aquí hemos presentado tres polos ideológicos –ligados a procesos históricos– desde los cuales los indígenas entienden la cultura y la práctica política. Ahora bien, también es posible exponer mediante un “modelo tripolar”, tres formas de entender la relación entre la diferencia y la igualdad, tal como aparece en el siguiente cuadro: SEGREGACIONISMO

ASIMILACIONISMO

MULTICULTURALISMO

reconoce diferencia

no reconoce diferencia

reconoce diferencia

desigualdad legal

igualdad legal

igualdad legal

racismo (abierto)

discriminación cultural

no racismo ni discriminación

Esta visión triangular cuestiona los planteamientos políticos explícitos que solo reconocen dos polos en el ámbito político: el asimilacionismo nacional liberal y el multicultural. En la medida en que ambos contienen elementos de la ideología sincrética, la hacen desaparecer como tercer polo. En este modelo bipolar la segregación forma parte de los planteamientos asimilacio-

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nistas y lo sincrético aparece en el polo mayanista como lo ancestral “puro”, con lo cual se pierden de vista cinco siglos de proceso de construcción cultural en un entorno de subordinación étnica.

IDEOLOGÍAS ÉTNICAS, POLÍTICA Y CULTURA (MAYA) ENTRE LOS NO 12

INDÍGENAS

El modelo tripolar mostrado no sirve para entender la relación de los no indígenas con su cultura, pues en las ideologías la oposición se ha construido entre cultura indígena y modernidad. Para quienes no son indígenas, el tránsito hacia la modernidad no tuvo que hacerse a costa de lo tradicional pues lo guatemalteco-ladino-mestizo es una construcción que asume lo moderno como parte de sí misma. GRÁFICA 2

(racista abierto)

ETNOCÉNTRICO

neofolclorista (multicultural) 12 Tal y como se argumenta en el texto de Bastos (2007, 336-340) se ha preferido esta denominación de “no indígenas” en vez del más guatemalteco “ladinos” para resaltar la diversidad interna de un grupo sólo unificado por su no-ser (indígena), con todo lo que ello conlleva; y porque no todos los “no indígenas” se sienten identificados con este término ni tampoco con el término de “mestizos”, que no ha tenido trayectoria histórica en Guatemala.

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Pero este modelo sí sirve para entender las posturas encontradas respecto a las demandas de los mayanistas: la racista, la etnocéntrica y la neofolcorista. El segregacionismo es la base ideológica del racismo más abierto y evidente, que considera a ciertos grupos de personas como carentes de los derechos básicos que los haría iguales al resto de la sociedad. La cultura en este caso no es muy relevante, pues el discurso segregacionista suele ser más bien racialbiológico (González y Ramón 2004). El asimilacionismo liberal, en cambio, parte de considerar la igualdad entre las personas, pero es incapaz de comprenderla más allá de su propio marco cultural –que pretende ser universal. Así, el etnocentrismo rige la percepción sobre la cultura ajena. Estamos ante dos fórmulas creadas para asegurar el dominio sobre los indígenas. La mayoría de los argumentos con los que se hace frente a las demandas mayas, surge de este discurso nacional liberal, pues el asimilacionismo etnocéntrico es el polo ideológico hegemónico, e incorpora a los otros dos. Dado el contexto y contenidos con los que se construyó, este polo tiende en Guatemala de forma “natural” hacia el segregacionismo racista (Casaus Arzú 1998), es decir que con argumentos liberales se plantean ideologías segregadoras de forma natural. Pero también desde este polo se puede avanzar hacia vertientes más progresistas, que buscan separarse de las posturas racistas y aspiran a una verdadera igualdad. Para muchos, el igualitarismo universalista da respuestas suficientes al problema de la desigualdad indígena, sin llegar al multiculturalismo. Justo en este punto existe un emparentamiento con el etnocentrismo, en la medida en que la mentalidad etnocentrista no es capaz de comprender la necesidad de derechos culturales específicos que rompan con la “igualdad ciudadana”. Desde este punto de vista, las respuestas de claro respeto y apoyo decidido a los derechos políticos y culturales que reclaman los mayanistas resultan ser más valientes y escasas, pues suponen romper con todo un bagaje ideológico hegemónico, el liberal-nacional, desde el que se han construido las interpretaciones y las repuestas políticas a los problemas del país. Y no es una cuestión intelectual: hablar de identidad y pertenencias es una cuestión de fuerte carga emotiva (Solares 1989). Por eso, cuesta tanto pensar en una Guatemala internamente diversa más allá de lo simbólico. Y por eso mismo, no nos ha de extrañar la abundancia de respuestas dadas desde las propuestas neofolcloristas (Cumes 2007) como forma de “respeto cultural” entendido desde una plataforma liberal como forma de entender unos “derechos culturales” más que desde el etnocentrismo que permea la mayoría de las percepciones no indígenas.

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CONCLUSIONES: PERTENENCIA, CIUDADANÍA E IDEOLOGÍAS ÉTNICAS EN GUATEMALA Las propuestas mayanistas surgieron para terminar con la exclusión de los indígenas en Guatemala. Esta exclusión ha estado justificada y basada en una serie de ideologías de tinte racista, que hay que entender en su contexto histórico y en los diferentes efectos que tienen en la desigualdad. Las ideologías de segregación y de asimilación han tenido como objetivo justificar la exclusión de los derechos derivados de la pertenencia a un colectivo, es decir, han buscado negar la ciudadanía. Pero acá hemos visto que además, esas ideologías también condicionan e inciden en las diferentes formas en que los mayas se perciben a sí mismos. El efecto no es automático, incluye tanto procesos de adaptación como de resistencia, en los que se da un aprovechamiento de los intersticios de la dominación, e incluso de lecturas que invierten el argumento –como en el caso de los “indígenas orgullosos” que implica una respuesta contestataria frente a demandas de “ladinización”. Con todo eso se han creado unos sentidos de pertenencia en formatos claramente jerárquicos, pero que no son simples ni maniqueos. A partir de ellos han surgido propuestas –muchas veces sólo actuadas– de ciudadanía implícita, que actualmente están presentes en los comportamientos de los mayas. La forma sincrética-estamental casi ni plantea una noción de ciudadanía o derechos, pues asume estar en los márgenes del sistema. Pero en cambio, generó una pertenencia muy fuerte a la comunidad. Desde este ámbito se pudo ejercer una ciudadanía de base comunitaria. Esta “solidaridad confinada” en términos de subordinación es la base de comportamientos e instituciones que en Guatemala son vistos por los mayanistas como la base ancestral de unos valores propios que en otros lugares son considerados como autonómicos (Burguete Cal y Mayor 2010). En cambio, los componentes de la propuesta modernizadora están bien presentes y de forma muy explícita entre indígenas y no indígenas. No en vano esta ideología ha sido hegemónica en el último siglo, como complemento de la visión segregadora, contraponiendo ciudadanía nacional y pertenencia étnica. Sin embargo, los mayas “modernizantes” han sabido romper esa disyuntiva aspirando a la ciudadanía guatemalteca sin perder su identidad indígena, de la que incluso se sienten orgullosos. Esto lo han hecho deshaciéndose de atributos que les identifican como “tradicionales” o “inciviliza-

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dos” como por ejemplo el analfabetismo, la pobreza, la ruralidad, etc., pero también distanciándose de su idioma y su religiosidad. Ese ha sido el coste de ser modernos, es decir, el coste de aspirar a una ciudadanía a la que los mayas acceden a través de los estrechos márgenes de lo que conlleva “ser guatemalteco” –que no es mucho– sin dejar de “ser indígena”. Con ello retan la ideología liberal en sus mismos términos, logrando una ciudadanía basada en una doble pertenencia. Pero lo hacen dejando de lado algunos rasgos de su cultura. Por eso, podemos decir que se logra una ciudadanía incompleta, que logra la igualdad, pero no reconoce la diferencia. Y ésa es precisamente la propuesta mayanista: una ciudadanía plena, en que los rasgos culturales sean objeto de derechos, no excusa para la exclusión. Desde esa idea, han luchado por invertir los estereotipos históricamente formados y es evidente que su propuesta de una identidad orgullosa está haciéndose presente y está logrando romper con la maldición de la inferioridad. Esto ha ocurrido sobre todo entre los y las mayas que han recorrido todo el proceso de las luchas reivindicativas, aquellos que cuentan con niveles educativos y quienes se encuentran ligados a espacios educativos, políticos, de cooperación o al turismo. Sin embargo, la construcción de una identidad orgullosa sigue siendo difícil entre otros sectores de los mismos mayas, pues para lograr ese orgullo, las propuestas mayanistas piden o exigen a sus destinatarios cambios en sus símbolos de pertenencia, y hay grupos sociales a los que les cuesta mucho sentirse representados por tales propuestas, ya sea por no entender el uso político de una cultura codificada y “representada”, ya sea por negarse a considerarla como requisito imprescindible para disfrutar de la nueva ciudadanía plena. La propuesta mayanista tiene matices muy nuevos y supone un salto ideológico muy grande para muchos mayas. Quizá se deba aplicar a sus planteamientos identitarios hacia dentro la misma flexibilidad que ha mostrado en su accionar político hacia afuera. Y quizá esto no sea tan difícil, si se toman en cuenta los elementos compartidos con las otras construcciones, tales como la importancia de lo local y la búsqueda de una modernidad sin exclusiones y si se piensa en una cultura mucho más hibrida y vivida que pura y representada.

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BIBLIOGRAFÍA ADAMS, Richard N., y Santiago BASTOS. Las Relaciones Etnicas en Guatemala, 19442000. Antigua Guatemala: Centro de Investigaciones Regionales de Mesoamérica 2003. Colección “¿Por qué estamos como estamos?”. AJXUP, Virginia, Oliver ROGERS, y Juan José HURTADO. “El Movimiento Maya al fin del Oxlajuj B’aqtun: Retos y desafíos.” El movimiento maya en la década después de la paz (1997-2007). Ed. Santiago Bastos y Roderick Leslie Brett. Guatemala: F&G Editores 2010. 173-97. BASTOS, Santiago. “De la nación estado a la nación multicultural: Una reflexión histórica y crítica.” Trayectorias, 4-5 (2000-2001): 106-17. — “La ideología multicultural en la Guatemala del cambio de milenio.” Mayanización y vida cotidiana: La ideología multicultural en la sociedad guatemalteca. CDROM. Ed. Santiago Bastos y Aura Cumes. Guatemala: FLACSO Guatemala 2007. 211-378. Vol. 1. BASTOS, Santiago, y Roderick Leslie BRETT, eds. El movimiento maya en la década después de la paz (1997-2007). Guatemala: F&G Editores 2010. BASTOS, Santiago, y Manuela CAMUS. Entre el mecapal y el cielo: Desarrollo del movimiento mayo en Guatemala. Guatemala: FLACSO; Cholsamaj 2003. BASTOS, Santiago, y Aura CUMES, eds. Mayanización y vida cotidiana: La ideología multicultural en la sociedad guatemalteca. CD-ROM. Guatemala: FLACSO Guatemala 2007. Web. 19 Apr. 2011. (texto); (portada). — eds. Mayanización y vida cotidiana: La ideología multicultural en la sociedad guatemalteca. CD-ROM, Guatemala: FLACSO Guatemala 2007 1. Web. 19 Apr. 2011. (texto); (portada). BASTOS, Santiago, Aura CUMES, y Leslie LEMUS. “Mayanización y vida cotidiana. La ideología multicultural en la sociedad guatemalteca: Texto para el debate.” Mayanización y vida cotidiana: La ideología multicultural en la sociedad guatemalteca. CDROM. Ed. Santiago Bastos y Aura Cumes. Guatemala: FLACSO Guatemala 2007. BENGOA, José. La emergencia indígena en América Latina. México: FCE 2000. BURGUETE CAL Y MAYOR, Araceli. “Autonomía: La emergencia de un nuevo paradigma en las luchas por la descolonización en América Latina.” La autonomía a debate. Autogobierno indígena y Estado plurinacional en América Latina. Ed. Miguel González, Araceli Burguete Cal y Mayor, y Pablo Ortiz. Ecuador: FLACSO; GTZ; IWGIA; CIESAS; IUICH 2010. 63-94. CASAUS ARZÚ, Marta Elena. La metamorfosis del racismo en Guatemala: Uk’exwachixiik ri Kaxlan Na’ooj pa Iximuleew. Guatemala: Cholsamaj 1998.

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CEH (Comisión de Esclarecimiento Histórico Guatemala). Memoria del Silencio: Guatemala: Informe presentado por la Comisión de Esclarecimiento Histórico 1999. COJTÍ CUXIL, Demetrio. Ri maya’ moloj pa iximulew: El Movimiento Maya (en Guatemala). Guatemala: Cholsamaj 1997. — Ri k’ak’a’ saqamaq’ pa Iximulew: La difícil transición al Estado multinacional: El caso del Estado monoétnico de Guatemala: 2004. Guatemala: Cholsamaj 2005. COMAROFF, John. “Etnicidad, nacionalismo y las políticas de la diferencia en una era de revolución.” Las ideas detrás de la etnicidad: Una selección de textos para el debate. Ed. Manuela Camus. Guatemala: CIRMA 2006. 201-31. COMG (Consejo de Organizaciones Mayas de Guatemala). Rujunamil ri Mayab’ Amaq’: Derechos específicos del Pueblo Maya, Rajpopi’ ri Mayab’ Amaq’. Guatemala 1991. CUMES, Aura. “Mayanización y el sueño de la emancipación indígena en Guatemala.” Mayanización y vida cotidiana: La ideología multicultural en la sociedad guatemalteca. CD-ROM. Ed. Santiago Bastos y Aura Cumes. Guatemala: FLACSO Guatemala 2007. 79-208. DIETZ, Gunther. Multiculturalismo, interculturalidad y educación: Una aproximación antropológica. Granada: Universidad de Granada 2003. ESQUIT, Edgar. “Caminando hacia la utopía: La lucha política de las organizaciones mayas y el Estado en Guatemala.” Reflexiones, 4.4 (2003): s/p. FISHER, Edward F. Cultural Logics & Global Economics: Maya Identity in Thought and Practice. Austin: University of Texas Press 2001. GONZÁLEZ, Ponciano, y Jorge RAMÓN. “La visible invisibilidad de la blancura y el ladino como no blanco en Guatemala.” Memorias del mestizaje: Cultura política en Centroamérica de 1920 al presente. Ed. Darío Euraque, Jeffrey Gould, y Charles Hale. Guatemala: CIRMA 2004. 111-32. HALE, Charles. “Re-pensando la política indígena en la época del ‘indio permitido’.” Misión de Verificación de las Naciones Unidas en Guatemala (MINUGUA). Guatemala. 27-29 de octubre. INSTITUTO NACIONAL DE ESTADÍSTICA (INE). X Censo Nacional, 2002. Guatemala 2004. JONES, Christopher. “La política cultural maya en San Juan Sacatepéquez”. Mayanización y vida cotidiana: La ideología multicultural en la sociedad guatemalteca. CDROM. Ed. Santiago Bastos y Aura Cumes. Guatemala: FLACSO Guatemala 2007. 377-411. Vol. 2. LEYVA, Xochitl. “¿Antropología de la ciudadanía? … Étnica: En construcción desde América Latina.” Liminar. Estudios sociales y humanísticos, 5.1 (2007): 35-59. MONTEJO, Víctor. “Pan-mayanismo: La pluriformidad de la cultura maya y el proceso de autorrepresentación de los mayas.” Mesoamerica, 18.33 (1997): 93-123.

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MORALES SIC, José Roberto. “Religión y política: El proceso de institucionalización de la espiritualidad maya en el movimiento maya guatemalteco.” Tesis de Maestría. Guatemala 2004. QUIJANO, Aníbal. “Colonialidad del poder, eurocentrismo y América Latina.” La colonialidad del saber: Eurocentrismo y ciencias sociales. Perspectivas latinoamericanas. Ed. Edgardo Lander. Buenos Aires: CLACSO 1993. 201-46. SÁENZ TEJADA ROJAS, Ricardo de. Elecciones, participación política y pueblo maya en Guatemala. Guatemala: Universidad Rafael Landívar 2005. SOLARES, Jorge. Corrientes antropológicas sobre etnicidad y clase social en Mesoamérica. Guatemala: FLACSO 1989. Cuaderno de debate 2. STAVENHAGEN, Rodolfo. Conflictos étnicos y Estado nacional. México: Siglo Veintiuno Ed. 2000. UK’U’X B’E. El Movimiento Maya: Sus tendencias y transformaciones (1980-2005). Guatemala: Asociación Maya Uk’u’x B’e 2005. VELÁSQUEZ NIMATUJ, Irma Alicia. La pequeña burguesía indígena comercial en Guatemala. Guatemala: AVANCSO 2002. WARREN, Kay. Indigenous Movements and their Critics: Pan-Maya Activism in Guatemala. Princeton: Princeton University Press 1998. WOLF, Eric. Figurar el poder: Ideologías de dominación y crisis. México: CIESAS 2001.

CIUDADANÍA ÉTNICA: EL CASO DE LOS MAYAS DE QUINTANA ROO Manuel Buenrostro Alba

RESUMEN El trabajo centra su atención en los conceptos de ciudadanía y ciudadanía étnica o diferenciada, con base en el caso de los indígenas mayas de Quintana Roo, México. Concretamente se describe el sistema de justicia indígena de los mayas en ese estado federal, para ilustrar las posibilidades y los puntos problemáticos de la ciudadanía maya, cuya construcción responde a estrategias de resistencia de este pueblo indígena del sureste de México.

INTRODUCCIÓN Los pueblos indígenas construyen una idea de ciudadanía muy particular, basada en derechos y obligaciones colectivas. En cambio su relación con la sociedad nacional implica un tipo de ciudadanía individual y formal, que busca borrar las diferencias culturales, construyendo un solo tipo de ciudadanos, de donde resulta una ciudadanía de carácter individual y homogéneo. Parekh afirma que la igualdad de derechos en que se basa la ciudadanía de cualquier democracia liberal es un principio fundamental pero no suficiente, pues se pueden tener derechos pero sentir que no se tiene voz (Parekh 2000). Señala además que un individuo puede ser un ciudadano igual, pero no un miembro igual. Este autor entiende la ciudadanía más allá del aspecto formal, es decir que la concibe ligada a un sentido de pertenencia que haga al individuo sentirse parte de una colectividad donde encuentra seguridad y confianza. En otras palabras, propone una ciudadanía que vaya más allá de un estatus formal con una serie de derechos y que considere también la idea de pertenencia, referida a la percepción de ser aceptado, y “sentirse bienvenido”. Dentro de una misma ciudadanía sociocultural a nivel nacional pueden existir, y de hecho existen, formas étnicamente diferenciadas. Retomo una pregunta planteada por Hale sobre la distinción entre derechos individuales y derechos colectivos: “¿de qué modo puede el Estado ceder conjuntos de dere-

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chos a grupos culturales sin renunciar a su responsabilidad central de proteger los derechos individuales de todos y cada uno de los integrantes de la sociedad?” (Hale 2007, 296). Este punto es fundamental en México, donde existen 64 grupos lingüísticos. ¿Cómo se podría incluir la ciudadanía sociocultural de todos estos pueblos indígenas? Hasta el momento la tendencia dominante por parte del Estado-Nación ha sido borrar las diferencias culturales y sólo reconocer una ciudadanía formal referida a ciertos derechos cívicos como votar y obtener un pasaporte. Por otro lado, las luchas indígenas han venido redimensionando el significado y las implicaciones de la ciudadanía, la han venido reconstruyendo “desde abajo” mediante diversas modalidades. Así por ejemplo, los indígenas zapatistas de Chiapas, han proclamado territorios autónomos. Voceros del Estado han calificado tal logro como una concesión, mientras que los zapatistas afirman que han hecho valer leyes nacionales e internacionales. Otro tipo de procesos han sido los que se han desencadenado a partir de reformas constitucionales estatales, como en San Luis Potosí, donde se reconoció a las comunidades indígenas el carácter de “sujetos de derecho”. El caso de Quintana Roo se encuentra en un punto intermedio, en la medida en que los mayas quintanarroenses han aprovechado y reinterpretado figuras jurídicas propuestas por el Estado. A pesar de estos progresos, la construcción de la ciudadanía étnica, que supone el reconocimiento de derechos especiales y diferentes a aquellos que ha regulado tradicionalmente el Estado-Nación, sigue siendo problemática. El ideal al que habría que aspirar, expone Hoyos siguiendo la teoría ética de la justicia en Rawls, es el “pluralismo razonable”. Este principio plantea la necesidad de consensos mínimos de justicia y equidad entre sectores de la población que tienen diversos estilos, creencias religiosas, tradiciones de vida etc. (Hoyos Vázquez 1998, 26-27). El reconocimiento de un pluralismo jurídico, asociado al pluralismo cultural, desde donde se ejercen diversas formas de organización, visiones del mundo, normas internas de control, sanciones, delitos, e impartición de justicia, se ha realizado parcialmente en México a nivel nacional y local. Hasta el momento se ha logrado avanzar mediante reformas constitucionales que competen a todo el país, y otras que se han reformado en un nivel de los diferentes estados de la República Mexicana, como Oaxaca, San Luis Potosí, Veracruz, Querétaro y Quintana Roo. El reconocimiento de la existencia de un pluralismo jurídico tiene que ver con una nueva visión de la realidad, cada vez más necesaria. Para poder reco-

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nocer la existencia de diversas formas de impartición de justicia, es necesario ver el mundo como una unidad de pueblos, de regiones, de etnias. La multiplicidad de culturas no se refiere a la subordinación de las mismas a una sola cultura dominante (Villoro 2002, 15). Esto ha sido parte de la historia de los pueblos indígenas. Es hasta las últimas cuatro décadas que los movimientos sociales han logrado sentar al gobierno mexicano a dialogar sobre la diversidad cultural y jurídica. Desde el punto de vista de la impartición de justicia, la existencia de una esfera jurídica en un grupo humano no depende, necesariamente, de la presencia de un Estado (Krotz 1997, 19). Esta esfera jurídica ha existido en muchos pueblos indígenas desde antes del surgimiento de los mismos estados. Incluso en la actualidad existen muchas comunidades que por su localización lejana a las instituciones estatales, o porque han decidido aplicar sus propios criterios, resuelven sus conflictos internamente, con sus procedimientos y autoridades locales.

LA LEY DE JUSTICIA INDÍGENA DE QUINTANA ROO Apenas en 1974 el territorio de Quintana Roo adquirió la categoría de Estado de la República Mexicana. Durante el proceso de consolidación del estado, el diseño de políticas públicas buscó la homogeneización cultural de lo que llamó los “quintanarroenses”, ignorando la diversidad cultural que caracterizaba a la población. Por eso en los primeros años de la creación de este nuevo estado no existieron ni legislación, ni políticas exclusivas referidas a los indígenas. Las comunidades indígenas fueron consideradas legislativamente sólo a partir de abril de 1997, a pesar de que ya en 1992 se había introducido una reforma en la constitución federal, cuyo artículo cuarto consagraba el principio de pluriculturalidad. Hay que señalar que en 1994 surgió el movimiento zapatista, y que aproximadamente en este tiempo otros estados, como Oaxaca comenzaron a realizar también reformas constitucionales. Tal como expresa el dictamen de la iniciativa de Decreto número 58 que adiciona los artículos 7, 13 y 99 de la Constitución Política del estado de Quintana Roo, la iniciativa de modificación de la Constitución fue presentada en forma conjunta por los poderes Ejecutivo y Judicial, concretamente por el gobernador del estado y el pleno del Honorable Tribunal Superior del Estado. Uno de los objetivos que estableció esta iniciativa fue la necesidad de

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legislar sobre la materia de derecho de los pueblos indígenas e incorporar a la Constitución Política del estado de Quintana Roo, los principios y garantías indígenas que se contemplaban en el texto del artículo 4° de la Constitución federal. La Iniciativa de Decreto pretendió actualizar y dar solución a problemas vinculados con la impartición de justicia. Así, el 30 de agosto de 1997, entró en vigor la Ley de Justicia Indígena del Estado de Quintana Roo con el fin de resolver las controversias de tipo penal familiar y civil entre los miembros de las comunidades mayas. En ese mismo año se nombró a los primeros jueces tradicionales y en 1998 éstos comenzaron a impartir justicia en sus respectivas comunidades. El nombramiento se hizo a través de asambleas comunitarias. Es necesario anotar que las reformas multiculturales para el caso estudiado fueron de tipo neoliberal.1 Se trata de reformas que promueven el respeto a la diferencia cultural, pero que en la práctica no otorgan ningún derecho más allá de la facultad de contar con juzgados tradicionales en las comunidades. A pesar de todos los avances en materia legislativa, los mayas siguen siendo el sector más vulnerable de la sociedad quintanarroense y mexicana. No sólo sus derechos colectivos, sino también sus derechos individuales siguen siendo violados continuamente. El mismo estado mexicano ha relegado al nivel comunitario la resolución de los delitos considerados como menores mediante la figura de los jueces tradicionales. No obstante, coincido con Magdalena Gómez cuando hace una crítica a este reconocimiento parcial de derechos, destacando que no basta, ni tiene sentido reconocerles a los pueblos indígenas el “derecho a casarse conforme a los llamados usos y costumbres”, sino que el derecho indígena debe encaminarse hacia la autonomía o libre determinación, lo cual constituye la base de la ciudadanía étnica como tal (Gómez 2009). La protección del indígena forma parte del discurso político oficial, pero en la práctica, se le continúa explotando económicamente, por ejemplo en 1

Las reformas multiculturales que se dan en el marco del neoliberalismo, es decir, que han sido promovidas por el capital financiero internacional mediante el Banco Mundial o el Banco Interamericano de Desarrollo, se caracterizan por promover ciertas mejoras para los pueblos indígenas, en materia de salud, justicia y educación. Sin embargo, este mínimo reconocimiento de la ciudadanía indígena se da como parte de un acomodamiento a las políticas económicas neoliberales. Es decir, que si bien se reconocen también ciertos reclamos culturales y lingüísticos se deja de lado el control de las tierras y territorios, así como el reconocimiento de la autonomía de los pueblos indígenas.

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las actividades no especializadas del turismo. Los hombres regularmente se emplean como albañiles en la construcción de hoteles, o como meseros, ayudantes generales, plomeros, pintores, etc. Y las mujeres se emplean como recamareras, meseras, cocineras y ayudantes generales. El multiculturalismo en el estado de Quintana Roo no reconoció las formas de impartición de justicia tradicionales y propias de los pueblos indígenas mayas. Lo que se creó fue un sistema de justicia nuevo y específico para ellos. Los jueces tradicionales no son una autoridad que haya existido antes en la cultura maya, sino que se crearon a partir de la aprobación de la ley de 1997. Sólo en 17 de aproximadamente 150 comunidades mayas hay jueces tradicionales.2 De los 1.135.000 pobladores de Quintana Roo, 170.000 habitantes mayores de cinco años hablan alguna lengua indígena. La población indígena más numerosa son los mayas, con 155.962 personas. Les siguen los tzotziles con 1.958; los kanjobales con 1.444; luego los choles con 1.381 y por último los tzeltales con 1.362. Aunque existe población de otros orígenes étnicos, estos grupos son los más representativos (INEGI 2010, 69). Sin embargo, la Ley de Justicia Indígena tiene un carácter excluyente, en la medida en que deja por fuera a todos los pueblos indígenas del estado que no son mayas. La reforma constitucional ha sido limitada, sobre todo porque ha estipulado para los mayas el carácter de “sujetos de interés público”, y les ha negado el reconocimiento como sujetos de derecho.3 Esto quiere decir que es el Estado quien decide qué necesidades tienen los indígenas y trabaja en la mejora de dichas condiciones. A esta política también se le ha llamado paternalista, debido a que busca la “protección” de los indígenas, pero sin otorgarles derechos que les permitan cierta autonomía. Sólo en los estados de San Luis Potosí, Querétaro, Veracruz y Oaxaca, los indígenas son considerados como sujetos de derecho. 2 La población maya se concentra en cuatro de los nueve municipios que conforman el estado, estos son Tulum, Felipe Carrillo Puerto, Lázaro Cárdenas y José María Morelos. 3 Sujetos de derecho público son entes o entidades con facultad de producir normas específicas. Declarar a los pueblos indígenas como sujetos de derecho público implica que se les reconozca sus propias autoridades, y la facultad de conformar órganos propios de gobierno. Para ello es necesario reconocerles ciertas facultades que deberían estar en la Constitución Federal. En Quintana Roo actualmente no se les reconoce ese derecho. Como sujetos de interés público, en cambio, las comunidades indígenas son relegadas a cumplir el papel de objeto de protección especial por parte del Estado, guardando éste la potestad de intervenir directa y permanentemente en ellas.

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En el resto del país este derecho ha estado limitado, al menos en el ámbito constitucional. La política estatal ha cohibido los movimientos surgidos desde las organizaciones. En Quintana Roo se han creado programas de “apoyo” a los mayas que buscan mantener el orden estatal establecido, otorgando recursos económicos y en especie, con el discurso de “fortalecer” y “preservar” la cultura maya. Ante esta situación, la respuesta de los mayas ha sido innovadora, ya que en estos años se han apropiado de la Ley de Justicia y de sus figuras, o sea los juzgados y jueces tradicionales. Esto les ha permitido cierta autonomía local al menos en lo que se refiere a la impartición de justicia. Hay que tener en cuenta que la esfera de lo jurídico no solo se limita a normas y argumentos, derechos, obligaciones, reclamos, disputas, acusaciones, sanciones, etc., sino también a instituciones sociales como la familia, las fiestas, los gremios etc., (Krotz 2002). Aquí entran también aspectos económicos, religiosos, de parentesco, etc. La familia maya, por ejemplo, se encuentra regulada por derechos y obligaciones de acuerdo a una repartición reglamentada de roles. También para la organización de fiestas y gremios cada cual tiene asignadas ciertas obligaciones y está expuesto a sanción si no las cumple. Los jueces mayas relacionan los delitos cometidos con cuestiones culturales, algunas incluso sobrenaturales. En ese sentido, ha habido un proceso de rescate de la cultura maya emprendido por los propios indígenas, logrando un impacto mayor que los programas oficiales del Estado. Con el rescate de su cultura, los mayas han contribuido al fortalecimiento de la ciudadanía étnica que poco a poco está ganando más atención por parte de las instituciones estatales y políticas. Los instrumentos y organismos internacionales han contribuido en este proceso; o al menos los mayas han logrado aprovechar dichos instrumentos.

REQUISITOS Y COMPETENCIAS DE LOS JUECES TRADICIONALES Según la ley, los jueces tradicionales deben ser integrantes reconocidos y prestigiosos de la comunidad –sin importar su formación académica–, también deben dominar el idioma maya, y conocer los usos, las costumbres y tradiciones de la comunidad. Ellos son los responsables de aplicar las normas de derecho consuetudinario indígena, respetando las garantías consagradas en la Constitución General de la República y la Constitución Política del Estado. La Ley de Justicia Indígena de Quintana Roo establece además que los jueces

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tradicionales deben actuar con estricto apego a los derechos humanos y con respeto a la dignidad e integridad de las mujeres. El cargo de juez tradicional es vitalicio (2003, 11). Algunos de los jueces nombrados tenían cargos religiosos en la comunidad; eran por ejemplo sacerdotes, rezadores y dignatarios mayas. Para iniciar con su labor como jueces, los “nuevos funcionarios” fueron capacitados por el Tribunal Superior de Justicia del estado de Quintana Roo. En los artículos 11 y 12 de la Ley de Justicia Indígena, se establece que si las partes interesadas no aceptan la mediación de un juez tradicional, o no se llega a un arreglo, se puede acudir a los tribunales competentes. Pero, si por la mediación de un juez tradicional arreglan sus diferencias mediante convenio, éste quedará homologado a una sentencia debidamente ejecutoriada y la resolución tendrá el carácter de cosa juzgada (2003, 9). Esto quiere decir que si se resuelve un conflicto a través de un juez tradicional, ya no se podrá recurrir a otra autoridad por la misma causa o conflicto, ni se podrá interponer una demanda por el mismo motivo, ya que el caso se cierra una vez que se firma el acta de acuerdos. La misma ley establece que cuando se trate de la afectación de mujeres o niños, en donde se atente contra sus bienes, integridad física, sano desarrollo, salud, formación personal y cultural, intervendrán los jueces tradicionales. Estos tienen competencia para resolver controversias en materia civil, es decir, convenios y contratos cuyas prestaciones no excedan cien salarios mínimos; también en materia familiar, o sea matrimonios y su disolución, custodia, educación y cuidado de los hijos, pensiones alimenticias, etc.; y en derecho penal en lo referente a robos, abigeatos, fraudes, abuso de confianza, abandono de personas, etc., que tampoco excedan los cien salarios mínimos. El límite de la negociación se rebasa cuando las partes no llegan a un acuerdo conciliatorio y deciden resolver sus controversias recurriendo a otras instancias legales como los jueces municipales y autoridades estatales. Esto sucede de por sí cuando se trata de delitos considerados como graves: homicidio, violación, narcotráfico, lesiones mayores.

CÓMO JUZGAN LOS JUECES TRADICIONALES El artículo 26 de dicha ley, establece que todos los procedimientos ante los jueces tradicionales están exentos de formalidad, deben ocurrir de forma

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oral4 y deben buscar su solución en una sola audiencia. En cada audiencia se debe levantar un acta que consigne de manera abreviada los alegatos, las declaraciones y los acuerdos. Sin embargo, según se pudo observar en la investigación de campo, las primeras actas de los juicios no contenían mucha información, sólo se mencionaba el delito y el nombre de las personas involucradas. Tampoco se desglosaban los acuerdos, pues la mayoría de éstos eran verbales. Esto se observa aun en la actualidad, ya que los jueces piensan que es suficiente el compromiso verbal. Para ellos “la palabra es más importante que la escritura”. Cabe destacar que el uso de actas de juicios es algo nuevo, que comienza con la formalización de los juzgados indígenas. Tanto a los habitantes de las comunidades, como a los mismos jueces, les ha llevado varios años entender las funciones e importancia de los jueces mayas y también los procedimientos necesarios para los juicios, tales como la escritura de actas. A esto se le suma el hecho de que algunos jueces casi no saben leer y escribir, por lo cual acuden a familiares o a otras personas como por ejemplo al responsable del registro civil, para poder llenar las mencionadas actas de los juicios. Otros tienen estudios hasta secundaria o bachillerato, pero son más jóvenes. Es todo este proceso de aprendizaje, el cual ha influido en una apropiación de la Ley de Justicia Indígena por parte de los mayas. Para mostrar la forma en que piensan los jueces mayas sobre la Ley de Justicia, destaco algunos testimonios de los jueces tradicionales. El juez Gonzalo Canal May, de la comunidad de San Juan de Dios5, municipio de Tulum me comentó respecto de su experiencia lo siguiente: Nosotros estamos contentos de trabajar en el pueblo con la Justicia Tradicional. Yo tengo el interés de hacer una labor social para el pueblo. En mi pueblo San Juan de Dios hay 82 ejidatarios y un total de pobladores de 550. El área que

4

En el estado de Quintana Roo no existe la oralidad en los juicios ordinarios, y según los especialistas en derecho penal, no hay condiciones ni tecnológicas, ni jurídicas, ni humanas para que la oralidad se vuelva una realidad en este estado a pesar de que en algunos estados de la República ya se están implementando. Los indígenas son los únicos que practican esta forma en sus juicios. 5 La comunidad de San Juan de Dios, se encuentra localizada a 100 km de Playa del Carmen, y a 160 km de Felipe Carrillo Puerto. Se trata de una comunidad relativamente alejada de los centros urbanos y por lo tanto con varias carencias de servicios.

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trabajo es para ayudar a todos. Yo tengo más de cuarenta años, pero yo ninguna vez entré a la escuela a estudiar así como debe ser (Entrevista en mayo de 2007).

Gonzalo interpreta que cuando una persona comete un delito, y asiste desde la primera cita, esto quiere decir que sí quiere arreglar el problema que se suscitó, pero si no se presenta, se le envía un segundo o tercer citatorio. En relación con otras autoridades de la comunidad, plantea que: Cuando una persona falta y no quiere llegar a un acuerdo, se llama al delegado municipal y comisario ejidal y así entre las tres autoridades les ponemos su castigo. Yo en mi trabajo, no les cobro la multa porque son pobres y les doy la oportunidad de que arreglen su problema pero si se propasan, nosotros tenemos la facultad de castigarlo con una multa, así esta inscrito en la Constitución (ibíd.)

Para el juez la Ley de Justicia Indígena está al mismo nivel que la Constitución. La mayoría de los mayas, refiriéndonos a las comunidades que cuentan con jueces tradicionales, consideran que cuando una persona comete un delito es necesario corregir el daño causado, llegando a imponer sanciones y castigos que van más allá de la negociación armónica y de la conciliación. No se necesitan cárceles, sino orientar verbalmente a los acusados y ponerlos a realizar trabajo en beneficio de la comunidad (chapear, limpiar espacios públicos, barrer, pintar, lavar). Este es uno de los mecanismos más eficaces, ya que se exhibe públicamente a los que comenten faltas. Muchos de los juicios mayas son emocionalmente intensos en el sentido en que las partes involucradas llegan a gritar y hasta a llorar durante las sesiones, lo cual está vinculado a la asociación que hacen los mayas de la alteración del orden social con lo sobrenatural. Para los mayas no es común la venganza. Tampoco son frecuentes los casos de brujería. En la resolución de conflictos se busca la conciliación de las partes involucradas, lo que se pacta al firmar un “acta conciliatoria”. Un gran número de los casos atendidos por los jueces mayas está relacionado con el consumo de bebidas embriagantes. En muchos juicios los acusados declaran no recordar haber cometido ninguna falta porque estaban borrachos. Sin embargo asumen su culpa y firman los acuerdos conciliatorios. Dentro de las observaciones realizadas en el trabajo de campo ha sido posible establecer ciertas coincidencias. En la mayoría de las entrevistas realizadas a los jueces tradicionales ellos expresaron que la forma de tomar las deci-

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siones para sancionar a alguien tiene que ver con alguno de los siguientes criterios: • Primero escuchar a todas las partes involucradas. • Al ser comunidades pequeñas de entre 500 y 3000 habitantes, la mayoría de éstos se conocen, por lo que los jueces toman en cuenta ciertos antecedentes o hábitos de conducta de los involucrados. Si una persona acostumbra a emborracharse, tener otras mujeres e incumplir con sus obligaciones laborales y comunitarias, seguramente es una persona capaz de cometer algún delito. • Si hay reincidencia, es motivo para pensar que la persona cometerá varios delitos. • Si la persona niega los cargos, pero está dispuesta a pagar algún daño, tal vez sea culpable, ya que difícilmente podría pagar por algún delito que no haya cometido, debido a que se trata de comunidades muy pobres. • Una persona dispuesta a pagar multas, se vuelve “mañosa”, ya que aunque pague volverá a cometer delitos.

PUNTOS PROBLEMÁTICOS Y APROPIACIÓN Los mayas buscan resolver sus disputas entre sí, recurriendo a los juzgados tradicionales, ya que cuando tienen que recurrir al derecho estatal, la mayoría de las veces son discriminados y los funcionarios estatales no hablan su lengua. Por otro lado, el sistema de justicia indígena es inacabado, o como dice Hale, “Este principio es el del ‘no reconocimiento’ o, dicho de manera más precisa, del reconocimiento parcial, intencionalmente inacabado” (Hale 2008, 517). Por otro lado, coincido con Sierra en cuanto a que: El discurso de los derechos humanos, sin embargo, ha sido también un arma que ha provocado una mayor injerencia del Estado en el control de los procesos internos y la vigilancia a la autoridad indígena, al imponer el discurso de la ley como margen para la aplicación de la justicia” (Sierra 2004, 40).

Llama la atención la visión que tienen los mayas acerca de los derechos humanos. Cuando han recibido cursos de la dependencia estatal, cuestionan

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que los instructores de los cursos les digan que no está bien sancionar a las personas con trabajo comunitario, ya que eso viola sus derechos humanos. Los jueces sólo escuchan los planteamientos institucionales, pero no comparten la ideología de los derechos humanos. Los mayas afirman que “están equivocados los de derechos humanos”. Se trata de visiones y construcciones diferentes de los derechos. Lo mismo ha sucedido en lo que concierne a los derechos de las mujeres, quienes sufren una discriminación adicional, primero por ser mujeres, segundo por ser indígenas, tercero, porque muchas veces aun dentro de su cultura, la mujer es juzgada por hombres e incluso se presentan casos de abuso y maltrato. Los indígenas construyen su derecho con criterios que muchas veces están en contra del derecho estatal. Como por ejemplo, el matrimonio entre menores de edad, el uso de armas de fuego como parte de sus herramientas de trabajo, la caza de especies, la tala de árboles para poder sembrar maíz, el uso de bebidas embriagantes y psicotrópicos en ceremonias y procesiones. Todas estas actividades serían delitos para el derecho positivo, mientras que según la lógica indígena son formas de vida, es su cultura, su costumbre, su ciudadanía. Después de 13 años de justicia en manos de los jueces tradicionales, la experiencia adquirida por los mismos se ha incrementado. A pesar de ello existe un caso de un juez que ha expresado ya no querer seguir ejerciendo como tal, porque, según dice, casi no atiende juicios, debido a que la población en donde está nombrado es el pueblo turístico Tulúm. He aquí su testimonio: Yo ya casi no veo conflictos, la gente no me viene a ver para solucionar problemas. Antes sí venían, pero ahora van al Municipio y ahí resuelven sus problemas. Aunque los multen, o los encarcelen, prefieren ir con el juez del municipio que conmigo. Yo ya le dije al magistrado que nombre a otro, pero me dice que me aguante un poco, que estoy trabajando bien. No sé nomás por eso me he estado esperando (Entrevista de mayo 18 del 2010).

Por otro lado, en la mayoría de los casos los mayas están aprovechando y utilizando la Ley de Justicia Indígena de Quintana Roo en su beneficio. A pesar de que el nombramiento de los jueces tradicionales es externo y de que se trata de una figura “nueva” dentro de la organización social de los mayas, éstos la han sabido integrar a su tradición y costumbre.

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Según Guillermo Bonfil, los elementos culturales propios y ajenos tienen que ver con lo que llama los “ámbitos de la cultura en función del control cultural”. Según Bonfil puede haber cuatro opciones (Bonfil 1986, 1617). En primer lugar está el tipo de cultura autónoma, que se da cuando el grupo toma las decisiones sobre elementos culturales que son propios. La cultura impuesta, se refiere a los casos en que ni los elementos, ni las decisiones son propios del grupo; se puede hablar de cultura enajenada cuando los elementos culturales propios del grupo continúan presentes, pero los integrantes del grupo han perdido la capacidad de decidir sobre ellos. Según la clasificación de Bonfil en cuanto a la integración de un sistema jurídico introducido desde afuera, puede decirse que los mayas de Quintana Roo poseen una cultura apropiada, en la medida en que el grupo adquiere la capacidad de decisión sobre elementos culturales ajenos y los usa en acciones que responden a decisiones propias. Es así como los mayas quintanarroenses han aprendido poco a poco a usar elementos ajenos a su cultura en beneficio de la comunidad.

CONCLUSIONES En México existen diversas leyes que incluyen el acceso a la justicia y el reconocimiento de derechos de los pueblos indígenas. Además de la Constitución Federal, las constituciones estatales, las leyes específicas como la Ley de Derechos Lingüísticos y la Ley de Justicia de Quintana Roo, entre otras, también existen instrumentos internacionales como el Convenio 169 de la Organización Internacional del Trabajo y la Declaración Universal de Derechos de los Pueblos indígenas, que también han sido ratificados por México. Pero a pesar de ello, sigue siendo un problema para el Estado reconocer la diversidad cultural y otorgarles derechos que garanticen la diversidad cultural. Parte del problema reside en la definición del tipo de sujeto de derecho que los Indígenas constituyen. Mientras no se les reconozca como “sujeto de derecho público”, lo cual está ligado al reconocimiento de derechos colectivos, seguirán estando expuestos, en el mejor de los casos, a ser protegidos de modo paternalista por parte del Estado. Este punto es esencial para la discusión en torno a la constitución de la ciudadanía étnica. Los indígenas no emplean este término en sus demandas, pero a él se refieren en últimas sus exigencias de libertad, justicia, democra-

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cia, autonomía y reconocimiento de derechos tanto individuales como colectivos. En el caso de Quintana Roo, a pesar de que los indígenas no han logrado aún el reconocimiento constitucional de su autonomía, la construcción de la ciudadanía étnica se manifiesta a través de sus luchas y pequeños logros de autonomía local. Los mayas quintanarroenses han aprendido a negociar con el gobierno para evitar injusticias, como la represión. Ahora están más organizados y tratan de tomar todos los apoyos posibles que les permitan generar proyectos productivos, incidir y participar en las políticas públicas. El uso apropiado de los jueces tradicionales también ha resultado una posibilidad de ejercer una forma propia de justicia, en lo referente a delitos no graves. La figura jurídica de los jueces tradicionales tiene un carácter ambivalente. Por una parte no se trata de una forma propia, verdaderamente tradicional de justicia maya, sino que ha sido creada “desde afuera” de las comunidades indígenas. Por otra parte éstas han aprendido a incorporar la figura del juez tradicional como parte de su identidad y por la tanto como parte de su ciudadanía. A casi 13 años de la reforma constitucional y la creación del sistema de justicia indígena, se ha podido observar que los jueces tradicionales han ido adquiriendo mayor reconocimiento y presencia en sus comunidades. A pesar de que su competencia termina donde termina la comunidad, los jueces tradicionales han realizado una labor muy importante en materia de justicia. En primer lugar gracias a ellos se ha mejorado el acceso de los mayas quintanarroenses al aparato jurídico que les era inaccesible por cuestiones materiales, como la distancia, pues los habitantes de las comunidades tenían que trasladarse hasta las cabeceras municipales para resolver sus conflictos. En segundo lugar, los jueces tradicionales han solucionado también, por lo menos en las 17 comunidades en que funcionan, el problema de entendimiento y lengua que dificultaba anteriormente la comunicación con las autoridades municipales jurídicas ordinarias. En tercer lugar, a pesar de que el juez tradicional no es una figura completamente propia, ella considera una serie de rasgos culturales que sí son propios, en la forma de solucionar conflictos, entre ellas está por ejemplo, la eliminación de personal burocrático. Los jueces tradicionales trabajan solos, no tienen secretarios, ni ayudantes de ningún tipo. Aún sin aparatos coercitivos como la policía, han logrado el apoyo de la comunidad. Al volverse una figura aceptada por la cultura maya, el juez tradicional está contribuyendo a la construcción de una ciudadanía maya con rasgos específicos.

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Sin embargo, algunos aspectos del derecho específico que aplica el juez tradicional “colisionan” con el derecho positivo, lo cual ha generado polémica y resistencia frente a la ampliación de la autonomía legislativa y jurídica de los mayas. Estos puntos de colisión tienen un trasfondo esencialmente cultural, como por ejemplo la significación de los derechos humanos, la función y concepción de las drogas, el porte de armas etc. Justamente estos puntos de conflicto ilustran algunas de las dificultades que implica la construcción de la ciudadanía étnica. Cabe anotar que el aspecto jurídico es sólo uno de los aspectos de la compleja constelación de elementos que implica la ciudadanía étnica y que en el campo económico y social queda todavía mucho por hacer. BIBLIOGRAFÍA BONFIL, Guillermo. “La teoría del control cultural en el estudio de procesos étnicos.” Anuario Antropológico, 86 (1986): 13-53. GÓMEZ, Magdalena. “Una reflexión sobre la ciudadanía en naciones pluriculturales: El caso mexicano.” México y Guatemala. Entre el liberalismo y la democracia multicultural. Ed. Jorge Ramón González Ponciano y Miguel Lisbona Guillén. México: UNAM 2009. 109-35. HALE, Charles R. “¿Puede el multiculturalismo ser una amenaza? Gobernanza, derechos culturales y política de la identidad en Guatemala.” Antropología del Estado. Dominación y prácticas contestatarias en América Latina. Ed. Pamela Calla y María L. Lagos. La Paz: Informe sobre Desarrollo Humano/Programa de Naciones Unidas para el Desarrollo 2007. 286-346. Cuaderno de Futuro 23. — “¿En contra del reconocimiento? Gobierno plural y análisis social ante la diferencia cultural.” Gobernar (en) la diversidad: Experiencias indígenas desde América Latina. Hacia la investigación de co-labor. Ed. Xochitl Leyva, Araceli Burguete, y Shanon Speed. México: CIESAS; FLACSO Guatemala y Ecuador 2008. 515-24. HOYOS VÁZQUEZ, Guillermo. “Ética comunicativa y educación para la democracia.” Educación, Valores y Democracia. Ed. OEI. Madrid: OEI para la Educación, la Ciencia y la Cultura 1998. 9-40. INEGI. Perspectiva estadística de Quintana Roo: Marzo 2010. Guatemala 2010. KROTZ, Esteban, ed. Aspectos de la cultura jurídica en Yucatán. Mérida: Maldonado 1997. KROTZ, Esteban, et al., eds. Antropología jurídica: Perspectivas socioculturales en el estudio del derecho. Iztapalapa: Anthropos; Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana 2002. Autores, Textos y Temas Antropología.

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Ley de Justicia Indígena del Estado de Quintana Roo 2003. Web. 19 Apr. 2011. . PAREKH, Bhikhu. “The political structure of multicultural society.” Rethinking Multiculturalism: Cultural Diversity and Political Theory. Ed. Bhikhu Parekh. Houndmills; Basingstoke; Hampshire; London: Macmillan Press Ltd. 2000. 196-238. SIERRA, María Teresa, ed. Haciendo justicia: Interlegalidad, derecho y género en regiones indígenas. México, D.F.: CIESAS; Porrúa 2004. VILLORO, Luis. Estado Plural, pluralidad de culturas. México: Paidós; UNAM 2002.

III. THEORY AND PRACTICES OF BELONGING AND SPATIALITY PERTENENCIA Y DIMENSIONES ESPACIALES EN TEORÍA Y PRÁCTICAS

AUTOCHTHONY, CITIZENSHIP AND EXCLUSION. NEW PATTERNS IN THE POLITICS OF BELONGING IN AFRICA AND EUROPE Peter Geschiere1

ABSTRACT Our world seems to be globalising, yet in practice, it is marked more than ever by what Tania Murray Li calls “a conjuncture of belonging”. The notion of autochthony plays a special role in this obsession with belonging as some sort of primordial claim: how can one belong more than if one is born from the soil itself? Since the 1990s the notion has played a key role in politics in several parts of Africa. Yet, its spread has now become truly global. Comparisons with elsewhere show that this notion retains its apparently “natural” self-evidence, and hence its mobilising force, in very different contexts. This article focuses on the notion of autochthony and its ambiguous implications for citizenship and exclusion. The classical example of Athens from the fifth century BC is of particular interest since it was the very cradle of autochthony thinking, yet it also highlights autochthony’s inherent ambiguities that haunt the world today.

INTRODUCTION One of the paradoxes of our time is the upsurge of strong preoccupations with belonging in a world that pretends to be globalising. Notions of autochthony (literally meaning “born from the soil”) cropping up in highly different parts of the globe play a particular role in this respect as some sort of primordial form of belonging with equally radical forms of exclusion as its reverse. The emotional charge these notions recently acquired in different parts of the African continent, including the Ivory Coast, Cameroon, and the Congo, to mention the most obvious examples, will be well known. Yet, the impact of autochthony and the concomitant obsession with belonging as 1

This article contains elements from my book Perils of Belonging: Autochthony, Citizenship and Exclusion in Africa and Europe (Geschiere 2009); notably from the Introduction and Chapters 4 and 5.

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some sort of flipside of the processes of globalisation reach much farther than the African continent. My interest in this theme was triggered by the surprising realisation that during the 1990s, similar discourses on belonging suddenly invaded everyday politics with highly charged slogans in regions as different as West Africa and Europe. The surprise was all the greater because during this time, the core term “autochthon”, with which I had become familiar in Ivorian and Cameroonian politics, had suddenly become a heavily emotional term in Dutch and Flemish discussions on how to deal with immigrants. How could the same language acquire such great mobilising appeal in completely different settings, and why did this happen in roughly the same moment of time? An inspiring notion in this context is Li’s term “a deep conjuncture of belonging” as specific to our times (Li 2002; cf. also ibid. 2000). She uses it to characterise particularly present-day relations in South East Asia. But the notion is clearly acquiring global dimensions. Many people may emphasise that our world is rapidly globalising. Yet, the flipside of such globalisation seems to be a true obsession with belonging, especially in localist terms. The notion of conjuncture is particularly well chosen to address this paradox: highly varying trends, apparently completely unrelated, turn out to converge in reinforcing this preoccupation with belonging. The examples referred to above – Cameroon, Ivory Coast, the Netherlands – indicate that the trends turning autochthony into a powerful political slogan with great mobilising potential differ also strongly per region. All the more important to try to be specific about the contexts in which autochthony, as some sort of primordial form of belonging, emerges with such force. In the context of this article, it is important to highlight the vastly different implications of autochthony as a basic form of belonging for citizenship. Depending on the context, autochthony can become a dangerous rival to national citizenship, drastically undermining earlier ideals of national unity and the equality of all national citizens. On the other hand, it can also be seen as coinciding with national citizenship. In such cases, autochthony slogans demand a purification of citizenship and an exclusion of “strangers”. Indeed, whatever the exact pattern in relation to nation and citizenship is, autochthony always demands exclusion. Yet, the exact definition of who belongs and who is excluded can change dramatically and abruptly. Related to this is the curious paradox that emerges in a number of different settings and moments of the notion’s long genealogy between the basic

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security that autochthony discourse seems to promise (how can one belong more than if one is “born from the soil?”), and the haunting uncertainties this discourse evokes in everyday practice. Its apparent self-evidence, autochthony as an almost “natural” given, seems to give autochthony discourse great emotional appeal and, therefore, strong mobilising impact in highly different circumstances. Yet, there is a glaring contrast with its receding quality in practice. The “true” autochthon tends to be constantly redefined at ever closer range – the circle of who is in and who is out being drawn ever more tightly. The search for an impossible purity in a world marked by migration and mixing triggers both constant concerns about one’s own autochthony and an equally constant obsession to unmask the traitors residing in one’s native land. Recent history is full of lamentable examples of the latter and the terrible violent cleansing these efforts unleash. In this contribution I will focus especially on the cradle of autochthony thinking, classical Athens of the days of Pericles and Plato. The reader may be surprised that I go back so far in time. My defence is that this old and very first example of autochthony discourse highlighted already all the ambiguities with which we will be subsequently confronted in present-day examples from both Africa and Europe; indeed, the idea of autochthony seems to be closely but quite paradoxically linked to new forms of neo-liberal thinking.

CLASSICAL ATHENS: THE FIRST FORTRESS OF AUTOCHTHONY The coincidence, mentioned above, that the notion of autochthony became quite abruptly so politically charged in such different contexts as Cameroon and the Netherlands made it a challenge to try and follow this term in time and space. This turned out to be quite an adventurous journey. I had certainly not expected that it would take me to such widely different places and moments – like some sort of magical bird, turning up in unexpected places. Leading thinkers have used it and still do so – be it in quite different ways. Lévi-Strauss (1985, 238) gave it a central place in his analysis of the Oedipus myth and its emphasis on the physical handicap of its main actor. Heidegger (1934-35/1989) proposed the heavy term of Bodenständigkeit as translation of autochthony, and used it to defend a more communitarian form of nationalism for Germany, as an antidote to the all too individualistic tenor of Anglo-Saxon and French versions of nationalism (unfortunately, but proba-

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bly not accidentally, Heidegger developed these ideas in the days that he made overtures to the Nazis).2 Derrida (1997, 95) on the contrary criticised autochthony as a mark of a too limited (even “phallic”) form of democracy, which we urgently need to surpass for a more universalistic version of democracy (cf. also Cherif 2006). Despite such differences all these important thinkers drew their inspiration from the same source: classical Athens, the cradle of the very idea of autochthony. To Athenian citizens of the 5th century BC – the city’s Golden Age, the time of Pericles, Euripides and Plato – their own autochtonia was, indeed, of crucial importance. They used to boast of it as proof that their city was exceptional among all the Greek poleis. All other cities had histories of having been founded by immigrants. Only the Athenians were truly autochthonoi – that is, born from the land where they lived. This was also the reason why Athenians would have a special propensity for demokratia. The classical texts – Euripides, Plato, Demosthenes – are surprisingly vivid on this aspect. To the present-day reader, it might come as a shock to read in the texts of these venerated classics the same language of autochthony that is now so brutally propagated by Europe’s prophets of the New Right. And, indeed, this correspondence did not go unnoticed by these prophets, as may be clear from an incident in France. The 2nd May of 1990, a Member of Parliament in the French Assemblée nationale, a certain Marie-France Stirbois, member for Le Pen’s Front national – still the most right wing party in France – surprised her colleagues by delivering a passionate speech about classical Athens and the way in which Euripides, Plato and even Socrates himself defended the case of autochthony. Apparently her colleague députés were somewhat surprised since until then Mme Stirbois’ interventions had not betrayed such an in-depth interest in the classics (or for that matter in any academic subject). Clearly another sympathiser of Le Front national – probably a professor at the Sorbonne – had written her speech for her (Loraux 1996, 204). The incident had its pathetic overtones, but the good thing was that it inspired two leading French classicists – Nicole Loraux (a good friend of Derrida) and Marcel Detienne – to look into the issue of Athenian autochthony. Both authors show with impressive eloquence that it pays off to take the old authors seri-

2

Cf. also Garbutt (2006), Fritsche (1999) and Bambach (2003).

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ously since these classical voices highlight already so sharply – maybe inadvertently – the tensions inherent to the autochthony notion as such. At first sight the Athenian claim to autochthony seems to be as natural and as unequivocal as, for instance, the claims of the new President of Ivory Coast, Laurent Gbagbo, that one needs to distinguish Ivoiriens “de souche” (literally “from the trunk of the tree”) from later immigrants (Le Pen uses a similar jargon in France).3 However, Loraux’ and Detienne’s visionary analysis shows that it may, indeed, be worthwhile to have a closer look at Athenian language on autochthony. As said, this will require a detour in time, and the lively imaginary of Greek mythology may put to the test the reader’s patience. Yet, such a return to the classical locus of the autochthony notion is rewarding since here the tensions and inconsistencies of this apparently unequivocal notion come to the fore in particularly striking ways – as may be clear from the following examples that testify to both the vigour and the complexities of autochthony in Athenian thinking: In Erechtheus, one of Euripides’ most popular tragedies,4 the playwright has Praxithea, king Erechteus’ wife, offer her own daughter for sacrifice, in order to save the city: ‘I, then, shall give my daughter to be killed. I take many things into account, and first of all, that I could not find any city better than this. To begin with, we are an autochthonous people, not introduced from elsewhere; other communities, founded as it were through board-game moves, are imported, different ones from different places. Now someone who settles in one city from another is like a peg ill-fitted in a piece of wood – a citizen in name, but not in his actions.’ Heavy language under heavy circumstances. The play’s story is that Athens is threatened with destruction by Eumolpus and his Thracians invading Attica. The Delphi oracle has prophesised that king Erechtheus can only save the city by

3 Indeed, the Athenians went even further by declaring their autochthony to be absolutely unique among all the Greeks: their city was the only city where the citizens – at least the “real” ones – were autochthonoi; therefore it could justly claim pre-eminence over all the Greeks, and certainly over the Barbarians. 4 Cf. Euripides (1995); unfortunately only a few fragments of the text have been conserved.

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sacrificing one of his own off-spring. He seems to hesitate but his wife gives him a lesson of what autochthony means in practice: ‘This girl, not mine in fact except through birth, I shall give to be sacrificed in defence of our land. If the city is captured, what share in my children have I then? Shall not the whole then be saved, so far as is in my power.’ (Euripides 1995; cf. also Detienne 2003, 36-39).

Euripides’ tragedy was based on a myth, placed in some sort of mythical time (Erechtheus is supposed to have been mentioned already by Homer) but it was clearly very topical to Athens’ situation of 422 BC when the play was first performed: the city was at the height of its naval power, but already locked in mortal combat with its arch rival Sparta. There was, indeed, good reason for celebrating Athenian uniqueness at the time. In other respects as well Praxithea’s words must have seemed highly to the point for the audience. Her scorn of people “who settle in one city from another” being like “a peg ill-fitted in a piece of wood” no doubt had special meaning in 5th century Athens where the majority of the population were seen as foreign immigrants (metoikoi) – amongst whom quite a few were much richer than many true citizens by descent. With Plato, Athenian autochthonia seems to be equally self-evident: He makes Socrates – when instructing young Menexenes on how to deliver a funeral oration for fallen soldiers (a big occasion in 5th century Athens)5 – celebrate Athenian uniqueness in no uncertain terms: ‘… the forefathers of these men were not of immigrant stock, nor were these their sons declared by their origin to be strangers in the land sprung from immigrants, but natives sprung from the soil living and dwelling in their own true fatherland.’ As the next step in his didactic model for a funeral speech, Plato – still speaking through Socrates’ mouth – makes his famous (or notorious) equation of autochthonia and demokratia: 5 Socrates pretends in his dialogue that he has been trained in how to deliver an epitaphios (funeral oration) by none other than Aspasia, Pericles’ famous spouse (or rather “partner”?). Some (Detienne 2003, 21) emphasise the ironical elements in the Menexenes dialogue. However, it seems clear that once Socrates’ / Plato’s exemplary oration gets going, irony gives way to patriotism (cf. also Bury 2005, 330).

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‘For whereas all other States are composed of a heterogeneous collection of all sorts of people, so that their polities also are heterogeneous, tyrannies as well as oligarchies, some of them regarding one another as slaves, others as masters; we and our people, on the contrary, being all born of one mother, claim to be neither the slaves of one another nor the masters; rather does our natural birth-equality drive us to seek lawfully legal equality.’ (Bury 2005, 343/7).

As in Africa (cf. infra), funerals and notably funeral orations must have been a high point in the expression of Athenian autochthony.6 In general, autochthony in Greece – again, as elsewhere – must have been linked to heavy ritual and symbols that verge on the burlesque. In Euripides’ tragedy Erechtheus is punished for his dearly bought victory over the Thracians by Poseidon, who is still furious that the Atheníans preferred the goddess Athena to him as the city’s protector. With his terrible trident Poseidon made a deep cleft right through the Akropolis (Athens’ main mountain) so that Erechteus disappeared in the chasm to remain literally ‘locked in the earth’ – an appropriate position in view of his emphatic chthonic character, invariably repeated whenever he is mentioned.7 But finally Athena, the city’s chosen goddess appeared to save the situation. She ordained the consecration, in honour of the king-locked-in-the-earth, of a small temple, the Erechteion, to be situated on the Akropolis, as the focal point for celebrating Athenian autochthony. Indeed, burlesque as some of the founding myths of this Athenian particularity may seem now, it is clear that, at the time, this heavy symbolism had a powerful appeal. In Athens, the reference to the soil in autochthony discourse was affirmed by a king-locked-in-the-earth and the rhetoric of the funeral orations in particularly graphic ways. All this confirmed also an idea of Athenian autochtho-

6 Cf. also Pericles’ famous epitaphios for the Athenians fallen in the first years of the long war against Sparta, and Demosthenes funeral addresses from a later period (second half of the 4th century) when Athens was threatened again, this time by the Macedonians (Philippos, father of Alexander-Loraux (1996, 44)). There are, of course, striking parallels here with very different times and situations. Cf. Barrès, champion of French nationalism in the 1880s and his famous dictum that the main things needed for creating a conscience nationale were “a graveyard and the teaching of history” Barrès (1925, 25, vol. I), cf. also Detienne (2003, 131). Cf. also infra and Geschiere (2005) on funerals and belonging in neo-liberal Africa. 7 Detienne (2003, 42) translates a variant of the king’s name, Erichthonios, as the TrèsTerrien.

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ny as a long-standing trait of this particular city; didn’t Homer mention already Erechtheus as an arch-chtonian? Indeed, this pride in Athens’ autochthony as an old tradition was so convincing that it was later also accepted by many modern classicists (Rosivach 1987, 294).

Yet, recently, several historians have raised doubts about this shiny image of classical Athenian autochthony – problems that must have worried contemporaries as well. There is a clear tension with the study of history as it was practiced already at the time. Striking is that the two most prominent historians of those days do not make special mention of Athens being particular in this respect. Herodotus mentioned a wide array of autochthonous groupings – some more autochthonous than others – but he did not mention this trait in relation to Athens (Detienne 2003, 49). Thucydides seemed determined to avoid the very word autochthon, probably because he distrusted its rhetorical use. Instead, he went to the opposite by explaining Athens’ preeminence by its success in attracting immigrants (the metoikoi mentioned before) from all over Greece (Loraux 1996, 94). Indeed, the upsurge of autochthony in Athens in the fifth century seems to be intrinsically related to this influx of immigrants, who especially in the Piraeus, the harbour area, had rapidly become the majority of the population. As so often in its subsequent avatars, Athenian autochthony expressed a determined effort by the city’s citizens to exclude newcomers (some of whom were rapidly becoming richer than earlier inhabitants) from citizenship. A historian from our time, Rosivach (1987), even shows that the very term autochthon must have been of a much later coinage – probably only of the 5th century when Athens was emerging as the major power among the Greek cities. He proposes to distinguish an “indigenous” and a “chthonic” use of the term. It is certainly true that already Homer mentions, for instance, Erechtheus from Attica as a chthonic figure. But in Rosivach’s view this is rather in a different sense, as some sort of primal, serpent-like figure (a monster?) closely tied to the earth. It is only during Athens’ upsurge that this Erechtheus was linked to the Athenians’ search for proving their exceptional indigeneity, giving the chthonic component in autochthon a quite different implication. Rosivach’s conclusions may be quite hypothetical.8 Yet his insis8

It is indeed clear that the veneration of Erechtheus, the arch-father of Athenian autochthony – the king, mentioned before, who was so graphically locked inside the earth

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tence on the reverse side of attributing a chthonic origin – it can also imply primitivising a being or a group as some sort of primal phenomenon – is very relevant for other situations as well. In Africa, as elsewhere, this double meaning was to come up time and again: the autochthon as prestigious firstcomer, but also as primitive or even pre-human. In the same line as Rosivach, Detienne (2003) emphasises that in general Greek claims to autochthony must have been somewhat a-historical since they denied per definition the great era of Greek colonisation of the 7th and 6th century BC, when new poleis were founded all over the Eastern Mediterranean in an adventurous expansion process. Even Athens was very much a city in formation up to the 5th century. It is, indeed, striking, that the laws on citizenship promulgated in 509 BC by Cleisthenes, Athens’ great legislator during the city’s ascension, were much more open and inclusive than Pericles’ law of 451 BC, during the city’s heyday. Although Pericles’ law came only a little over 50 years later, it brought incisive changes, reserving Athenian citizenship only for those who could claim that both parents were Athenian (Detienne 2003, 53).9 Loraux (1996) problematises Athenian autochthony – and hence autochthony in general – at an even deeper level. For her, the insistence on having remained on the same spot is a basic denial of history, which always implies movement. It is a kind of negative history which always needs an Other – movement in whatever form – in order to define itself (cf. Loraux 1996,

itself by Poseidon’s revenge – cannot be that old. Archaeologists maintain now that the Erechteion, his temple where Athenian autochthony was sanctified, was built between 430 and 422 BC – that is at the very same time that Euripides wrote his Erechtheus play in which Athena ordered the Athenians to build this temple (Euripides 1995, 193; Detienne 2003, 44). A similar tension between founding and belonging haunts also Plato’s Republic. The founder of his model city – who necessarily must have come from elsewhere to found his “new” city – has to acquire a certain aura of autochthony in order to create a myth of belonging: Plato describes this as “a beautiful lie”, that will serve as basis for the civic instruction of its newly settled citizens (Rosivach 1987, 303); cf. Loraux (1996, 176) and Detienne (2003, 56). 9 Again the parallels with present-day struggles are striking. Cf. Le Pen’s half-hearted attempts to fix the notion of Français de souche as reserved to those who have four grand-parents born in France – a proposition he rapidly had to give up since many of his followers would not meet this criterion; or the fierce debates in Ivory Coast, directly related to the contested position of Alassane Ouattara (the leading politician from the North), over “and” versus “or” – that is, whether father and mother had to be Ivorian in order to grant Ivorian citizenship to their off-spring; or would father or mother suffice for this?

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notably p. 82 and 99). At a very practical level, this implied for Athenians a guilty denial of memories of earlier migrations – especially for the city’s aristocratic families who used to be proud of their founding histories, often referring to their provenance from elsewhere, as some sort of mythical charter. Loraux signals that in other classic texts on autochthony as well history and movement are a kind of hidden subtext undermining autochthony’s rigid memory. The above may indicate why the present-day New Right in Europe is tempted to quote the celebration of autochthony in classical Athens as a precedent to be respected. However, both Loraux and Detienne convincingly show that on closer reading these texts rather highlight the basic impossibilities of autochthony thinking: its tortuous struggles to come to terms with history which constantly undermines the apparent self-evidence of chthonic belonging; and even more the great uncertainty it creates about “authentic” and “fake” autochthony, and hence an obsession with purification and the unmasking of traitors-in-our-midst.10 Such uncertainties make the notion, despite its apparent self-evidence, a fickle base for the definition of citizenship – a problem that is unfortunately all too relevant for autochthony’s present-day trajectories.

AUTOCHTHONY NOW: GLOBALISATION AND THE NEO-LIBERAL TURN Clearly then, autochthony has a long history. The discourse of its present-day protagonists is certainly not new, it rather brings a reshuffling of elements from former days. Yet, it is clear as well that recently – especially since the late 1980s

10

Detienne focuses in his last chapter also on present-day historians and their ongoing contribution to the reproduction of autochthony thinking. His main example – and indeed a quite shocking one – is Braudel and one of the latter’s more recent books L’identité de la France (Braudel 1986). Braudel made his name with La Méditerranée (1949), precisely because this book showed in a challenging way how to write a history that surpassed the limits of the nation-state and nationalist thinking. So it is, indeed, a bit disconcerting that the same Braudel starts this later book by emphasising that, after all, a historian is really at home with the history of his own country – a familiarity that brings Braudel to project notre hexagone (the favourite national metaphor to indicate France and its territory) back into pre-historical times, and to link the palaeolithic drawings of Lascaux to French identity. Detienne (2003, 142) cites all this as an illustration of the “extra-ordinary weight of nationalist thinking” that in the end could even constrain the view of an historian with such a broad vision as Braudel.

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– it experienced a powerful renaissance. The question is why it became such a tempting discourse at the present moment in time in many parts of the globe. Li’s notion of a “conjuncture of belonging” points at various aspects of what has come to be called “globalisation” as important factor. Especially the rapidly increasing mobility of people, not only on a national but also on a transnational scale set the wider context for people’s preoccupation with belonging.11 But Li’s approach allows to outline also more specific factors, be it that these are quite different for various regions. For the areas she studies in South East Asia, Li emphasises global concerns over the loss of biodiversity, “indigenous people” and “disappearing cultures” as crucial factors in this upsurge of concerns over belonging. For Africa, determining factors might rather be the twin processes of democratisation and decentralisation – both closely related to the new emphasis since the end of the 1980s on the need to “by-pass” the state in the policies of the global development establishment. Throughout the continent the new wave of democratisation of the early 1990s seemed to bring initially a promising turn towards political liberalisation. Yet in many countries it inspired in practice and quite unexpectedly especially determined attempts towards closure in order to exclude fellowcountrymen from their full rights as national citizens – or at least to differentiate between citizens who “belong” and others who do less so. As always Ivory Coast offers particularly tragic examples of this – for instance, the Opération nationale d’identification which was announced in 2002 with some fanfare by the country’s new President Laurent Gbagbo, confirmed champion of autochthony. The idea was that everybody had to go home – that is to one’s village of origin – in order to claim national citizenship. All persons who could not identify a specific village within the country as their place of origin would automatically lose their citizenship.12 In Eastern Congo, the 11 Historians (cf., for instance, Lucassen and Lucassen (1997)) may emphasise that, demographically, migration in many parts of the world was more important in earlier centuries. Yet it is clear that the facilitating of mobility by new technology conjures up a vision of a rapid increase of migration, and it is precisely this vision that plays such a central role in much autochthony discourse. Cf. also Appadurai’s (1996) powerful definition, of globalisation as increased mobility of “goods, people and ideas”; for him, ideas are at least as important as the other two in this triplet. 12 Cf. Marshall (2006), cf. also Banégas (2007), Banégas and Marshall (2003) and Yéré (2006). Until now, this idea has only been applied in mitigated forms, but it is still around in government circles.

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enigmatic Banyamulenge – opponents rather call them Banyarwanda (Rwanda people) – became similarly the object of fierce struggles over belonging and autochthony, fanned by Mobutu’s machiavellistic manipulations in offering them full citizenship and withdrawing it at will. In Anglophone Africa as well, belonging became a crucial issue in the new style of politics. In Zambia, former national President Kenneth Kaunda could be excluded from the political competition by the simple claim that he “really” descended from strangers. In a completely different context, the new ANC democracy in South Africa became marked by furious popular reactions for excluding all Makwere-kwere – “these” Africans from across the Limpopo. As important as democratisation was the drastic shift, already mentioned, in the policies of global development agencies like the World Bank, the IMF and other major donors: from an explicitly statist view to an equally blunt distrust of the state. While up to the early 1980s it seemed self-evident that development had to be realised through the state, and that therefore strengthening the state and nation-building by the new state elites were the first priorities, the state was subsequently seen no longer as a pillar but rather as a major barrier to development in the Bank’s official view.13 Especially after the Bank’s 1989 report on Africa – not by coincidence at the very moment that the Cold War was clearly over – “by-passing the state”, strengthening “civil society” and NGO’s, and notably “decentralisation” became the buzz words. But just as democratisation turned out to create unexpected scope for autochthony movements, the new decentralisation policy and the support to NGO’s, often quite localist in character, similarly turned questions of belonging and exclusion into burning issues. In Cameroon, for instance, the new forest law, heavily supported by the World Bank and World Wildlife Fund, helped to make autochthony – that is, the question as to who could be excluded from the development projects new style, as “not really” belonging – a hot item, even in areas that are so thinly populated that there seems to be no demographic pressure at all on the soil and other resources. Important in all this is that such developments cannot be dismissed as merely political games – manoeuvres imposed from above by shrewd politi-

13

An overview of speeches by World Bank directors and other representatives from 1972 to 1989 (cf. Geschiere 2008) shows indeed how deep a shift took place in the 1980s.

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cians or well-meaning “developers”. Political manipulations and external interventions by development agencies certainly play a role in all of the examples above, but they can only work because the very idea of local belonging strikes such a deep emotional chord with the population in general. Indeed, the force of the emotions unleashed by a political appeal to autochthony is often such that it threatens to sweep the very politicians who launched it right from their feet. This is, for instance, vividly illustrated by the increasing importance, throughout the continent, of the funeral “at home” (i.e., in the village of origin) which is turned into a true festival of belonging – often to the clear discomfort of urban elites who dread such occasions when the villagers can get even with “their brothers” in the cities. Marked by a proliferation of all sorts of “neo-traditional” rites that often involve great expenditure, these occasions show how deeply this obsession with belonging is rooted in society, but also what a complex balancing act between returning and maintaining distance this requires from urban elites. Indeed, for many regions, there is a direct link between democratisation and the increasing exuberance of the funeral “at home”, a clear sign how important local belonging has become. All this not despite, but rather because of “liberalisation”. A major challenge in studying autochthony and the politics of belonging is therefore how to relate shrewd political manipulation, on the one hand, and deep emotional involvement, on the other, since the combination of both seems to be at the heart of the conundrum of belonging and exclusion that is becoming so central in our supposedly globalising world. Elsewhere, it were again other factors that had similar effects – as is clear from my surprise at recognising the same language I heard in Cameroon coming from my radio at home in the Netherlands. One of the interesting aspects of the term “autochthony” is that it bridges so easily the gap between “South” and “North”.14 Apparently its language works as well in Flanders or Holland as in Cameroon or Ivory Coast. But the background here is rather increasing fear of transnational immigrants – “guest labourers” who are not planning to go back home again. 14

In this respect there is again an interesting difference with the related notion of “indigenous”: the latter seems to retain its exoticising tenor (it mostly refers to “others”- i.e. people with a non-Western background). Autochthons are not necessarily the others; indeed, the term can be adopted by majority populations also in the West (cf. also above).

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In the late 1980s, I became familiar with the term in Dutch language mainly from our southern neighbours in Flanders. But in subsequent years, it conquered with surprising rapidity the Netherlands as well. The shocking murder in 2002 of Holland’s most successful populist politician ever, Pim Fortuyn, made his heritage all the more powerful. Since his meteoric career, Dutch politicians have realised that electoral success depends on taking “autochthony” seriously. Since then the defence of the “autochthonous cultural heritage” – which for the Dutch, always proud of not being that nationalistic, proved to be quite hard to define – has become a dominant theme, together with the idea that more pressure is needed to make immigrants “integrate” into this elusive culture. The term autochthony is now less current in France and almost absent in Germany or the U.K., even though similar concerns about belonging are high on the political agenda there as well. Yet elsewhere it crops up in unexpected places. In Italy, Umberto Bossi has recently adopted it for his Liga Norte; and as said it emerges strongly in the Pacific and in Quebec, be it in a different sense. A brief illustration can show how great the confusion can become when autochthony, with its different meanings, crosses the diving lines between continents. In 2006, I attended, together with several Africanists, a conference around the theme of autochthony at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, Paris’ leading institute for social sciences. The conference was organised in close collaboration by colleagues from Quebec and France. For the Québécois and some of their French counterparts the meaning of the term autochthony was clear. In the 1980s they had decided that this was to be used as translation for the budding Anglophone notion of “indigenous”, clearly because since the colonial period the more direct French translation, indigène, has such a pejorative charge that it had to be avoided at all costs.15 In the Quebec version of the term, les autochtones are “indigenous people” – that is, people in a minority position and threatened in their way of life by dominant groups. In this view, Quebec’s Native Americans are the prototype

15 Particularly galling is the memory of the French institution of the Indigénat – the lower juridical status of the indigènes (in sharp contrast to the citoyens) which, until 1944, gave the harsher forms of French colonial rule (coercive labour, corporal punishment) a formal basis. Cf. also the challenge implied by the quite brutal name – at least in French – of the recent film Indigènes on the generally neglected role of African soldiers in the French army in the Second World War.

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of peuples autochtones. At the conference, however, our Quebec colleagues discovered to their dismay that in other continents the term had acquired quite different meanings. It was difficult to accept for them that, for instance, in Cameroon and elsewhere in Africa the term “autochthonous” does not primarily refer to groups like the “Pygmies” or endangered pastoralists, but is commonly claimed by well-established groups, who are in control of the state and try to use this against immigrants who are still seen as foreigners. Even more surprising seemed to be the fact that, for instance, in Flanders and the Netherlands, the majority of the population is happy to be labelled “autochthons”. As one participant from Quebec put it most eloquently: If the Dutch are so foolish as to label themselves ‘autochthons’, it is their affair. But the United Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations has already decided that autochtone is the French translation of ‘indigenous’. And I think we should stick to this.

It was of little use to question the UN’s mandate to decide on the meaning of a term that clearly had very different histories in different parts of the globe. And the suggestion that the Québécois might be tempted to use the term for themselves in their relation to Anglophone “latecomers” seemed to be even more hilarious to a large part of the audience. Apparently in Canada, the autochtone has to be the Other, with his own, endangered culture. A NEO-LIBERAL MOMENT? BETTING ON BOTH THE MARKET AND “TRADITIONAL” FORMS OF BELONGING It is tempting to see the recent upsurge of “autochthony” or related notions of belonging in very different places of the globe as an unexpected outcome of the neo-liberal tide that swept our globalising world with so much force after the end of the Cold War. And, indeed, democratisation and decentralisation, the dominant trends in the African continent since 1990, fitted in very well with the so-called “Washington Consensus”, tersely summarised by Ferguson (2006, 39) as pretending to bring “less state interference and inefficiency” – and, one could add, more leeway for the market.16 Yet, the explana16

The term “Washington Consensus” was coined by economist John Williamson in 1989, in order to summarise basic – and supposedly novel – principles behind IMF and World

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tory value of invoking neo-liberalism as a final cause may lately have become somewhat overstretched.17 In recent seminars and conferences, many colleagues have warned that this notion – just like globalisation – is rapidly becoming some sort of panacea that seems to apply to a discouraging wide range of phenomena. So it might be necessary to try and be a bit more specific. A Leitmotiv in the examples above might be the surprising penchant of many advocates of neo-liberal reform for “tradition” and belonging. There is of course an interesting paradox here: how can one combine a fixed belief in the market as the solution to all problems with far-reaching trust in “the” community or “customary chiefs” as stable footholds?18 For Africa, this penchant for “community”, “tradition” and “chiefs” seems to be a logical consequence of the belief in decentralisation as a panacea. If one wants to “bypass” the state and reach out to “civil society”, local forms of organisation and “traditional” authorities seem to be obvious points of orientation. Unfortunately, this new approach to development tends to ignore that most “traditional” communities are the product of incisive colonial and post-colonial interventions. Even more seriously is the supreme indifference to the fact that focusing on such partners inevitably raises ardent issues of belonging: chiefs relate only to their own subjects and tend to discriminate against immigrants (who were often earlier on encouraged to migrate by colonial development projects). Local communities have now a tendency to close themselves and apply severe forms of exclusion of people who were earlier on considered as fellows. For different reasons, the same paradox emerges with the protagonists of the New Right in Europe (and elsewhere). Striking is, for instance, that while Bank policies at the time. Apparently he bitterly deplored having launched this term subsequently (cf. Wikipedia article on “Washington Consensus”). 17 I thank Daniel J. Smith for his critical comments on this point. 18 Striking illustrations of this penchant are described in the recent thesis by Obarrio 2007 on Mozambique which in many respects offers a fascinating view of what the author terms the “Structural Adjustment State”. Obarrio describes, for instance, that a senior American UNDP official assured him that “… communities know how they are and know also their boundaries perfectly well” – this, in order to counter warnings by some observers that “the” community on which his organisation wants to base its new projects might in practice be highly elusive and volatile. Similarly a British USAID consultant insisted that “…communities will be like corporations, unified single legal subjects under the new land law…” (Obarrio 2007). Cf. also the recent volume by Buur 2007 who similarly notes the unexpected comeback of traditional chiefs in a neo-liberal context.

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liberalism in this continent used to be equated with various forms of anticlericalism (or in any case with the insistence on a strict separation of religion and state), neo-liberal spokesmen now often plea for a resurrection of “Judaeo-Christian values” as an anchor for society. More important is that they manage to combine the good old liberal principle of reducing the interference of the state as much as possible, with a vocal appeal to the same state to exercise almost total control over society (mostly against suspect immigrants) – thus strengthening the presence of the state in everyday life instead of promoting a withdrawal (cf. Geschiere 2009, ch. 5). Neo-liberalism as such may be a fuzzy phenomenon, but on the ground this surprising combination of market and tradition has very concrete effects. * * * The above may help to relativise the apparent naturalness of autochthony claims. In the different contexts discussed above – classical Athens, as much as in the different manifestations of the neo-liberal moment of our days – autochthony may present itself as self-evident, but in practice it turns out to be always contested and full of uncertainty. One sad example from a recent article on Ivory Coast (Chauveau and Bobo 2003) remains for me one of the most striking illustrations of the dangerous ambiguities hidden in this now so current notion. The article is based on courageous field-work on a violent topic: the barrages (road-blocks) that after 2000 were erected throughout the countryside of southern Ivory Coast by Gbagbo’s Jeunes Patriotes. Soon the barrages and their revenues – mostly “fines” extorted by violent threats from “strangers” – became a way of life for these youngsters, mostly rurbains (disappointed urbanites, forced by the ongoing crisis to return to “their” village). Striking is that these Jeunes Patriotes tended to posit themselves as the guardians of autochthony and tradition, often in direct confrontation with their elders whom they reproached to have squandered their ancestral lands to strangers so that there is no more left for them.19 Some elders still seemed to have preferred to lease the land to strangers who at least pay some rent. Yet, many youngsters succeeded in reclaiming “their” lands, often with vio-

19

Cf. also Fisiy (1999) for an early analysis of the tensions over land in Ivory Coast between elders and youngsters.

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lent means. But then these rurbains became quickly disappointed with the rural way of life, and a number of them tried already to sell their new farms in order to get money for a ticket to Europe (or beyond). In this one example all the tragic contradictions of the notion of autochthony seem to be condensed – most importantly its basic insecurity, hidden under an appearance of self-evidence, which so easily can lead to violence. More in general, autochthony’s volatile relation to citizenship shows that appeals to history and culture – central in such claims to belong – offer quite slippery footholds for defining who can qualify as a full citizen, and who can be excluded as a “stranger”. For the present collection the question remains what the relevance of these African and European examples of struggles over autochthony may be to developments in Latin America. An obvious difference is, of course, that here the currency of the parallel notion of indigenous (indígenas) seemed to make the term autochthonous superfluous. Elsewhere (Geschiere and Jackson 2006, 6) I emphasised the differences between the recent trajectories of these two notions. Both come from classical Greek and both have similar meaning. Moreover, both experienced recently a somewhat surprising renaissance. Yet, for “indigenous” the United Nations working group on Indigenous Peoples served, since the 1970s, as a common forum imposing a common meaning of the notion (even if this meaning was subject to gradual shifts – Tsing 2007). The “autochthonous” notion was rather mushrooming all over the globe, emerging in widely different places and taking on all sorts of different implications. The quite recent choice of the UN group for the term autochtone as the French translation of “indigenous” further added to the confusion – especially in those areas where the term had a much longer history. For instance in Cameroon, people are quite shocked that expatriate organisations now use the term to indicate, for instance, the Baka (“Pygmies”) – thus denying the claim to autochthony of groups like the Beti who are in control of the State. A forthcoming issue of Social Anthropology, polemically entitled Indigeneity and Autochthony – A Couple of False Twins? (Gausset, Gibb, and Kendrick forthcoming), follows the different meanings of the terms. In their Introduction, the editors make a tentative contrast between indigenous as more applying to groups who are already marginalised, versus autochthonous as reserved for people who are dominant in a given area but fear future marginalisation. However, they hasten to add that such differences can only be understood in relation to the political project of the group

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involved. Other authors (notably Kidd in a review of the well-know collection by Cadena 2007 on Indigenous Experience Today, and my 2009 book) in the same volume oppose different uses of indigeneity/ autochthony: in some cases aiming at exclusion, in others striving for emancipation and acknowledgement as citizens from the state. Can such distinctions help to distance the Latin American use of indígenas from the examples above of struggles over autochthony? Life would be easy if simplistic oppositions like the one between exclusion and emancipation would suffice. The editors of the Social Anthropology with their emphasis that everything depends on the political project of the movement concerned seem to be more sensitive to the basic ambiguity that besets these notions in most contexts.20 In the African and European examples of the use of autochthony as a political slogan the exclusion of “strangers” – often people who have to be recognised as citizens of the same state – is heavily emphasised. The notion is there used by groups who feel entitled to have special control over the state and often succeed in maintaining this. Yet, their claims are also carried by strong ethical feelings of entitlement to resources that are seen as the group’s heritage. Inversely, the notion of indigeneity, despite its heavy emphasis on emancipatory aims, seems to attain even among the most marginalised groups a sub-text of exclusion. Even among a group in such desperate circumstances as the Baka-“Pygmies” in the forest area of Southeast Cameroon, debates emerge whether their cousins – a notion used for the few educated members of these groups – still “really” belong.21 On the other hand, especially Latin America offers recent examples of “indigenous” groups making a successful bid to assume a dominant position – at least in relation to the nation-state. Such recent developments raise interesting and probably also important questions for the comparison Africa – Latin America. For Africanists, con20 Their emphasis on the need to analyse the political context compares most favorably to the introduction to another recent special issue of Cultural Anthropology on a similar topic, Fortun, Fortun and Rubenstein (2010). These editors are so subtle in their emphasis on “discursive risks” and “a politics beyond politics conventionally conceived” that they seem overly afraid to address the hardcore politics (often not at all that unconventional) that does mark indigenous power struggles in many contexts – anthropology succumbing to its own theoretical refinements? 21 Cf. Leonhardt (2006), Robillard (2010); cf. also Li (2000) and ibid. (2002) on fierce struggles between neighbouring groups in SE Asia to be recognised as “really” indigenous; cf. also ibid. (2010).

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stantly embarrassed by the extremely divisive trend of ethnic discourse in Africa – ethnic groups constantly splitting up while completely new groups keep emerging, especially in the struggle over access to state resources – the apparent unity of the indigenista movements in Latin American countries in their confrontations with white (or mestizo) dominant groups is something to be envied. One reason for this difference is clearly the political context. Since independence and the hasty demise of formal colonial power, ethnic groups in Africa have a fair chance to gain control – alone or in alliance with other groups – over the state. In most Latin American countries the indigenista movement still has to wage a very difficult fight against an apparently all-dominant white power bloc. In such contexts internal divisions may seem to be of minor importance. Yet, this situation may change when the movement has succeeded in gaining at least formal control over the state. In this sense, developments in Bolivia – the degree to which Morales will succeed in maintaining the unity of his constituency – have special importance. Such changing situations might help academics to overcome a somewhat limited focus on the opposition between “the” state and “the” indigenous people as the all-determining one. This focus may provide the apparent clarity one needs for political action, but a good analysis of the situation may highlight greater complexity. In Cameroon, for instance, the government has no problems in recognising the Baka-“Pygmies” as indigenous / autochtones. On the contrary, this is seen as a welcome way of mobilising additional development funds. In practice, as Tsing (2005) has shown most powerfully for South East Asia, many other groups are involved in the struggle over the resources that indigenous peoples seek to protect – “the” state being rather in the centre of very complex tugs-of-war. A more shattered image might make political choices more difficult but it can come closer to realities on the ground. As a newcomer to the field of indigenous studies – I never expected that my interest in the sudden intensification of struggles over autochthony in Cameroon and the Netherlands would lead me there – I am struck by the distance between expatriate and local views on issues of indigeneity. Many expatriate experts tend to be very impatient once their version of indigenous/autochtone is confronted with all the ambiguities the notion of autochthonous has taken on in other circumstances. To them, the notion of indigenous /autochtone is clear and circumscribed by given oppositions. Debates in the forthcoming issue of Social Anthropology offer good examples of such impatient refusal facing the ambi-

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guities involved. Yet, more locally rooted experts tend to stumble more on the multiple interpretations that the notions like indigenous – just like autochthonous – attain in everyday practice. At the Bonn conference of which this collection is an outcome, for instance, the presentation by Santiago Bastos on Guatemala (this volume) on struggles over different meanings of indigenous at the local level suggested to me that, despite big differences, similar uncertainties prevail as in the African contexts. Autochthonous or indigenous, both notions seem to partake in all the uncertainties that mark the identity concept – which so suddenly overran the social sciences (and other domains of life) since the 1980s. Appadurai’s seminal concept of “predatory identities” is maybe the best vantage point from which the ambiguities highlighted above can be analysed – and also the differences (Appadurai 2006). The merit of his approach is to highlight that identities may become predatory – following historical processes that we have to analyse. Identities can be inclusive for longer periods of time, co-existing peacefully with other identities (also within the same person). But in certain historical contexts they can suddenly become exclusivist and predatory, cannibalising other identifications. This basic ambiguity seems to be given with identity as such. The conclusion might be that it makes little sense to be “pro” or “contra” indigeneity / autochthony (or to distinguish the one as good and the other as bad). These notions have a strong mobilising power in the present-day world. The role of academics might rather be to analyse under which circumstances – political, historical but maybe also through what sort of cultural elements – exclusivist tendencies come to prevail. Showing that certain identity claims rest on a manipulation of history – in the case of indigenous / autochthonous often on a denial of previous migrations – may be a favourite pastime of certain historians and anthropologists, but it is of little avail. Our task might rather be to understand when and how such claims acquire the high mobilising power that they have in so many contexts in the present-day world (or when they fail to do so). Accepting such claims as natural and selfevident might blind us to the complexities and ambiguities involved.

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REFERENCES APPADURAI, Arjun. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press 1996. — Fear of Small Numbers: An Essay on the Geography of Anger. Durham; London: Duke University Press 2006. BAMBACH, Charles. Heidegger’s Roots: Nietzsche, National Socialism, and the Greeks. Ithaca: Cornell University Press 2003. BANÉGAS, Richard. Côte d’Ivoire: Les jeunes ‘se lèvent en hommes’: Anticolonialism et ultranationalisme chez les Jeunes Patriotes d’Abidjan. Paris: Sciences Po 2007. Papers of the CERI (Centre d’Études et de Recherches Internationales) 37. BANÉGAS, Richard, and Ruth MARSHALL. “Côte d’Ivoire, un conflit régional?” Politique Africaine, 89 (2003): 5-11. BARRÈS, Maurice. Scènes et doctrines du nationalisme. Paris: Plon 1925. BRAUDEL, Fernand. La Méditerranée et le monde méditerranéen à l’époque de Philippe II. Paris: Colin 1949. — L’identité de la France. Paris: Flammarion 1986. BURY, R. G., ed. Plato IX. 1929. Cambridge: Harvard College 2005. Loeb Classical Library. BUUR, Lars, and Helene Maria KYED. State Recognition and Democratization in SubSaharan Africa: A New Dawn for Traditional Authorities? New York: Palgrave Macmillan 2007. CADENA, Marisol de la, and Orin STARN, eds. Indigenous Experience Today. Oxford: Berg 2007. CHAUVEAU, Jean-Pierre, and Koffi Samuel BOBO. “La situation de guerre dans l’arène villageoise: Un exemple dans le Centre-Ouest ivoirien.” Politique Africaine, 89 (2003): 34-48. CHERIF, Mustapha. L’Islam et l’Occident: Rencontre avec Jacques Derrida. Paris: Odile Jacob 2006. DERRIDA, Jacques. The Politics of Friendship. London: Verso 1997. DETIENNE, Marcel. Comment être autochtone? Du pur Athénien au Français raciné. Paris: Seuil 2003. EURIPIDES. Selected Fragmentary Plays: Translation and edition C. Collard, M. J. Cropp, and K. H. Lee. Warminster: Aris & Phillips 1995. Vol. 1. FERGUSON, James. Global Shadows: Africa in the Neoliberal World Order. Durham: Duke University Press 2006. FISIY, Cyprian. “Discourses of Autochthony: Regimes of Citizenship and the Control of Assets in Côte d’Ivoire.” Paper. African Studies Association meeting. Philadelphia. November 1999.

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FORTUN, Kim, Mike FORTUN, and Steven RUBENSTEIN, eds. Emergent Indigeneities. Spec. issue of Cultural Anthropology, 25.2 (2010). FRITSCHE, Johannes. Historical Destiny and National Socialism in Heidegger’s “Being and Time”. Berkeley: University of California Press 1999. GARBUTT, Rob. “White ‘Autochthony’.” Australian Critical Race and Whiteness Studies Journal, 1.2 (2006): 1-16. Web. 1 Mar. 2011. . GAUSSET, Quentin, Robert GIBB, and J. KENDRICK, eds. Indigeneity and Autochthony: A Couple of False Twins? Spec. issue of Social Anthropology (forthcoming). GESCHIERE, Peter. “Funerals and Belonging: Different Patterns in South Cameroon.” African Studies Review, 2 (2005): 45-65. — “The World Bank’s Changing Discourse on Development: From Reliance on the State & ‘Modernizing Elites’ to ‘Bypassing the State’.” Readings in Modernity in Africa. Ed. Peter Geschiere, Birgit Meyer, and Peter Pels. Oxford. Currey and Bloomington; University of Indiana Press 2008. 27-31. — Perils of Belonging: Autochthony, Citizenship and Exclusion in Africa and Europe. Chicago: Chicago University Press 2009. GESCHIERE, Peter, and Stephen JACKSON, eds. Autochthony and the Crisis of Citizenship. Spec. issue of African Studies Review, 49.2 (2006). HEIDEGGER, Martin. Hölderlins Hymnen “Germanien” und “Der Rhein”. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann 1934-35/1989. Ed. Suzanne Ziegler. LEONHARDT, Alec. “Baka and the Magic of the State: Between Autochthony and Citizenship.” Autochthony and the Crisis of Citizenship. Ed. Peter Geschiere and Stephen Jackson 2006. 69-94. Jg. 49. LÉVI-STRAUSS, Claude. Anthropologie structurale. Paris: Plon 1985. LI, Tania Murray. “Articulating Indigenous Identity in Indonesia: Resource Politics and the Tribal Slot.” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 42.1 (2000): 149-79. — “Ethnic Cleansing, Recursive Knowledge, and the Dilemmas of Sedentarism.” International Social Science Journal, 173 (2002): 361-71. — “Indigeneity, Capitalism and the Management of Dispossession.” Current Anthropology, 51.3 (2010): 385-414. LORAUX, Nicole. Né de la terre: Mythe et politique à Athènes. Paris: Seuil 1996. LUCASSEN, Jan, and Leo LUCASSEN. Migration, Migration History, History: Old Paradigms and New Perspectives. Bern: Lang 1997. MARSHALL, Ruth. “The War of ‘Who Is Who?’: Autochthony, Nationalism, and Citizenship in the Ivorian Crisis.” Autochthony and the Crisis of Citizenship. Ed. Peter Geschiere and Stephen Jackson 2006. 9-43. Jg. 49. OBARRIO, Juan. “The Spirit of the Law in Mozambique.” PhD dissertation. Columbia 2007.

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ROBILLARD, Marine. “Pygmées Baka et voisins dans la tourmente des politiques environnementales en Afrique centrale.” PhD dissertation. Paris 2010. ROSIVACH, Vincent J. “Autochthony and the Athenians.” Classical Quarterly, new series, 37.2 (1987): 294-306. TSING, Anna. Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection. Princeton: Princeton University Press 2005. — “Indigenous Voice.” Indigenous Experience Today. Ed. Marisol de la Cadena and Orin Starn. Oxford: Berg 2007. 35-68. YÉRÉ, Henri-Michel. “La Côte d’Ivoire, c’est la Côte d’Ivoire! A Reflection on the Idea of the Nation in Côte d’Ivoire.” 2006. Basel.

FROM ‘IDENTITY’ TO ‘BELONGING’ IN SOCIAL RESEARCH: PLURALITY, SOCIAL BOUNDARIES, AND THE POLITICS OF THE SELF Joanna Pfaff-Czarnecka

ABSTRACT Since ‘belonging’ emerged as a key-concept in social science research, it is often used as a synonymous term to that of ‘identity’. This contribution is a departure from this practice. It conceptualises belonging as a relational property of human experience, going both, “beyond” and ‘beneath’ identity formation. ‘Belonging’ is then discussed as an alternative concept to ‘identity’, calling for a thorough reflection upon the use of both terms with regards to specific social contexts and suggesting numerous advantages entailed in the belonging-perspective. Belonging stands for emotional social location that comes about through “sharing values, networks and practices” (Anthias). It evolves in a complex interplay between three dimensions of human experience and practices: commonality, mutuality and attachment – where individuals and collectivities relate to other humans in every-day life situations and within institutional settings as well as to material objects and natural environment. ‘Belonging’ refers to collective boundedness, but also to personal options of individualisation and to the challenges while navigating between multiple constellations of collective boundedness. Conceptualising belonging entails a reflection on groups’ exclusivity, but also on collective ties and commitments – that render entering collectivities, but also abandoning them, problematic. This calls for a thorough inquiry into processes of social boundarymaking and particularly into ethnic boundary-making.

INTRODUCTION During his appeal hearing at the regional court in Dresden, Germany, in July 2009, Alex Wiens, a right wing-extremist of Russian-German origin attacked Marwa al-Shirbini with a knife, stabbing her to death. Marwa El-Shirbini, a Muslim-scarf wearing 33-year-old academician of Egyptian origin – took him to court for abusing her during an encounter on a Dresden’s children’s playground. Before killing her on court’s premises, Alex Wiens asked Marwa El-Shirbini what on earth she was doing in Germany. He also confronted the authorities present in the court-room, asking why in the aftermath of 9/11

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the Muslims were not deported in their entirety to where they came from. “I couldn’t understand“, I am quoting from his statement during the subsequent murder-trial in November 2009, “why she came to Germany, to this potentially unfaithful country that many Muslims hold in contempt. I (Alex) came to Germany because I have German roots and therefore this is my original home. I (Alex) couldn’t understand (and now comes the sentence that I find particularly striking) … I couldn’t understand why and how she could feel at home, here in Germany”. Three facets of this testimony are in the forefront of this article.1 First, to feel at home is important. Currently, discourses of home and belonging abound in public communication and they increasingly inspire academic research. Given its current attraction, it will be my aim, therefore, to reflect upon the concept of belonging and to propose analytical tools for capturing its salience. The empirical backdrop of my inquiry will be mostly the Western immigrant contexts, but this reflection is meant to hold for other social constellations as well. Second, the heavily emotionally charged quest to belong is perennially impeded by others and systemically restricted. When murdered, Marwa ElShirbini was denied her right to enjoy making Germany her home. Alex Wiens couldn’t imagine feeling at home in Germany as long as Marwa felt comfortable there. Belonging is thus object of continuous negotiations between individuals and collectivities. This results in tensions and accommodations as well as in an on-going process of setting, transcending and blurring social boundaries. For our understanding of belonging it is crucial to know how it evolves within the protective confines of a specific life-world and how it is restricted within asymmetric power relations between those included and those remaining outside – with the modalities of inclusion and exclusion being two sides of the same coin (Luhmann 1997). Third, Alex Wien’s suspicion that an Egyptian Muslim could feel at home in Germany, reveals – unintentionally – that it is possible to belong to a new

1 Many ideas underlying this article were jointly developed together with my colleague Gérard Toffin (cf. Pfaff-Czarnecka and Toffin 2011). Nevertheless, this is a novel approach, going far beyond the scope of the previous text, concentrating on Western immigrant societies and considering individual aspects of belonging, in particular. I also should like to thank Peter Geschiere, Lara Jüssen, Raphael Susewind and Richard Wartenweiler for their useful comments on earlier drafts of this text.

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social place when one’s origins are elsewhere, and that it is possible to belong when one’s identity (here, religious identity) does not confirm to the national mainstream. We need to distinguish, therefore, between ‘identity’ and ‘belonging’. Both concepts are often used interchangeably – which is empirically confusing and analytically wrong. What purpose, otherwise, of introducing the new term ‘belonging’ into social research if the old ‘collective identity’ would do? – My conviction is that it would not and that it is not only important to distinguish both terms analytically, but also to delve into the implications of this distinction for envisaging the possibilities of living together in the transnationalised contemporary world. As I shall argue below, the concept of belonging, while taking up important preoccupations of the identity-concept, does more justice to the complexities, dynamics, and subtleties of human interrelating, to its situative and processual character than that of ‘collective identity’ does.

WHAT IS BELONGING? What is belonging? To put it briefly: belonging is an emotionally-charged social location. People belong together when they share values, relations and practices (Anthias 2006, 21). Belonging is a central dimension of life that is easily felt and tacitly experienced … and that is very difficult to capture through analytical categories. Nevertheless, given the growing scholarly interest in this notion, it is worth trying to do so. In my view, belonging as an emotionally charged social location combines (1) perceptions and performance of commonality; (2) a sense of mutuality and more or less formalised modalities of collective allegiance, and (3) material and immaterial attachments that often result in a sense of entitlement. How these dimensions come to intersect, that is “when do we belong?”, is an empirical question, once we have agreed on their centrality for grasping this notion. Before I proceed, I should like to differentiate between the individual’s relation to a collective on the one hand and collective belonging on the other. The German language makes a clear-cut distinction, here, that is not immediately discernible in the English word ‘belonging’. The German term Zugehörigkeit denotes an individual’s belonging to a collective (as does the French term ‘appartenance’ – that with its connotation ‘à part’ pinpoints a tension inherent in belonging, namely a distance between the self and a we-collec-

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tive); whereas Zusammengehörigkeit stands for ‘togetherness’. This distinction becomes of interest when we shift our perspective from group dynamics geared at maintaining the collective status quo to a consideration of an individual’s embeddedness in a collective, its seeking access to it … or trying to abandon it. While distinguishing ‘belonging with’ (Zusammengehörigkeit) from ‘belonging to’ (Zugehörigkeit) I should like to start with the former – that ideally combines commonality, mutuality and attachment. ‘Commonality’ – is a perception of sharing, notably sharing common lot as well as cultural forms (language, religion, and life-style), values, experience, and memory constructions. It is individually felt and embodied while collectively negotiated and performed. Commonality is often perceived through a social boundary-horizon that helps discern between the insiders and the outsiders. It thus relies on categorisations, mental checkpoints, everyday-life distinctions and public representations that often buttress boundarymaintenance (Migdal 2004). This is precisely where commonality is likely to attain the form of collective identity that requires the other / the outside for engendering a perception of internal sameness. But we must not restrict our understanding of ‘commonality’ to ‘collective identity’.

Excursion: reaching beyond the lens of ‘identity constructions’ Human preoccupations with ‘identity’ – be it collectivising activism; the language use in every-day talk, be it academic research and analysis – have been inundated by the individual and collective aspirations and resulting positionings, normative considerations as well as action derived from this notion (Jenkins 1996). On one hand, being so extensively invoked during the past decades, ‘identity’ seems to have acquired a natural property, becoming essentialised and reified. The incredible boom of this term instigated a great deal of critique, on the other hand – that was best formulated by Brubaker and Cooper (2000). In their seminal “Beyond ‘identity’”, they make a number of important observations: first, the term ‘identity’ has become so ubiquitous, combining ‘categories of practice’ with ‘categories of analysis’, that it caries a huge number of connotations. “Identity”, they argue, “tends to mean too much (when understood in a strong sense), too little (when understood in a week sense), or nothing at all (because of its sheer ambiguity)” (ibid. 2000, 1). Second, given the substantial range in the meanings used by actors

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and by scholars, the central connotations of this term can clash with one another as is the case with essentialising vis-à-vis constructivist approaches. Third, ‘collective identity’ transports homogenising notions of commonality and it endorses methodological ethnicisation (my term) by delineating clearcut collective boundaries of the social. Most important, in my view, is Brubaker’s and Cooper’s contention that ‘identity’ does not do justice to the full range of the human forms shaped by commonality, mutuality as well as by affiliations / attachments such as selfunderstanding or connectedness. Still: To suggest that we abandon using the term ‘identity’ would be to enter into a struggle against wind-mills. I opt therefore for sharpening our analytical tools, by venturing into the preoccupation with ‘belonging’ – a term that is more and more present in every-day use and that recently has become object of a rapidly growing number of academic inquiries. I do not expect this term to acquire more analytical precision than that of ‘identity’, but in quest to capture this term, we should be able to uncover the multiple, subtle and shifting modalities of forging and thinking the collective dimensions of the social life and the dynamic nature of social boundary-making. Let me highlight some major differences between ‘identity’ and ‘belonging’: ‘Identity’ is a categorical concept while belonging combines categorisation with social relating. Identity is relational in the sense that it positions itself vis-à-vis the other. Belonging’s relationality consists in forging and maintaining social ties and in buttressing commitments and obligations. Identity caters to dichotomous characterisations of the social while belonging rather highlights its situatedness and the multiplicity of parameters forging commonality, mutuality and attachments. Identity relies on sharp boundary-drawing, particularism, and is prone to buttressing social divisiveness. Theoreticians may argue otherwise, for instance deploying the concept of identification – that unlike ‘identity’ entails situative and processual connotations –, but identity politics have time and again revealed the exclusionary properties entailed in this notion. The politics of belonging (cf. also infra) are equally prone to effecting social exclusion, but also the opposite – widening borders, incorporating, defining new common grounds – has often been the case. This is precisely one of the reasons, I suppose, why the notion of belonging currently enjoys growing popularity in migration research. Coming back to my preoccupation with commonality, we can infer that ‘identity’ highlights homogeneity of any given collective unit, whereas

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‘belonging’ stresses commonness, but not necessarily sameness. Commonness tends to build upon a common cultural denominator – that however can be created anew and re-shaped. The German President Christian Wulff created quite a furore when he expressed his conviction that Islam belongs to Germany (“Islam gehört zu Deutschland”). This statement is a perfect example of future-oriented possibilities in forging belonging by incorporating new elements into the existing parameters of togetherness. In this vein, one important aspect of belonging is the commonality of purpose. For this reason, important characteristics of commonness entailed in the concept of belonging are mutuality, commitment and ‘something’ that is collectively at stake. The commonality entailed in belonging can be conceived by actors especially relating to the past and hence catering upon nostalgia (cf. Geschiere 2009), but it also can be future-oriented – as Kannabiran (2006) claims, seeing in belonging not only the possibilities of being, but also of becoming. As I shall discuss below, the politics of belonging often entail a visionary element geared at reshaping the individual or collective social location. By contrast, the politics of identity claim an established collective narrative that seeks its political realisation. As I intend to show, the dynamic properties of belonging are entailed in its multidimensional composition; in the ‘thickness’ of this term. The academic focus on collective identities has narrowed down our understanding of commonality as a multi-layered condition. The concept of belonging underlines that people share significantly more than merely common identity markers. Belonging together – whether sharing collective identity or not – means sharing experience and the tacit self-evidence of being, of what goes without saying; means jointly taking things for granted, and sharing common knowledge and meanings. I am stressing this point because shared meanings undergo continuous change. Belonging evolves in social life worlds where collective knowledge reservoirs are perennially recreated in social interactions. They are realised in social practices, in established modalities of negotiation, conflict, compromise and accommodation, and also in a continuous overt and covert reflection about the validity of norms that hold in a given social world. Shared are the continuous negotiations over any social life world’s modalities as habitualised, institutionalised and legitimised. They can crystallise in common boundary perceptions through identity politics, but also open up and blur social boundaries (Zolberg and Long 1999). Shared understandings significantly buttress the sense of mutuality – the second dimension of belonging. Norms steering mutual expectations and

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obligations create common horizons in here and now, stabilising them to norms of reciprocity, loyalty, and commitment. Mutuality means acknowledging the other which often results in compliance to rules ordering social relations (Simmel 1908; Weber 1972; Tyrell 2008). Families expect obedience, loyalty as well as pooling of resources. Associations and organisations expect participation, acceptance of common goals, and a sufficient contribution of time and resources. Belonging to a nation means sharing in given polity’s well-being and enjoying civic rights, while reciprocating by performing civic duties, in particular, by paying taxes. For entering a national space and durably remaining, migrants need to present themselves as particularly deserving. Also cliques and friends jealously monitor mutual allocation of obligations and debts. These calculations – that can be more overt or covert – result in what I call ‘regimes of belonging’ that is, in institutionalised patterns insisting upon investments of time and resources, loyalty and commitment – that are the price people have to pay for belonging together. Otherwise, most collectives can resort to sanctions – through exclusion or ostracism. The unlikely term ‘regimes of belonging’ combines the cosiness of human forms of commonality, the warmth of communitarian existence, with its putative opposite, i.e. ‘regime’ as something authoritative and constricting. A ‘regime’ is according to the political scientist Krasner (1982) a “set of implicit or explicit principles, norms, rules, and decision-making procedures around which actors’ expectations converge in a given area of international relations“. Any self-imposed rules can be equally overwhelming and oppressive as those imposed by external rule. ‘Own rule’ within communitarian patterns can be all the more imposing as consent and subjugation represent themselves as voluntary – i.e. voluntary acknowledgment of the authority and wisdom of the elders, often male elders. In transnational immigrant regimes, the valid norms are forged be members of the national we-groups (Elwert 1997; Pfaff-Czarnecka 2009) that also extend to immigrants. Most newcomers usually do not fit into the national frameworks of values and norms and do not share cultural repertoires – at least in the perception of the autochthones. Under these conditions, forging civic commonality is an onerous process. Both, social inclusion and social exclusion underlie regimes of belonging. All bounded collective units – states, ethnic and religious organisations, associations and families dispose of devices buttressing commonality, mutuality

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and attachments, while simultaneously excluding outsiders. States, in particular, have a tremendous regulatory force, guarding boundaries, regulating access criteria, regulating the modalities of stay, and demand from denizens performing numerous duties. Migrants coming to Western metropoles must show themselves ‘deserving’. As long as they don’t enjoy full citizenship rights, migrants endure a restricted set of rights, while performing the full range of civic duties expected from people living in a given national territory. While paying taxes and when formally employed usually enjoying social rights at the place of destination, immigrants are incorporated into frameworks of generalised reciprocity (re-distribution of taxes), but are often denied creating attachments, by restrictions to buying land and by restrictions to displaying ‘being there’ – as for instance the Swiss debate of the minarets has revealed (Pfaff-Czarnecka 2009). Regimes of belonging are not only structured by restrictive state rules. Public opinion is often dominated by voices celebrating the inlanders’ cultural authority in determining values and norms underpinning the national or local commonality. The more mistrust vis-à-vis aliens, the less public acknowledgment of their presence and the more suspicion that a migrant wouldn’t know how to socially navigate in his or her new home, the more cumbersome the process of creating new belonging in a new place. “Your homeland is where you are allowed to criticise” – This phrase, formulated by a migrant, of Greek origin, living in Switzerland, perfectly brings to light the intricacies of belonging and the subtle power of immigration regimes. Attachments, the third dimension I am discerning, follow yet different patterns in creating belonging (Pfaff 2010). Attachments link people to material and immaterial worlds (Flinders 2002; Hooks 2009). Attachments make people belong to spaces and sites, to natural objects, landscapes, climate, and to material possessions. These are forged through such disparate links as embodiment, resonance of smells and tastes (as with Marcel Proust’s famous Madeleine) as well as rights, citizenship and property rights in particular. Growing up in a locality can create a strong sense of belonging – and so does the ownership of land or a house. Wherever we leave an airplane, we are told: ‘take your belongings with you’ – which nicely brings one property of material attachments to light. It is difficult to forge attachments, but they can be created. Religious sites such as cemeteries and places of worship can be conducive here. Muslim immigrants have for instance created such places of attachment in many European places, but they usually had to struggle hard for this. Deny-

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ing immigrants the right to erect visible religious structures marking their durable presence in the places of their arrival – as happened through the Swiss federal vote against the minarets, indicated towards the Swiss majority’s reluctance to accept that Muslims could make Switzerland their new home. In their combination, commonality, mutuality and attachments stabilise belonging, rendering collective sociability durable. They forge a strong and binding sense of naturalness – that is obvious to the insiders and that keeps the outsiders at bay. Claims to normality / naturalness of a given social order reduce complexity, by clearly discerning between the inside and the outside. And this state of affairs is likely to institutionalise power relations governing the social life between and also within any given collective. Shared knowledge, practices and norms are products of sometimes restrictive social practices and of unequally distributed chances and resources. Therefore, belonging often comes at the price of subjugation vis-à-vis norms guiding and guarding the collective life. To put it simple: belonging can be cosy, but also exclusionary and oppressive. It almost always comes at a price. To belong in the modern world means to reflexively talk about home and your sense of place. Time and again, individual and collective belonging has been encroached upon, challenged, fought about, and protected. State rule, market forces, forced displacement, transnationalisation, pluralisation, acceleration of social change, and the widening horizon of human aspirations have rendered belonging contested – from outside and from within. The more it is contested and made explicit, the less likely it is to just be, share, and join in. The value then can lie in keeping one’s protected space, often at the high price of self-subjugation under the governmentality of the own collective as well as at the price of excluding others and jealously guarding the boundaries of the small world of a we-collective. The other option of belonging is to render the boundaries of the social permissible, creating space for negotiations for new and expanded meanings of mutuality and togetherness. And there is yet another property of belonging – that I am most interested in – namely, the possibility to forge new ties of collective boundedness. The concept of belonging provides us with a tool to inquire how horizons of togetherness are and can be widened in order to incorporate newcomers – how to extend collective we-understanding by including former strangers. In the climate of politically charged passions about belonging, social exclusion seems to be a norm in shaping relationships between we-groups and those considered outsiders. Nevertheless, throughout history all around the world,

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new constellations of belonging have been forged and will come into existence in future. Bounded and exclusive belonging becomes increasingly problematic, given the pluralising nature of contemporary societies and given the differentiated character of any given collective social space that the regimes of belonging seek to cover up.

THE MULTIPLICITY OF BELONGING So far, I highlighted the bonding properties of belonging as they are for instance found in the common understanding of ethnic groups. But we need to distinguish between ethnicity’s (or nation’s or a family’s) self-representations, on one hand, and the properties of relations within collectivities on the other. The multifaceted and dense concept of belonging allows us to disentangle collectivising notions such as ethnicity for at least three reasons. First, from the point of view of social actors, belonging is always multiple. Any given constellation of boundedness competes with other constellations of belonging that vie with each other for membership and their members’ commitment. Second, coming back to my distinction between ‘belonging with’ and ‘belonging to’, it is crucial to conceptualise belonging as created by individual persons in their negotiating collective constellations, that is, how persons navigate through the diverse constellations of belonging they encounter in their life-course. Third, collectives are internally differentiated. Taking ethnicity as one life-world is highly misleading, given the internal plurality coming with the intersections of socio-economic differentiation, gender, spatial distribution, and internal subdivisions by language, dialect or religion as well as all kinds of personal orientations such as political leaning or homosexuality – that may collide with communitarian norms. Belonging in today’s world is a complex affair. Take for example ethnicity. As soon as we go beyond groupist representations (to use Brubaker’s concept) ethnic collectives are characterised by internal plurality. Within any given collective unit everybody differs in his or her social location and positionality. Gender, socio-economic status, political networks, resources and convictions, geographic location, life-style and aspirations, skills, profession and organisational memberships, religion and other commitments make for internal differentiations as well as for a multiplication of personal spaces to which one belongs in any given moment of time.

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The concept of belonging gives us an analytical tool to see collective boundedness as structured by regimes of belonging, catering for instance to identity representations, while simultaneously pointing to the possibilities of moving across social boundaries as well as the options for negotiating their meanings. The discussion centred so far on the collective spaces of belonging – that could be nation-states, ethnic groups, associations or families, all acting as regimes of belonging. Exclusions, dichotomisations, particularist orientations and clearly delineated boundedness are important properties of such constellations, highly buttressed by identity politics. In order to understand how we-constellations widen their horizons and how they may render their boundaries permissible, it is important to reverse the point of observation and to grasp how persons navigate between the diverse constellations of belonging – in the course of their lives. I repeat: from the point of view of individual persons, belonging is always multiple. In his or her life-course, everybody copes with the interplay between commonality, mutuality and attachment, by living simultaneously and subsequently in diverse constellations of belonging. Some forms of collective boundedness are ascribed – such as within family or one’s ethnic group. Others are acquired – such as belonging to a university, a class, or a profession. Some are more exclusive (family, religion) than others (a hobbyclub). Some forms of belonging are easier to obtain than, say, naturalisation in an immigrant country. Some forms of intersectionality are easier to combine than others – think of a male white Anglo-Saxon American Protestant, on one hand, or of a scarf-wearing well educated Muslima in Dresden, on the other. In the course of time, my belonging will shift. I go to school, I study, I learn a profession, and enter a working place. I usually marry and from now on, less time is left for my friends and for the relatives in the parental home. I acquire a new status vis-à-vis my relatives and peers; I position myself anew. Some passages in the course of life demand abandoning a former location of belonging. Time and again persons of low socio-economic status were accused of treachery by their former peers while climbing the social ladder. Elites usually don’t suffer this kind of alienation. Underprivileged socio-economic background – in my view, the most important dimension of inequality, besides gender and race – is likely to impose special restrictions upon persons. The writer Bruno Preisendörfer described, using the example of his own life, how higher education can cause children of parents with little edu-

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cation an alienation from parental home. To the many privileges of children from upper strata comes, besides the material benefits and the ability to combine cultural dispositions and to simultaneously move in different social spaces, especially, that they are not compelled to change milieu while acquiring higher education. In today’s world, (1) people can simultaneously belong to two or more countries; (2) they can change belonging while passing through different stages in life – changing age groups and passing through different stages of status. (3) There is a situational multiplicity – when people divide their time between home, school, friends, hobby club, or religious organisation. (4) There are also diverse horizons of belonging: family, ethnic group, nationstate, and the world – and these horizons can coexist in a mode full of tensions. Some forms of belonging are significantly more durable and more constraining. The estates of the Middle Ages come immediately to mind as a form of social ordering leaving little room for manoeuvre. The Hindu caste society continues to be similarly restrictive, but some degree of social mobility is currently observable in India and Nepal. Some dimensions of collective boundedness such as ethnicity and religion appear to be perennial and overpowering upon individual persons, but in fact, such ascriptive dimensions can be chosen by persons. Whether a person opts for engaging in ethnic activism, whether she strives to abandon, or at least to reduce her allegiance to the communal ties, or whether she is compelled to abide to communitarian rules, having hardly any choice, is an empirical question. The personal navigation through the diverse constellations of belonging consists in more or less conscious choices and more or less permissible or restrictive rooms for manoeuvre when it comes to the constructions of the self, to new normative orientations, to negotiations and positionings. Belonging is hard work, means maintaining relations and displaying loyalty and commitment. Diverse belongings must be combined and are usually weighted against each other. For any person it is a central question which constellations of belonging create new possibilities, or rather have restrictive effects. Today’s societies are so heterogeneous that it is impossible to assess which forms of collective boundedness open doors, or rather erect tight boundaries – have an ‘enabling’ or a ‘constraining’ bearing upon persons. There is a myriad of tight boundaries and restrictions impacting upon personal navigation. Creating new belonging can be especially cumbersome.

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Crowley (1999) uses for belonging a metaphor of a disco to which people seek entry. Outside at the door of a disco, people queue asking to be allowed inside. Similar imaginary queues can be found at the borders of immigration countries. The aspirants are to present documents; they will be assessed regarding their fitting in, and they will need some money. Whether they are deemed suited, will be evaluated through more or less explicit criteria. There is a significant disproportion between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’. The more you cannot get in and have to stand in the cold, the more you desire access. And the opposite may be true as well. The Jewish comedian Groucho Marx once said that he wouldn’t want to join a club that was desperate enough to accept people like him. We also need to consider the challenges when persons find it difficult to get out of “their” collective. Such situations are not unusual. Facing majoritarian challenge, minorities often feel compelled to guard their boundaries, from outside and from inside. Minority members often face restrictions when opting for an exogamous marriage, when not abiding to communitarian norms (e.g. being homosexual) or when trying to lessen the confines of collective belonging by spatially moving away. Enjoying the warmth, the solidarity and protection of your parental home and / or the extended network of kin-relatives comes at the price of loyalty, displays of consensus, often submission, and pooling of resources. Remaining inside entails displays of being – or playing being – alike, what poses particular problems for those who have partly moved into new social spaces, especially while acquiring higher education, or when opting for alternative forms of living. ‘Belonging together’ restricts therefore attempts at social boundary-crossing (Lamont 2002) from outside and from within. In the same vein, collective belonging is under siege from outside and from within. But what if the club you entered does not want you to leave? This is a frequent constellation. All kinds of minorities have faced such severe pressures that they close their ranks and jealously guard collective boundaries – for instance ruling against exogamous marriage. Your family offers protection, recognition and warmth, but demands your standing firm for it, demanding loyalty, consensus, and often subordination. Clubs and organisations and all kinds of former peers accuse you of dissidence, or even treachery, when you try to severe the mutual ties, and oscillate in the direction of another life-world. On one hand, the desire to ‘belong to’ confronts persons with rules of collective boundedness, of ‘belonging with’. On the other hand, it is through

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personal navigation that constellations of ‘belonging with’ change their shape and that collective boundaries come under stress. Recent research on processes of collective boundary-maintenance has indicated how and when social boundaries are blurred and shifted, after individual mobility, for instance in immigrant contexts, has coalesced into collective patterns. The major value of belonging research lies in its not taking for granted collective boundedness. By combining the dimensions of commonality, mutuality and attachment it indicates to social closures as well as to possibilities of their openingup, rather than falling prey to methodological collectivism. The belonging approach indicates to the tremendous tensions persons endure while navigating between social and spatial worlds, of course. It is obviously cosier and less dangerous to maintain your home where your religious or ethnic identity is not questioned. Marwa El-Shirbini paid with her life for somebody else’s insecurity and for her attacker’s inability to acknowledge that belonging is nothing fixed.

POLITICS OF BELONGING: REGIMES OF BELONGING AND THE POLITICS OF THE SELF

A paradox of belonging lies in a basic tension. Belonging is something cosy and taken for granted. People belong together when things go without saying. To belong in the modern world, however, is to talk about home and your sense of place. Time and again, individual and collective belonging has been encroached upon, challenged, fought about, and protected. State rule, market forces, forced displacement, transnationalisation, pluralisation, acceleration of social change, and the widening horizon of human aspirations have rendered belonging contested – from outside and from within. The more it is contested and made explicit, the less likely it is to just be, share, and join in. The value then seems to lie in keeping one’s protected space. Belonging, as in ‘be-longing’, displays strong past-oriented, nostalgic connotations. As object of political action, it is very much an element of the present. The concept has also a strong aspirational, future-oriented element. Kannabiran (2006) distinguishes between belonging and becoming, suggesting that political struggles thrive upon ideas indicating where a given collective is heading to and what it is aiming for. So far, I concentrated on personal navigation between different social spaces of belonging and the entailed

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politics of the self. But the past decades also witnessed pronounced collective mobilisation coalescing into different types of politics of belonging. At least three global trends have instigated these politics. The first trend has usually been depicted as a third wave of democratisation and it was significantly buttressed by the fall of the Berlin wall and the inspiration provided by civic action in Eastern European countries. But almost simultaneously, civil society movements gained momentum in many parts of the globe. Previously colonised populations “have reversed the colonial flow from centre to periphery with increasing intensity” (Comaroff and Comaroff 2009, 46f ). Challenging established West-dominated normative orders, displaying alterity, and forcing the “problem” of difference into the public (ibid. 2009) realm, collective activism has shifted from deeply subjugated positions to self-conscious positions reclaiming oppressed space of resistance (Kannabiran 2006). These movements have embarked on a challenging path, by deploying techniques and technologies coming about with globality and transnationality (means of communication, networking), while organising against detrimental impacts of neo-liberalism. Large-scale infrastructural projects as well as the attempts of transnational corporations to secure intellectual property rights on such items as food grains or medicinal plants have greatly instigated the local sense of place and a spirit of local resistance (that I examined in my ‘Challenging Goliath’, cf. Pfaff-Czarnecka 2007). The second trend buttressing collective politics of belonging came about with the global indigenous people’s movement (cf. Pfaff-Czarnecka et al. 2007). This movement currently reaches a world-wide scope combining the politics of identity, entitlement, recognition and rights (Comaroff and Comaroff 2009, 47). This movement, initially carried by the US-American and Canadian First People as well as a growing number of ethnic activists in Latin American countries and in the Asian-Pacific region has importantly gained in terrain when the UN Working Group on Indigenous Populations was established in 1982 – that was followed by the Draft Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, by the ILO-Convention 169 as well as by the UNDRIP (United Nations 2007). One important platform for the indigenous politics gaining momentum provided the Rio-Conference in 1992. The deliberations of this conference revealed the interconnection between the cultural (confining indigenous cultures to the private realm) and social dimensions (socio-economic and political power differentials and detrimen-

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tal race politics) of indigenous peoples existence with the territorial dimensions of space and place (confinement to societies’ peripheries; encroachment upon indigenous peoples lands). Both these trends have greatly instigated the collective politics of the self – i.e. modalities of agreeing upon common representations and developing practices of mutuality, geared indispensable for pursuing projects of belonging (Kannabiran 2006). The politics of the self are embedded in the regimes of belonging and combine common visions of the future, entrepreneurship (in the case of ethnic groups “ethno-preneurialism”, to speak with the Comaroffs, (2009), measures of self-care as well as forms of self-fashioning buttressed by the idea of shared essence and common destiny. In this vein, they are important elements of governmentality. The third trend comes with the transformative impact of neoliberalism (Comaroff and Comaroff 2009, 47) that has created new and ever denser interconnections between different regions of the world, coming about through financial flows as well the displacement of production sites and workers. Important interconnections come about between countries “sending” and “receiving” migrants. These global, international and transnational developments have greatly shaped societal change, impinging upon state’s sovereignty, buttressing transnational social flows and exchanges and challenging national we-group understanding. Under these – often intersecting – conditions a variety of politics of belonging came into existence, or – if they existed already before, have gained public attention. The first form of collective ‘politics of becoming’ is currently often depicted with a slightly confusing quest for ‘social inclusion’. In this vein, collective mobilisation is aimed at ‘uplifting’ a collective social position within a universally conceived social structure (Brubaker and Cooper 2000). Collective politics of belonging seek to abandon deeply subjugated social positions, by generating new types of resources geared at regaining the space of resistance and power. The language of rights has opened up new avenues for individual and collective mobility, be it the right to education (e.g. through quotas as in India), the right to different types of social welfare provisions, the right to self-determination (as in a number of South-East and Eastern European countries or simply more rights to local participation and self-rule (through measures of decentralisation and devolution of power). The term ‘social inclusion’ is misleading in the very sense that a possibility of ‘joining in’ by newcomers into established orders is implied, here – whereas uncountable examples of social struggles reveal that ‘social empowerment’ is

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usually accompanied by a thorough transformation of any given society and its institutional orders. The second type of the politics of belonging, coming especially to light with indigenous activism, is largely driven by identity politics. Such politics are usually oriented to the past, with the activists highlighting the common origins, genealogies as well as the reasons of having been there first, and the ensuing rights to particular territories. The politics of identity tend to highlight particularism, take recourse to strategic essentialism, catering to homogenising images of the collective self and thrive upon sharp ethnic boundaries that often discriminate between collective we-groups and outsiders. Politics of identity turn into politics of belonging when collective mobilisation reaches beyond the contested space of identity representations. The indigenous politics of belonging struggle for political self-rule, for reversing past wrongs, especially in the form of encroachment on ancestral lands, and by doing so insist upon decentring the realm of national political economic realms. In his most pertinent analysis of the perils of belonging, Geschiere (2009) demonstrated how such form of emancipatory action is likely to go hand-in-hand with a problematic collective particularism, excluding others to such an extent that they are denied the right to dwell in territories claimed by a particular ethnic group. Geschiere’s argument is all the more powerful as he draws a parallel between the particularist ethnic politics of belonging, occurring in local realms of African national spaces, with equally exclusivist we-group self-understandings voiced by claustrophobic voices in numerous Western immigrant societies. In both cases, the exclusivist politics of belonging have been buttressed by the infrastructure of identity politics, discriminating between insiders and outsiders and erecting tight social boundaries around the collective units. Against this backdrop, a third type of politics of belonging appears particularly crucial. This type of politics has recently been described in literature taking up recent migration flows as well as political reconfigurations asserting alterity and recognising difference with the terms ‘co-habitation’ and ‘conviviality.’ Judith Butler, who coined the term ‘co-habitation’ stresses that we can no longer decide ourselves with regards to whom we are living with. We are therefore compelled to maintain the pluralist character of living together – that doesn’t follow our own choice – active. Gilroy (2004) argues in his ‘Postcolonial melancholia’ along similar lines. The ways of finding common ground in living together, despite differing identities, convictions

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and forms of life, are multiple and indeed: possible. The option for creating civic commonality stand in opposition to exclusivist national we-group identity politics as they prevailed in the assimilationist ethos geared against newcomers. Currently, belonging is becoming an object of politicisation. Protecting one’s home, keeping migrants at bay, or engaging in rivalries regarding who is more deserving to make a new place his or her home are all entailed in politics of belonging. But the more boundary-constructions, boundary-restrictions and boundary-protection become part and parcel of global reflexivity, the more wide-spread is also the awareness of the possibilities to mould boundaries and to create new spaces for possibilities of our living together.

CONCLUSION I started this presentation by stressing the necessity to distinguish between the concepts of collective identity and belonging, while proposing the latter as a new and very useful lens to observe the dynamics of sociability in the contemporary world and to suggest modalities of conceptualising commonality beyond homogenisation and sharp ethnic boundary-drawing. The concept of belonging helps us grasping processes of moving, shifting and combining the boundaries of the social. The concept of belonging provides us with a tool to think of social practices of negotiating collective boundedness as in continuous flux, selection, and combination between diverse parameters of belonging. My discussion should have revealed the complexity the key-notion of ‘social location’ entails. Having defined belonging as ‘emotionally charged social location’, it was my intention to suggest avenues for our understanding of this notion as combining different key-dimensions of social existence and experience. We may distinguish analytically between a particularist space of identity politics and a universalist social structure. According to Brubaker and Cooper (2000, 7), in identitarian theorising, ‘social location’ means “position in a multidimensional space defined by particularist categorical attributes (race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation). In instrumentalist theorising, ‘social location’ means position in a universalistically conceived social structure (for example, position in the market, the occupational structure, or the mode of production (ibid. – italics by the authors). The concept of

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belonging compels us, however, to think of ‘social location’ in the combination of the two. After all, the social structure of contemporary societies evolves in a combination of diverse parameters and resources as well as capabilities (Sen 1999; Alkire 2010). The challenge of grasping the central features of the belonging concept is even greater given the fact, that the contemporary self-reflexivity under the conditions of our globalised and transnational experiences renders the human preoccupation with territorial space and local attachments perennially pertinent. Belonging then confronts the social analysis with the problem of finding analytical tools for doing justice to the multidimensional nature of this concept.

REFERENCES ALKIRE, Sabina. Conceptual Overview of Human Development: Definitions, Critiques, and Related Concepts 2010. Background paper for the 2010 Human Development Report. Web. 19 Sep. 2010. . ANTHIAS, Floya. “Belongings in a Globalising and Unequal World: Rethinking Translocations.” The situated politics of belonging. Ed. Nira Yuval-Davis, Kalpana Kannabiran, and Ulrike Vieten. London: Sage 2006. 17-31. Sage studies in international sociology 55. BRUBAKER, Rogers, and Frederick COOPER. “Beyond Identity.” Theory and Society, 29 (2000): 1-47. COMAROFF, John L., and Jean COMAROFF. Ethnicity. Chicago; London: The University of Chicago Press 2009. CROWLEY, John. “The Politics of Belonging: Some Theoretical Considerations.” The Politics of Belonging: Migrants and Minorities in Contemporary Europe. Ed. Andrew Geddes and Adrian Favell. Aldershot: Ashgate 1999. 15-41. ELWERT, Georg. “Boundaries, Cohesion and Switching: On We-groups in EthnicNational and Religious Forms.” Rethinking Nationalism and Ethnicity: The Struggle for Meaning and Order in Europe. Ed. Hans-Rudolf Wicker. Oxford; New York: Berg 1997. 251-72. FLINDERS, Carol Lee. The Values of Belonging. San Francisco: Harper 2002. GESCHIERE, Peter. Perils of Belonging: Autochthony, Citizenship and Exclusion in Africa and Europe. Chicago: Chicago University Press 2009. GILROY, Paul. Postcolonial Melancholia. New York: Columbia University Press 2004. HOOKS, Bell. Belonging: A Culture of Place. London: Taylor & Francis 2009. JENKINS, Richard. Social Identity. London; New York: Routledge 1996.

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KANNABIRAN, Kalpana. “A Cartography of Resistance: The National Federation of Dalit Women.” The situated politics of belonging. Ed. Nira Yuval-Davis, Kalpana Kannabiran, and Ulrike Vieten. London: Sage 2006. 54-73. Sage studies in international sociology 55. KRASNER, Stephen D. “Structural Causes and Regime Consequences: Regimes as Intervening Variables.” International Organization, 36.2 (1982): 185-205. LAMONT, Michèle, and Virág MOLNÁR. “The Study of Boundaries in the Social Sciences.” Annual Review of Sociology, 28 (2002): 157-95. LUHMANN, Niklas. Die Gesellschaft der Gesellschaft. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp 1997. MIGDAL, Joel S. “Mental Maps and Virtual Checkpoints. Struggles to Construct and Maintain State and Social Boundaries.” Boundaries and Belonging: State and Societies in the Struggle to Shape Identities and Local Practices. Ed. Joel S. Migdal. New York: Cambridge University Press 2004. 3-27. PFAFF, Walter. Migration und Theater: KultZürichAussersihl. Das andere Gesicht. Zürich: Verlag um die Ecke 2010. PFAFF-CZARNECKA, Joanna. “Challenging Goliath: People, Dams, and the Paradoxes of Transnational Critical Movements.” Political and Social Transformations in North India and Nepal: Social Dynamics in Northern South Asia. Ed. Hiroshi Ishii, David Gellner, and Katsuo Nawa. New Delhi: Manohar 2007. 421-526. Japanese Studies on South Asia 2. — “Accommodating Religious Diversity in Switzerland.” International Migration and the Governance of Religious Diversity. Ed. Paul Bramadat and Matthias König. Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press 2009. 225-57. P FAFF -C ZARNECKA , Joanna, et al. “Ethnisierung und De-Ethnisierung des Politischen. Aushandlungen um Inklusion und Exklusion im andinen und im südasiatischen Raum.” Die Ethnisierung des Politischen: Identitätspolitiken in Lateinamerika, Asien und den USA. Ed. Christian Büschges and Joanna PfaffCzarnecka. Frankfurt; New York: Campus 2007. 19-63. PFAFF-CZARNECKA, Joanna, and Gérard TOFFIN. “Introduction: Belonging and Multiple Attachments in Contemporary Himalayan Societies.” The Politics of Belonging in the Himalayas. Ed. Joanna Pfaff-Czarnecka and Gérard Toffin. London; New Delhi: Sage 2011. SEN, Amartya K. Development as Freedom. New York: Knopf Press 1999. SIMMEL, Georg. Soziologie: Untersuchungen über die Formen der Vergesellschaftung. Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot 1908. TYRELL, Hartmann, ed. Soziale und gesellschaftliche Differenzierung: Aufsätze zur soziologischen Theorie. Wiesbaden: Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften 2008. UNITED NATIONS. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: UNDRIP 2007. Web. 2 May 2011. .

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WEBER, Max. Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr 1972. ZOLBERG, Astride R., and William LUNSFORD LONG. “Why Islam is like Spanish: Cultural Incorporation in Europe and the United States.” Politics & Society, 27.1 (1999): 5-38.

NOSTALGIA, FOOD AND BELONGING: ECUADORIANS IN NEW YORK CITY Maria Amelia Viteri

ABSTRACT Nostalgia is part of a migrant’s everyday life: although lived, imagined, invented and re-invented in dramatically different ways. In this article, I use an interdisciplinary approach and base my analysis upon two components of research: 1) Firstly, data collected at the Queens Museum of Art in Queens, New York City, through the multimedia installation Al Locro Lado, whereby, my voice and that of my Ecuadorian anthropology colleague, were brought together with those of the audience while exploring material elements related to food, nostalgia, identities, symbols, nationhood and migration. 2) And secondly, data collected between 2009 and 2010 within the Ecuadorian community mostly in Queens, New York. I use these findings to re-think notions of space and the continuum of transnational identities in relation to food and citizenship.

INTRODUCTION AND THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK According to Stewart (1988, 227) nostalgia is “not a given content as its forms, meanings, and effects shift with the context – it depends on where the speaker stands in the landscape of the present”. The impossibility of a return to one’s homeland – whether actual or imagined – permeates the lives of immigrants across the globe. From the re-enactment of rituals and re-creation of spaces that resemble the homeland to the circulation of “nostalgia food products”, an estimated 350,000 Ecuadorian1 immigrants in Queens and Brooklyn are actively defining alternative ways of belonging to their homeland as well as to the new land, ways that are never complete nor linear. According to Yuval-Davis (2007) neither citizenship nor identity can encap1

Ecuador has been officially declared as a multi-ethnic and plurinational State. According to the last survey conducted by INEC (Institute for National Surveys) in 2006, mestizos represent 79.8%; followed by 7% that self-identify as indigenous. Needless to say, statistics from different sources vary greatly as these figures are politically loaded.

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sulate the notion of belonging (as contradictory definitions are called into question). This author defines belonging as being where “the sociology of emotions interfaces with the sociology of power, where identification and participation collude”. Yuval-Davis analyses how, like other hegemonic constructions, belonging tends to become “naturalised”, becoming invisible in hegemonic formations. In the author’s words: “it is only when one’s safe and stable connection to the collectivity, the homeland, the state, becomes threatened, that it becomes articulated and reflexive rather than just performative.” In accordance with Holtzman (2006, 373) we need to consider the ubiquity of food in maintaining historically constituted identities, as it owes not only to the properties of the food itself but also to the social and cultural conditions that allow or encourage this to be a space for resilient identities where other arenas are far more stigmatised. Taking a closer look at the way nostalgia in relation to food manifests itself in a multiplicity of national identities – ranging from Ecuadorian to Latino to American – it could offer a potential window into forms of memory that are more heteroglossic, ambivalent, layered, and textured (Holtzman 2006, 373).2 Food as nostalgia has been primarily conceptualised as a nostalgic enactment of identity, as a celebration of a diasporic community’s resilience and as an opportunity to bring history and memory together under difficult circumstances. One of the questions guiding my current research is how readily available Ecuadorian food in Queens, New York City (NYC) (labelled by business and marketing people as “nostalgia food products”) acts as a signifier in the way Ecuadorians re-define their own national identity within the diaspora as it overlaps with other pre-discursive ethnic, racial and gender identities. What we homonymically label as “memory” often refers to an array of very different processes which not only have a totally different dynamic, but that we also aim to understand for very different reasons too – ranging from monumental public architecture to the nostalgia evoked by a tea-soaked biscuit (Holtzman 2006, 361). A useful concept used by Appadurai (2003, 339) is the term “translocalities” to talk about the complex conditions for the production of ties of marriage, work, business and leisure that are connected to the homeland. According to Anthias (2009, 6), a key ques2

Similarly, authors like Valentine (1999) illustrate the complex ways in which identity is produced, articulated and contested through food consumption and the spatial dynamics of cooking and eating at the specific cultural location of “the home”.

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tion is how to think of belonging and identity within a transnational and “translocational” frame which recognises that people have multiple locations, positions and belongings, in a situated and contextual way, but which does not end up as a thorough reification or deconstruction of difference. Similar to Pribilsky (2007), my initial research findings also identify how Latino immigrants – in this particular case Ecuadorians – go from stable identities as villagers, fathers, sons and brothers to ambiguous subject positions of “illegal”3 aliens and second-class citizens. As we continue to further problematise the interdependence between these state categories and those of others including race, ethnicity, gender and sexuality, the positions of such ambiguous subjects become even more unstable. For instance, if we are to combine the totality of escalating anti-immigrant discourse in the U.S. with the strong presence of Latinos in cities such as New York then cases will appear such as that of Marcelo Lucero, who was stabbed to death by a young group of teenagers who called him Mexican in November 2008. As I include a self-reflexive and auto-ethnographic approach to this research study, I combine my own understandings and negotiations of being an Ecuadorian in the U.S. with those of first-generation immigrants Roberto, Franklin and Ricardo and a selection of the hundreds of nostalgic voices imprinted in the colourful post-it notes that were part of the Al Locro Lado multimedia installation. Locro, a typical Andean Ecuadorian dish made from potatoes represents the symbolic object around which my colleague María Fernanda Moscoso and I extracted ingredients to re-enact our experiences of different places and memories: our neighbourhoods, friends, cities, families and countries. Al Locro Lado was a multimedia installation project composed of objects, video, photographs, sounds and words (Fig. 1 and 2). The project was a subjective, theoretical, political, and artistic reflection, by which the voices of ourselves – two Ecuadorian PhD anthropologists (residing in the United States and Germany at the time) – were brought together with those of the audience while exploring material elements related to nostalgia, identities, symbols, nationhood and migration. 3 I fully concur with De Genova (2002) in that there is “nothing matter-of-fact about the ‘illegality’ of undocumented migrants” and that the term and concept itself needs to be reformulated. In a similar way, Kyle’s (2000) research in Andean Ecuador invites us to re-consider basic distinctions between legal and illegal, labour and entrepreneurial, economic and political, temporary and permanent migrations.

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FIGURE 1 Writing out Loud/Escribiendo en Voz Alta. Photograph taken by the author.

I draw upon Mata Codesal’s (2010, 24) NYC research study “where Ecuadorian migrants can easily get into an ‘already-present home away from home’ creating and sustaining a transnational food sphere”. The author illustrates how migration is then also experienced through the body and how food can be used to fight off the sense of fragmentation or discontinuity brought into people’s lives by migration. Other authors such as Fischler (1988) discuss the relationship between identity formation and food too, highlighting the centrality of food to our sense of identity, as it asserts diversity, hierarchy and organisation. The Ecuadorian diaspora4 is a particularly interesting setting to begin exploring these conflations considering the important campaign initiated by the current president, Rafael Correa, to build a sense of “Ecuadorianness” through certain idealised images of traditional foods found throughout

4 For a more thorough and updated discussion on Ecuadorian migration cf. Herrera (2005).

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FIGURE 2 Installation Al Locro Lado. Photograph taken by the author.

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Ecuador. Parallel to this campaign, President Correa’s current policies favour local investment, production and consumption by applying elevated taxes on foreign imports in an attempt to create a sense of pride and “Ecuadorianness” for traditional local foods. In the words of my colleague Barbara Grünenfelder-Elliker (2001, 13) “the massive exodus of Ecuadorians, Azuayos in particular, (…) obeys the forces of a global finance economy as much as it does ‘choice’ at the individual level”. The author addresses both the general and gendered shift in the geopolitical orientation of Ecuadorian emigrants to the U.S. and more recently, to Spain.5 It’s a challenge to quantify the exact number of Ecuadorians living in the NYC area considering that a large majority had to resort to coming to the United States either without papers or using false documentation, – this particularly being the case after President Mahuad dollarised the currency in 1999, a few weeks before he was overthrown. Furthermore, according to the Ecuadorian Consulate in New York City, the respective Ecuadorian community in this location is a very mobile population changing home at least every three months to avoid being discovered by the immigration authorities. Following Grünenfelder-Elliker’s (2001, 9) research work in Azuay, Ecuador’s loss of sovereignty over currency coincides with the expansion of “Plan Colombia” to include a foreign military base on the country’s Pacific Coast, the building project for a new trans-Andean oil pipeline, and a mass exodus now directed towards Europe. My initial observations and interviews were conducted mostly in Queens at different periods of time during 2008 and 2009 whereas Al Locro Lado took place between January 16th and 30th, 2010. The data collected deals with the multiple ways by which the re-signification and re-invention of (national) identities through “already-present home from home” feelings allow new transnational imaginings and connections to the homeland. It also illustrates how commodity chains act as vehicles through which producers and consumers interact to create new relationships across economic, geographic and political boundaries (Watson 2005). Having said this, it is crucial that we frame the social construction of belonging with respect to Anderson’s conceptualisation of “communities”, whereby emphasis should not be

5

For more information on Ecuadorians migration to Spain, cf. Camacho and Hernández (2008).

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upon their falsity/genuineness but instead, upon how they are imagined. Within this framework, Sutton (2001, 83) talks about the process of synaesthesia defined as food’s memory power derived from the crossing of experiences from different sensory registers. Synaesthesia, according to Sutton’s ethnography with the Kalymnos, could help us understand the significance of food as part of identity maintenance (and re-signification) when migrants leave their homeland.

NOSTALGIA, FOOD AND IDENTITY(IES) As Latino immigrants, and immigrants in general, carry a myriad of identities that are not static, these identities are subject to constant negotiation before, during and after the experience of border-crossing in non-linear ways. In addition to this, the “immigration problem” is more often than not analysed within a hetero-normative framework that assumes most immigrants have either a nuclear family of their own in their home countries or that they wish to have one in the U.S. Immigration restrictions and exclusions are historically rooted in the concern for maintaining power and shaping policies on citizenship (Cantú 2009, 42). That is to say, cultural citizenship as discussed by Rosaldo (1989) and Ong (1999) will go beyond enabling assimilation to enforcing it whenever possible through the various mechanisms of power that end up as immigration policies in the U.S. Those same categories that the government has created to grant rights to what they have conceptualised as minorities, pose a serious limit to full citizenship in terms of how we perceive, imagine and act upon sexual, racial, ethnic, class and gender representations that accompany their interpretation. Modern conceptions of citizenship, tied up with various forms of democratic universalism, tend to demand a homogenous people with a standardised package of rights (Appadurai 2003, 339). An immigrant’s cultural practices, despite persecution and contradictory discourse regarding their rights, are key to further understanding the engagement of each diasporic community in what are usually double tracked politics: those of their homeland and those of their current residence. In terms of cultural practices, food is strongly attached to the creation, development and reification of national identities.

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As my own prior research work illustrates, belonging, as interpreted at the receiving land within an immigration framework is usually described as an imagined and desired citizenship (cf. Viteri 2008a; ibid. 2008b; ibid. 2008c; Viteri and Tobler 2009). Nevertheless, according to Yuval-Davis (2007), belonging is not just about membership, rights and duties, but also about the emotions that such memberships evoke; nor can belonging be reduced to identities and identifications, which are about individual and collective narratives of self and others, presentation and labelling, myths of origin and myths of destiny. That is to say, belonging is not determined either solely by migratory status; just as “American citizenship” does not necessarily override the hierarchical rendering of peoples within stereotypically racist and ethnocentric categorisations of peoples (Viteri and Tobler 2009). Different authors such as Stewart (1988, 227) have conceptualised nostalgia as a cultural practice that reminds us of the importance of considering particular positionalities when analysing its meanings. When critically looking at food and nostalgia in relation to belonging, we go back to the Nineteenth Century where the study of food and eating in the anthropological field began as Mintz and Du Bois (2002) further illustrate. What stands out in some of the literature Mintz and Du Bois discuss, is the role of food in the social construction of memory, that is to say, the embodied forms of memory that constitute food as a locus for historically constructed identity, be they ethnic or nationalist (Holtzman 2006, 364). This embodiment pertains to specific material aspects that need to be considered. In the particular case of the Ecuadorian diaspora in NYC the ability of going back or not is one aspect that will trigger different experiences and feelings of the homeland. This ability is usually framed mainly through the immigration status rather than economic capital.

DESDE QUE LLEGUÉ QUIERO IRME (“SINCE I ARRIVED I WANT TO GO BACK”) Roberto is a mestizo sociologist in his early 30s who came to NYC around seven years ago and remained undocumented throughout. Roberto’s status dramatically changed again after his deportation to Quito in November, 2010. Roberto has been not only a marvellous source of information but a great friend who generously introduced me to the world of “Little Ecuador”

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in the NYC area. Roberto’s mapping of Ecuadorians in NYC is quite acurate as it looks at timeframe, historical context and acculturation processes. For him, there are three types of Ecuadorian immigrants that need to be considered when thinking about the consumption and understandings of certain Ecuadorian products sold in the NYC area. The first type are those that have adapted to NYC and are able to navigate it like a fish in a pond (“como pez en el agua”). The second type are what Roberto calls duales, those that move between here and there either physically through constant travel or symbolically through the regular exchange of goods, letters, phone calls, and even fantasies of returning to ones homeland. The third group is comprised of those that have not adapted to the NYC life and who never will. Roberto also mentioned how the latter group represents the best market for alcoholic beverages such as Zhumir, as nostalgia is rendered, reproduced and embodied through this iconic sugar cane liquor. According to one young female Colombian waitress hired to distribute samples of Zhumir at Ecuadorian and Latin American events, Ecuadorians use Zhumir for everything from curing a cold to celebrating traditional religious events and even as a lucky charm. Despite being readily available in NYC, one of the post-it notes written by an Ecuadorian at the multimedia installation mentioned missing Zhumir. This could be further explained following Moscoso (2010, 178) where memories of food are articulated through a particular time and history. Within this framework, it is the people, the dynamics of cooking and the place(s) related to that particular symbolic object – in this case Zhumir – that are particularly missed. Ricardo is a 35 year-old indigenous man who came to NYC 15 years ago from the province of Girón located in the Azuay Andean Province of Ecuador. He lives with his wife and two kids in the Bronx. Ricardo is among those Ecuadorians that have not been able to return to Ecuador even for a visit because of his immigration status labelled by the U.S. government as “illegal”. When talking about favourite dishes that we both miss, Ricardo looks away while saying “since I arrived I want to go back” (“Desde que llegué quiero irme”). Ricardo could well be a member of the third category described by Roberto as those that might never be able to fully adapt. Some of the elements through which Ricardo constructs his memories and his longing for the past are his hometown, his mother, the “people” and the food. This is very similar to the information gathered at the Al Locro Lado installation, where almost identical references to the family (including

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extended family), the landscape, the “people” and the food were recorded alongside many others that included references to either football teams or football itself. The following text is illustrative of such references: “Extraño los motes de San Juan, a mis panas de Chimbacalle y el fútbol de la Tola.” (“I miss hominy from San Juan, my buddies at Chimbacalle and football at la Tola”). Delving further into the topic of food Ricardo mentioned “guatita” as the dish that he misses the most. Guatita is a traditional Andean dish of tripe stew in a potato and peanut sauce. Similar to the Zhumir example, I know that guatita is readily available at almost all of the many Ecuadorian restaurants on Roosevelt Avenue, so I was surprised at Ricardo’s response. Interpreting my surprise Ricardo quickly added, “that Guatita is not the same!” He went on to share how his family sends him cheese and guinea pig.6 The latter is another Andean traditional dish that was repeatedly mentioned on the post-it notes, revealing to us the majority of Andean people who attended the installation. Transnational identities are thus forged through material and imaginary exchanges of food, phone calls, letters, gifts, donations and money transfers. In Ricardo’s own words: “These dishes (traditional farm cheese and guinea pig) help a lot because then I feel as if I am myself again” (“se siente como uno mismo”). Similarly, Franklin, a mestizo man in his 30s working as a technology engineer at one of the prestigious universities in NYC, mentioned how before they started importing Zhumir he would ask his relatives to send moonshine (hard liquor). Franklin has been living in NYC for twelve years and as with Roberto, his emphasis has been upon pursuing a college degree while looking for better opportunities in the country. Despite having his dad’s partial support when he first came to NYC, he had to work in all manner of different jobs, from selling purses to working at a bakery. On reflection, he realises that these jobs were transcendental in helping him speak the English language that will now be essential for his future career in engineering. Both Ricardo and Roberto speak about the multiple ways in which the experience of food evokes recollection, which is not simply cognitive but also emotional and physical, paralleling notions such as Bourdieu’s (1977) habi-

6

For more on the symbolic meaning of guinea pigs cf. Archetti (1997).

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tus, Connerton’s (1989) notion of bodily memory, and Stoller’s (1995) emphasis on embodied memories (Holtzman 2006, 365). Franklin talks about a “still picture” that remains in your mind from the time you leave your country. This “still picture” stays close, immovable, and unchangeable until the day you return. The problem according to Franklin is that you are never able to match that “still picture” with the real picture that you will see upon your return, whenever that may be. Nostalgia sets in motion a dialectic of closeness and distancing (Stewart 1988, 228) where popular Ecuadorian food brands like La Cholita, Van Camps tuna fish, La Universal and Amor, among others, trigger a chain of signifiers where food enables – although only momentarily – a “return” to the lost homeland. Franklin recalls those first feelings of nostalgia when he first came to NYC. What he missed the most were his girlfriend and his friends and he would call at least three times per week. Eventually, he decided to collect all of the used phone cards at which he realised that he had spent around US$ 2,000 on international calls to Ecuador during a 6-month period. After a two-year period of maintaining a long-distance relationship with his girlfriend, he sensed that his return to Ecuador would be delayed, bringing him to end the relationship and, in his own words, “freeing” his girlfriend. Is food a central ground through which Franklin further connects with his Ecuadorian identity in NYC? Franklin believes that the places where Ecuadorians play traditional sports such as volleyball and soccer are the instances where you “forget that you are in the United States”. Traditional Ecuadorian food and drinks are a vivid part of these events, hence embodying nostalgia and constructing belonging in non-linear, subjective ways. Other important events mentioned both by Roberto as well as by Franklin are the Virgin Mary processions that closely follow the traditions in Ecuador but with a New York twist, however these are not the focus of this paper. Parks like Flushing Meadows Corona located in Queens, NYC is, for instance, a space where mainly Ecuadorians recreate the cultural, social, economic and political practices that they would usually carry out in their native hometowns: from discussing politics to organising a march, to playing their beloved national sport ‘football’, to couples caressing each other on the grass. All this is accompanied by traditional food and usually special Ecuadorian dances and music organised by the Queens Museum of Art. Similar scenarios

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have been reported in Spain as portrayed in Lisandra I. Rivera and Manolo Sarmiento’s documentary “Problemas Personales” (2002, 72’). Franklin and I got into an elaborate discussion about “what actually changes in your identity(ies)” if as an Ecuadorian in NYC, you have access to traditional food, sports, cultural and religious traditions. As an Ecuadorian living in D.C. with only one or two Ecuadorian restaurants scattered between Dulles Airport and Baltimore and none of the rich cultural and religious traditions that are part of the everyday life of Ecuadorians in NYC, I use NYC as a refuge to calm my nostalgic feelings when the trip back to Ecuador seems too far away on the calendar. What changes according to Franklin is that the access to familiar food that is readily available allows him to maintain a strong Ecuadorian identity, as restaurants are also places where you can meet other Ecuadorians for different types of networking. The fact that Spanish is spoken widely in NYC, particularly in the enclaves where Latinos are established, aids significantly the ability to navigate the foreign city. Franklin highlights that some of the tangible changes are how one’s “last name doesn’t count anymore” and how the work one does in the U.S. acts as a sort of equaliser whereby people from different social classes can come together. The references to the “last name” that Franklin mentioned are loaded with Ecuadorian understandings around skin colour in relationship to social class and “race” categories (cf. Roitman 2008). Broadly speaking, the lighter your skin is, the better off you are, which is not restricted to economic capital but also social capital when using Bourdieu’s terms. These hierarchies and their interpretations will in turn have an impact upon the choice of food as well as the value and meaning associated to it. In addition, having a last name that comes from indigenous origins is still devalued by the larger mestizo community. A strong sense of regionalism is reified in NYC where Ecuadorian restaurants, as well as festivities, are well delineated between the Andes and Coastal regions in particular. As these narratives show, the conflation of food, memory and nostalgia in relationship to identity(ies) becomes relevant as we move not only between geographically delimited borders, but also between and within these borders that we negotiate daily craft our mobility in some stances as immigrants and in others as citizens. This mobility becomes imperative as such borders are continually changing and mutating within the fast-forward dynamics of globalisation (Giroux 2005, 6-7).

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CONCLUSIONS Similar to Holtzman (2006, 364), I see food as a particularly rich arena in which to explore such complexities of memory, considering at its forefront the notion of experience in reference to the past. In this context, I believe that Ecuadorian “nostalgia products” could be used as a window through which anthropologists seek a broader understanding of the dynamics of this community as they continue to re-configure their past and present, re-drawing in a number of unpredictable ways the maps of where they belong or not. The forging of renewed though malleable identities within the diaspora are engrained with bodily memory as illustrated by Franklin’s narrative where he goes back to being himself after eating traditional Ecuadorian food, and particularly so if this food is sent from Ecuador. The senses, as a recollection of the past, become another opportunity for an interpretive anthropology, steering us towards an anthropology of the senses, as originally suggested by Stoller (1995) and Howes (1991), among others. Nevertheless, nostalgia should not only be interpreted as a re-experiencing of emotional pasts but also in consideration that it may be a longing for times and places that one has never experienced (Holtzman 2006, 367). As I am interested in looking at food as a site where the re-construction of identities takes place, frames ideas and feelings related to citizenship and influences various facets of an immigrant’s life, from everyday practices to more strategic decisions, some important issues are key to this analysis: 1) legal citizenship versus political participation even at the risk of deportation, as in the recent case of Latino students fighting for legal status so that they can enrol in college; 2) national and bi-national identities in relationship to belonging and the role of food within this process; 3) methodology-wise, considering affect in terms of the role of memory in the re-construction of identities and citizenship in relation to a nation-state; 4) the juxtaposition and re-signification of a multiplicity of identities and their role in how Ecuadorians in NYC identify with one or more spaces at the same time. The ways in which we remember are contingent to both bodily memory and the multiplicity of non-linear ways in which we apply meaning to certain products, as well as the particular context where these products are available. National symbols ranging from the colours of the flag to traditional dishes and the availability of their ingredients are magnified by many through the lens of nostalgia as illustrated through the successful and massive

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participation (approximately 500 people) at the multimedia installation Al Locro Lado. Belonging, within the analysis presented, considers identity as a plural, closely connected with a fluid space where both imagined and physical borders permeate new imaginings that go beyond traditional and state definitions of citizenship. The latter doesn’t translate into less surveillance but it does render alternative possibilities for the forging of transnational Ecuadorian identities in the NYC diaspora where food constitutes a never-linear continuum.7 Some final considerations as we continue building a thread that further connects diaspora, immigration, food, nostalgia and belonging, are the way diasporic communities construct stories that push the boundaries of place and space. That “still picture” brought forward by Franklin which is nevertheless mobile, as it is filled and re-filled with renewed “structures of feeling” triggered by food in this discussion, speaks both to the homeland at the same time as it confronts any linear reading of belonging. All the same, we are reminded by Bhabha (1994, 22) that not all negotiations are the same, as they are influenced by particular subjective positions and the limits of choices and agency these might either enable or disable. Mapping the crossroads where people inhabit a multiplicity of transnational borders, identities, spaces and structures might enable a theoretical and methodological critique that furthers potential interventions related to citizenship. Doing so through different means such as the use of art and popular culture could further engage these communities in more horizontal dialogues while also providing a venue to reflect upon these matters of importance.

REFERENCES ANTHIAS, Floya. “Intersectionality, Belonging and Translocational Positionality: Thinking about Transnational Identities.” Ethnicity, Belonging and Biography: Ethnographical and Biographical Perspectives. Ed. Gabriele Rosenthal and Artur Bogner. Berlin: Lit Verlag 2009. 229-49. Ethnologie 16.

7

Many Ecuadorians married with Colombian/Mexican/Salvadoreans have started to sell and advertise Ecuadorian/Mexican food and in many of these restaurants (located in Roosevelt Avenue) the menu includes all this culinary fusion.

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APPADURAI, Arjun. “Sovereignity without Territoriality: Notes for a Postnational Geography.” The Anthropology of Space and Place: Locating Culture. Ed. Setha M. Low and Denise Lawrence-Zúñiga. New York: Blackwell 2003. 337-50. ARCHETTI, Eduardo. Guinea Pigs: Food, Symbol and Conflict of Knowledge in Ecuador. Oxford: Berg 1997. BHABHA, Homi. The Location of Culture. New York: Routledge 1994. BOURDIEU, Pierre. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press 1977. CAMACHO, Gloria, and Kattya HERNÁNDEZ, eds. Miradas transnacionales: Visiones de la migración ecuatoriana desde España y Ecuador. Quito: CEPLAES 2008. CANTÚ, Lionel. The Sexuality of Migration: Border Crossings and Mexican Immigrant Men. New York: New York University Press 2009. Intersections. CONNERTON, Paul. How Societies Remember. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1989. DE GENOVA, Nicholas P. “Migrant ‘Illegality’ and Deportability in Everyday Life.” Annual Review of Anthropology, 31 (2002): 419-47. FISCHLER, Claude. “Food, Self and Identity.” Social Science Information, 27 (1988): 275-92. GIROUX, Henry. Border Crossings: Cultural Workers and the Politics of Education. New York: Routledge 2005. GRÜNENFELDER-ELLIKER, Barbara. “Exclusion to the Point of Attrition: Gendered Emigration from Ecuador at a Crossroads.” Paper presented at the XXIII International Congress of the Latin American Studies Association. LASA. Washington, D.C. 6 Sep. 2001. HERRERA, Gioconda, ed. La migración ecuatoriana: Transnacionalismo, redes e identidades. Quito: FLACSO Ecuador 2005. Serie Foro. HOLTZMAN, Jon. “Food and Memory.” Annual Review of Anthropology, 35 (2006): 361-78. HOWES, David, eds. The Varieties of Sensory Experience: A Sourcebook in the Anthropology of the Senses. Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1991. KYLE, David. Transnational Peasants: Migration, Networks and Ethnicity in Andean Ecuador. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press 2000. MATA CODESAL, Diana. “Eating abroad, Remembering (at) Home.” Anthropology of Food, 7 (2010). Web. 1 Feb. 2011. . MINTZ, Sidney, and Christine DU BOIS. “The Anthropology of Food and Eating.” Annual Review of Anthropology, 31 (2002): 99-119. MOSCOSO, María Fernanda. “Biografía para uso de los pájaros, memoria, infancia y migración.” PhD Dissertation. Berlin 2010. ONG, Aihwa. Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality. Durham: Duke University Press 1999.

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PRIBILSKY, Jason. La chulla vida: Gender, Migration, and the Family in Andean Ecuador and New York City. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press 2007. Gender and globalization. RIVERA, Lisandra I., and Manolo SARMIENTO (Regie): Problemas Personales. Ecuador: Pequeña Nube Producciones 2002. ROITMAN, Karem. ‘Longos’ and ‘cholos’: Ethnic/‘Racial’Discrimination among Mestizos in Ecuador. Mansfield: University of Oxford Press 2008. CRISE (Center for Research on Inequality, Human Security and Ethnicity), Working Paper 58. ROSALDO, Renato. Culture &Truth: The Remaking of Social Analysis. Boston: Beacon Press 1989. STEWART, Kathleen. “Nostalgia – a Polemic.” Cultural Anthropology, 3.3 (1988): 227-41. STOLLER, Paul. Embodying Colonial Memories: Spirit Possession, Power and the Hauka in West Africa. New York: Routledge 1995. SUTTON, David. Remembrance of Repasts: An Anthropology of Food and Memory. New York: Berg 2001. The Varieties of Sensory Experience: A Sourcebook in the Anthropology of the Senses. Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1991. Anthropological horizons. VALENTINE, Gill. “Eating in: Home, Consumption and Identity.” The Sociological Review, 47 (1999): 491-524. VITERI, María Amelia. “Out of place: Translations of ‘Race’, Ethnicity, Sexuality and Citizenship in Washington, D.C. and San Salvador, El Salvador.” Out of Place: Interrogating Silences in Queernessraciality. Ed. Adi Kuntsman and Esperanza Miyake. York: Raw Nerve Books Ltd 2008a. 241-64. — “‘Queer no me da’: Traduciendo fronteras sexuales y raciales en San Salvador y Washington D.C.” Estudios sobre Sexualidades en América Latina. Ed. Kathya Araujo and Mercedes Prieto. Quito: FLACSO 2008b. 91-108. — “Seeking a Relevant ‘Queerness’: Sexual, Racial and Nationalist Negotiations of Identity amongst the ‘Latino/a’ Immigrant Community in Washington, D.C.” PhD dissertation. Washington 2008c. VITERI, María Amelia, and Aaron TOBLER. Shifting Positionalities: The Local and International Geo-politics of Surveillance and Policing. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing 2009. WATSON, James L. The Cultural Politics of Food and Eating: A Reader. Oxford; Malden: Blackwell 2005. Blackwell readers in anthropology 8. YUVAL-DAVIS, Nira. Human Security and the Gendered Politics of Belonging 2007. Web. 15 Feb. 2011. .

CONTESTED PRACTICES OF BELONGING: SOCIAL MOBILITY, SPATIAL IDENTITY AND THE DÍA DE LOS MUERTOS IN MEXICO Eveline Dürr

ABSTRACT This article explores contested practices of belonging in the context of the touristification of the Day of the Dead in Mitla, Oaxaca, Mexico. I conceive of belonging not only as a sentiment and emotional attachment but rather investigate the social practices that create belonging, represent difference and foster cultural identification. I place emphasis on the spatial and representational dimensions of what belonging constitutes and explore the ways they are modified by local actors. I also stress the political dimension belonging entails by revealing the range of interests that become apparent when practices of belonging are contested. I argue that this approach is particularly relevant in the context of globalisation and social fragmentation, when belonging is experienced, negotiated and articulated in new contexts.

INTRODUCTION The Roman Catholic holiday All Souls Day/All Saints Day (first of November) is one of Mexico’s most renowned fiestas and promoted widely. The politically motivated representations of death and the deceased of nineteenth century cartoonist José Guadalupe Posada became idiosyncratic for Mexico and find today expression in the calaveras, skulls and skeletons, often adorned with sugar, sold in myriad variations on the Day of the Dead (Brandes 1998). This celebration shows Mexicans’ relationships to death that became intertwined with notions of national identity (Lomnitz-Adler 2005). In 2008, this fiesta was inscribed on UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity (cf. Unesco 2008). In the context of Mexican migration, the día de los muertos, also called todos santos, has been translocalised and turned into a transnational social field, linking together communities of migration and origin (Burrell 2005). In this vein, it is considered a field where belonging is enacted and reinforced across international borders. While this is also the case in Mitla, a tourist town located in the

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Southern Mexican state of Oaxaca, where some migrants return in order to take part in the fiesta or participate symbolically by providing funds to their families, it is also a field where local hierarchies are contested and new forms of belonging are played out. The practices associated with the fiesta link individuals to a significant past and allow them to display their affiliation and community membership. Investigating the fiesta as an annual event to reaffirm belonging and relatedness provides a lens to understand the various ways this is produced and envisioned by different actors. Conceptions of belonging and mechanisms of exclusion and inclusion are renegotiated during this event as individuals reframe the meaning of “custom” and “tradition” (Burrell 2005, 15). The concept of belonging has gained new momentum in recent studies addressing the consequences of accelerated globalisation, increased cultural diversity and modified forms of socio-spatial mobility. Transnational migration and the many forms of circulation require much broader approaches to adequately capture the numerous ways belonging is formed and evolving. Deterritorialisation processes and the dissolution of culture and space have added to the complexity of belonging and its understanding as it has become obvious that individuals’ lifeworlds and identifications are unstable and always multilayered. This article seeks to contribute to both the conceptual and empirical exploration of ideas of belonging. In doing so, I conceive of belonging not only as a sentiment and emotional attachment but rather investigate the social practices that create belonging, represent difference and foster cultural identification. I place emphasis on the spatial and representational dimensions of what belonging constitutes and explore the ways they are modified by local actors. I also stress the political dimension belonging entails by revealing the range of interests and diversity that become apparent when practices of belonging are contested. I argue that this approach is particularly relevant in the context of globalisation and social fragmentation, when belonging is experienced, negotiated and articulated in new social, political, cultural and economic contexts. Drawing on extensive fieldwork1 conducted from the early 1990s to 2009 in Mitla, I show that professional mobility and educational achievement had 1

I wish to thank all those who participated in this research for their support and willingness to share their experiences and knowledge with me. Their kind cooperation made this

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a strong impact on the re-organisation of the town’s political hierarchy and social matrix. Furthermore, mobility is a key issue as it is related to the local economy which is primarily shaped by trade, tourism and significant migration to the USA. As a consequence, categories of belonging and identification are redefined and renegotiated in the social field. I argue that the alleged tension between mobility and belonging is mitigated in specific practices, which work on several levels. They reveal internal differentiation, but also define attachment and are linked into and shaped by the global economy. But articulating and understanding these practices requires attention to concepts of belonging. Before I turn to my empirical findings in more detail, I wish to outline some conceptual ideas regarding belonging, social mobility and spatial identification and the various ways these dimensions are intertwined.

BELONGING AS SENTIMENT AND PRACTICE Belonging has been defined as a sense of experience of a particular locale, emphasising the affective and emotional quality; belonging and locality have been conceived of as “markers of identity”, as a “way of remembering, tying people to place and social relationships” (Lovell 1998, 1). These notions build on and expand earlier anthropological inquiries into the relationship between identity and place. A range of studies have shown in great detail the many ways individuals sense places, ascribe meaning to them and derive sense from them (Bender 1993; Tilley 1994; Hirsch and O’Hanlon 1995; Feld and Basso 1996). The spatial dimension of belonging is stressed through the construction of both history and tradition which are engraved into particular places. Belonging is also a way of remembering, creating a bond between individuals and a particular locale, thus constructing a collective memory of place. These processes however may be conflicted, for instance when several groups claim rights and memories within a particular place. The competing construction of place and belonging is also transparent when practices performed in particular places are contested (Dürr 2005).

research possible. I am also grateful for their hospitality and patience regarding my many inquiries.

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Concepts of both belonging and identity encompass notions of inclusion and exclusion. The construction of cultural identities often includes the maintenance of difference, sometimes displaying culture as a bounded entity (Barth 1969; Bhambara 2006). Belonging does not ignore difference but gives more emphasis to resemblance and emotional bonding. By focussing more on connections and linkages than on categories confronted by other categories, such as “Other”, attention is shifted from boundary creating processes to the production of attachments and relationships. In this vein, Candea (2010, 124), following Edwards (1998, 148), concludes that belonging may be conceived of as a variety of connections, including links to pasts, persons and places. Edwards (1998) is also interested in the ways the past is used and mobilised in the processes of forging belonging. Also, more recent approaches highlight positionality and intersectionality, meaning that belonging is constructed in an intersectional way in relation to a range of features such as class, gender or educational background (Anthias 2006). Individuals belong to different constructions of boundaries and hierarchies. Belonging is seen in relation to a person’s position and positioning in a complex, non-static social environment. This perspective is in tune with but also goes beyond transcultural approaches (Ortiz 1940; Welsch 1999) as widely discussed with regard to identity formations that reject a dichotomist construction of categories. More recent studies stress in-betweenness, overlap, entanglement, forms of translation and mitigation as well as the dynamics of mutual appropriation (Burke 2000; Fuchs 2005; Srubar, Renn, and Wenzel 2005; Friese 2007). I wish to follow these lines of inquiry and hope to overcome the rather static description of categories by outlining the mechanisms that create belonging and their underlying motivational politics. I wish to highlight that, in the context of globalisation and mobility, individuals may belong not only to multiple spheres but also to spheres that were perceived of as segregated and mutually exclusive. Thus, individuals are able to transcend social barriers by making connections to spheres that are seen as opposed to and competing with each other. Furthermore, belonging refers to but also expands local contexts as individuals are always embedded in wider frameworks in which they act and live in multi-sited social worlds (Clifford 2007, 201). Belonging comprises both spatial and social dimensions, that is, individuals belong to particular places and social layers at once. This intersects with the new mobilities paradigm which stresses that individuals do not only

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change place but also social status (Sheller and Urry 2006). In these processes, connections are redefined and new positions are formed. I argue that these dynamics produce new cultural meanings and social forms of belonging. In order to capture the practices that express these forms of belonging, I place emphasis on “doing belonging” in accord to what Bogner and Rosenthal (2009, 15) refer to as “doing ethnicity” and “doing differences” in other contexts. What does belonging to Mitla constitute, how is community membership defined, acknowledged and practiced? I argue that belonging is not restricted to spatial and geographical terms with regard to residency, citizenship and birth rights, but encompasses a distinctive knowledge, world view and set of cultural practices. Mitla is not just a geographical space but rather a cultural space. Its understanding requires the acknowledgment of particular practices, perceptions and belief systems of the individuals inhabiting this space (Gupta and Ferguson 1997). Consequently, the criteria for belonging are socially, culturally and historically produced and rendered meaningful. Furthermore, Bogner and Rosenthal (2009, 14) stress that belonging is relevant in particular biographical and social constellations and that the criteria of belonging are redefined over time. Rather than seeing belonging as a state or linear development, it is conceptualised as a multilayered and open, sometimes conflicting, process. Belonging is experienced, sensed and lived; it can entail multiple place identifications, especially within the context of globalisation, dislocation and displacement (Lovell 1998, 1). It also refers to the web of social relationships and one’s unstable positioning within it (Anthias 2006). The spatial dimension of belonging is reinforced through the historical and memorial dimensions, adding to the emotive power of this concept.

LOCAL DYNAMICS: CHANGING CONSTELLATIONS IN MITLA Mitla is a Zapotec-speaking town located in the central valley of Oaxaca, Southern Mexico, with a population of roughly 12.000 inhabitants (INEGI, 2011). The state capital Oaxaca de Juárez is only half an hour bus ride away and conveniently connected to Mitla by a new highway. Mitla possesses a famous pre-Hispanic archaeological site which is visited by international and national tourists. However, most tourists stop over in the town on a half-day excursion and few stay over night. Furthermore, the town has developed a

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sophisticated textile industry over the last 8 decades (Dürr 1996; LugoMorin et al. 2008). Mitla’s typical handcrafted textiles are traded all over the country and beyond national borders. Many Mitleñas y Mitleños migrate seasonally to tourist sites all over Mexico to sell their products. Others cross the border to the USA in order to improve their economic conditions while still keeping strong ties with their families back home. Thus, mobility in both spatial and social terms has always been prominent in the townspeople’s lifeworld. In the last three decades however, Mitla’s social fabric underwent a significant change as the internal differentiation increased considerably. For some local families, the production and distribution of textiles proved to be fairly profitable. Some of the town’s artisans successfully extended their business. They now export their crafts not just to other national destinations but also to the USA and beyond. Others claimed a successful migration biography and were able to accumulate considerable financial resources. Their economic success is reflected in fancy multi-storey houses, with prestigious cars parked in the driveway. Furthermore, socio-political programmes to foster education and schooling launched by the state, contributed to the emergence of young, well-educated individuals. They possess a higher education and even a university degree and pursue careers as professionals in various fields, such as architecture, planning, accountancy, medicine and the like. In some cases, they are fluent in English and well travelled, literate and eloquent. The majority of these profesionales, as they are called locally, are unable to find adequate work opportunities in Mitla and earn their living outside of the town. However, they maintain close linkages to their original homes and seek to be actively involved in the town’s politics, economic development and cultural activities. The engagement of the profesionales in the town’s affairs is reflected in multiple ways and has a significant impact on socio-political affairs. This is most obvious in the election of the local authorities. Mitla belongs to the municipios that decided to vote their local authorities in accordance with the political party system, not the usos y costumbres mode. Since the early 1990s, a new constitutional law granted the municipios in Oaxaca two options to run their political affairs (Dürr 2005). They have a choice to elect their authorities either in accordance with usos y costumbres, that is, based on the cargo-system, or to elect representatives of a political national party by secret democratic votes by ballot. While the vast majority of municipios in Oaxaca

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has chosen usos y costumbres, Mitla has not. This means that the town’s highest authorities are no longer recruited from the circle of elders as it was the case under the cargo-system, when the hierarchically structured government positions were nominally filled on the basis of election by communal assembly or by consensus for a three-year term. Young men started with the lowest cargo and worked their way up to be eligible for higher positions. The elders of the community accumulated prestige and political influence by having served in different positions. They were also ranked according to their experiences in negotiating internal matters and maintaining external relationships, in particular with representatives of the dominant political party of Oaxaca. As a consequence of today’s election according to the political parties and the subsequent abolishment of the cargo-system, the local authorities are now considerably younger than in former times. It is important to note that this development does not necessarily mean a complete reordering of the town’s political forces. It is rather a shift in generation as some of the politically powerful leaders are the offspring of affluent and influential families. However, the days when one party ruled Mexico are gone and instead Mexicans have many political options, diversifying power, increasing contestation and opening new possibilities for individuals who were marginalized under the former system. Also, the actual political leaders are no longer primarily artisans, traders or farmers, but individuals with a professional life outside of the town. They can still claim political posts as long as they are born in Mitla and own land or a house in the town. The local knowledge and life experience which was accumulated in the course of the former cargo-system however has been replaced by other skills, namely by skills acquired outside of the town and now manifest in professional, educational and economic success. “Gente que sabe” is a common expression when town’s people are asked whom they would like to see as their authorities. The profesionales bring in a new set of knowledge and new visions regarding the town’s future while increasing social differentiation and class stratification. More and more, they cross diverse spatial, social and economic spheres and need to reconcile disparate experiences – all while extending and redefining the criteria for social inclusion and belonging. It is against this backdrop that a group of young adults called grupo Mictlán aims at advancing the town’s social, cultural and economic development. This group started out as a youth group in the early 2000s, and transformed into

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the grupo Mictlán, comprising an articulate and cosmopolitan oriented membership with a higher education or university degree. They have launched a range of activities, such as lectures on topics like cleanliness and rubbish disposal, health issues or book presentations and they promote dance, theatre and music. They also aim to re-enact and revaluate cultural practices, costumbres, for displaying them to a wider public. In this vein, tourism has been identified as key for the town’s prosperous future and the local costumbres are promoted as both tourist potential and identity marker of the town. This could increase the town’s tourist attraction beyond the archaeological site and handicrafts while representing cultural practices as typical and unique. It is important to note that Mitla, as other municipios in Oaxaca, is proud of the town’s costumbres and celebrates them with devotion. This is particularly the case for the patron saint day “San Pablo” and the famous día de los muertos, which has been so far only tentatively included in the town’s tourist programme.

DAY OF THE DEAD (DÍA DE LOS MUERTOS/TODOS SANTOS) Mitla is seen as the centre of the difuntos (deceased) who come to visit their former homes and relatives once a year – except the ones who died less than twelve months ago as they have to guard the beyond while the others are away visiting the living (Dürr 1996, 206). The importance of Mitla as centre for the deceased dates back to pre-conquest times (Arfmann 2008). The Zapotec regents and priesthood were apparently buried in Mitla which was one of the most important sanctuaries of the region (Seler 1904, 248).2 Another indication for Mitla’s association with death and the afterlife is provided by its Zapotec name, Lyobaa or Lioo-baa or Yoopaa (de Burgoa 1989; Seler 1904, 247) which translates as “burial place” or “place of the dead”. This name derives from its function as both a burial place and as a religious centre for ceremonies related to the cult of the dead. The fifteenth century saw the beginning of Aztec expansionism in that region. The subsequent conflicts culminated in a battle at Mitla which was partially destroyed (Seler 1904, 262). The Aztec called the site Mictlán, referring to the resting-place 2

In Mitla, Xonaxi Quecuya and her husband Coqui Bezelao, while also worshiped at other Zapotec sites, were most likely related to the gods of death / underworld, as were the corresponding priests (Spores 1965, 970).

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of the deceased; as such it is also depicted in the Codex Mendoza (cf. Seler 1908, 474-75). In the colonial period, the Spaniards deformed the name Mictlán to Miquetlan or Miquitla (Gerhard 1993, 190-91), ultimately leading to its present name Mitla. The town’s importance for the cult of the dead is present in today’s oral traditions and cultural practices. A range of narratives and discursive accounts attest to Mitla’s role concerning the deceased and link the town to the beyond. As centre of the world, it is here where the realm of the dead is located, even though different ideas exist as to where exactly the residence of the deceased is situated. The dead may inhabit their former homes together with the living – even if most of the time invisible to their descendants; they may also dwell in a village situated directly underneath the Mitla of the living, being organized in the same way as its above-ground counterpart. The dead gather in seemingly endless long tunnels beneath the archaeological site in order to hold their market.3 Furthermore, the natural environment is shaped by unique features which both reflect and confirm specific cosmologies. The four biblical rivers of Paradise are supposed to have their counterparts in the four rivers crossing Mitla. One of them is only a small creek, but is thought to be a raging stream in the other world which has to be crossed by the deceased. At the river bank, the dead are assisted by a black dog which carries them across on its back.4 This is why this river is also called Río Jordán (“Jordan river”) (cf. also Parsons 1936, 153). Not only the local deceased are bound for this abode of the dead, in fact all souls must go there.5 In doing so, however, the souls of the town dwellers face fewer difficulties than the souls of the non-local deceased, since the latter arrive at Mitla after covering a long distance. Another view is that Mitla constitutes the halfway-point on the route to the beyond, thus all dead have to pass through this place: “es mitad del camino para llegar al otro mundo de los muertos”.6 3 Some of the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages of Tlacolula and San Lorenzo Albarradas share this view, claiming that there is a weekly market in the ruins of Mitla. 4 Cf. Parsons (1936, 152) for more details and cf. also Sahagún (1927, 297f.) for a similar account. 5 Presumably for this reason, Elsie Clews Parsons, who conducted fieldwork in Mitla in the early 1930s, called her book “Mitla, Town of the Souls”. I use the term “soul” as the translation of the Spanish word “alma”, even though this term does not fully correspond to the Christian notion of “soul” but refers to Mitla’s specific conception of deceased individuals. 6 Fieldnote, interview conducted on 2 February 1992.

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In case of natural death, the afterlife is regarded as an extension and reflection of earthly life. Otherwise, the dead find no rest and are turned into an alma en pena (“soul in affliction”) because the soul cannot separate gradually from the body in order to accomplish a steady passage into the beyond. A person having suffered a mala muerte (“bad death”) in case of a sudden, violent or otherwise unnatural death becomes an alma en pena and will not find peace. An alma en pena is condemned to walk around at night causing harm to humans or possibly even death by sudden fear or threat (susto), resulting in loss of vitality and soul. As a result, not only morality but the cause of death plays a crucial role for the mode of further existence in the afterlife (Dürr 1996, 26). Preparations for the todos santos start weeks before the actual event and are an important factor in the regional and local economy. Houses and graves are cleaned and adorned in order to receive the difuntos properly at the first of November, when the deceased adults come to visit. Deceased children (angelitos) are expected on the 31st of October, deceased with no living relatives (ánimas solas) the second of November. Family members gather at the cemetery at noon to pick up their difuntos, called togool in Zapotec, greeting them with firecrackers, liquor and cigarettes and leading them along the way to the house with incense and flowers (Fig. 1). The doors are unlocked and kept wide open, signalling a welcome to the deceased, while a breeze in the air is taken as evidence for their actual presence. A petate (mat made of straw) is waiting for the difuntos to relax on, fresh clothes are prepared for them, and salt, liquor and cigarettes as well as some of their favourite items are placed on the house altar. A newly bought basket should help the deceased when they carry their goods and produces “home”. A sugar cane serves as their walking stick when they leave the next day. Furthermore, calaveras mimic their activities and personal characteristics, for instance their professions as farmers, wagon drivers or musicians (Fig. 2). The altar provides the centrepiece and is dressed with both a set of conventional adornments and a range of personal items expressing personal features of the difuntos. This helps to shape and to maintain a particular image of the deceased by the living. The altar is turned into a means of both honouring and remembering the deceased. More recently, photographs are incorporated in the adornments, as well as US-American-style carved pumpkins and elaborate candies (Fig. 3).

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FIGURE 1 Picking up difuntos at the cemetery at todos santos. Photograph: Eveline Dürr.

Family members converse with their difuntos, welcoming them in their own house and greeting them in neighbouring homes. All night long, people visit each others houses, sharing and exchanging food while acknowledging the presence of the deceased. Food encompasses key cultural values and plays a pivotal role in re-enacting the bond between the living and their deceased. Visitors place food in front of the altar before they are served delicacies such as mole de guajolotes, chocolate and pan de muerto by the female head of household. Food generosity helps to create a memorable reputation for the host, but also honours the deceased as valuable and dignified. The food and the smells, along with specific decorations recalling family events and personal characteristics of the deceased, stimulate remembrance and perpetuate the memory of a shared past. The presence of the deceased is perceived of in particular signs, such as the movements of fruits on the altar, the tumbling over of the flower vases and ultimately the deceased’s appearance in dreams. While shar-

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FIGURE 2 Calaveras on the altar representing difuntos. Photograph: Eveline Dürr.

ing food and memories, stories are told about encounters between dead and living, but also about consequences of disbelief and disregard of one’s obligations to provide sufficient food and offerings for the diseased. These narratives reassure and publicly enact membership in the extended family and foster identification with the wider community. They also create important linkages between alternative time frames, spatialities and community members as they merge past and present, the afterlife and this world, dead and living, intangible and tangible spheres. Belonging is nurtured and evolves its emotive power as dead and living family members share food and memories. Douglas (1981, 258) points out that meals convey meaning, help to remember other meals and bring to mind the past, thus facilitating the merging of different temporalities. Sharing food is a memorial practice, it is interacting between the past and the present. It is also both a sensory and social experience which can evoke vivid images, drawing together the dead and the living by feeding them in the same moment. These practices create belonging, identifica-

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FIGURE 3 Altar with photograph of the deceased. Photograph: Eveline Dürr.

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tion and membership, not just publicly by claiming common ancestry but also emotionally and evocatively, with idiosyncratic smells and tastes. This “tasted” and “smelled” practice of belonging reinforces and extends spatial and social dimensions by including the deceased in both spatial and social terms. In Mitla, these practices reunify increasingly stratified community members and provide opportunities to renew attachments and connections amongst themselves and their ancestors – while categories of class, gender, education and growing social and economic differentiation are less prominent for the duration of these encounters. Participation in this event is particularly important for the younger profesionales, who affirm and validate their roles within the community in which they no longer fully take part in the everyday life. They display a historical continuity with living and dead community members through these practices of belonging. Community membership is reinforced by sharing a particular social reality, aesthetics, evocative acts and highly sensational practices which are embedded in memorial narratives and oral accounts. Meals are made memorable by repetition in a yearly rhythm and by discursively remembering and talking about past meals while serving food (Sutton 2001, 103).

CONTESTED PRACTICES OF BELONGING AND TOURISTIFICATION OF COSTUMBRES

The día de los muertos is one of Oaxaca’s most important tourist events, but so far, it has not been the main tourist attraction in Mitla. The grupo Mictlán, as other groups in villages adjacent to the capital Oaxaca, has tried for several years to incorporate this ceremony in the town’s tourist representation. They redefine costumbre as both a resource of community pride and as a stimulus to the local economy. These attempts are tied into the wider discourses about indigenous “traditions” and cultural heritage. In the context of globalisation and decolonisation, costumbres have gained new momentum as political tools and distinct cultural features. They acquired new meaning as evidence of resistance to colonialism and as a means to define tradition as “authentic” (Clifford 2004). In this vein, they are turned into a source of community building and belonging – and more often than not, they provide a source of income as well. The activities of the grupo Mictlán are situated in this context and need to be understood in the town’s changing politics and especially the aspiration of the younger gener-

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FIGURE 4 Tourists taking pictures of locals at the cemetery at todos santos. Photograph: Eveline Dürr.

ation. Their articulated aim, as stated on a poster to advertise their initiatives, is to preserve and revaluate Mitla’s costumbres. This is intriguing as most “traditional” practices are far from being neglected, in particular the día de los muertos, which is celebrated in an elaborate manner by nearly all families. After having obtained permission from the local authorities to incorporate todos santos in the tourist advertisement and to rename the ceremony festival de los muertos, it was promoted in flyers, posters, newspapers, by word of mouth and in the internet.7 In 2009, the seventh festival de los muertos (“festival of the dead”) was held which was attended by five groups comprising roughly 20 tourists each. On the first of November, they were guided to the decorated graves on the cemetery and to some individuals’ houses, which were in some cases the relatives of the group members (Fig. 4). 7

Cf. for example Diario Despertar de Oaxaca (2009).

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This themed tour, free of charge, included a thorough explanation of the items placed on the altar which were portrayed as an unchanged tradition over time. Tourists were welcomed to take pictures of the altar, but did not participate in the exchange and sharing of food. Additional activities were introduced to engage the town dwellers in these events as well, such as awards for the most “traditional” celebration of the día de los muertos, preferably conducted in a house with a roof made of straw and an earthen ground – houses that hardly exist any more. An “altar contest” (recorrida de los altares) was held to award the most traditionally adorned altar and the best knowledge of the symbolic meaning of the items provided. Other contests followed, such as a prize for the most fine-looking pan de muertos and the most expressive costume representing features of the Day of the Dead. The tourists were invited to attend these events as well, but only a few accepted this invitation. The guided tours on the día de los muertos are contested because not all town dwellers agree with the touristification of this ceremony. While some individuals argue that this activity is challenging their understanding of the día de los muertos as an intimate, family and, explicitly, non-tourist celebration, others are not concerned with the commodification of this event. The opponents argue that tourists’ participation would mean a “profanisation” of semi-sacred traditions. They claim that this fiesta “is not for sale”, but is rather “un día de cariño, no de dinero”. They feel that tourists may disturb the intimate relationship with the difuntos during this period. They also point to historical legitimacy and authenticity which excludes tourists as non-community members. Other voices, in particular those of Restaurant and Hotel owners, do not share this view. They rather embrace the tourists’ curiosity in Mitla’s costumbres hoping for financial benefit from their stay. They argue that tourists have always been part of Mitla’s economy and posit that the difuntos would not be disturbed by them but rather welcome the visitors – as hospitality and generosity are both part of this very celebration and the town’s costumbres. The fiesta is not arranged to meet the tourist’s schedule and it is celebrated in private homes, where its performance is presented as unchanged, timeless and static. The tourists are promised to participate in an “authentic”, non-staged version of the día de los muertos. Actually, there is a simultaneity of both the “staged” and the “authentic” as the performance for tourists overlaps with the “real” celebration of the fiesta – in terms of time and space.

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Nonetheless, by including the tourists in the fiesta celebrations, the nature of the día de los muertos is converted, since the tourists’ search for the authentic obstructs the very authenticity it seeks. This creates an unsolved tension. While the very local and unchanged is emphasised, it is altered by the tourists’ presence in the same moment. This aspect is central to the critical voices in town. In their view, the tourists do not “belong” to this celebration as they are seen as outsiders rather than community members and as such disturb the practice of intimate belonging. At the same time, this dispute strengthens the perception of the día de los muertos as a unique and valued feature of the town and confirms its meaning as “traditional” and idiosyncratic. In this process, practices of belonging are economised, contested and invigorated at once. They are reframed as both a display of pride and a themed tourist experience. While this is easily compatible for some, it is a most disturbing issue for others. These diverse perceptions highlight the way the present Day of the Dead is infused with political dimensions of belonging.

CONCLUSION Participating in the fiesta creates sentiments of belonging through honouring a common set of traditions and creating historical continuity – even though individual meanings ascribed to these practices may vary considerably. In this case, belonging is forged through spatial and social connections, along with a strong emotional bond that maintains community membership beyond death and the confinements of physical space. It rather extends and links diverse spatialities and dissolves dualistic past-present temporalities, thus connecting a range of separate spheres. Simultaneously, the revaluation of the día de los muertos fosters the identification with Mitla as a cultural space that is shaped by a unique relationship with the deceased and the beyond. It is this relationship that is reproduced by a specific belief system and cosmology of the inhabitants. As the centre of the difuntos, the town gains a special status among the neighbouring villages. In fact, it is these characteristics of the Day of the Dead that make the festival attractive to diverse interests, not least tourist promoters. The controversy over including the tourists in the celebration of the día de los muertos reveals disagreements over the nature of this event and shows diverse understandings of practices of inclusion and belonging. While some

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voices foreground the persistence of “traditional” fiesta practices as unchangeable and thus requiring the exclusion of tourists, others define the fiesta as an opportunity to endorse local practices of belonging while perceiving them also as marketable. These competing viewpoints highlight the contests emerging regarding terms of inclusion and belonging in Mitla. Furthermore, while this conflict is intergenerational to some extent, it is also tied into increasing class stratification, social mobility and diverse economic opportunities. While the touristification of the día de los muertos is thus contested, the festival still unifies and incorporates the townspeople in sharing, performing and representing significant linkages with deceased community members and the past, thus re-integrating heterogeneous actors. This is particularly relevant in a community that is shaped by mobility, movement and difference and in which fiestas provide spaces for local struggle and integration at once.

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TILLEY, Christopher. A Phenomenology of Landscape: Places, Paths and Monuments. Oxford: Berg 1994. Explorations in anthropology. UNESCO. Intangible Heritage: The Indigenous Festivity dedicated to the Dead 2008. Web. 1 Feb. 2011. . WELSCH, Wolfgang. “Transculturality: The puzzling form of cultures today.” Spaces of culture (1999): 194-213.

CINE INDÍGENA: VIDEO, MIGRATION AND THE DYNAMICS OF BELONGING BETWEEN MEXICO AND THE USA Ingrid Kummels

ABSTRACT Films dealing with migration between Mexico and the United States constitute part of a media scene in Mexico that is currently known by the name “Video Indígena” or “Cine Indígena”. This article focuses upon the contribution of this scene to the emergence of novel, shifting and multifaceted forms of indigenous collective identity as actors adapt their sense of belonging when moving between different national and local forms of ethnic categorisation. The article examines the connections between the dynamics of belonging to new forms of geographic and virtual mobility, the latter of which being of increasing use to persons who identify themselves as indigenous filmmakers.

INTRODUCTION Since 2006, and in contrast with the film representations of television and mainstream cinema in Latin America, a growing number of films that have been screened at the International Festival of Indigenous Peoples Film and Video1 have presented a novel perspective of the way of life of indigenous people in Mexico. In the documentary “Sueños Binacionales/ Binational Dreams”, the audience is offered an insight into the life of young Chatinospeaking adults from Southern Oaxaca who have relocated to Durham, North Carolina, where they work in hotels and gardening centres. In “Cheranastico Town” we see how a Purépecha-speaking family in the rural community of Michoacán gets together to watch a video-carta, a taped message

1 These festivals have been organized by the Coordinator of Latin American Cinema and Communication Indigenous Peoples, CLACPI, since 1985. At first, non-indigenous ethnographic filmmakers and their creations dominated at the festival. Starting in 1989, the festival was appropriated by Cine Indígena advocates who conferred a more multifaceted, plural character to the film screenings.

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shown on TV, informing them about the everyday lives of their relatives who reside in the United States. These and other video productions like “Día 2” and “Tama Milwaukee” display an indigenous lifestyle in settings that a film audience of the past would hardly have associated to such a life-style: at nonplaces (Augé 1992) such as websites, highways and the bare brickwork of a multi-story house under construction. Thanks to the migradolares, which a young man working in the United States invested in, the building now adorns a rural community of Purépecha-speakers. The protagonists of these documentaries are simultaneously involved between localities in both Mexico and the USA, leading a translocal life between the two countries. The film scenes seem to mirror real life, as they have been created by filmmakers whose biographies are evidence of the migratory movement between Mexico and the United States: Yolanda Cruz, the director of “Sueños Binacionales/ Binational Dreams”, emigrated to California with her parents as a child from a region of Chatino-speakers in Oaxaca. She studied film production at the UCLA School of Theatre, Film and Television. Contrarily, Dante Cerano and Eduviges Tomás (“Día 2”, “Cheranastico Town”) grew up in the small Purépecha community of Cheranatzicurín in Michoacán and have never crossed the border in search of employment. Nevertheless, the community in which they and their families continue to live has experienced a profound transformation due to the transmigration of the majority of its inhabitants over the past three decades. While the Mixe filmmaker Filoteo Gómez of Oaxaca (“Tama Milwaukee”) decided to settle down in the United States only a few years ago, having married a US-American geographer and media scientist. The films of these creators constitute an important, but not necessarily representative, recent part of a media scene in Mexico that is currently known by the name Video Indígena or Cine Indígena. This article focuses on the contribution of this scene to the emergence of novel, shifting and multifaceted forms of indigenous2 collective identity and subjectivity. Since the 1990s,

2 In the following, the English term “indigenous people” is used as an approximation to the Spanish terms indígenas and miembros de pueblos originarios. The latter are the terms which are most commonly used in Mexico today, either by institutions of the government or by social movements made up of actors who identify as indígena, such as activists of Cine Indígena or members of the Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (EZLN), among others. This translation, however, is not unproblematic since “indigenous” is currently used most often beyond

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indigenous persons of Mexico have increasingly used videotaping, as well as the production of documentary and narrative films, as a means of decolonising existing representations of the indigenous people as exotic, subordinate and passive “others”. The hypothesis of this article is that these novel ways of conceiving indigenous subjectivity and collective identity are connected to the interplay between, and increasing use of, new forms of geographic mobility (migration from the countryside to large cities as well as international migration) and of virtual mobility (the use of electronic mass media, among them video, to construct transnational social networks). At the same time, such development entails new forms of exclusion and inequality, but how these changes are to be conceptualised remains a cause for investigation. I will also try to specify the connections that exist between transformations in the different fields mentioned above. Questions that arise in connection with Cine Indígena are: To what extent do film creators, collaborators and viewers construct new emotional attachments as a basis to the collective feelings of belonging brought about by these new forms of mobility? How do these people make use of the images constructed and conveyed in their films to tell novel narratives about gender roles, local community, nation and transnation? To what extent do such images transform the social contexts they are set within? Does Cine Indígena constitute a specific political project and is it related to politicised concepts of indigeneity designed in a transnational context between Mexico and the United States? Changes to be studied also include the emergence of new concepts of cultural citizenship within this same context.

THE MULTIETHNIC DYNAMICS OF MIGRATION BETWEEN MEXICO AND THE UNITED STATES This paper supports the idea that the migration of Mexicans to the United States is one of the key socio-historical arenas through which Cine Indígena

the Americas in regard to the debate for the rights of indigenous people worldwide. This debate often does not refer to the specific history of the imposition, rejection and appropriation of discriminating and derogatory terms such as indio in Latin America. The terms indio and indígena have, in the course of the 20th century, been appropriated by the successors of the population which was homogenized and oppressed during the Colonial period. It has thereby been converted into a unifying term of self-identification and a basis for common social action.

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has been developed. This argument requires the analysis of the migration of Mexicans to the United States as a multiethnic process in which actors according to gender, class and ethnicity have been compelled to choose diverse migratory paths over the course of the 20th and 21st centuries. For example, migrants who spoke an indigenous language participated in the binational Bracero Program, initiated in 1942, mainly involving members of the ethno-linguistic groups of the Purépecha of Michoacán, Oaxaca’s Mixtecs and Zapotecs and the Nahua of the Estado de México and Puebla (Fox and Rivera-Salgado 2004, 2). When the Bracero Program was unilaterally ceased by the United States in 1964, the wave of undocumented migration into the country soared. In contrast to the common assumption that the poorest and most marginalised persons are those whom are compelled to migrate, there is no direct correlation between the lowest-income municipalities and those with the most out-migration (Fox and Rivera-Salgado 2004, 6). International migration requires certain financial resources in order to pay for essentials such as the expenses of a smuggler known as a “coyote” and fake documentation. As the majority of Mexico’s indigenous population belong to the lowestincome sector of the country, most participated in international migration at a relatively later date. Until recently, members of this sector who depended upon agriculture for a living migrated mainly within Mexico’s national borders. Following a seasonal and cyclical pattern, they would move from the countryside to the large cities or labour camps of agribusiness enterprises on the Pacific coast in order to earn money (Nagengast and Kearney 1990; Nolasco 1995). In the 80s this pattern underwent a dramatic transformation due to the economic and social dynamics that spread throughout the Mexican countryside, such as weakening state support for peasant agriculture. Since then, the native peoples of Mexico have relocated in significant numbers from the countryside to the large cities. Besides this and incited by the economic boom of the United States in the 90s, members of communities who until then had little experience of crossing the border, began moving to the United States. For this reason, Mayas from Yucatán and Chiapas now work in California and Texas, Mixtecs and Nahua from Central Mexico have settled in the Midwest and Texas, while Mixtecs from Puebla and neighbouring Veracruz have gravitated to the New York area (Fox and Rivera Salgado 2004, 6). Since the 90s, the number of indigenous people migrating to the US has grown so considerably that California has surpassed the traditional Indian state of Oklahoma in terms of its number of indigenous residents.

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In migrating to new transnational contexts, ethnicity, understood as a community imagined on the basis of “cultural” differences and as politics, has become more salient. Focusing on Mixtec-speakers, the anthropologist Michael Kearney has pioneered research in regard to this development. Kearney (1996, 2000) explains how commuting and establishing networks between the communities of origin in Mexico and the satellite communities in the United States has triggered a spatial expansion of the economic, social and cultural reproduction while also inciting new reflexive forms of collectivisation along ethnic lines. In the rural home communities of Oaxaca, such as in the Mixteca region, individuals would first self-identify as members of their rural community, occasionally consider themselves to be campesinos, but would never label themselves as mixtecos. However, members of different Mixtec-speaking communities would move in together when living and working in the United States. In the late 70s they began highlighting a new, broader ethnic identity as Mixtecs, Zapotecs or as indígenas in opposition to the non-indigenous population. They appropriated a label formerly used by linguists, anthropologists and the Mexican government, utilising the latent identity horizon of their shared mother tongue.3 On one hand, this ethnic identification constituted a reaction to racial discrimination and exclusion on behalf of the “Anglos”, English-speaking US-Americans, as well as on behalf of the “Chicanos”, US-Americans of Mexican origin (Velasco Ortiz 2008, 160). On the other hand, the actors exploited the more inclusive ethnic dimension of identity for collective action in order to enforce demands vis-à-vis representatives of the Mexican State and their employers. Self-identification as indigenous people offered them the advantage of greater visibility within the group of “ethnic Mexicans”, a group which is homogenised and discriminated against within the United States.4 3 Since the beginning of the 20th century, the Mexican government has classified the nation’s population according to linguistic criteria; the government therefore classifies the native population in around 60 ethno-linguistic groups. This categorisation was at first part of the State’s indigenist policies, which aimed at “Spanishising” the indigenous peoples, among other measures, through education. Currently Mexico adheres to a multicultural nation model and officially seeks to preserve and promote indigenous languages and collective identities. 4 The part of the population that is lumped together under the category of “Mexicans” or “Mexican-Americans” in the United States is in reality quite diverse. It includes among others people of Mexican origin whose ancestors were naturalised as an outcome of the Mexican-

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The new self-identification as Mixtecs in these contexts had repercussions on collective identity in the rural home communities, transforming it within this context too (Nagengast and Kearney 1990, 87). Besides this, Mixtecs, Zapotecs, Chatinos, Nahuas and others do not only express a shared identity to an indigenous language group, but also in many instances, a new feeling of belonging simultaneously to a transnational community. This is reflected in new community names that have been coined half-jokingly and half-earnestly “Oaxacalifornia”, “Cheranisticotown”, “Puebla York” and “NewYorktitlán” (cf. Smith 2005, 19). The transmigrants reposition themselves socially within this transnational field. On one hand, indigenous migrants have to cope with economic, social and political exclusions in both Mexico and the United States (Fox and Rivera-Salgado 2004, 3). While on the other hand, they seek and find new opportunities to extend their range of action in private and public spaces in order to overcome these exclusions. For instance, they may be able to attain new advantages in regard to their social status due to the reappraisal of services in the tertiary sector such as gardening and child-care in the context of transnationalism (Pries 2008, 56). Further still, women assume new roles in both private and public spheres, including, for example, roles within the family, migrant networks, local communities, trade unions and political organisations (Velasco Ortiz 2005). Ethnicisation does not always take place in the course of relocation to the new social context. Actors may also disapprove of and avoid being categorised as “Indians” by abandoning the use of their indigenous mother tongue. Fox and Rivera-Salgado (2004, 78) caution that “not all migrants have formed satellite communities in the United States (...) and even fewer have formed ethnic, regional, or pan-ethnic organisations”. While the experience of migration and collective identity building are definitely closely interconnected, they do not inevitably lead to actors adopting a new, broader ethnic identity. To be able to trace these diverging processes of collective identity construction, it is instrumental to conceptualise ethnicity as a sense of belonging, that is, as a flexible way of creating emotional attachments to various collectivities and groupings in the context of hegemonic categorisations at certain sociohistorical moments (Yuval-Davis, Kannabiran, and Vieten 2006). In a binational context and whether caused by the relocation from countryside to large American War of 1846-1848 as well as recent immigrants. I use the term “ethnic Mexicans” to highlight this diversity.

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city, from one country to the other, or simply participation within different everyday and institutional settings; it is important to understand how actors adapt and react when moving between different national and local forms of ethnic categorisation. The social agency and the creative actions of the “indigenous” migrants show us that they do not harbour one sole immutable ethnic identity. Instead, in the course of transmigration they relate to different overlapping and interacting ethnic regimes, of which some are more flexible and others more rigid (Velasco Ortiz 2008; Apitzsch 2009).

THE MULTIPLE ORIGINS OF CINE INDÍGENA The emergence of Cine Indígena has to be understood in the context of the indigenous autonomy movement too (Wortham 2004, 365). Indigenous peoples’ movements in Canada, Mexico, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia, among other countries, articulated their demands on an ethnic basis for the first time due to the inequalities and racial discrimination they suffered in the context of homogenising nation models such as in those that focused on mestizaje.5 By the end of the 60s, indigenous identities had been revitalised in Canada, the United States, Mexico, Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia. In the context of Latin America, common historical factors that contributed to these developments can be identified: As a consequence of the formal abolishment of the Colonial subordinate status of the indio in most of the young republics, native peoples paradoxically lost their former special rights with regard to semi-autonomous administration and communal proprietorship of land. Furthermore, they still experienced cultural and racial discrimination in spite of their equality as citizens before the law. The dominant elites regarded the cultural heterogeneity of the independent states as the cause of their deficiencies. They therefore placed the blame for economic and political problems on the sector of the population which they marked as the indigenous “ethnic” minority, thereby excluding it from the aspired homogenous nation. Precisely because of this exclusion, the indigenous peoples 5

Mestizaje (Mestizoisation) refers to a model of nationhood to which numerous Latin American elites have adhered to since the end of the 19th century. In the concept of mestizaje genetic and cultural mixing are conceptualised as being intertwined and as natural and desirable processes.

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rejected mestizaje and the homogenising nation model. At first, inhabitants of rural communities tried to enforce their claims in regard to land property and an agrarian reform by taking on the class affiliation known as campesinos. Nevertheless, they found that their demands ultimately did not elicit a response from the farmers’ confederations and trade unions. Increasingly, they raised political demands on an ethnic basis and asked for collective cultural rights: rights for the proprietorship of land and natural resources along with those for self-administration, thereby demanding partial autonomy within the nation-state. Furthermore, an upcoming indigenous elite that trained as government school teachers, and that is dealt with later in this text, still suffered discrimination in spite of efforts to assimilate into the dominant Mestizo society. For this reason, the educated elite chose to appropriate and redefine the indigenous identity in their own positive terms, employing it as a political weapon. By the 90s the new political subjects designated themselves as Native Americans (USA) and First Nations (Canada), while in Spanish-speaking countries as Pueblos Indígenas or Pueblos originarios and in Portuguese-speaking countries as Nações Indígenas. They contributed significantly to the initiation of constitutional reforms, which officially set the basis for the multicultural character of a number of countries. It is no coincidence that during this same period, indigenous people in many parts of the Americas began to create their own documentaries and narrative pictures as camera operators, sound professionals, directors or producers. Media centres related to film production were principally inaugurated in these countries with strong indigenous movements. Even local television stations were founded. Among the most notable ones in Mexico are the non-governmental organisations Ojo de Agua Comunicación, Chiapas Media Project/ Promedios de Comunicación Comunitaria and Exe Video.6 The emergence of these media projects in Mexico can be traced back to several sources. On the one hand, they were “invented” from above, since the government agency for indigenous affairs, the Instituto Nacional Indigenista (INI)7,

6 For an overview of the media centers of Cine Indígena in Mexico cf. Plascencia Fabila and Monteforte (2001); Köhler (2004); Córdova and Zamorano (2004); Smith (2006); Schiwy (2009) and the Website . 7 The Instituto Nacional Indigenista founded in 1948 was dismantled by the government in 2003 and its functions transferred to the Comisión Nacional para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas (CDI).

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started an important initiative by launching the program Transferencia de Medios Audiovisuales a Comunidades y Organizaciones Indígenas. In 1989, INI’s director at the time, Arturo Warman, a former member of the group of the progressive antropólogos críticos8, intended to bestow indigenous people with access to and control over the institutional resources by training them in modern audiovisual technologies (Wortham 2004, 364). Non-indigenous media experts and ethnographic filmmakers designed the program through which the asymmetrical access to mass media (due to its control by a few transnational corporations) was to be at least in part overcome. Instructors trained 87 indígenas in the basics of video production and editing by imparting eight-week crash courses delivered between 1990 und 1994. The trainees generally recorded video films that dealt with a multitude of subjects close to the indigenous communities interest, while – probably due to their nonindigenous instructors, documentary filmmakers such as Luis Lupone, Guillermo Monteforte and others, – they took their inspiration for the most part from documentary realism (Wortham 2004, 363).9 On the other hand, the interest in audiovisual media also developed from below, as a means of cultural and political empowerment seized by grassroots indigenous social movements. Since the late 60s, indigenous professionals have turned against the perception of Mexico’s native people as a “problema indígena”. They began to oppose the governmental policy of “integrating” this sector of the population via “Spanishisation” and transforming them culturally into Mestizos. This indigenous educated elite, consisting of teachers employed in governmental schools (known as promotores culturales at the time), trade union activists and local politicians, were a driving force in reorienting Mexico towards a multicultural nation model. They opposed INI’s policy goals in spite of the fact that they themselves worked as employees in indigenist governmental organisations. “When Our Media Belong to the State”, is how Antoni Castells-Talens (2009) accurately characterises this interrelationship. In his investigation of the radio stations installed by INI in the Maya region of Yucatán in the 80s, he observes how contradictory and 8 In the 70s, the group of “critical anthropologists” along with the indigenous autonomy movement were instrumental for Mexico’s change to a multicultural nation model. 9 The film “Tejiendo Mar y Viento/ Weaving Sea and Wind” by Teofila Palafox, a collaborative effort between an indigenous Huave and the non-indigenous filmmaker Luis Lupone produced in 1987, is a showcase of this early effort.

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conflicting interests were negotiated within these institutions. Maya-speaking announcers raised demands for cultural and political autonomy vis-à-vis the Mexican state and showed solidarity with the Zapatista uprising of the 90s – even while working as employees of government-owned radio facilities. In several regions these minority sectors advanced a politicised ethnicity, identifying for the first time as members of an ethnic group such as “the Maya”, “the Purépecha” or “the Rarámuri”, though not in the sense of an ethnic minority, but rather as an incipient nation thereby entitled to rights similar to those of the nation-state (cf. Kummels 2006, 261f, 290f ). There is evidence that a significant number of the Transferencia de Medios trainees were members of the indigenous educated elite, among them former employees of the INI radio stations. Many of them had gained experience with communications technology such as radio in the context of local grassroots initiatives, using it as a form of cultural and political empowerment before participating in the Transferencia de Medios program (Smith 2010, Márquez 2009). Within a relatively short time, the indigenous activists advanced their own objectives of a self-determined, continuous and autonomous media production, identifying in many instances with the cause defined by the indigenous autonomy movement. For this reason, local organisations such as the TV station Video Tamix (1992) and the NGO Ojo de Agua Comunicación (1998) in Oaxaca were keen upon the idea of becoming independent with regard to their finances and infrastructure, and to some extent they severed ties with INI. Formerly integrated as Centros de Video Indígena of INI, they began relying more upon sources of finance from international NGOs for their infrastructure (Wortham 2004, 365f; Smith 2010, 266, 269). In further instances, video was seized upon by popular social movements due, by the most part, to its accessibility and low production costs compared to customary 16mm-cameras. Indeed, it was picked up by grassroots movements in Chiapas including, for example, the Zapatista movement (Halkin 2006). It was used as a means of documentation to be able to record the statements of political actors, in particular government representatives in the context of negotiation and conflict over cultural and political rights. Covering an event through visual media enables activists to force government representatives to be more cautious of their declarations, thereby enabling activists to exercise a certain control over officials (Brysk 2000, 95). The indigenous filmmakers who used media to such ends, often had no aspirations of converting their raw material into an edited film (Köhler 2004).

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Finally, the use of video can also be traced to the dramatic changes, which indigenous communities have experienced in the course of transmigration to the United States over the last decades. Persons with a migratory experience or participating in a “culture of migration” (Cohen 2004) even while remaining in their community of origin are, in general, consumers of mass media such as radio and television. They also make use of electronic communication technology in creative ways. As part of their private and commercial necessities and interests, they are keen to communicate with relatives and friends in different communities, transferring remittances, engaging in the local politics of their community of origin and completing commercial transactions in a transnational context. Migrants rapidly turned to increasingly accessible mobile telephones, photocopiers, fax machines and particularly video for these purposes (Smith 2005, 64). These technologies prove to be especially attractive for persons who are illiterate or are not functionally literate. Camcorders may be of particular appeal to individuals acquainted with television broadcasts, which applies to most migrants. They developed the genre of the video-carta, which consists of messages that are recorded with a camcorder and that frequently document central family gatherings. The persons filmed often speak directly to the camera and occasionally wave to the spectator in mind. In his master thesis, the Purépecha filmmaker Cerano (2009) analyses how, starting in the 90s, migrants introduced easy-to-use digital video cameras to Cheranatzicurín, Michoacán, encouraging the recording of family celebrations such as weddings and their circulation among relatives and friends on both sides of the border. Based on the local demand for such video-cartas or registros, local individuals developed enterprises; they render their services as video-makers or as video p’itari as they are called in Purépecha. The use of communication media as part of migratory processes may entail new subjectivities and collective identities. This is due to the fact that actors can exploit the potential of communication media to tell their own narratives and to portray the world in their own terms, thereby obtaining the power to intervene in political actions (Rodríguez 2009; Martín-Barbero 2002). Videotaping and filmmaking are not about representation in the sense of a “passive” mechanical creation that renders something or someone visually. Instead, film representation can be conceived as a rhetorical act, as “an attempt to influence action or persuade viewers in some way” since it implies and is directed to a community of receivers, both indigenous and non-

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indigenous (Leuthold 1998, 28). Zamorano (2009, 263) emphasises the active and productive qualities of filmmaking as a process of “intervening into reality” instead of conceptualising it as one of representation. Her concept highlights the possibilities communication technology harbours to construct and thereby transform a particular political reality. A number of investigations document how actors, in the course of processes of production and consumption, raise their voice for the first time and formulate a vision of the future that is strong enough to form part of the public sphere and to attain political power (Rodríguez 2009; Stephen 2009). Clemencia Rodríguez highlights the democratising potential of media within her idea of “citizens’ media”.10 She bases her concept on the findings of media and visual anthropologists such as Salazar who indicate that media are used to express more complex forms of belonging. The Mapuche, for example, question the equation of citizenship to Chile’s nation-state by using radio and video to manifest their language and culture in a public sphere. They thereby exercise a form of “ethnic citizenship”, appearing in the public sphere not only as the citizen of a particular nation-state, but as a member of a linguistic and ethnic community (Rodríguez 2009). Migration and the various forms of translocation related to transnational processes also incite the formation of novel, more complex forms of belonging such as sustaining a binational attachment to communities on both sides of a political border (Anthias 2006). Indigenous migrants that move between Mexico and the United States often aspire to become active members of two communities, their community of origin as well as their community of residence (Fox and Rivera-Salgado 2004, 27). “Small media” or “alternative media” may contribute to this, triggering an accordant social change and playing a central role in the construction of migrant civil society. Media may be employed to express new concepts of “cultural” or “community citizenship”. According to local ciudadanía concepts within the rural indigenous communities of Mexico such as community obligations, the participation in community cargos and communal work, entitle a person to specific rights as a member of that com10 In regard to politicised forms of communication media appropriation, Rodríguez (2001, 2009) pleads for considering them less as “alternative media” and rather as “citizens’ media”. Whereas the term “alternative media” accentuates their difference from media driven by the need to produce a profit, the term “citizens’ media” emphasises their democratising potential.

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munity. Such local concepts have been developed further in the context of migration. On this basis, “cultural” or “community citizenship” are being conceived as more open-ended with regard to the arena of inclusion, thereby comprehending a binational or transnational context. At this point it is important to address the issue of the modernising potential that is attributed to technical film devices and the art of filmmaking per se in a hegemonic manner. Digital media are culturally inscribed with respect to gender, race/ethnicity and geopolitical standing as belonging to “the West”. In this context, women, indigenous people and inhabitants of developing countries in general are denied the capacity of possessing a “natural” affinity for modern mass media. Eurocentric media theories reinforced these popular notions, as they parted from the assumption that a command of writing was the central indicator for progress. The empirical findings, however, contradict these assumptions: Cerano, for example, documents the use of media in rural communities in Mexico by indigenous and, in part, illiterate individuals over several decades. This appropriation of “modern” media is subdued to a power hierarchy as Haraway (1997, 89) reminds us, as only those participating in this hegemonic field receive recognition as rational actors.

CINE INDÍGENA AS A TRANSNATIONAL AND TRANSCULTURAL CINEMA Cine Indígena or Video Indígena is, even within Mexico alone, a field in which heterogeneous actors are engaged. To begin with, I will highlight what these actors have in common. The filmmakers who mostly prefer to call themselves videoastas or comunicadores often portray everyday life in the rural indigenous communities, its agriculture, its commerce, the preparation of local dishes, community work, fiestas, political organisation and religion. Further topics include social movements and political activism, among others in relation to the Zapatista movement. Apart from this, some films deal with migration and transnational life, to which I will return below. Films produced by Ojo de Agua Comunicación include the films Pueblos de México and México Intercultural, a series that was commissioned by the Mexican education ministry for educational TV, and therefore obtained a large audience. The term Cine Indígena, however, unduly suggests an ethnic homogeneity of the actors and their products since it conveys the impression of exclu-

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sively indigenous people creating films with indigenous themes. In reality, diverse actors, among them non-indigenous collaborators and members of the anti-globalisation movement, participate in the filmmaking. For this reason Cine Indígena rather more constitutes a transnational network of places of production and consumption (Wood 2008, 105). According to their cultural and social positioning the people involved in this field interpret Cine or Video Indígena differently and without reaching a consensus. Italian-Canadian Guillermo Monteforte, a key actor since the time the term Video Indígena was coined, explains: This term does not refer to a determined cinematographic genre (…) it also has nothing to do with whether the creator is indigenous or not. In essence, (Video Indígena) it includes productions and creators who use audiovisual media to bestow a dignified voice to the visions, engagements, knowledge and cultures of the native peoples (Plascencia Fabila and Monteforte 2001, 57).

Whereas Monteforte belongs to the directors of Cine Indígena who advocate for an indigenous cause, but who are neither categorised nor self-identify as indígena, others explicitly position themselves as filmmakers of an indigenous identity, like the group of filmmakers mentioned at the beginning of this article. Comparable to the European auteurs11 they convey a personal note in their films by individually shaping and influencing the basic film idea, the script, the production and the editing process. Besides this, they convey their subjective point of view by means of the camera perspective, sound and commentary. Their films are concerned with the transformation of the cultural and social positions of indigenous actors who live in the transnational context of Mexico and the United States. Interestingly, the Purépecha filmmaker Cerano draws a much more rigid line than Monteforte between “indigenous audiovisual artists” and “indigenist Western documentary filmmakers”. With this distinction he triggered a huge debate at a panel on indigenous media at the Second International Film Festival in Morelia in 2004 (Salazar and Córdova 2008, 39). His stance makes it clear that indigenous filmmakers aspire to the further expansion of their autonomy within media production as distinct from non-indigenous ethnographic filmmak11

An auteur is understood as a film director who plays such an important part in making his/ her films that he/ she is considered to be the author.

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ing. Still other videoastas distance themselves from the term Video Indígena, since they do not conceive of their work as belonging to an ethnically separated realm, but instead as part of a universal realm of documentary and feature film production (Gómez in: Smith 2006, 114; cf. García in: Wortham 2004, 365). Furthermore, even the sector of these indigenous filmmakers is divided. An ongoing controversy among them concerns the following question: Should films, as representations, be elaborated collectively in order to reflect community life and the opinions of members of a community in a representative manner? Or are individually elaborated auteur films expressing the creator’s view of things as admissible, perhaps even a way of filmmaking to aspire to? The Oaxacan videomakers working at Ojo de Agua Comunicación sustain that film creations should be based on the notion of comunalidad. They use this term as shorthand for the collectivity they attribute to the structure of indigenous life in general, which in their view traces back to preColonial times. What sustains comunalidad is the participation in community work, giving mutual assistance within the extended family and assuming community cargos – in summary, serving one’s community.12 Their films, for the most part, deal with the subject of communal indigenous life, portraying it intimately “from inside”. The creators of these films avoid expressing their personal points of view and instead let the protagonists have their say, taking pains to represent a certain cross section of the population in regard to age, gender and authority.13 Even though the actors of Cine Indígena may be divided on these issues, by relating to the same production, diffusion and consumption structures, they create a common public sphere. In the meantime, the heterogenous directors and audiences participate in this sphere to negotiate their notions of local community, nation and transnation. The term comunicadores, which 12 The author of this article interviewed Juan José García, the then director of Ojo de Agua Comunicación, on August 22nd 2008 in Oaxaca City. García’s film, “Llallchho/ Nuestro Pueblo/ Our People”, made in 2003, is a good example of the notion of comunalidad as it is a visual portrait of an indigenous community which is preparing for and celebrating the Day of the Dead. 13 For a list of the video productions of Ojo de Agua Comunicación cf. and in regard to the contents of specific films cf. Plascencia Fabila and Monteforte (2001); Ojo de Agua Comunicación (2006) and Wood (2008, 105-11).

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is how the creators of this scene prefer to call themselves, stresses this aim of network building via media. Cine Indígena circulates geographically within different transnational and Panamerican contexts such as the Coordinadora Latinoamericana de Cine y Comunicación de los Pueblos Indígenas (CLACPI) film festivals as well as non-indigenous film festivals, educational TV programs, and international activist and media distribution organisations like Promedios in Chicago. This is similarly the case with the following films that I will be examining, which were also distributed by the small film enterprise established by Dante Cerano (EXE Video). The prizes that the respective films have won also contribute to their popularity.14

FILMMAKER DANTE CERANO Dante Cerano lives in the Purépecha-speaking community of Cheranatzicurín, where he has been working as a filmmaker since 1997. He has been known amongst a broader audience of Cine Indígena since 2003, when he presented “Día 2”, an aesthetically unconventional film due to its seemingly eclectic mix of genres. In 2004, together with his wife Eduviges Tomás15 he produced the video “Cheranasticotown”, focussing upon the local impact of migration in Cheranatzicurín. Cerano turned to filmmaking after his engagement as an announcer at the INI radio station in Cherán and after having attended courses at INI’s Centro de Video Indígena in Morelia. As a consequence of its participation in the Bracero Program and despite some Purépecha joining at a late stage, Michoacán is one of the primary states of origin for migrants heading to the USA (Anderson 2004). Talking to a journalist, Cerano explained how he himself became a videomaker: I am a Purépecha from a community in Michoacán. I have been able to manage things in the community in such a way that I am able to survive there. Since a long time ago the indigenous people have been my main interest. In 1996, I began with this video stuff. My people form part of those who migrate to the United States. My first camera was a VHS, which one of them brought along

14

In 2004 “Día 2” won the prize for the best artistic creation at the VII. Festival Americano de Cine y Video de Pueblos Indígenas in Chile. 15 Eduviges Tomás works in the same community as an elementary school teacher.

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for me from that country. With the camera I have found a form in which to express my ideas. I’ve never been to a film academy. (In my films) I have given the floor to people like me. It was as if I had been offered the possibility to narrate my own stories. So what I am doing now is to narrate a collective chronicle.16

Cerano’s documentaries “Día 2” und “Cheranasticotown” convey the radical changes that his home community has undergone in a highly entertaining way. As a filmmaker he comments irreverently on the scenes and plays in an innovative manner with genres of images and audio. Both films convey how the encroaching forces of globalisation and heavy investment in local culture find their expression in a distinctive local culture, in the simultaneity of tradition and innovation. The film “Cheranasticotown” takes us into a spacious house with two floors due to the migradolares respective investment. Nevertheless it is built and inaugurated according to readjusted local traditions. The film allows us to experience the current form of veneration of the Patron Virgin of the community: she is adorned with a necklace made of American dollar bills. The music which community members listen and dance to during their leisure time resembles a pastiche of disparate musical choices, including the ranchero music of Northern Mexico with its narcocorridos and Purépecha rock music. He explains with regard to this kind of apparent juxtapositioning that: When I mentioned the indigenous people (pueblos indígenas), I contrasted the native people (pueblos originarios) with the Western world, but the native people are in fact Western, since they live in that type of context. They nevertheless maintain a particular perspective on their times and spaces. (…) I will soon present a film about Purépecha music and I call it Purépecha music because language is the heart of a culture, but the rhythms belong to the world: There is something similar to Pink Floyd within that music and similar to all the other influences that have touched me throughout my life – myself as a Purépecha who has listened to the music, to the duets and pireris of (the local banda of ) “Los Chapas de Comachuén”, but who has also listened to the world.” (Cerano in: Márquez 2009)

In his films, Cerano shows us that it is within this context that indigenous identity and indigeneity are redefined, in a dialogue and debate

16

Cf. Cruz Bárcenas Enviado (2006) (translation I.K.).

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between cultures or further still, a process of transculturation. As a consequence of the mobility of the actors and the movements and appropriations of cultural elements, which once were separated in space and time, music genres cannot be reduced to one origin alone. The film “Día 2” portrays a Purépecha wedding, the marriage of Hitler and Gabriela. Based on typical Purépecha wedding registros, it irreverently chronicles the second day of the marriage from sunrise to sundown. One of the film’s most remarkable sequences is dedicated to the “Bellas del Atole”, the maidens who prepare the corn beverage for the wedding feast and who are eligible. The scene begins with a panning shot of the young Purépecha women wearing their traditional ankle-long skirts and aprons. In his voiceover Cerano introduces them as the atoleras and as the attraction of the feast (for the men). “But perhaps they think that we would prefer to trade them for blondes with a high neck” he comments before in the next scene the young Purépecha women, thanks to slow motion, seem to dance to Puff Daddy’s “Every Move You Make, I’ll be Watching You”. In the following scene, the indigenous women are juxtaposed to Western female beauties by means of animation: Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, Pamela Anderson and Jennifer López appear as frames within the frame. As media theorist Jesse Lerner (2009) writes, “Cerano is conflating several gazes here: the male gaze at an objectified female ideal, be it Caucasian or Purépecha, an ethnographic gaze of the outsider at the spectacle of otherness, the Purépecha gaze at the unattainable ideal of an imported and alien standard of beauty.” I suggest that the success of “Día 2” is related to the film’s ability to speak to several audiences at once; it therefore forms part of different transnational public spheres. This is why it is able to merge topics, which according to dichotomising racialised categories, are often isolated from each other: Indigenous people and “Western” eroticism. It reconstructs and relates “the indigenous” and “The Western”. Watching or referring to Cerano’s film, a spectator can therefore position himself explicitly between cultures. An indigenous spectator is for example able to relate to its bifocality in regard to “the indigenous” and “The Western”, thereby reframing the meaning of local practices such as wedding celebrations, dancing and flirtation in relation to diverse cultural standards. This bifocality creates an alternative to the established stereotype of the asexual indigenous people that is conveyed by Mexican mainstream cinema. Furthermore, Cerano’s constant, ironic commentary on the Euro-American “othering” of native people shows that this has become an integral part

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of Purépechan self-identification. As dominated minorities, indigenous people have “accustom(ed) themselves to a bifocality reflective of both the ways that they view themselves and the ways they are viewed by others” to quote Lipsitz (1990, 135). The development of this innovative perspective in his film was the result of previous experiences, as Cerano explained in a recent interview17: As a trainee of INI’s Transferencia de Medios program, he completed his first narrative film, “Uaricha in Death”, in 2003. The film deals with myths about witchcraft among the Purépecha. The audience at the film festival of Morelia criticised it for the length of certain scenes amongst other things. Cerano had the impression that the critics did not understand the film due to cultural differences. Angry about this reception, he decided to make a film capable of crossing over cultural barriers and shot “Día 2”.

CONCLUSIONS The example of Cine Indígena illustrates how creators, collaborators and viewers may construct new emotional attachments as a basis of collective feelings of belongings in the course of new forms of geographic and virtual mobility. Films like “Día 2” and “Cheranasticotown” tell novel narratives about gender roles, local community, the Mexican nation and the US-Mexican transnation. This, of course, does not necessarily mean that the narratives entail according transformations in social reality. The impact of the films can, however, be assessed with regard to the fact that: • Cine Indígena’s structure of production, and of consumption, is conducive to the collaboration between indigenous and non-indigenous allies. • Cine Indígena circulates extensively within different transnational and Panamerican contexts such as the CLACPI film festivals as well as nonindigenous film festivals, educational TV programs, and international activist and media distribution organisations such as Promedios in Chicago. 17

The author of this article interviewed Dante Cerano on August 1st 2010 in Paracho, Michoacán.

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Within both of these circuits, debate and dialogue take place. The imaginaries of the films dealt with, have triggered, among other things, a controversy about the elaboration of film representations which side either with collectivity or individuality with regard to film production and its visual images. Regarding this controversy, the sector of filmmakers that defines itself as ‘native’ voices different concepts of indigeneity. These concepts range from essentialist renderings to more nuanced and inclusive forms of indigeneity (cf. Smith 2010, 270f ). For example, in Cerano’s films, Purépecha culture and identity imbued with either a bi- or multifocal character is highlighted. These manifestations, such as “hybrid” Purépechan music, resonate in the everyday lives of mobile people, whether indigenous or not. Mobile people are sometimes forced and often willing to cope with diverse everyday contexts, displacements and the geographical separation of members of their networks. They may therefore choose to mediatise their cultural interactions. In these respects, Cine Indígena as part of the field of popular culture and media has now become an important public sphere for the negotiation of multiple belongings related to local community, nation and a transnational space.

REFERENCES ANDERSON, Warren. “Purépecha Migration into the US Rural Midwest: History and Current Trends.” Indigenous Mexican Migrants in the United States. Ed. Jonathan Fox and Gaspar Rivera-Salgado. La Jolla: Center for U.S.-Mexican Studies 2004. 355-84. ANTHIAS, Floya. “Belongings in a Globalising and Unequal World: Rethinking Translocations.” The Situated Politics of Belonging. Ed. Nira Yuval-Davis, Kalpana Kannabiran, and Ulrike Vieten. London: Sage 2006. 17-31. Sage studies in international sociology 55. APITZSCH, Ursula. “Ethnicity as Participation and Belonging.” Ethnicity, belonging and biography: Ethnographical and biographical perspectives. Ed. Gabriele Rosenthal and Artur Bogner. Berlin: Lit Verlag 2009. 83-98. Ethnologie 16. AUGÉ, Marc. Non-lieux: Introduction a une anthropologie de la surmodernité. Paris: Seuil 1992. BRYSK, Alison. From Tribal Village to Global Village. Indian Rights and International Relations in Latin America. Stanford: Stanford University Press 2000. CASTELLS-TALENS, Antoni. “When Our Media Belong to the State: Policy and Negotiations in Indigenous-language Radio in Mexico.” Making Our Media: Global

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Initiatives Toward a Democratic Public Sphere. Ed. Clemencia Rodríguez, Dorothy Kidd, and Laura Stein. Hampton: Hampton Press 2009. Creating New Communication Spaces 1. CERANO, Dante. “Purhépechas vistos a través del video: Comunicación y nostalgia en ambos lados de la frontera.” Tesis de Maestría en Ciencias Humanas. Zamora 2009. COHEN, Jeffrey. The Culture of Migration in Southern Mexico. Austin: University of Texas Press 2004. CÓRDOVA, Amalia, and Gabriela ZAMORANO. Mapping Mexican Media: Indigenous and Community Video and Radio 2004. Web. 9 Mar. 2010. . CRUZ BÁRCENAS ENVIADO, Arturo. “Reivindican en Monterrey vitalidad del cine indígena.” La Jornada 21 Nov. 2006. Web. 5 Sep. 2008. . FOX, Jonathan, and Gaspar RIVERA-SALGADO. “Introduction.” Indigenous Mexican Migrants in the United States. Ed. Jonathan Fox and Gaspar Rivera-Salgado. La Jolla: Center for U.S.-Mexican Studies 2004. 1-65. HALKIN, Alexandra. “Outside the Indigenous Lens: Zapatistas and Autonomous Videomaking.” Revista Chilena de Antropología, 7 (2006): 71-92. HARAWAY, Donna. Modest_Witness@Second_Millenium.FemaleMan©_Meets_OncoMouse: Feminism and Technoscience. New York: Routledge 1997. KEARNEY, Michael. “Die Auswirkungen globaler Kultur, Wirtschaft und Migration auf die mixtekische Identität in Oaxacalifornia.“‘Integration und Transformation’: Ethnische Gemeinschaften, Staat und Weltwirtschaft in Lateinamerika seit ca. 1850. Ed. Stefan Karlen and Andreas Wimmer. Stuttgart: Verlag Hans-Dieter Heinz 1996. 329-49. — “Transnational Oaxacan Indigenous Identity: The Case of Mixtecs and Zapotecs.” Identities: Global Studies in Culture and Power, 7.2 (2000): 173-95. KÖHLER, Axel. “Nuestros antepasados no tenían cámaras: El video como machete y otros retos de la video-producción indígena en Chiapas, México.” Revista Chilena de Antropología Visual, 4 (2004): 391-406. KUMMELS, Ingrid. Land, Nahrung und Peyote: Soziale Identität von Rarámuri und Mestizen nahe der Grenze USA-Mexiko. Berlin: Reimer 2006. LERNER, Jesse. “Dante Cerano’s ‘Dia dos’: Sex, Kinship and Videotape.” XVIth Visible Evidence Conference. University of Southern California. Los Angeles. August 2009. LEUTHOLD, Steven. Indigenous Aesthetics: Native Art Media and Identity. Austin: University of Texas Press 1998. LIPSITZ, George. Time Passages: Collective Memory and American Popular Culture. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press 1990.

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MÁRQUEZ, Carlos F. “El video indígena debe proponer una narrativa y estética propias: Cerano.” La Jornada Michoacán 10 Oct. 2009. MARTÍN-BARBERO, Jesús. La educación desde la comunicación. Naucalpan: Gustavo Gili 2002. NAGENGAST, Carole, and Michael KEARNEY. “Mixtec Ethnicity: Social Identity, Political Consciousness, and Political Activism.” Latin American Research Review, 25.2 (1990): 61-91. NOLASCO, Margarita. Migración indígena a las fronteras nacionales. México, D.F.: Centro de Ecología y Desarrollo 1995. OJO DE AGUA COMUNICACIÓN. Raíz de la Imagen: VIII Festival Internacional de Cine y Video de los Pueblos Indígenas. Oaxaca: CLACPI 2006. Catálogo. PLASCENCIA FABILA, Carlos Gilberto, and Carlos MONTEFORTE. “Cine, video y los pueblos indígenas. Acciones y reflexios.” Acervos, 7 (2001): 57-62. PRIES, Ludger. “Transnationalisierung und soziale Ungleichheit: Konzeptionelle Überlegungen und empirische Befunde aus der Migrationsforschung.” Transnationalisierung sozialer Ungleichheit. Ed. Peter A. Berger and Anja Weiß. Wiesbaden: Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften 2008. 41-64. RODRÍGUEZ, Clemencia. Fissures in the Mediascape. An International Study of Citizens’ Media. Cresskill: Hampton Press 2001. — “Citizens’ Media”. Encyclopedia of Social Movement Media. Ed. John D. H. Downing. Thousand Oaks: Sage 2011. 98-102. SALAZAR, Juan Francisco, and Amalia CÓRDOVA. “Imperfect Media and the Poetics of Indigenous Video in Latin America.” Global Indigenous Media. Ed. Pamela Wilson and Michelle Stewart. Durham: Duke University Press 2008. 39-57. SCHIWY, Freya. Indianizing Film: Decolonization, the Andes, and the Question of Technology. Rutgers: Rutgers University Press 2009. SMITH, Laurel. “Mobilizing Indigenous Video: The Mexican Case.” Journal of Latin American Geography, 5.1 (2006): 113-28. — “Locating post-colonial technoscience: Through the lens of indigenous video.” History and Technology, 26.3 (2010): 251-80. SMITH, Robert. Mexican New York: Transnational Lives of New Migrants. Berkeley: University of California Press 2005. STEPHEN, Lynn. The Rights to Speak and to be Heard: Women’s Interpretations of Rights Discourses in the Oaxaca Social Movement 2009. Web. 19 Apr. 2011. . VELASCO ORTIZ, Laura. Mixtec National Identity. Tucson: University of Arizona Press 2005. — “Introducción.” Migración, fronteras e identidades étnicas transnacionales: Ed. Laura Velasco Ortiz. México, D.F.: El Colegio de la Frontera Norte; Porrúa 2008. 5-32.

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— ed. Migración, fronteras e identidades étnicas transnacionales, México, D.F.: El Colegio de la Frontera Norte; Porrúa 2008. WOOD, Warner W. Made in Mexico: Zapotec Weavers and the Global Ethnic Market. Bloomington: Indiana University Press 2008. WORTHAM, Erica Cusi. “Between the State and Indigenous Autonomy: Unpacking Video Indígena in Mexico.” American Anthropologist, 106.2 (2004): 363-68. YUVAL-DAVIS, Nira, Kalpana KANNABIRAN, and Ulrike M. VIETEN. “Situating contemporary politics of belonging.” The situated politics of belonging. Ed. Nira Yuval-Davis, Kalpana Kannabiran, and Ulrike M. Vieten. London; Thousand Oaks: Sage 2006. 1-16. ZAMORANO VILLARREAL, Gabriela. “’Intervenir en la realidad’: Usos políticos del video indígena en Bolivia.” Revista Colombiana de Antropología, 45.2 (2009): 259-85.

LOCAL RESPONSES TO TRANSNATIONAL MIGRATION: CITIZENSHIP, BELONGING AND THE CASE OF LATIN AMERICAN MIGRANTS IN MADRID Lara Jüssen/Eva Youkhana

ABSTRACT This paper critically discusses citizenship, belonging and ethnicity in relation to their spatial dimensions, locating the concepts within individual initiatives, everyday practices and processes of negotiation. Against the backdrop of developments relevant to extra-communitarian (non-EU) migrants in Spain, examples of local responses to transnational migration will be discussed, with each referring to Latin Americans within the urban context of Madrid. Starting from a political-economic approach of the dynamics in the (post-) crisis situation, Ecuadorian vendor’s activities will be scrutinised; they use informal economic activities in order to cope with the requirements of everyday life. The examples of the cultural centre La Tabacalera and the church San Lorenzo focus concretely upon place-making activities and the increasing importance of localities for the materialisation, manifestation and reconfiguration of individual or collective migrant belongings and vital urban citizenship.

INTRODUCTION While migrants have to adapt to the new social and cultural environment in Spain, they simultaneously transform the socio-cultural landscape in both Spain and Madrid. This becomes especially obvious when observing how Latin American migrants ”make space” for their social, cultural, economic or political needs, by appropriating certain places, which are in turn then transformed through their own practices, presence and creativity. Through placemaking activities Latin Americans reconstruct their ethnic roots, build new belongings with the Spanish as much as with other groups and articulate citizenship. It is visible how they actively form the localities of the townscape and thus become important agents of social change. After an introduction to Latin American migration to Spain, the two examples that follow show how local responses to transnational migration manifest themselves: The first example derives from an economic and labour

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related field. During Spain’s economic revival, shortly before and after the turn of the 21st century, the need for disposable labour grew and a segmented labour market evolved where Latin Americans worked mostly on the secondary labour market in precarious and often informal1 working conditions. Transnational migration and translocality, understood as a result of processes of flows and mobility2, will then be regarded in the field of production of belonging through place-making activities. The demand for cheap housing led to residential concentrations in the central districts of Madrid (Zárate Martín 2003), where vital localities form central points of reference and important benchmarks for citizenship practices and senses of belonging for migrant groups.

1 Other notions are “economía sumergida”, “economía irregular” or “trabajar/cobrar en negro”. The notion “informal” or “informality” is used here to describe work relationships that are not regulated by the state, as it is used by de Soto (1992). There are some approaches to study informality in Spain (Ybarra 1995, Ybarra, San Miguel del Hoyo, and Hurtado Jordá 2002; Aja and Arango 2006); García (2006) uses the notion “informal” to describe the working conditions of Dominican women working as domestic workers in Spain; also Cano and Sánchez Velasco (2002) study women in informal labour situations. Moreno Fuentes (2005) studies the interrelation of regularisation of migrants and the informal economy; Martin Díaz (2002) on informality in agricultural work in Andalusia. 2 According to Low and Lawrence-Zúñiga (2003) three approaches can be identified to define how space has been transformed in the social scientific discourse: Firstly, global spaces were examined by Sassen (1991) and Castells (1996), among others, giving the example of “global cities” in order to describe the transformation of local places into de-territorialised spaces through global economies and flows of information and technology. A second approach is connected to transnational studies focussing on people moving across borders and producing transnational spaces and social relationships across these borders (GlickSchiller, Blanc-Szanton, and Basch 1992, Ong 1999, Jackson, Crang, and Dwyer 2005). A last approach, the idea of translocal spaces (Gupta and Ferguson 1997, Appadurai 1996, Freitag 2005, Freitag and von Oppen 2010, Brickell and Datta 2011) assumes that globalisation radically changes social relations and that “processes of cultural globalisation create new translocal spaces and forms of public culture embedded in the imaginings of people…” (Low and Lawrence-Zúñiga 2003, 25). According to Brickell (2011) and Freitag (2010) the concept of translocality acknowledges that place-based processes can have important local-local connections through transnational networks. Freitag conceptualises translocality as a space that is the result of processes of flows and mobility as well as of processes of installation and preservation.

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IMMIGRATION TO SPAIN AND LATIN AMERICANS IN MADRID Spain, having long been an emigration country, experienced an enormous influx of migrants over the last 15 years and at an overwhelmingly fast pace. Still in 1998, the percentage of foreigners living in Spain measured only 1.6% of the total population compared to 12.08% in 2009 (own calculations based on figures of the Padrón Municipal de Habitantes (Instituto Nacional de Estadística (INE)). Latin Americans constitute the biggest group of extra-communitarian (non-EU) migrants with an estimated 32% compared to others in 2009 (INE) and only surpassed by communitarian Europeans who account for 40%. Furthermore, they account for 58.96% of noncommunitarian migrants (own calculations based on figures of the Padrón municipal (Instituto Nacional de Estadística (INE)). In the Comunidad de Madrid (Autonomous Region of Madrid) the composition is somewhat different: Latin Americans are said to make up 41%3 of all migrants (Figure based on the Padrón Municipal for January 2008), thus overtaking the group of extra-communitarians and communitarian Europeans which is second largest at 35% (Consejería de la Inmigración y Cooperación de la Comunidad de Madrid 2009). Nearly 640.000 people born in Latin America were living in the Comunidad de Madrid in 2010, placing this Comunidad Autónoma first before all others in number of people with Latin American origin. Additionally and in contrast to other major nationality groups, those of Latin American origin have a higher number of immigrant women than men (Consejería de la Inmigración y Cooperación de la Comunidad de Madrid 2009). Examining the city of Madrid, it is clear that Latin Americans rank first in number with 320.109 people and 60.73% of the total foreign population as at the beginning of 2009 and shown in Table 1. Indeed, a lot of immigrant groups and associations are located in Madrid where they can influence or interfere with political negotiation processes. It is assumed that a feminisation of the migration of Latin Americans to Spain and thus a feminisation of employment markets has taken place (Pedone 2003). In addition, the concentration of Latin Americans is spatially palpable. An especially significant number of Ecuadorians live in Spain with their

3

Molinero (2010) speaks of 43%.

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Lara Jüssen/Eva Youkhana

primary and biggest migrant networks being based in Madrid and Murcia. The Ecuadorians are the third largest group of all immigrant groups in Spain after Romanians and Moroccans, but second only to Romanians in the Comunidad de Madrid and first within the city of Madrid itself, thus accounting for the highest concentration of foreign nationals in a substantial number of barrios (wards) of Madrid (cf. also Table 1). Here the presence of immigrant groups is as visible in the labour market as it is in the recreational field. Latin American migrants have their businesses and shops where Latin American products are sold. They are strongly represented in construction and in the service sector, as employees in supermarkets, internet cafes and as private caterers. A vast number of women work within domestic services under worsening conditions due to the economic crisis. Nonetheless, the service sector often offers an opportunity to make an irregular residential status, regular. Informal labour allows con - and sin papeles4 to satisfy their basic economic needs and to survive the period through to regularisation. Of course, sin papeles are neither in possession of a residence nor a work permit, and as such, are denied access to the resource of “citizenship as formal status”. In Spain, several ways have existed to regularise ones status from that of being sin papel, each with the common precondition of being incorporated into the labour market.5 If the temporal residence of an unemployed person expires, then his residence permit will not be prolonged. Indeed, after the economic crisis of 2008, many migrants lost their jobs and in turn later fell back into irregularity.

4 Sin papeles’ residence status is irregular, as they do neither possess a residence permit nor the papers that would provide them with the possibility of obtaining it, e.g. a work contract, while the documentation they used in their home countries for identification is not sufficient in the host country to prevent detention and possibly expulsion. 5 Contingencies were used for regularising present sin papeles, several mass regularisation campaigns took place, and since this is unlikely to be repeated, since 2005, regularisation through arraigo (rootedness) is possible. The latter is conferred under certain conditions after 2 (arraigo laboral), respectively 3 (arraigo social) years of residing in the Spain, while in both cases a work contract is necessary.

19,42

20,12

18,21

24,36

22,26

24,20

27,55

16,11

Latina

Puente Vallecas

Ciudad Lineal

Usera

Tetuán

Villaverde

Centro

Total Madrid

9,78

10,76

13,20

13,14

14,83

11,52

11,93

11,64

14,44

60,73

39,03

54,56

59,04

29,82

25,71

38,01

29,29

28,49

36,53

63,27 60,91

40,82

29,42

33,22

59,30

59,92

60,90

18,11

10,04

20,74

17,29

17,35

23,11

24,21

17,63

20,23

13,42

9,50

10,40

9,67

28,93

10,78

14,98

15,52

16,46

% Boliv. of Total Lat. Am.*

12,78

8,64

12,68

10,45

10,93

15,32

12,63

14,41

12,30

% Peruv. of Total Lat. Am.*

11,50

10,34

12,26

6,4

13,05

12,02

8,6

10,83

13,65

% Colom. of Total Lat. Am.*

* The Total Latin American population is calculated based on population numbers of Ecuador, Bolivia, Peru, Colombia, Paraguay, Brasil, Argentina, Venezuela, Cuba, Chile, Mexico, Honduras, Uruguay, Nicaragua. Inhabitants of Madrid from other Latin American countries are only few in numbers and would only slightly augment the percentage of Latin Americans of the total population and slightly lessen the percentages of the respective nationalities of the total Latin American population.

23,70

% % Lat. Am.* % Lat. Am.* % Ecuad. of % Ecuad. of Foreign of Total of Foreign Total Total Population Pop. Pop. Lat. Am.* Foreign Pop.

Carabanchel

1.1.2009

TABLE 1 Own calculations based on figures of the Ayuntamiento de Madrid 2003-2010 for selected districts of Madrid

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LATIN AMERICANS AND INFORMAL LABOUR The Ecuadorian migrant organisation Asociación Rumiñahui acknowledges that “incorporation into the labour market and continuous work can be a key to social inclusion”. Cachón Rodríguez also defends the role employment plays for inclusion: ...como ha señaló [sic] T.H. Marshall, ’el ámbito económico de los derechos civiles básicos es el derecho a trabajar.’ El trabajo es una forma fundamental de participación en la vida social. (...) [E]l acceso a un empleo no es una garantía suficiente de integración, pero sigue constituyendo un aspecto fundamental para la inclusión social de las personas y su participación plena en la sociedad como ciudadanos.6

Though, Cachón Rodríguez is right to add that inclusion does not only function through labour and that labour alone is insufficient for social inclusion. Still, labour is fundamentally important for inclusion and in this sense social in- and exclusion through the labour market and the respective repercussions for citizenship and belonging are relevant processes here. Spain experienced a long period of economic growth until 2008 that in turn led to reduced levels of unemployment. As a result of raising the overall wealth and further development of the welfare system7, the Spanish population was less available to carry out low-skilled jobs (Encarnación 2004, 177). Growth was particularly strong in the construction, tourism, foreign investment and services sectors. Within these sectors, and untransferable to other countries, a gap arose in the labour supply, that was then mainly filled by the in-streaming extra-communitarian migrants (Köhler 2008, Nohlen and Hildenbrand 2005). When the economic crisis hit Spain in 2008, extracommunitarian immigrants were the first to be seriously affected by the new economic climate. Today, under the situation of increased unemployment and a decreasing number of jobs, the usual coping strategies such as the sup6

“… how T.H. Marshall showed, ‘the economic realm of the basic civil rights is the right to work.’ Work is a fundamental form of participation in social life. (…) Access to work is not a sufficient guaranty to integration, but it continues to constitute a fundamental aspect for social inclusion of people and their full participation in the society as citizens (Cachón Rodríguez 2009, 3), translation into English by the authors. 7 Muñoz Bustillo Llorente and Antón Pérez (2010) sustain that the welfare system does not function as a pull factor for immigration and is not overstressed by immigrants.

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port through social networks, or job opportunities on the informal labour market, are becoming more and more under stress. In comparison to other countries within the EU, job quality in Spain is rather precarious8, while Cachón Rodríguez (2006) shows that immigrants that are more often included in the secondary labour market9, endure precarious, often informal conditions and get lower remuneration. The acceptance of insecure working conditions is especially plausible for people with critically low incomes and restricted opportunities to “formal status citizenship”. Three quarters of non-European migrants were employed in the low-pay sectors construction, tourism, (domestic) services and agriculture. Pedone (2003) speaks of an ethnostratification of the labour market, a notion highlighting that socioeconomic stratification processes often follow (perceived) ethnic categories. Discriminatory practices in the labour market (Cachón Rodríguez 2009) can have a negative influence on a migrant’s feeling of belonging, which is strengthened if exploitation takes place, as a Peruvian migrant experienced after completing a handicraft job in a private household without getting paid by his client (author’s interview, 09.2010). One of the first measures taken by the government after the crisis hit Spain, was the adoption of the Plan de retorno voluntario, enabling certain extra-communitarians to obtain their unemployment benefit in two instalments, if however, they return to their country of origin.10 According to the

8 The share of temporary jobs is with 32% (2007) highest within the EU-27, where the average is of 14,4%, and the rate of work accidents is also comparably high (Köhler 2008). 9 Labour geography (Fassmann and Meusburger 1997) and migratory social sciences (Oswald 2007; Pries 1997; Cachón Rodríguez 2009) developed segregation theory (also theory of the split or dual labour markets). Through this theory international labour migration processes are analysed based on the assumption of a primary labour market with relatively high pay-rates and protected, formalised and regularised occupational and employment conditions and a secondary labour market with minor incomes, unprotected, temporary and instable occupational and employment conditions, and a tendency to informality. 10 Applying individuals will get 40% of their unemployment benefits before and 60% after returning to their country of origin, having to stay out of Spain for at least 3 years. The plan was adopted by the Council of Ministers in September 2008 and became effective in November 2008, after approbation through the State Council. Nationals of 20 countries (10 of them Latin American), that have bilateral agreements in social security matters can apply, namely Andorra, Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador, United States, Russian Federation, Philippines, Morocco, Mexico, Paraguay, Dominican Republic, Tunisia, Ukraine, Uruguay and Venezuela.

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director of the Asociación Rumiñahui, this plan might have proven helpful for individuals, but the priority the government gave to this plan as crisis resolution strategy contained a subliminal message of renunciation and change in the political attitude toward certain segments of migrants.11 In this light, the plan is assignable to the “politics of belonging” (Yuval-Davis 2006) containing a message that not exactly boosts a migrant’s sense of belonging. In spite of this new instrument of labour market control, unemployment rates have remained around the 20% mark since May 2010 (European Commission 2010). Latin Americans have been over-proportionally affected, while the total group of extra-communitarians affected is even higher.12 This relative advantage on the labour market in comparison to other extra-communitarians might be due to “cultural nearness” (Gil Araujo 2010) of Latin Americans, regarding language, religion and interlinked histories. In wake of the recent economic crisis Latin Americans developed different coping strategies, ranging from diminishing the amount of remittances13 or receiving economic support from the family in the home country, to return or recurrence to informal income generation.14 At the beginning of 2009 approximately one million, or between 54.51% and 65%15 of economically active Latin Americans in Spain were not affiliated to social security, 11

Interview with Vladimir Paspuel in the office of the Asociación Rumiñahui, Madrid, 17.09.2010. 12 The total unemployment rate reached 17.36% in the first trimester of 2009, - while it was 15.13% for the Spanish population and 30.17% for extra-communitarian migrants; thereby 26.63% for Latin American migrants (own calculations based on Encuesta de la Población Activa (EPA), Instituto Nacional de Estadística (INE). Cf. also Pajares (2010)). 13 A contraction of the amount of remittances sent from Latin American migrants in Spain to their families back home could be perceived. (Bognanni 2010). 14 Vladimir Paspuel in interview, 17.09.2010. 15 Own calculations based on data of the Encuesta de la Población Activa (EPA), 1st trimester 2009 (Instituto Nacional de Estadística (INE)), Padrón Municipal (Instituto Nacional de Estadística (INE)), and the Ministry of Labour and Immigration, January 2009 (Ministerio de Trabajo e Inmigración). In order to overcome some shortcomings of the data of the Ministry of Labor and Immigration a second calculation was accomplished: 58,96% of the category “rest of countries” (mentioned in the data of the Ministry of Labor and Immigration for affiliated) was added, as equivalent to the 58,96% Latin Americans comprise among non-communitarian migrants (according to the Padrón Municipal). This calculation is probably overestimated, as the eleven most important non-EU sending countries are within the category “rest of countries”, among which seven are Latin American, which would mean that the number of non-affiliated is likely to be higher than 54,51%.

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which is thus a strong indicator of widespread informal income generation. Moreover, evidence for overlapping forms of formal and informal work was found, in all likelihood making informal relationships even more widespread than the mentioned numbers reveal. This case is well illustrated by a Venezuelan promotion worker on the streets of Madrid, whereby he conducts 50% of his work on an official basis and the remainder on the black.16

ECUADORIAN VENDORS IN CASA DE CAMPO Street vending activities have taken place on weekends in Madrid for at least 10 years: formerly in the more central park Parque del Retiro and when no longer tolerated there, transferred to the park Casa de Campo. These vending activities are principally fulfilled by Ecuadorian women, while besides Ecuadorians, other Latin Americans mingle freely among the visitors, enjoying the Latin American spirit of belonging produced within this place. Vendors use childrens’ pushchairs for the transport of their goods, pushchairs that are especially useful when running away from the municipal police, avoiding capture and disposal of their goods, which of course, causes a loss of investment for the individual and further destroys income generating opportunities for the day (cf. fig. 1). Since the beginning of 2010 the vendors’ association (Asociación de Vendedores Ambulantes y Promotores de la Cultura Gastronómica Ecuadoriana) has tried to enhance the situation through cooperation with Espacios Públicos17, 16

Interview in Ciudad Lineal, Madrid, 14.09.2010. The aim of Espacios Públicos described by their general coordinator sounds as follows: “Espacios Públicos se ve como puente entre la administración y la gente aplicando una metodología comunitaria y los principios de mediación que a menudo se centran en la pregunta de como usar el espacio. También ha habido mucha migración interna hacia Madrid… y se ha formado una ’ciudadanía global’ lo que incluye un concepto de vecindad local madrileña. Espacios Públicos trabaja desde lo local, tratando de formar el sentido de pertenencia a la ciudad, al barrio en los vecinos, en donde se vive.” (“Espacios Públicos sees itself as bridge between the administration and the people applying a communitarian methodology and the principles of mediation that often center on the question of how to use space. There has also been a lot of internal migration to Madrid... and a ‘global citizenship’ has evolved which includes a concept of local neighbourship of Madrid. Espacios Públicos works starting from the local, trying to form a sense of belonging to the city, to the ‘barrio’ (neighbourhood) among the neighbours, where they live.”) Interview with Marta Segovia, general coordinator of Espacios Públicos, in their head-office in Madrid, 22.09.2010. 17

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FIGURE 1 Street vendors offering their goods in Casa de Campo.

(a municipal social service initiative for the development of neighbourhood and public places) and SENAMI (Secretaría Nacional del Migrante), an Ecuadorian government institution that supports Ecuadorian migrants. The vendors legitimise their actions by making reference to the situation and high levels of unemployment. According to the president of the vendors’ association, the income achieved through the sale of meals can amount to a sum as considerable as 800€ per month,18 while another vendor said that the 260€ she made per month selling drinks had become far more important

18

Interview with Guillermo Imbanquingo, president of the Vendors’ Association (Asociación de Vendedores Ambulantes y Promotores de la Cultura Gastronómica Ecuadoriana) on 24.09.2010, Atocha, Madrid.

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since she and her husband had their working hours cut by 50%.19 With reference to the taxes paid when shopping, the vendors further legitimise their practices – of course, a scant argument in the eyes of the authorities. The first aim of the association is, according to its president, to find political support for their vending activities, an aim which is also central to the success of vendors’ associations in Latin America. But the events in Casa de Campo were of no assistance to this aim. Over several weeks the police began to intervene with an increasingly forceful approach, until on 19th of September 2010 a violent encounter between the vendors and the police took place where four policemen were injured and four people were detained respectively for several days. The events of this day demonstrate how controversial these activities can be, activities that are essential for the vendors and their families. The day before the intervention, the policemen in Casa de Campo expressed a strong attitude of opposition, mentioning that besides irregular vending, laws were broken; such as making a fire in an open space, possession of knifes in crowds, fighting, drug use and dealing. The policemen also accused the Ecuadorians of drinking excessively, being dirty and scaring other park users.20 In contrast, a supportive posture is taken by Espacios Públicos (“Public Spaces” translated literally). This municipal social service was created, in acknowledgement that the encounter of migrants and autochthonous people takes place in public places. According to the general coordinator of Espacios Públicos, their aim is to foster the “convivencia ciudadana”, the “living together of citizens” and the sense of belonging within the neighbourhood, adding: Integración es un proceso de doble vía. No se puede integrar uno en los otros. Por eso nuevas normas de convivencia son necesarias, respetados por todos donde se respetan las diferencias, no solo los de origen sino también de género, generacionales, etc. Preguntamos: ¿Cómo es la ciudad que queremos? No una de extran19

This lady was cut down to working on 50% basis in eldercare since 8 months, earning 450€, and shortly after, her husband, who was working in construction, also got cut down to 50%, earning then 500€. With their income, the couple was financing the university courses of their three children in Ecuador. Interview on 22.09.2010, Madrid. 20 Interview with policemen who raided the vendors on 18.09.2010, just one day before the violent encounter took place, in Casa de Campo, Lago, Madrid. For an analysis of the ethical values and practices of Madrid’s police officers (cf. García García 2010).

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jeros y autóctonos sino una de ciudadanos y ciudadanas, de vecinos y vecinas. La tarea es de trabajar sobre lo que nos une para que no se generen los estereotipos. Y donde más se reúne la gente es en los espacios públicos al aire libre, centros sanitarios, escolares, las plazas, mercados, parques, canchas deportivas, plazas, calles. Y ya que ha habido un fluye de inmigración tiene que producirse un cambio en las normativas, un reajuste para asegurar que la infraestructura sea adecuada.21

This statement demonstrates the high sensitivity for participatory approaches and mutual approximation in order to foster inclusive citizenship and belonging, thereby acknowledging ethnic diversity. Espacios Públicos cooperates with the Ecuadorian vendors’ association, whose long-established practices are acknowledged, while also trying to achieve a change both in these practices and in the rules and regulations set down by the municipality. In order to make the products more attractive for a broader public and to bring them in line with administrative requirements, they offered the vendors a course on the manipulation of foodstuffs, trying to professionalise their practices, e.g. by using terrines instead of plastic bags for keeping the food, using cans instead of bottles that can break and cause injury, etc. The vendors stated that after having participated in the course they did, for example, pay more attention to cleaning the place before leaving (Interview with some vendors, September 2010). But the changes were not enough and the vendors were finally chased out of Casa de Campo. From these observations it follows that the municipality may have conducted a dual strategy with a somewhat contradictory approach to the vendors, supporting them on the one hand through Espacios Públicos while on the other hand impeding their practices through police intervention. Political conflict exists regarding the question of whether the Ecuadorians have the

21 “Integration is a double tracked process. It is impossible to integrate some into others. Because of that, new norms of living together are necessary that are respected by all and where differences are respected, not only the ones of origin but also those of gender, generationals, etc. We ask: How is the city that we want? Not one of foreigners and autochthonous, but one of citizens and neighbours. The task is to work on that what unifies us so that stereotypes are not established. And where people mostly unite is in public spaces open-air, sanitary and educational centres, on places, markets, parks, sports grounds, places, streets. And as there has been a flow of immigration, a change in the legal provisions has to be produced, a readjustment, to assure that the infrastructure is adequate.” Marta Segovia, interview on 22.09.2010 in the head-office of Espacios Públicos, Madrid.

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right to exercise informal vending activities that they claim for themselves every weekend, enacting citizenship, if speaking with Sassen (2002). Through having organised the vendors’ association they command an additional means by which they can carry out negotiation processes on a political level and publicly represent their claims. It remains to be seen how successful the association will be and whether further adaptations to administrative requirements in Madrid will be necessary.

PLACE-MAKING ACTIVITIES AS MANIFESTATIONS OF ETHNICITY, THE MAKING OF BELONGING AND THE ARTICULATION OF CITIZENSHIP IN LAVAPIÉS In order to describe place-making processes that reflect the daily activities and place-based experiences of immigrants, it is necessary to embed these places into context and meaning. Lavapiés22, being selected as one focus area for the presented study, has been described for its long history of immigration and as a place of transition where people of different ages, cultural and social backgrounds form part of a chaotic social network without foreseeable designation (Etxebarria 2007). The “cosmopolitical” character of Lavapiés arises from a long history that gives the neighbourhood its special appeal, character and image. As shown in Table 1 the foreign population in the district Centro amounts up to 27.55% whereas within the barrio of Embajadores it reaches as much as 33.60%. It is estimated that the overall population for people of foreign origin in Lavapiés, a neighbourhood of the barrio Embajadores, amounts to 50% or more, and among these people are mainly Asians, North Africans and a significant number of Latin Americans. Lavapiés, also called a laboratory of interculturality (Gómez 2006), is and has been a place of immigration and transition. The foreign population shapes the appearance, street life and character of the living and working area. The fact that Lavapiés is traditionally a rather poor area with mainly working class residents (Veksler 2004) hints at its vulnerability to economically 22

Lavapiés is a ‘barrio’ only in the social meaning of the notion referring to a spatially or geographically distinct neighbourhood or social framework in ethnic and social structure. In the official meaning of the word ‘barrio’ Lavapiés is none, as it is part of the ‘barrio’ Embajadores, which again is part of the district Centro.

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critical situations. The unemployment rate is respectively high and reaches up to 40% if informal information sources are to be believed. Conflicts about public spaces that are poorly used or inaccessible for local residents are one of the most debated issues in the neighbourhood. A large squatter23 movement, that attracted public attention over the last two decades, gained a lot of encouragement and assistance from the local population. This kind of civic participation has been quite successful in increasingly place-based identifications and belongings. Other examples for place making activities from below are feminist rights movements being well established and active in legal affairs of (irregular) immigrant women working in social and domestic services, the church San Lorenzo (Parroquia de San Lorenzo) in Lavapiés as well as the ancient fabric of Tabaccos, La Tabacalera, both locations with high attractiveness for (Latin American) immigrants. The significance of La Tabacalera and the church San Lorenzo in Lavapiés and its use for the articulation of ethnicity and citizenship and the production of belonging will be discussed after a brief introduction to the history of Lavapiés. In the 14th and 15th century Lavapiés was the residence of mainly Jews and Arabs who lived separated by a wall from the rest of the town (Veksler 2004). Even though the neighbourhood was christianised and the Jews banished from the area in the course of the 16th and 17th century, the neighbourhood remained as the destination for immigrants from all over rural areas in Spain (particularly Andalusia and Galicia). The foundation of the church of San Lorenzo in the late 17th century resulted from a large need for baptism among a rapidly growing and increasingly impoverished local population, which also gave San Lorenzo the cognomen “Parroquia de las chinches” (Church of the bugs, Veksler 2004). Not surprisingly, people from Lavapiés were great protagonists of political and social insurgencies. Anyhow, the perspective of the quarter changed not least because staff of the court resided in Lavapiés where smaller palaces slowly changed the townscape (ibid.). A long tradition of art and muse due to the dressy elegance of its christianised inhabitants, and a variety of artisans describe another image of Lavapiés, besides being an area of working class and resistance. The rich handicraft was also the basis for the settlement of factories slightly later at the beginning of the

23

Here the description for people occupying houses that are not inhabited.

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18th century such as those for the production of carts, beer, and tobacco, La Tabacalera.

THE CASES OF LA TABACALERA La Tabacalera, a tobacco factory until 1999 as the name reveals, is located on Embajadores Street, bordering the neighbourhoods of Lavapiés and La Latina. The gargantuan building with about 28.000 square meters was constructed at the end of the 17th century. Being part of the corresponding Spanish tobacco monopoly, the building today belongs to the Ministry of Culture. Because of its central position it is legally classified as a building of high value in terms of cultural interest (Bien de interés cultural). In order to develop and complete a central corner of museums along with the renovated museum Reina Sofia, among others, one part of the building is dedicated to the Centro Nacional de Artes Visuales (National Center of Visual Arts). This designation goes hand in hand with the Strategic Plan for the Rehabilitation of the City Centre which aims to integrate Lavapiés into the economic recovery strategy of Madrid (Pérez Quintana 2010). The second part of the building is a self-managed cultural centre which was launched by the Red de colectivos de Lavapiés (a net of associations belonging to Lavapiés) in 2010 after a long period of negotiation and discussion with the community of Madrid about the need for more available public space in the neighbourhood. Even though this initiative can be seen as a consequence of the efforts made by the squatter-movement to appropriate and use spaces for integrated social and cultural activities, artistic experimentation and as quite simply a meeting point, the building has never been occupied. According to one of the initiators and member of the Red de Lavapiés, La Tabacalera is organised by a large group of volunteers who compose the concepts and administrative framework for the centre. By offering different workshops and courses, from dancing or creative writing, language courses for immigrants, workshops for bicycle repair and maintenance to horticulture and other kinds of social events, the building can be used by many local workshop suppliers and users at no charge. As mentioned in an internal discussion paper: Tabacalera sigue siendo el edificio apropiado para experimentar con un centro integrado de diversas iniciativas y proyectos que sirven para paliar algunos de

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los muchos problemas de Lavapiés, con un protagonismo activo de sus habitantes, a la vez que para desarrollar el enorme potencial creativo, el rico y complejo tejido social del barrio y, por extensión, de la ciudadanía madrileña.24

Nine months after having put La Tabacalera into operation, it seems that the neighbourhood along with people from across Madrid, Spanish as well as migrants from Latin America and Africa, all these people, benefit from the buildings’ designation for public use. There are still slight limitations for participants who have to respect certain conditions and agree to the three main principles: communication and cooperation by means of participation in joint activities and assemblies, copyleft to make sure that all artistic products can be used by one and all, and that each and every activity can be used for free. The arrangement of the building’s interior, the materialisation and inscriptions of different artistic groups, political activists and workshops are both visible and appealing (cf. fig. 2). The centre does not just function as a social roof and meeting point but stands for a lived citizenship for people with different legal and social status, national or cultural backgrounds. The danzas prehispánicas (pre-Hispanic dancing) for example: the group was formed in September 2010 by a young Mexican dancer whose self-proclaimed motivation is to circulate and revitalize pre-Hispanic dancing tradition in Spain by giving dancing classes to people whom are interested. This fast growing weekly group includes Mexicans and other Latin Americans, as well as Spanish people and other Europeans while the material arrangement of the course is both highly symbolic and ritual. Sacrificial offerings in the form of an ofrenda which reifies the ancient Aztecan cosmology with the famous deities Quetzalcoatl, Huitzilopochtli, Xipe Totec, Tlaloc and Tetzcatlipoca represent the power of the pre-Hispanic combatants and the unarmed resistance against the Spanish conquerors. Through the ritual act of dancing, the participants revitalise a tradition of ethnic representation and translate it into a new context. The teacher as well as the location form important stimuli and appear as incen-

24 The Tabacalera continues to be the appropriate building for experimenting with an integrated center of diverse initiatives and projects that serve for easing some of the many problems of Lavapiés, with an active protagonism of its’ residents, and at the same time for developing an enormous creative potential, the rich and complex social patchwork of the barrio (quarter) and, in extension, of the citizenship of Madrid.

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FIGURE 2 Wall painting in La Tabacalera.

tives to join the group and the dance. While the participation is for free, as every workshop and event is at the Tabacalera, the participants are engaged in assemblies and activities all around the building and thus formulate their active participation. By this means, participants with or without legitimising documents, inhabitants and visitors, Spanish or non-Spanish, vitally articu-

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late their citizenry and simultaneously constitute a commitment for shared political, social and cultural values at La Tabacalera. Additionally, participants and visitors create new urban belongings which are situated beyond conventional categorisations of difference.

THE CHURCH OF SAN LORENZO The church of San Lorenzo was constructed upon the ruins of a Synagogue after the Jews and Arabs were displaced from Lavapiés. The building is located in the Calle de la Fe (Street of Faith) a few streets away from the central area of Lavapiés. Having always been a church for marginalized people, today it is an important reference point for Latin American immigrants. Due to an accidental event of transferring an important Ecuadorian virgin, La virgen del Cisne, the church became a hub of faith-based representations and a social meeting point. Later, a Paraguayan and a Bolivian virgin were also added. Visitors of the Sunday worship, where ritual acts and speeches can be compared to Latin American ceremonies of the Catholic Church, reach up to 500 people whereby the church could even be called overcrowded. According to one of the two priests, the people recognise these similarities and develop a feeling of being “at home”. In fact, many Ecuadorians, Paraguayans and Bolivians seem to be grateful for having a place where they feel received and understood. That is also the reason why many visitors come from different corners of Madrid and even from abroad to join the twelve o’clock worship. Accordingly, the parish provides a religious atmosphere and a symbolic appearance by organising musical performances and access to faith-based images such as the different Latin American virgins and other sacral statues. In doing so, the parish relies on the accordance of the Latin American counterparts who need to approve the installation of such sacral images. One of the priests therefore travels with frequency to Latin America in order to visit the different religious congregations and expand the Latin American community of San Lorenzo. In addition to this, he also serves as a facilitator for the exchange of greetings, information and other resources between Latin Americans here and overseas. As a hub of social networks, churches are often used as a service supplier, even for the informal labour market. These additional services substitute the lack of privately maintained social networks and as a tie for dispersed family and ethnic relations. In Madrid, San Loren-

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zo has taken the initiative to actively attract and respond to the religious community of Latin American migrants and their specific religious habits and practices.

CONCLUSION Massive transnational migration to Spain has produced a change in the local society in Madrid in the labour and income related practices as well as in leisure and social activities. Migrants have brought with them some of their habits and everyday practices whereas others were changed upon arrival in Spain. Transformations of local spaces and places through migrants’ translocal influence can be observed. The contested and inscribed places such as cultural and social centres, churches and market places are important signifiers for the articulation of citizenship for those who use and produce the urban space. They are also reference points in times of economic crisis and among the increasingly precarious working and living conditions by which new belongings are made and produced as a result of social and cultural acts as well as ethnic representations, as has been described above. Latin Americans have added themselves to the labour market, often under precarious conditions. In Casa de Campo, space for alternative income generation was made by Ecuadorians, simply by turning to the practice of informal vending, a practice so well known in Latin America. In Casa de Campo a feeling of Latin American belonging was produced and open to be experienced by all madrileños, though mainly attracting Ecuadorians and other Latin Americans. Still, the articulation of citizenship in this place was highly contested, while the same holds true for the sense of belonging which was not fully conceded to be lived by the Ecuadorians by the municipality. The examples of La Tabacalera and San Lorenzo show how inherent territorialities of ethnicity, citizenship and belonging become blurred, exemplifying how places are appropriated and made to serve as common reference points for different social and cultural groups and as a place of refuge where people can live the weals and woes of shared migration experiences. Citizenship, understood as a vital political participation can be articulated and new belongings that go beyond conventional categorisations of difference (ethnic, class, gender, age) but are situational and multiple can happen.

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THE AUTHORS OF THE BOOK/SOBRE LOS AUTORES

Sarah ALBIEZ studied Latin American Area Studies in Cologne, Lisbon and Mexico City. In 2011 she finished her PhD in Anthropology of the Americas at the University of Bonn. She investigates the prehispanic Tarascan State in West Mexico, namely its external contacts and questions of ethnicity and belonging, in an interdisciplinary approach, including history and archaeology. Besides, she is the Managing Director of the Research Network for Latin America since 2010. Santiago BASTOS AMIGO is a researcher at the Centre for Advanced Studies in Social Anthropology (Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social, CIESAS) in Guadalajara and obtained his doctor in Social Sciences. He researches mainly ethnical relations and communal identities as well as cultures and ideologies in Latin America. Bastos Amigo has conducted research in Mexico and Guatemala and focuses particularly on multiculturalism and indigenous people. Manuel BUENROSTRO ALBA is a researcher of social anthropology at the Universidad de Quintana Roo, Mexico. His main focus is on indigenous people (esp. their fundamental rights and culture). He has carried out investigations of indigenous students at the Universidad de Quintana Roo. In 2006 Buenrostro was a member of the Latin American network for juridical anthropology (Red Latinoamericana de Antropología Jurídica, RELAJU). He also is a member of the Network of Culture and Identity (Red de Cultura e Identidad, REDCI). Nelly CASTRO studied Literature in Bogotá. She finished her PhD in Romance Studies at the University of Cologne in 2009. Her research focused on the contribution of four Colombian novels from the first half of the twentieth century to the formation of a critical awareness in respect to the conser-

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vative society of its time, regarded from the perspective of the social history of literature. Since 2010 she is research associate of the Research Network for Latin America. Eveline D ÜRR is professor at the Institute of Ethnology at the LudwigMaximilians-Universität, Munich. In her research she focuses on cultural identities, representations, urban ethnology, transnational and transcultural relations, cultural globalisation and political anthropology. Her scientific emphasis is on the Central American region, southwest USA and the South Pacific (esp. New Zealand). She is also editor for Sociologus and is a regional representative on the Commission on Urban Anthropology of the International Union of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences (IUAES). Peter GESCHIERE is professor of African Anthropology at the University of Amsterdam. His main area of scientific interest is Africa (esp. Cameroon), where he also taught in different universities (Cameroon, Dem. Rep. Congo, and South Africa). He also worked as lecturer in the Netherlands, France, and the USA. Most of all he is interested in the dynamics of local cultures in interaction with state formation, impact of the market economy and, more generally, processes of globalisation. Wolfgang GABBERT is professor of Development Sociology and Cultural Anthropology at Leibniz Universität Hannover. His research interests include legal anthropology, the anthropology of conflict and violence, ethnicity and social inequality, migration, colonialism and Christian missions in Latin America and Africa. He has conducted research in Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and Mexico and is co-editor of Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies and Indiana. He is part of the directorate of the Research Network for Latin America. Carla GRANADOS MOYA is a Peruvian historian. She received her BA in History at the Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos and a scholarship by the Fundación Carolina de España for the Master in Hispanic World History at the Universitat Jaume I de Castelló. She is currently studying a Master in Anthropology with a minor in Andean Studies at the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú.

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Lara JÜSSEN studied Latin American Area Studies in Cologne and Buenos Aires. Since 2010 she is part of the Research Network for Latin America and doctoral student at the Interdisciplinary Latin America Centre at the University of Bonn. Her research interest is focused on questions of citizenship and belonging in the context of Latin American migrant’s (informal) economic activities in Madrid, using an interdisciplinary approach that combines social sciences and cultural anthropology. Ingrid KUMMELS is professor of Cultural Anthropology at the Institute of Latin American Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin. Focusing on the geographic regions of Mexico and U.S.-Mexican borderlands, and the transnational space between Cuba and the United States her current research interests include migration, transnationalism, tranculturality, identity politics, and visual anthropology. Cecilia MÉNDEZ GASTELUMENDI is associate professor in the Department of History at the University of California in Santa Barbara and specialises in the social and political history of the Andean region (esp. Peru) from the late eighteenth century to the present. Her case studies consider the fundamental question of how to define modern conceptions of nationhood, ethnicity, and race. Méndez also is interested in epistemology referring mainly to Dilthey. Karoline NOACK is professor in the Department for pre-Columbian Studies and Ethnology at the University of Bonn since 2009. From 2001-2009 she was scientific associate at the Institute for Latin American Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin in the fields of pre-Columbian Studies and Cultural Anthropology. Noack focuses principally on transculturalisation processes in Latin America covering the period from the Spanish conquest up to the present. She also researches visual anthropology and gender-related topics and concerns herself with the history of science. Her regional area of expertise is the Andes (in particular Peru), Bolivia, and Mexico in transnational contexts. She is a member of the Research Network for Latin America. Joanna PFAFF-CZARNECKA is professor of Social Anthropology at Bielefeld University since 2001. From 2007 to 2009 she was Pro-Vice-Chancellor for Organisational Development. In 2001 she was Acting Director at the Centre for Development Research (ZEF), Department for Political and Cultural

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Change at the University of Bonn. In her research she focuses on the regions Himalaya, South Asia, and the Middle-European immigrant societies. From the perspective of social, political, and legal anthropology she investigates processes of globalisation, cultural changes as well as intercultural communication and conducts ritual studies. The Mexican sociologist Rodolfo STAVENHAGEN is a researcher at the Colegio de México and former Deputy Director General of UNESCO. From 1979 to 1982 Stavenhagen was commissioner of UNESCO for applied social sciences in Paris. From 2001 to 2008 he was appointed by the United Nations Commission on Human Rights as the first United Nations Special Rapporteur on the situation of the human rights and fundamental freedoms of indigenous people. He taught in various universities in Latin America, North America, Europe, Africa and Asia and endorsed numerous organisations and projects in the fields of human rights, peace and development. Stavenhagen has done research on social and agrarian development, ethnic conflicts and minorities, indigenous peoples and human rights, referring mostly to Latin America. Maria Amelia VITERI holds a PhD in Cultural Anthropology from American University, Washington D.C. with a concentration on race, gender and social justice. Moving between the geo-political spaces of the U.S. and Ecuador through research and teaching as Chair of the Sexualities, Gender and Citizenship Program as well as Associate Professor and Researcher at FLACSO/Ecuador (Latin American Graduate School for the Study of Social Sciences), Viteri speaks from a situated space as a transnational herself. She has incorporated visual arts as additional tools that bring academia closer to the local community and activists in issues related with immigration, gender, identity, sexuality and citizenship. Eva YOUKHANA is a Social Anthropologist and holds a doctor in Sociology with a special interest on Interdisciplinary Studies, Natural Resources Management and Migration focussing on Latin America and Africa. After working as a Senior Researcher at the Center for Development Research at the University of Bonn she joined the Research Network on Latin America in 2010. Her current research interests are connected to place making processes and the significance of spatiality for the reconstitution of ethnicities, the articulation of citizenship and the making of belonging taking the example of Latin Americans in Madrid.

FORTHCOMING VOLUME IN THIS SERIES: EL SIGUIENTE VOLUMEN DE ESTA COLECCIÓN:

Interdependencies of Social Categorizations This volume examines the interrelations of social categorizations like age or gender, among them also ethnicity, and their everyday consequences. The various studies outline how the concepts citizenship and belonging can contribute to the analysis of these complex processes of inclusion and exclusion.

Interdependencias de categorizaciones sociales Este volumen examina las interrelaciones entre categorizaciones sociales como edad o género, entre ellas también la etnicidad, y sus manifestaciones cotidianas. Los distintos estudios ilustran cómo los conceptos de ciudadanía y pertenencia pueden contribuir al análisis de estos complejos procesos de inclusión y exclusión.