Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador: The Manipulation of Mestiza 9781626371569

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RACE, ETHNICITY, AND POWER IN ECUADOR

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RACE, ETHNICITY, AND POWER IN ECUADOR The Manipulation of Mestizaje

Karem Roitman

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Published in the United States of America in 2009 by FirstForumPress A division of Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Boulder, Colorado 80301 www.firstforumpress.com and in the United Kingdom by FirstForumPress A division of Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London WC2E 8LU © 2009 by FirstForumPress. All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Roitman, Karem, 1980– Race, ethnicity, and power in Ecuador: the manipulation of “mestizaje” / by Karem Roitman. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-935049-07-4 (hardbound: alk. paper) 1. Mestizaje—Ecuador. 2. Elite (Social sciences)—Ecuador. 3. Upper class—Ecuador. 4. Race discrimination—Ecuador. 5. Ecuador—Race relations. I. Title. HN320.Z9E49 2009 305.5'208905980866—dc22 2009026388 British Cataloguing in Publication Data A Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library. Printed and bound in the United States of America The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1992. 5 4 3 2 1

To those who daily overcome unjust walls not of their own making. For justice and greater Light. Santiago 2:14–17

Contents

List of Tables and Figures Preface Glossary of Key Concepts and Ethnic/Racial Terminology Note on Capitalization

ix xi xv xvii

1

Introduction

2

Foxes and Lions: Studying the Upper Classes

15

3

Constructing Identities: The 2001 National Census

41

4

Economy, Etiquette, and Ethnicity: Defining Ecuadorian Elites

75

The Mestizo and the ‘Other’: Ethnic Narratives in Ecuador

95

5

1

6

The Port and Mestizaje: Ethnic Narratives in Guayaquil

129

7

Learning Mestizaje: Ethnic Narratives in Quito

153

8

Ethnic Narratives and Socioeconomic Development

183

9

Responsibility and Change

205

10 Conclusion

227

Appendixes 1. Brief Chronology of Ecuadorian History 2. Methodological Overview 3. Statistical Data Bibliography Index

233 237 259 265 315

vii

Tables and Figures

Tables

3.1 Ethnic Identification Among the Ecuadorian Population

42

3.2 Ethnic Identities, Guayaquil Canton (Urban)

44

3.3 Ethnic Identities, Samborondón Canton (Urban)

45

3.4 Ethnic Identities, Quito Canton (Urban)

46

3.5 Occupational Category of Ethnic Groups, Guayaquil Canton (Urban)

48

3.6 Occupational Category of Ethnic Groups, Quito Canton (Urban)

49

5.1 Ecuador’s Ethnic Identity: A Possible Periodization

106

Figures

3.1 Ethnic Self-Identification by Region

46

3.2 Educational Achievement per Ethnic Group, Guayaquil Canton (Urban)

51

3.3 Educational Achievement per Ethnic Group, Quito Canton (Urban)

52

ix

Preface

This book is the result of a process of migration that, despite and because of its painful nature, allowed me to see my country of birth in a new light. It is often only when we step outside our home that we can see it more fully—all its beauty and all its shadows. But the price for that knowledge is great, as we are so deeply changed by the insights gained that we can often never go home again. We will always walk on liminal roads, immigrants to new lands and foreigners in our own. This book is, therefore, first dedicated to all immigrants and to my parents, Erwin and Adita, most of all. Your courage to leave all you knew to grant your children a wider horizon has made my life all that it is. You will always be my greatest heroes. In the process of moving back and forth between Ecuador, the United States, and the United Kingdom, I have relied heavily on the kindness of so many—those who were willing to have a slow conversation with me as I struggled to formulate my thoughts in my nascent English, those willing to share of their lives and cultures with me, and those who lovingly allowed me to share with them the memories and flavors of childhood. It was through these intimate experiences of human sharing that I first realized the stupidity of the idea of ‘races’—that we could value someone more for their skin color than for their heart’s kindness is ludicrous. Thus, returning to Ecuador to realize that there were some whose smiles were less valued, whose caring hands were perceived as always dirty, whose interaction was taken for granted because of ever subtle changes in the bronze and almond shades of their skin, because of gradations in the waves of their hair, or because of minute angle differences in the shape of their noses was infuriating. Yet, those who made these distinctions, those who told me to whom I should not speak, were often people close to my heart—good friends and family, individuals I knew to be truly kind. The backdrop to my experiences is, of course, the poverty of Ecuador. A desperate desire to understand its causes and address its roots and symptoms has driven all my studies. Wanting a greener, sustainable future for Ecuador, I sought to understand the injustices that overwhelmed me so often when walking through my country. Thinking about the life

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

led by the young Indigenous woman and her children who waited for the red light before approaching passing cars with cheap packets of gum for sale, and of the maids who I often spied eating leftovers in friends’ kitchens away from the family meal, I began to wonder about the connections between color and power, color and poverty, in Ecuador. I do not claim that all of Ecuador’s problems will be solved by ending our postcolonial obsession with skin and hair color, but I do think we will be crucially hampered in our search for a just and sustainable society if we do not learn to value all that is human in each of us. This book is the result of my desire to understand poverty and racism in Ecuador. In order to undertake this work, however, I had once again to rely on the kindness of many. I cannot overstate how much I value the countless hours generous individuals shared with me as they candidly revealed their thoughts, fears, and passions. I do not intend for this book to be read as an indictment against any individual; it is simply an exploration of our human limitations—how as humans we can become blind to faults in our society and unwittingly reproduce and sustain oppressive structures. The only way for me to undertake this research was for brave individuals to rely on trust and friendship to grant me access to many of Ecuador’s busiest people, and for those people to be willing to share thoughts that are private and can be criticized. I am terribly sorry that in order to keep my informants anonymous I cannot thank all of them, but there are some who simply cannot remain unnamed, even if the information they provided did not always make it into the final version of this book. Mr. and Mrs. John Neustaetter were such a joy to speak with. Mr. Modesto Correa is a true gentleman and a true friend. Mr. Guillermo Dahik and his family’s generosity and kindness were overwhelming. Marc Saint-Upery and Monica Almeida: conversations with you were a solace in the midst of the agony of field research. Alicia Torres, at FLACSO, was generous and helpful, and I am also grateful for the support promised by Adrian Bonilla, Mercedes Prieto, and Felipe Burbano. To others whom I cannot mention here to ensure the anonymity of the sources used: I will always be grateful. When I return to Ecuador, my family’s love always reminds me of the warmth of home. Their generosity simply cannot be overstated. It expresses itself in lovely meals, heartfelt chats, unquestioning support, and even rides to a million interviews and appointments. My family has gone out of their way to help me create contacts in Ecuador and expand my interviewee list. Thank you very much for all your insights and help with research. Thank you to all of you whom I asked for help: Fernando y Margarita, JuanK y Gabby, Liz y Edu, Luis Esteban, Marisa, Marion, Nico y Fari, Pablo, Patricio, Pepin, Rodrigo e Ines, Sebastian, Vero y

Preface

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Felix. Thank you to my aunts, uncles, and cousins for being my home in Ecuador and to my siblings, Fabricio, Catrina, Juan, Sofia, and Dianis, for their constant love, generosity, humor, and support. A special thanks to my aunts, Zoñi, Mane, Merci, and Ethel, without whom this research would have been impossible. I owe you this book. I could not have foreseen how emotionally and intellectually draining this project has been. The topic is so close to my heart that with every word I feared being dishonest to it, and the challenge of producing a coherent and robust piece that adequately presents and explores the data collected seemed at times unachievable. I could not have completed this book without the intellectual encouragement and support of Cathie Lloyd, who never stopped believing in me and inspired me with her intellectual creativity and independence. The thoughtful and challenging comments of Frances Stewart, John Solomos, Raufu Mustafa, and Laura Rival have substantially helped to shape the book. My colleagues in the Hangar and the Loft at Oxford provided intellectual stimulation, emotional support, and means of procrastination; deepest thanks to Proochista Ariana, Charlotte Fiala, Virginia Horscroft, Yoon Kim, Nicholas Pialek, and Nicola Melloni. The comments I received from Ximena Cobos Santillan, Ranty Islam, Sharon Carlson, and Tony Higuera on various drafts of my manuscript were invaluable. I must also thank colleagues and friends who supported my work even before my days in Oxford: Kevin Cooney, Jose Mendez, Terence Ball, Joani Castillo, Lynn Stoner, Craig Straitar, Tara Simo, Brooke Castaneda, and Chella Sullivan. The insightful remarks and support of a fantastic editor, Jessica Gribble, and the thoughtful comments of Ollie Johnson have substantially improved the final draft of this book. Financial and spiritual support from the Harvey Seed Fellowship made my research possible. In the last stretch of producing the book, the most fearsome bit, I have been supported intellectually and emotionally in the greatest way by the sharp mind and kind heart of Simon Mungall, to whom I will always be most deeply grateful.

Glossary of Key Concepts and Ethnic/Racial Terminology ∗

afroecuadorian. Used in this book to refer to Afro-descendants of Ecuadorian citizenship. Within Ecuador this population is also referred to as blacks, Afro-Ecuadorians, and mulattoes. cholo. Historically refers to mixed individuals. Some claim that cholos are an indigenous people of the coast, and others an identity of the southern Highlands. In this book the pejorative meaning of this term for descendants of Indigenous people in the coast is noted. ethnicity and race. In this book, ‘ethnicity’ will refer to the sociocultural characteristics used by some individuals to distinguish one human group from another. ‘Race’ will refer to the physical characteristics used by some individuals to separate humanity into subspecies, each of which is granted specific psycho-emotional and social qualities (whether favorable or unfavorable). I thus follow Gilroy in stating that ‘race’ is a relationship and ‘racism’ a discourse with metaphysical capacities (Gilroy 2006). When the concepts of ‘race’ and ‘ethnicity’ are conflated (i.e., when ethnic groups are racialized) I shall use the term ‘ethnicity/race.’ By racialized, I mean the process by which a social group is granted a biological essence. It is important to emphasize the socially constructed nature of the idea of ‘race’ and my opposition to it being understood as a biological reality. elites and upper classes. ‘Elites’ will refer to the upper socioeconomic strata of a society. More specifically, for the case of Ecuador, this term refers to a social group largely descending from colonial landowners, whose families have historically benefited from social prestige as well as social, cultural, economic, and political influence (Whitten 2003a:23). I use this term interchangeably with ‘upper classes’ and ‘dominant groups’ to refer to those who are recognized Note: The diminutives of some of these terms (afroecuadorian, cholo, Indigenous, longo, and montubio) are at times used as expressions of endearment between people of the same socioeconomic class.

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

as holding social, political, or economic power in Ecuador, rather than to denote their superiority in any way. I use the plural to highlight the broader emphasis of my research—I have interviewed members of the middle upper classes as well as the upper classes in terms of economic wealth and social access. Indigenous. Refers to Indigenous inhabitants of the Americas or ‘first peoples.’ ‘Indians’ is increasingly replacing this term among Indigenous activists but, given the historical use of ‘Indian’ as an insulting and condescending term, I use ‘Indigenous’ unless I am quoting interview data. longo. Used in the Highlands. This term refers to individuals of mixed ancestry (Indigenous and ‘white’) and is highly pejorative in daily use. Similar in connotation to cholo in the Lowlands. mestizo. Refers to individuals of ‘mixed’ ancestry (Indigenous and ‘white’). According to the national census (2001), the majority of Ecuadorians now self-identify as mestizos. mestizaje. Refers to a process of mixture, or the resulting mixture. It can also refer to the paradigm supported by a state to create national unity. montubio. Used in the coast. Refers variously to native inhabitants of the coast or to an ethnic amalgamation now understood as a ‘sui generis’ ethnic group of the coast. narratives. I define ‘narratives’ as interpretations of historical events used to justify or challenge the social status quo. These are performative actions that locate individuals and groups within social space. socioeconomic networks. These I define as matrices of social relations inhering between individuals, through which information conducive to economic transactions, in the broadest sense, can be channeled (Webster 2004).

Note on Capitalization

I chose not to capitalize ethnic labels to emphasize their social construction. I capitalize ‘Indigenous,’ however, to separate it as an ethnic group from ‘indigenous’ as an adjective.

xvii

1 Introduction

Mysterious Pigs In December of 2004, a series of red, white, and black pigs appeared graffiti-painted on the walls of several of Guayaquil’s1 wealthier neighborhoods. Rumors quickly spread that the ‘Latin Kings,’ a dangerous gang active in several countries, was seeking revenge for the murder of two gang leaders by an ‘upper-class Guayaquilenian.’ Two hundred people would be killed for each gang leader murdered. The pigs were the Latin Kings’ code: a black pig meant death; a red pig, rape; a white pig, fear. Panic erupted among the upper class of Guayaquil: mothers kept their children home from school, schools suspended classes, more private guards were hired, and each house became a fortress (Burbano de Lara 2004). Fear dissolved, however, once a local artist (Daniel Adum) acknowledged authorship of the mysterious pigs. Yet, while schools resumed and the pigs were quickly smothered under fresh coats of paint, the recent events could not be easily forgotten. The ‘mysterious pigs’ had somehow stirred up the underlying terrors of a deeply divided city. For a moment, the deep societal crevices where ideas of ‘race,’ class, and power easily mingle had been uncovered. The chasm between social classes had become evident and the upper classes knew themselves hated. The episode of the mysterious pigs brought up a series of questions: who were the ‘upper classes’ that believed themselves targeted by the Latin Kings? Why did they think themselves hated? What role, if any, did race, ethnicity, class, and power play in these dynamics?

This book seeks to explore these and a series of other questions about ethnicity,2 racism, and power by investigating how the upper classes of Ecuador’s two main cities, Guayaquil and Quito, understand and represent their ethnic identity and that of the ‘others.’ More broadly, this book analyses the implications of the ethnic and racial narratives used by Ecuadorian upper classes for the state’s social and economic

1

2

Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

development. Through this analysis I hope to uncover processes that hamper the construction of civil society, examine the socioeconomic costs of discrimination, and describe the dynamics through which discrimination has remained alive under state discourses of ‘multiculturalism’ and ‘mestizaje,’ or mixture. Finally, I wish to raise questions about the construction of social responsibility and ‘development’ within certain racial and ethnic paradigms. In brief, in this work I shall explore and analyze the identity of the ‘white mestizos’ who have historically been in power and who have historically controlled the official creation and labeling of Ecuadorian ethnic identities. This white-mestizo population, I find, has maintained its cultural, social, and generally economic power by defining acculturation as the road to progress, and themselves as the models whom others should emulate. These ‘elites,’ however, have quietly fallen out of the ethnic ladder themselves. Since ‘mestizo’ became colloquially understood as a label for those who were ‘no longer Indians,’ the Criollo ‘elites,’ while theoretically mestizos, were not placed in the ethnic structure since they were not directly linked to an Indigenous past. Their identity, therefore, was shrouded in silence, permitting them to remain in a position of ethnic power while their own ethnic identity has not been questioned or problematized. Policies that advanced their interests could, therefore, be presented as advancing the interests of the ‘the mestizo nation’ even if they only benefit the narrow interests of the country’s socio-political elite. It is important to highlight that while my analysis is based on research conducted in Ecuador, the questions and themes this book broaches are applicable more broadly. The effects of socioeconomic inequalities and identity politics are urgent topics in all societies, but especially in Latin America, the most unequal region in the world. Integrating populations with ‘new’ ‘mixed’ identities is also a challenge that a plethora of societies confront at present. Thus, considering the multiple and complex equations in which elites and ethnic identities interact, and exploring new, progressive ways in which we might shape these interactions, is crucial if we seek to promote just and sustainable development worldwide. Ecuador as a Case Study

Given that elites, inequalities, racism, and power influence the dynamics of numberless countries, why choose Ecuador as the subject of this book? Ecuador was chosen because its many similarities with other post-colonial states, along with its fascinating idiosyncrasies, make it an

Introduction

3

especially rich case study. Ecuador, much like other post-colonial states, was created on a bed of ethnic diversity characterized by tremendous power disparities between different ethnic groups. Ecuador’s history is fraught with struggles to sometimes conceal, sometimes address, the deep political, economic, educational, and social inequalities that resulted from the colonial encounter. These inequalities developed singularities in each of the country’s four regions: the Highlands and the Pacific Coast or Littoral, on which this work concentrates, the Amazonian Lowlands, and the offshore islands. As a result of their different conquest experiences and geo-economic roles, each region developed its own socio-political history and ethnic narratives. Since its independence in 1830, the Ecuadorian state has sought to build an overarching national identity despite the ethnic divisions within it. The ethnic, racial and cultural hybridity that existed within the country was often seen as a resource for the creation of this national identity. Thus, the largest hybrid group, the mestizos, made up by descendants of Spanish and Indigenous mixture, was often presented as the foundation of the Ecuadorian republic. To build a national identity, construct a sense of unity, and mollify the ethnic, the Ecuadorian state has historically invoked mestizaje as a strategic thread to bind all citizens. This invocation, however, ignored the heterogeneity existent among mestizos and excluded Ecuador’s Indigenous and afroecuadorian heritage, advocating acculturation as a means of integration. This ‘exclusionary mestizaje’ has prompted the political mobilization of marginalized ethnic groups who, under banners of ‘multiculturalism’ and ‘pluri-nationality,’ demand greater recognition and access to state resources. These mobilizations have prompted much research into the discrimination of Ecuadorian Indigenous people (Rivera Velez 2000), (Muratorio 2000), (De la Torre 2002) and, to a lesser extent, of afroecuadorians (Rahier 1999b), (Rahier 1998), (De la Torre 2002). The dynamics within the mestizo community and the inherent tensions between mestizaje and ‘multiculturalism’ as state discourses, however, have remained largely unexplored. Recent scholarship has argued that mestizaje does indeed provide a sense of belonging and unity for diverse populations, serving as an inclusive paradigm in Latin America (Wade 2006). Some might point to Ecuador’s 2001 census as an illustration of the high extent to which mestizaje has worked these wonders, noting that over 75 percent of the Ecuadorian population now declare themselves mestizos (INEC). Yet, the growing political mobilizations of non-mestizo ethnic groups in Ecuador contravenes these claims, raising doubts as to the extent and manner in which mestizaje has been adopted by different socioeconomic

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

strata within the Ecuadorian population. In fact, the idea of mestizaje in Ecuador is highly problematic, as it ignores the growing salience of other ethnic identities within the state, as well as the heterogeneity and power dynamics existent among mestizos. Mestizaje, like other hybrid identities, is an extensive construct that permits much variety within it. In other words, great socioeconomic, political, cultural, gender, and physical disparities can exist among those who claim this hybrid identity. Individuals and groups can use these disparities to affect their ethnic identity and vice versa. For instance, if different ethnicities are associated with different socioeconomic classes, or if being considered a member of a certain ethnic group is beneficial for socioeconomic advancement, then sectors of a hybrid group may embrace or deny components of their ethnic identity for socioeconomic motives. This presupposes that there can be ethnic differences within a single hybrid ethnic group and that certain ethnic identity change is possible. If this is true, then policies that affect socioeconomic structures may, in effect, precipitate ethnic changes and vice-versa. Previous literature surveying ethnic identity change in Ecuador has largely concentrated on the ‘whitening process’ of Indigenous people: their acculturation as they ‘change’ from ‘Indigenous’ to ‘mestizos’ (Espinosa Apolo 2000), (Ibarra 1998), (Ibarra Davila 2002), (Smith Belote and Belote 1984). Change within the mestizo group has been either ignored or presented as a change in socioeconomic status, not as an ethnic identity change. This is due at least in part to a simplistic conceptualization of hybrid groups as homogeneous. Ethnic terminology specific to processes of ethnic change within mestizaje, such as ‘longo’ and ‘cholo,’ has, therefore, escaped study. Yet, insofar as the mestizo group is understood as homogenous, tensions and inequalities within it can be hidden and, thus, not properly addressed by policymakers. Comprehending how hybrid ethnic identities can both affect and be affected by socioeconomic variables, and how these identities can, consequently, change through individual-agency as well as through structural modifications, requires further research. While some such research has been undertaken on Ecuador, an academic vacuum exists around middle-upper and upper-class mestizos (Cuvi 2003a). Scholarship on Ecuador tends to identify this sector as ‘white-mestizos’ (Whitten 2003a), hinting at a racial or color basis for this group’s identity, but almost nothing has been written about this group in terms of its ethnic identity or its ethnic narratives. The sparsity of research in this area has several reasons. First, there is the sheer difficulty of accessing the socioeconomically dominant sectors of a society (Marcus 1983), as well as the exoticization of the research subject, whereby academics,

Introduction

5

mostly of the upper socioeconomic classes themselves, research the exotic ‘other’ which is defined as anything but their own class (Smith 1999b). It may also be the case that this dearth reflects a scholarly bias to concentrate on elites’ economic and political networks rather than on the more amorphous space of narratives and identities (Marcus 1983). Most importantly, however, the fact that the middle-upper and upper classes have not been more fully researched within the paradigm of hybrid ethnicities says much about how these hybrid ethnicities have been conceptualized. It appears that the discourse of hybrid ethnic identity has been largely imposed on the lower socioeconomic classes by a dominant sector whose own ethnic identity has never been questioned. Labels used to identify the hybrid ethnic sector have been fabricated and defined by the dominant sector. Ethnic labels are of great importance in the socioeconomic development process. Such labels facilitate racist behavior. By racism I mean acts that are based on the assumption that a person’s character, intellectual capacity, and other non-material qualities, are determined by his/her physical attributes, especially skin color. In Ecuador, however, racism has usually been understood solely as physical violence suffered by distinct ethnic ‘others’ at the hands of white and white-mixed people. Yet, a subtler racism amongst and within the hybrid sector is possible through the creation and utilization of ethnic labels. Due to the assumption of homogeneity within hybrid sectors, however, this racism, which expresses itself in social exclusion mechanisms, has not been studied in depth or addressed by development policies. Regional differences within Ecuadorian ‘white-mestizos’ have also been largely ignored. Yet, the fact that mestizaje has been largely promoted by thinkers from the Highlands rather than the coast hints at the need to explore the extent to, and the manner in which, the coast has adopted this narrative. Moreover, studies that look at racial narratives from a national rather than a local perspective have often proven limited, as they are unable to discern clear, stable variables affecting ethnic/racial identities (Wong 2005). These problems point to the need to consider local narratives, given the relational nature of identities. Taking these thoughts into consideration, this book seeks to advance our understanding of how ethnicity, race, power, elites, and to a lesser extent, gender, interact in two specific locations, Guayaquil and Quito. This work takes a novel perspective by concentrating on elites, the population that has been least studied in terms of ethnicity in Ecuador, and by looking at the racial and ethnic discrimination taking place between mestizos rather than against those defined as afroecuadorians and Indigenous people. It explores the narratives that support this

6

Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

discrimination, and looks at the effects of this discrimination on the labor market, returns to education, and the creation of development policies. I argue that lower-class mestizos in Ecuador habitually suffer from covert and overt racial discrimination and yet are disempowered in their struggle against such discrimination, as it is not recognized or researched, since it is not understood as a racial issue. Their plight, in other words, is not legitimated by the state’s anti-racism policies.3 By examining how the ethnic narratives of the upper classes support mestizaje as a guard against the political and social mobilization of nonmestizo ethnic groups and of other mestizos I shed light on this process of discrimination. I also explore why and how the responsibility for overcoming social inequalities is transferred by the upper classes to the very populations that have been historically marginalized by Ecuador’s ethnic and racial structures. More broadly, I argue that ethnicity needs to be reconsidered as a political tool: its use is easily conflated with ideas of race and can disadvantage individuals unable or unwilling to claim politicized identities. Supporting this investigation is the view that it is necessary to politicize discussions of ethnicity/race, including the identities of the upper classes, to bring these to the public sphere for democratic dialogue, rather than permitting myths to remain as the basis for popular understanding. The topic of this book is particularly relevant at present as Ecuador and other Andean countries confront the tense contradiction between national narratives of ‘ethnic mixture’ and local support for different forms of multiculturalism. The struggle between these two paradigms has been represented as a battle against the ‘white-mestizo’ oligarchy, as illustrated by the political rhetoric of Lucio Gutiérrez, Evo Morales, Hugo Chavez, and Rafael Correa, among others. Understanding why this struggle has been represented in this way, and the implications of this representation, requires us to study the demonized upper classes. The fact that we have not previously undertaken research in this area might actually have contributed to the present upheavals by permitting unspoken systems of inequality to simmer undisclosed. Ecuador is not unique among post-colonial states in struggling with ethnic/racial constructs or in having an enduring oligarchic structure. Integrating populations historically separated by skin color through narratives of mixture without falling into pregnant silences that portray all racism as extinct is a challenged faced by Latin American countries, the United States, South Africa, and Brazil, among others (Bonilla-Silva 2006, Picca and Feagin 2007, Hamilton et al 2001). Ecuadorian society, therefore, promises to be a valuable case study that may generate insights of wider social relevance. The characteristics Ecuador shares

Introduction

7

with other Andean countries, for example, such as the recent eruption of individuals from traditionally oppressed ethnic groups into national leadership,4 and the regional basis of its elites, provide a basis for comparison, while Ecuador’s particular ethnic narratives, its use of ‘mixture’ as the core national identity, and its specific attempts to address ethnic inequalities within its borders are pertinent for neighboring countries insofar as these specifics provide a model to be either emulated or critiqued. Important Questions to Ask About Elites, Race, Development, and ‘Mixture’

Four questions drive this book: 1. What are the effects of ethnic/racial identities for socioeconomic development and how do these effects develop? 2. How has the discourse of mestizaje or ‘mixture’ been appropriated or dismissed by the upper socioeconomic strata? 3. How do the ethnic narratives of ‘white-mestizos’ affect socioeconomic development processes? 4. Can mestizaje be a sustainable national narrative for Ecuador and other countries facing a growing emphasis on multiculturalism? The development community is increasingly acknowledging the harmful impact of racial and ethnic inequalities as well as of racist discriminatory and exclusionary processes. Discriminatory actions and social exclusion can have dire effects for socioeconomic development. Much has been written on social and economic networks and their role in allowing individuals and communities to benefit from such resources as education (Burt 2000, Cleaver 2002). Discrimination, however, can disrupt the creation of such networks, effectively debilitating development processes. Development policies in post-colonial states such as Ecuador, which are burdened with complex inequalities assembled through ethnic identities, must seek to understand this reality and to consider it throughout all the steps of policy creation. Only then will policies be able to reap the benefits of social and economic networks. Several scholars are seeking ways to measure the impact of these processes on economic growth (Florez 2001). There is also a growing body of work on the links between ethnic-based inequalities and

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

conflict.5 At the level of multi-national organizations, in 2001 the United Nations led the ‘World Conference on Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia, and Related Intolerance,’ in Durban, South Africa. Three significant insights emerged from this conference: 1. Race and poverty are interconnected in the manner that the impact of racism is ultimately the deprivation of the comprehensive right to human and social development. 2. The spatial dynamics of social division within societies governed by hierarchical inclusion regimes, and the persistence of disparities in capabilities, particularly in agency and voice, among stratified social groups, creates social tensions that undermine the stability of human and social development. 3. The development of uniform measures of social inclusion is a priority to establishing a monitoring mechanism capable of guiding and aiding the coordination of international human and social development strategies (Durban plus one 2001:35). Ethnic identity should be considered within the field of development studies not simply for its economic implications, however. Ethnic identities should be considered in order to support a more holistic understanding of what development is. If we hold that development is antithetical to injustice, then it clearly follows that an end to ethnic discriminations must be sought as part of development. If development is understood as containing a socio-psychological component, moreover, given that ethnic and/or racial discrimination is harmful to the promotion of individual and collective well-being, understanding processes of ethnic and racial identity creation and possible oppressive structures is necessary for the fostering of the population’s healthy development. A number of practitioners and organizations have campaigned for the inclusion of ethnicity as part of the Millennium Development Goals (MDG), in a similar way to how gender has been included (Telles 2007), (Gender 2005). Yet, in contrast to gender, there is still a deafening silence surrounding ethnicity and race in development (White 2006), (Kothari 2006b). This is an important, but just emerging, area of development studies. Further research on ethnicity/race could, therefore, learn from the work already done to theorize and acknowledge gender in development: we must strive to denaturalize and politicize ethnicity and race, much as we have sought to do with gender (Weldon 2006:236), (Power 2006:28). We must also constantly consider the interplay

Introduction

9

between gender, ethnicity/race, and other social variables, reminding ourselves of the multifaceted and articulated nature of social reality. If ethnicity is going to be adequately considered in the MDGs and if we are to effectively combat racial and ethnic discrimination, a sophisticated and nuanced understanding of the local, specific nature of ethnic and racial identities and relations is needed. We need to understand the official construction of these identities and relations, as well as their local idiosyncrasies, divergences, and their ‘lived experience’ (Wade 2005). Gaining such a thorough understanding of racial and ethnic discrimination requires us to look closely at the specific ethnic narratives of different socioeconomic classes. However, national discourses can hamper this process by obfuscating differences under a common label, as has been the case with the use of mestizaje in Ecuador. This is dangerous as policies created without a thorough understanding of the specific dynamics of differentiation and the routes through which these differences are translated into socioeconomic inequalities in a society may prove completely ineffectual or even counter-productive. For example, Saavedra notes that in Peru, a country with important similarities to Ecuador in its ethnic structure, the 1998 “Peruvian Congress passed the Law No 26772, prohibiting discriminating practices in labor hiring and in educational admission processes. However, a lack of understanding of the channels through which effective discrimination prevails [made] this kind of rule ... little more than lip service” (Saavedra et. al. 2002:1, my emphasis). Overview of the Book

This book is informally divided into three parts. The first part, made up of Chapters 2 and 3, consists of a general theoretical and historical overview of work pertinent to the study of ethnic identities and elites in the Ecuadorian context. The second part, Chapters 4, 5, 6, and 7, will present a detailed overview of Ecuadorian ethnic narratives, analyzing particularly the ethnic narratives used by the upper classes of Guayaquil and Quito. The final part, Chapters 8 and 9, will study the implications of these narratives for the socioeconomic development of Ecuador. I shall conclude with a brief discussion of the implications of this research for development policies. I want draw the attention of the reader to the research methodology appendix that follows my conclusion. In it I present the methodology of my research, discussing why and how I chose the population and investigation site and the challenges of undertaking research as an ‘indigenous researcher.’ While I present a

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

summary of my methodology in this introduction, I think the reader might be well advised to read this appendix first, in order to fully understand my research findings, arguments, and ideological approach. Overview of the Chapters

For the benefit of readers unfamiliar with Ecuador, I begin Chapter 2 with a historical overview of Ecuador through which I highlight how ethnicity and race have been used to construct the state’s socio-political structure, and note the different factions within Ecuadorian upper classes. To better understand how this work might contribute to debates on elites, ethnicity and race, I conduct a brief review of existing literature on elites and conclude that previous research has influenced our conceptualization of the upper classes and, hence, limited our investigations to their politico-economic structures. Previous research has sought to map out the upper classes’ political and economic power through local and national institutions, rather than to understand how social and cultural narratives might sustain these structures of power. Chapter 3 looks at how we might understand ethnic and racial narratives in Ecuador. It begins by examining the official representation of ethnic identities in Ecuador, as given by the 2001 V National Population and VI Housing Census. By calling upon theoretical advances in our conceptualization of ethnicity and race, I argue that quantitative techniques are limited in their ability to help us study social dynamics in mixed societies like Ecuador, and in-depth qualitative studies of local ethnic narratives are crucial. In fact, several problems with the census’ representation of ethnic identities in Ecuador can be identified, including the imposition of nation-wide ethnic categories that ignore local variations, the conflation of ethnicity and race, and methodological inconsistencies. The greatest problem of the census, however, is that its categories can hardly encapsulate the complex history of mestizaje in Ecuador. Thus, the Ecuadorian government’s claim that three-quarters of Ecuadorians identify as mestizos, which implies that ethnic problems are limited to a minority of the population, is shown to be highly questionable. Questioning this claim opens up a space for us to investigate the complex dynamics within mestizaje. Chapter 4 explores in detail the identities of modern Ecuadorian elites, concentrating especially on the use of ethnic/racial narratives in the construction of these identities. I explore ideas of social and cultural capital in the creation of Ecuadorian socioeconomic strata. I conclude this chapter by examining the struggles confronted by the Gutiérrez

Introduction

11

regime (2003-2005) as a case study of the implicit role race and ethnicity play in the construction of Ecuador’s upper classes. Chapter 5 analyses how local ethnic identities have been historically constructed. Through this chapter, I highlight the growing ethnic polarization of Ecuador and the challenges it poses for the idea of a ‘mestizo state.’ Three causes can be found for this polarization: the marginalization of ‘ethnic others’ through the use of mestizaje, the historical role of ethnicity as a tool for the acquisition of economic, political, cultural, and educational capital, and the hierarchical nature of Ecuadorian mestizaje. In this chapter, I look at how mestizaje has been historically constructed in Ecuador, noting that it has tacitly excluded Indigenous people and explicitly barred afroecuadorians. The hierarchical nature of mestizaje has further prompted groups who are in fact ‘mixed,’ such as montubios, to strategically emphasize and essentialize their local ethnic identities in order to access political and economic resources. In the last part of this chapter I look at the ethnic terminology that has emerged to create a hierarchy within mestizaje, sabotaging the attempts of those who seek social mobility through acculturation and who cannot claim membership in Indigenous or afroecuadorian identities. In Chapter 6 I narrow my focus to Guayaquil and explore how Guayaquil’s upper classes understand their city and their identity through the lens of ethnicity. I analyze this group’s narratives about Indigenous people, afroecuadorians, and montubios, and examine how these different narratives are related to the idea of mestizaje. I argue that in Guayaquil the mestizo narrative hides the maintenance of an ethnic/racial hierarchy, which negates the city’s afroecuadorian population and displaces Indigenous identities to the Highlands. I also argue that mestizaje has not been adopted as a personal identity by the upper classes of Guayaquil, a fact that speaks of this narrative’s limited reach. In Chapter 7 I explore the ethnic narratives used by the upper classes in Quito, and compare and contrast these narratives with those I found in Guayaquil. I argue that interviewees in Quito represent mestizaje as a ‘learned’ identity while they romanticize distant nonmestizo ethnic identities. The relation of interviewees in Guayaquil and Quito to mestizaje, I argue, creates a hierarchy among mestizos that allows discrimination even while promoting the state’s mestizo discourse. I conclude the chapter by contrasting media representations of ethnic identities in Quito and Guayaquil and by highlighting a troubling similarity between the elites of these cities: that they both largely ignore afroecuadorians in their communities.

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

Chapter 8 explores the problems of creating a mestizo identity given the upper classes’ representations of mestizaje. I note the failings of the idea of mestizaje as a national identity narrative for Ecuador and further explore the processes of differentiation among mestizos undertaken by the upper classes of Guayaquil and Quito. I argue that the ethnic narratives of Guayaquil’s and Quito’s upper-class ‘white mestizos’ undermine the very market forces interviewees presented as pathways to socioeconomic equality and as tools to combat discrimination. These narratives hamper the creation of socioeconomic networks among mestizos, which, in turn, affect individuals’ returns from educational investments and limit their opportunities in the labor market. Ethnic inequalities are consequently maintained across generations. Chapter 9 looks at interviewees’ proposals to address ethnic inequalities within Ecuador, analyzing the implicit assumptions of these proposals in terms of agency, and their implications for the future of the Ecuadorian state. I highlight the great emphasis placed on education as a panacea for ethnic troubles, a liberal view that promotes education as a tool for individual acculturation and advancement, suggesting that ethnicity can be molded to fit the dominant culture. I argue that interviewee’s emphasis on the agency of the ‘ethnic other’ downplays the consequences of ethnic and racial structures on individuals’ actions, permitting individuals’ lack of success to be blamed on ‘psychological complexes’ rather than on any structural limitation. I further emphasize the problems with current suggestions to address ethnic inequalities in Ecuador, which concentrate on Ecuador’s Indigenous population, largely ignoring afroecuadorians and never addressing the ethnic or racial narratives that affect mestizos. To conclude Chapter 9, I compare what appears to be the present understanding of ethnicity and development in Ecuador, as represented by white-mestizos of the upper classes, to previous paradigms on gender and development. Methodology

Gaining a thorough understanding of the ethnic narratives employed by ‘elites,’ and of the implications of these narratives for socioeconomic development, required the use of a variety of research methods. I have undertaken an analysis of current scholarship and a content analysis of two of Ecuador’s main newspapers, one based in the Highlands (Diario HOY) and one in the Littoral (El Universo) between January 2000 and December 2004. Participant observation constituted a third component of my research. For this purpose I spent five and half months in Ecuador between 2003 and 2005, dividing my time between Guayaquil and

Introduction

13

Quito. During that time I participated in many social events and informal activities with my informants. This was an integral part of my research, as it is often in these relaxed and private settings, where individuals are released from the confines of public etiquette, that views on ethnicity and race are most forcefully and sincerely expressed. This was also an especially enlightening process because my status as a native Ecuadorian placed me within the local ethnic narratives, allowing me to examine these from within, or as Tanya Luhrmann has put it, allowing me ‘to learn from the inside’ (Luhrmann 2000). In other words, while observing others I also observed how others positioned and defined me, definitions from which I suffered or benefited, depending on the context in which I maneuvered. It is semi-structured interviews, however, that make up the main component of my research. I interviewed 30 university-aged, middleupper class youths in Quito and eight university-aged, upper class youths in Guayaquil, as well as 40 (25 men, 15 women) working-age individuals of upper socioeconomic standing in Quito; and 37 workingage individuals of the upper socioeconomic class in Guayaquil (18 men, 19 women). My interviewees included four previous Presidents of Ecuador, several government ministers and previous ambassadors, presidents of the Central Bank, as well as many key figures from prestigious social and civil service organization (Junta de Beneficencia de Guayaquil, Kiwanis Club, Club de la Union, Club de Rotarios, Yatch Club, Club El Condado), and members of traditional ‘elite’ families—all of whom are correctly considered as members of Ecuador’s ‘elite.’ Accessing the upper classes was a hurdle to be overcome for this research (Shore and Nugent 2002). I relied on personal connections and used a ‘snowballing’ technique to contact more informants after each interview. As a means to safeguard my informants and those who allowed me access to them, throughout this thesis I have used pseudonyms and avoided anything more than vague references to individuals’ occupations and family histories. Aware of the ethical demands of research I have not only sought my informants’ complete anonymity but have also striven for thorough transparency in the presentation of my data to avoid misinterpretations or injurious attributions to individuals, attempting to avoid harm to my informants and honoring trust.6 All informants were fully informed of my research purposes, granting informed consent for investigations. It is important to highlight that my position as an Ecuadorian conducting research in Ecuador created a significant methodological challenge. This position opened venues inaccessible to foreign researchers and granted me cultural insights, but also made me liable to

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

blindness toward my own cultural preconditioning. Constant reflexivity was therefore imperative. Seeking such reflexivity I called upon Bourdieu’s idea of ‘participant objectivation,’ the “objectivation of the subject of objectivation,” to uncover my cultural, class, gender, and educational pre-conceptions (Bourdieu 2003:282).7 I have also taken on board considerations on the effect of subjectivity and autobiographical variables advanced in literature on the research process (Smith 1999b), (Hertz and Imber 1995). Through extensive self-questioning reflection, I sought to understand my own subjectivity and to avoid imposing upon my research population pre-conceived theoretical categories. Notes 1

Ecuador’s largest and most populous city. For an explanation of my use of the terms ‘ethnicity,’ ‘race,’ ‘ethnicity/race,’ ‘upper classes,’ and ‘elites,’ please refer to the glossary. 3 By ‘anti-racism policies’ I refer to legislations and discourses opposing different types of discrimination. I do not mean to imply that Ecuador has a cohesive state anti-racism programme. 4 Notably Peru’s former President the ‘Cholo’ Toledo, Bolivia’s current President the Aymara Indian Evo Morales, Ecuador’s former President Colonel Lucio Gutiérrez, and Gutiérrez’s first Minister of Foreign Policy, Nina Pacari, an Indigenous woman. 5 CRISE, the Centre for Research on Inequality, Human Security, and Ethnicity, is spearheading this research. Much of their work is available online < http://www.crise.ox.ac.uk/> (July 12, 2007). 6 My actions were informed by adherence to the Association of Social Anthropologists Ethical Guidelines, available at http://www.theasa.org/ethics /ethics_guidelines.htm (August 18, 2007). 7 In his article Bourdieu argues against participant observation as a “necessarily fictitious immersion in a foreign milieu.” However, given my status as an ‘indigenous researcher,’ I consider that his argument must be nuanced, as my immersion in my home country for the purposes of research is inherently not ‘necessarily foreign’ (Bourdieu 2003:282). 2

2 Foxes and Lions: Studying the Upper Classes

People in [Ecuador’s] very small upper class divide loosely into two parts, one of which includes those who self-identify as gente bien or gente de bien (good, proper, righteous people) and la sociedad (the society; the definitive article is crucial here). This elite sector constitutes part of the pinnacle of economic control, political power, and social esteem.… Taken together, this small elite sector, divided into old wealth, prestige and power (the gente de bien) and new wealth and political position (the gente de bienes), stands apart from other aspiring sectors. All members of these oligarchies self-identify as— and until recently were usually identified by others as—blancos [whites] (Whitten 2003a: 23).

How the Ecuadorian upper classes relate to and affect ethnic constructions in their country are two of the questions this book seeks to answer. The events of the last two decades make this inquiry particularly necessary for Ecuador. Over the last two decades Ecuador has experienced several Indigenous ‘uprisings’ that have, in the most extreme episodes, blocked major roadways and precipitated coup d’états. Responses to these uprising have been varied, from attempts by ruling factions to co-opt the support of the Indigenous population, to violent opposition and discrimination against Indigenous citizens. Alongside these uprising have come smaller movements led by other ethnic groups demanding greater state recognition. During this time, the Ecuadorian political sphere has been inundated with rhetoric that represents the existing tensions as battles against entrenched upper classes—a corrupt ‘oligarchy’ willing and able to oppress and exploit the poor and Indigenous. In short, the hierarchical structure of Ecuadorian society and the ethnic narratives underpinning it have played out in the social dramas of the last two decades. Despite historical attempts by cultural and political leaders to present Ecuador as an ethnically unified mestizo or ‘mixed’ state, these events have

15

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

demonstrated the persistence of ethnic inequalities that can have severe consequences for the state’s stability. Whether and how these events have affected those who have historically benefited from Ecuador’s ethnic structures remains to be fully understood. Are Ecuador’s upper classes proponents of Ecuador’s mestizo ideal, or do they gain from the construction of diverse, politicized and essentialized, ethnic narratives? To what extent are the ethnic narratives of the upper classes in fact responsible for maintaining the large degree of socioeconomic inequality present in Ecuador?1 While little research has been conducted on the ethnic narratives and ethnic identities of Ecuador’s upper classes, a thorough and sophisticated exploration of these classes is necessary if we wish to avoid an incomplete understanding of the strains within Ecuadorian society. Policies built on such incomplete understanding, like all houses built on weak foundations, may unexpectedly fall down, causing unexpected and unwelcome outcomes. In this chapter, I intend to begin an exploration of Ecuador’s upper classes by looking at their historical development and at how we might conceptualize and study their role in constructing ethnic narratives. Through this chapter, I shall lay the historical and theoretical groundwork for the exploration of the ethnic narratives of Guayaquil’s and Quito’s upper classes that we shall undertake throughout this book. With this aim, and for the benefit of the reader unfamiliar with Ecuador, I shall begin by providing an overview of Ecuador’s political history in which I highlight the tensions between different factions of the upper classes and between the upper classes and the rest of the Ecuadorian population. Especial emphasis will be put on the role ethnic narratives have played in sustaining and justifying these tensions. I shall defer undertaking a genealogy of ethnic narratives until Chapters 3 and 4. In the second part of this chapter I shall review previous research on elites, and argue that biases in the emphasis of this research has affected how Ecuadorian upper classes have been studied and represented. Thus, I draw attention to the lack of research on modern Ecuadorian elites and their ethnic narratives, and argue that this dearth can be at least partly attributed to the exotization of ‘ethnicity’ in the Ecuadorian context and to the heritage of previous research on upper classes. A Historical Introduction to Ecuador

The struggle to consolidate the Ecuadorian Republic has been marred by the acts of physical and symbolic violence of sectorial interests fighting to obtain leadership of the state project. A narrative dichotomizing

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society into the ‘masses’ or the ‘people’ versus the ‘oligarchy’ or the ‘elite’ has driven this struggle. Diverse groups presented themselves as the protectors of the nation at different historical junctures, pointing to their rivals as the assailants of progress and development. What separated these opposing sectors was fear: fear of what the ‘masses’ might damage or of what the ‘oligarchy’ might steal. Local ethnic/racial narratives justifying different groups’ gains and battles have subtly interlaced with these processes of fear. Some historians have divided Ecuador’s history into three stages: an oligarchic stage, a populist stage, and a bureaucratic-authoritarian stage (Burbano de Lara et al. 1989:14). According to Argones the oligarchic stage can be characterized as pre-modern because of the joint exercise of political and economic power that it typifies (Argones 1985:13). This joint exercise is not surprising given that the colonization process suffered by Latin America placed a reduced number of individuals, mostly descendants of Europeans settlers, in charge of both the political and economic sectors, all in the interest of the Spanish Crown. This situation was not dissolved by Ecuador’s independence in 1830 (Tinajero 1986). Moreover, the structures of political and economic power were regionally inscribed, so that regional oligarchies developed (Ayala Mora 1983). These regional oligarchies had different economic interests, which affected their relation to the local populations. In general, the highland elite retained closer links to the Catholic Church and sought control over the Indigenous population who was employed in textile production and subsistence agriculture, while the coastal elite stood to benefit from the liberalization of commerce and labor, as it sought greater access to the Indigenous labor force for its agricultural export economy. Justifying and sustaining different approaches to the Indigenous and afroecuadorians labor forces was achieved by invoking diverse ethnic/racial narratives to construct these ‘masses.’ From the time of the colony, the ‘ethnic others’ in Ecuador, i.e., Indigenous people and afroecuadorians, have been represented as fearsome beings—as possible assailants threatening the order of the new state (Prieto 2004), (Rahier 1999b), (Torre 2002), (Granda Merchán 2003). These threatening beings have been held to be in need of aid or punishment to become civilized and harmless. The two views could be found in the nineteenth-century debate over whether ‘dangerous Indians,’ who might attack villages, rape, and pillage, were best civilized within or outside concertajes.2 Both those who argued for the release of Indigenous people from the pressures of concertaje and those who argued for the maintenance of this institution, based their positions on Indigenous people’ supposed need for either guidance and instruction

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

or discipline and punishment given their ‘fearsome nature’ (Prieto 2004). Thus the debate was truly about whether to maintain this labor force tied to the highland plantations through the concertaje system, or to release it for use in the coastal area, rather than about the character of Indigenous people. In this process the ‘others’ seldom spoke for themselves, having ‘ventriloquists’ from the upper classes represent their demands and seek solutions to their ‘ignorance and depravity,’ as Guerrero has noted (Guerrero 1997). Prieto has traced how between 1895 and 1950 scientific, political, and public discourses constructed Indigenous people as a distinct, rebellious, and nomadic race, able to disguise individual characteristics in order to commit crimes anonymously. This Indigenous race was represented as a fearsome threat to state order. The role elites, then, whether Liberal or Conservative, was to devise means by which to guide and protect this uncivilized mass. It was the elites’ task to reconcile the imagery of Indigenous people as fearsome with the liberal rhetoric that permeated Ecuador since its Liberal Revolution in 1895 (Prieto 2004). From the mid-twentieth century onward, this reconciliation would take new dimensions as it faced the growing strength of politically active Indigenous movements and other, smaller, ethnic movements. Even prior to the second half of the twentieth century, however, a change to the national ethnic rhetoric was necessitated. The growing number of ‘mixed’ individuals, who no longer fell within the category of Indigenous people yet were unable to claim the rights of European descendants, sought their own space to act within the Ecuadorian state. In response, mestizaje was increasingly called upon as a paradigm under which all Ecuadorians could, in theory, become part of the state’s development. The first decades of the twentieth century saw the birth of the Ecuadorian labor movement and an emphasis on societal divisions in terms of class. Rural to urban migrations, resulting from the decline of Ecuador’s cacao production from the late 1920s onward, fuelled urban density and aided this process. A general strike led by Guayaquil’s working classes on November 15, 1922, epitomized the growing importance of the popular classes as a political force. Most commentators see this event, which resulted in hundreds of unarmed civilians being shot at and killed, as the bloody baptism of this new era (Ayala Mora 1983). For the next several decades, the popular classes would persist in seeking the ideals of the Liberal Revolution while regional elites continued their struggle for dominance. The Juliana Revolution of 1925, where several young military officers led a coup

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demanding the fulfillment of liberal promises, exemplified this new dynamic. The 1930s was a period of flux for Ecuador, as it entered what some have termed its ‘populist era’ (Burbano de Lara et al. 1989). The unfulfilled liberal doctrine, coupled with a balanced contention between highland landowners and coastal agro-exporters and plutocrats, led to a political impasse as the national and global economy plunged into crisis. The crisis was exacerbated in Ecuador by the end of the cacao boom. All these variables created the opportunity for a new political figure to emerge: Velasco Ibarra. Dr. Jose María Velasco Ibarra led the country in five separate occasions: 1934-1935, 1944-1947, 1952-1956, 1960-1961, and 1968-1972, yet debate abounds as to whether his rule can correctly be labeled as ‘populist’ (Quintero 1980:386), (Cueva 1982), (De la Torre 1994). Wherever one falls within this debate, it is incontestable that rhetoric played a large part in Velasco Ibarra’s campaigning; he was singularly able to invoke the hopes and fears of the popular sectors in the many cities he visited. To gain the votes of the popular classes, he successfully conjured the tension between the ‘people’ and the ‘oligarchy’ as a rallying point. This is what de la Torre denotes as “the discursive transformation of politics into the irreconcilable struggle between two camps: the Liberal oligarchy and the Velasquista people” (De la Torre 1994:691). Mass politics playing out in other parts of the world, epitomized by the Mexican (1910) and Russian Revolutions (1917), influenced and fed anti-oligarchic discourses in Ecuador during this period: In an atmosphere charged with national and international referents that appealed to ‘the masses,’ banners against the oligarchs were raised in the country, a reaction against the hegemony maintained by the liberalconservative bi-party system took place ... (Peñaherrera Padilla 1992: 18), (see also Maiguashca 1994:201).

Attempts to ‘modernize’ the Ecuadorian state characterized the latter half of the twentieth century. Plans to modernize the state were rendered feasible by a banana boom that allowed medium-sized coastal farms to thrive in the 1950s. In the Highlands, the adoption of capitalintensive production methods decreased the demand for rural manual labor and made limited land reforms possible.3 As the country turned to industrial investment, the concomitant changes of this shift (rural-urban migration and land reform) favored the development of a middle class. Plaza Lasso’s government (1948-1952) worked to integrate this middle class into the state and the use of a ‘mestizo paradigm’ that encouraged

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

individuals’ acculturation into the hegemonic culture was part of the integration agenda (Ayala Mora 1983). However, when a military junta took power in 1963 and attempted to enact policies that would substantially support the middle class, (i.e., more progressive taxes and the 1964 ‘Land Reform, Idle Lands, and Settlement Act’), the elite economically sabotaged the project to push the junta from power.4 Conaghan and Espinal interpret the land reform that was eventually put in place as “a limited … reform to rid [landowners from] their traditional obligations to tenants” rather than a substantial structural reform on behalf of the popular classes (Conaghan and Espinal 1990:558). Industrialization, reform, and the use of the mestizo paradigm in this era, therefore, did not uproot deep-seated socioeconomic schisms. A new era in the structuring of Ecuador’s society started in the early 1970s with the discovery of large deposits of oil in the Amazon basin. The nationalistic military dictatorship of General Guillermo Rodríguez Lara (1972-1976) appropriated a large portion of the oil revenues for national development, denying them to the traditional hegemonic sectors. Rodríguez Lara’s Integral Plan of Transformation and Development sought to continue a state-led program of agrarian modernization as well as renewed industrial development and to ensure that the reforms enacted and the economic growth thus generated would serve to improve the living standards of poorer sectors of the Ecuadorian population (Argones 1985:183).

Income from oil was not tied to any of the previous ruling powers and could, therefore, be used to finance national modernization rather than contributing to the enrichment of any one enclave. As Conaghan states, In contrast to previous export booms where the state was only a passive beneficiary, the state directly captured a large portion of the surplus generated by oil export through its legal monopoly over exploitation rights and the creation of state-owned oil companies (Conaghan 1988:viii, 197).

New professional technocrats, who did not belong to the traditional land-owning families of the Littoral or the Highlands, rose to positions of political and economic power during this period, which Burbano de Lara has termed Ecuador’s ‘bureaucratic-authoritarian stage’ (Burbano de Lara et al. 1989:14). Many of these technocrats were the beneficiaries of the modernization projects of the 1960s, which had allowed them to

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gain a university education (Conaghan, Malloy, and Abugattas 1990). The middle classes were, therefore, significantly strengthened during this period (Argones 1985:14), yet these societal changes altered but did not decrease existing inequalities: Social differentiation accelerated as the expansion of public and private sector employment in services swelled the ranks of the middle classes. Dominant class interests also became more heterogeneous as economic groups diversified their portfolios. In short, the processes of social change that began during the export boom in the 1940s and 1950s accelerated with the export bonanza of the 1970s (Conaghan and Espinal 1990:560).

While the upper classes’ interests were diversified, the gap between the ‘masses’ and the ‘oligarchy’ remained, allowing rhetoric that called upon this dichotomy to become even more powerful by the end of the century. We can pause briefly at this point to review how social changes were played out in the ethnic narratives of Ecuador. The creation of an Ecuadorian labor movement in the 1920s, and the large rural-urban migrations of the 1930s and 1960s, created a new assailant in twentiethcentury Ecuador: the masses. Within these masses we find the mestizo, cholo, and longo who did not fit within the narratives about ‘Indigenous people’ and, accordingly, could no longer be attributed an essentialized Indigenous nature. They had lost the redemptive qualities of ‘authentic’ Indigenous people, which included docility and the possibility of becoming civilized through careful guidance. Progressively, the masses were homogenized under the narrative of mestizaje, permitting their class identity to take precedence in the political arena while their ethnic identities and ethnic hierarchies were left unaddressed. As political actors the masses presented new threats not only to the tranquility of the state, but also to the business interests. Business interests had previously happily acted as ‘ventriloquists’ for the Indigenous population but found that the new working classes wanted their own voices.5 As the ‘masses’ became politically mobilized, they claimed the role of victims and pointed accusingly at the oligarchy. Anti-oligarchic rhetoric flowed into modern politics, becoming evident in the strike of 1922, the Juliana Revolution of 1925, in Velasco Ibarra’s campaign rhetoric, in Guillermo Lara’s oratory during his military dictatorship in the early 1970s, a couple of decades later in Abdalá Bucaram’s inflammatory style and, lastly, in Lucio Gutiérrez’s speeches.6 In blaming the oligarchy, the ‘masses’ turned to the institutions of the state

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

for a savior and provider. It is only in the last several decades, however, that this choreography of blame has increasingly called upon ‘ethnic’ and ‘racial’ narratives. Ecuador entered a period of relative political stability with the election of Jaime Roldos (1980-1981) in 1980.7 The political stability that allowed all four presidents elected between 1980 and 1992 to complete their four-year mandate was not matched by economic steadiness, as Ecuador’s debt expanded with the 1970s oil crises and their aftermaths. The economically problematic 1980s saw the ‘reoligarchisation’ of the state under León Febres Cordero (1984-1988), a member of a traditional ‘elite’ family from the coast (Pachano 1991b:22). Febres Cordero’s government returned the traditional coastal elite to power and put in place a series of anti-statist policies. His neoliberalism reflected a growing anti-statist consensus among the local bourgeoisie ... [which] grew out of their disillusionment with the state-centric policies of military governments and with the access problems experienced by business interest groups under those governments (Conaghan, Malloy, and Abugattas 1990:4).

The two presidencies that followed Febres Cordero’s, those of Dr. Rodrigo Borja Cevallos (1988-1992) and Architect Sixto Durán Ballén (1992-1996), differed in many of their political and economic goals, but they were, like that of León Febres Cordero, a return to the leadership of the traditional elites, as both Borja and Durán Ballén belong to families with long histories in Ecuador’s political and economic life. These two presidencies confronted some of the largest Indigenous mobilizations in Ecuador’s modern history, as Indigenous people from several parts of the country came together to demand economic justice and social inclusion in 1990, 1994, 1997, and 2000 (Whitten 2003b). As the media relayed images of tired and dusty Indigenous peasants who had walked many miles to participate in the unfolding dramas of each uprising, a dynamic of old was replayed before Ecuadorian society: Ecuador’s traditional elites once again confronted the unruly, ‘dirty,’ and uncivilized ‘ethnic others’ from distant rural areas,8 who approached the elites’ seat of power. Indigenous people were portrayed as threatening to take over the cities, indeed they were seen taking the cities and, therefore, needed to be controlled and contained (Whitten 2003b:62). The dynamics were reminiscent of those reviewed in Prieto’s overview of the previous century, with Indigenous people represented as a separate, secretive, and possibly dangerous race. This period saw the consolidation and advancement of ethnicity-based political

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organizations, including CONAIE, the Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador (established in 1986), and FENOCIN, the National Federation of Peasant, Indigenous, and Black Organizations, which started as a peasant organization in the 1960s. De la Torre has explained the consolidation of such organization as follows: [Snce the 1930s the Ecuadorian state promoted the] corporatization of all sectors of society. Elites were organized into the chambers of agriculture, commerce, and industry. Non-elite groups such as public employees and industrial workers were incorporated through the recognition of their organization and the gaining of special privileges. Along with the transition to democracy in the 1970s, indigenous people, women, and Afro-ecuadorians have [also] successfully demanded their corporatist inclusion (De la Torre 2006a:252-3).

In 1996 Ecuador once more entered a period of political flux, with the election of Abdalá Bucaram as president of the Republic. Infamous for his shameless pilfering from the state’s coffers and his attempts at musical stardom while in office, Bucaram was declared mentally incompetent by the Ecuadorian Congress and deposed from power in 1997. This followed several days of popular unrest that filled the streets of Quito with thousands of protesting civilians. Although Bucaram’s policies did not in fact diverge radically from a neo-liberal paradigm, he had come to power on an aggressive campaign promising to redeem Ecuador’s impoverished masses, to rule on behalf of the ‘people’9 rather than the ‘oligarchy’ (De la Torre 1996). The triumph of populism was evident: Bucaram had risen to power by highlighting the unresolved tension between an ‘elitist state’ and a state for ‘the people.’ In terms of Ecuador’s ethnic struggles, he sought to appease the Indigenous population through the creation of the Ethnic and Cultural Ministry, led by Rafael Pandam, and opposed by the great majority of the CONAIE. Ecuador’s leadership remained out of the hands of the traditional ‘elite’ with the election of Jamil Mahuad in 1998. Mahuad, like Abdalá Bucaram, is the descendant of Lebanese immigrants to Ecuador. Mahuad, however, is a Harvard-trained technocrat rather than a populist leader. Mahuad’s presidential term was also cut short by popular protests. A coup, begun by an Indigenous uprising and supported by sections of the Ecuadorian military, ousted Mahuad in January 2000 after an economic crisis that climaxed in the freezing of Ecuadorian banks and the dollarization of the economy. Mahuad’s ousting was the apogee of a crucial change in the Ecuadorian political sphere: for the first time Indigenous people were at the core of politics. They had become protagonists in the construction of

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the state rather than mere recipients of political rhetoric. Gustavo Noboa, who had been Mahuad’s vice-president, took over the leadership of the country and remained in power until 2002. During those two years (2000-2002), Noboa, a member of Guayaquil’s traditional elite, was constantly forced to address the demands and critiques of Indigenous and other ethnic groups. Lucio Gutiérrez, a military Colonel who been part of the short-lived triumvirate that followed Mahuad’s fall, was voted into power in 2003, as part of an informal coalition with the Indigenous political party Pachakutik. Gutiérrez’s populist government was partly characterized by its constant struggle to define the role of the Indigenous political movements in Carondelet.10 The partnership between Gutiérrez and Pachakutik became increasingly strained as Gutiérrez’s mandate shifted from leftist promises to increase the role of the state for the benefit of the poor, to neo-liberal policies that strengthened economic ties with the United States and prioritized business interests. Gutiérrez’s position as an army officer placed him in an interesting relationship to the traditional upper classes. Isaacs notes that the military has historically served as an intermediary between regional elites in Ecuador (Isaacs 1993). Not part of the traditional spheres of power, the military has in fact been largely constituted by mestizo masses and has often played a liberal role in Ecuador—as illustrated by its role in the Liberal Revolution, the Juliana Revolution, and the 1960s rural reforms noted above (Ayala Mora 2004).11 Having lost great part of the Indigenous support by 2005, Lucio followed the path previously walked by Bucaram and Mahuad when he was ousted from office by popular protests. This time the protests encompassed a broad spectrum of Ecuadorian society, a great part of which opposed Gutiérrez’s declaration of a national state of emergency under which he revoked the Supreme Court. His regime’s contact with the exiled Abdalá Bucaram and Bucaram’s political party (the Ecuadorian Roldosista Party—PRE) feed the concerns of large parts of the Ecuadorian population opposing him. Gutiérrez declined the political asylum extended to him by the governments of Brazil and Colombia and returned to Ecuador, where he was temporarily jailed, even as he promised his supporters that he would run for and win the presidential seat again in 2006. When he was declared ineligible for the candidacy, Gutiérrez’s political party (Patriotic Society—SP) switched candidates, putting up Gilmar Gutiérrez, Lucio’s brother. G. Gutiérrez came in third in the first round of Ecuador’s 2006 presidential elections. The second round of the 2006 elections once more saw the invocation of anti-oligarchic rhetoric. The two contenders for the

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Presidency were outsiders to the traditional Ecuadorian political establishment and both promised to govern in the interests of the people rather than of the corrupt oligarchy. Alvaro Noboa, a multi-millionaire banana exporter who inherited his fortune from his father and who appealed to the Catholic faith of Ecuadorians for his support, represented a populist right.12 Opposing Noboa in 2006 was the Guayaquilenian Rafael Correa. Holding a Ph.D. in economics from the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, Correa presented a leftist agenda, spoke Quichua at certain campaign events and, upon being elected Ecuador’s new leader, undertook the Presidential oath wearing a hand-made Indigenous shirt. Unlike in 2002, ethnic and racial discourses were not abundant during the 2006 elections. Two causes might be suggested for this. For once, the collaboration of Indigenous sectors with the failed Gutiérrez regime had undermined some of the gains made by this sector in the recent past, decreasing its voice in the political sphere. Furthermore, ethnic and racial narratives are not customarily brought into the limelight of Ecuadorian politics: the ‘ethnic other’ is addressed by the political centre but is not part of it. The Gutiérrez regime was, therefore, a special case in which discourses usually kept in private spheres were placed at the very centre of Ecuadorian politics. Even in the populist government of Abdalá Bucaram, known for its lacerating language against the traditional dominant classes, there were only tangential remarks about the racial or ethnic component of class dynamics in Ecuadorian politics. In his book Un Solo Toque political sociologists Carlos de la Torre presents an interesting overview of how Bucaram, as a representative of the masses, and his opponents, labeled by Bucaram as the ‘oligarchy,’ played out the dynamics of class struggles during the 1996 presidential campaign. During this campaign Bucaram was presented as the embodiment of the uncouth and aggressive masses. Thus, de la Torre notes: The upper classes ... are worried about [Bucaram’s] vocabulary, manner of speaking, dress, and lifestyle…. He wears rings, a watch, and thick gold necklaces ... which the upper classes see as manifestations of very bad taste (De la Torre 1996:26-7).

He further cites a description of Bucaram’s house in one of the main national newspapers, a description that highlights several elements considered characteristic of the lower classes:

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

White are the walls, [white are] the marble floor and the furniture, each with its protective plastic cover…. Everything seems to be there for a show, including the garden filled with plastic plants (De la Torre 1996:27).

Bucaram’s attacks on ‘good aesthetic taste’ were accompanied by grossly rude language and ‘inappropriate’ behavior, such as making a public appearance shirtless and sweaty with a glass of beer in one hand (Ibid.). He seemed to represent the worst of the disruptive masses and his very physical appearance troubled the traditional classes, as highlighted by the national press (Espinosa Cordero 2001b). Bucaram’s transgressions were, of course, more than lacking the appropriate taste. He is threatening because he presents himself as the savior of the poor from the oppression of the ‘oligarchy.’13 He presents himself as a ‘man of the people,’ as someone who has risen from very humble origins and is now willing to work for the less fortunate among whom he was born. Meanwhile the ‘oligarchs’ are painted as lazy and corrupt, sucking the life-blood of the people. During his 1996 campaign, Bucaram spoke of the ‘lazy old witches from El Condado,’14 who would have to ‘learn to clean and iron’ once their docile servants were liberated, and of the ‘thieves from the PSC’15 who seek only to enrich themselves from the earnings of honest workers (De la Torre 1996:3841). In the interplay between the oligarchy and the masses that dominates Ecuadorian politics, Bucaram’s rhetoric fulfils two roles. Firs, as De la Torre notes, the very existence of traditional elites is justified by the portrayal of Bucaram (and through him of the masses) as destructive, anti-development and, consequently, in need of guidance (De la Torre 1996: 23). Second, the portrayal of the elites as heartless and eternally greedy gave Bucaram a raison d’être—as the avenger of the people. In other words, both groups used their construction of the ‘other’s’ identity as springboards for their own political ascendancy. The choreography of blame nicely shaped the dancers. In creating the masses/oligarchy dichotomy, Bucaram casually used ethnic discourse. When teaching an audience how to vote, for example, he used the name Quishpe, a traditional Indigenous name, as the typical name of an honest man who must fight so that his vote will not be stolen by the oligarchy. In a different speech he declaimed the ‘God of racism’ that the oligarchy follows (De la Torre 1996:39, 49). Thus, the assailant/savior dichotomy Bucaram calls upon revolves ever subtly around an ethnic divide. Such use of ethnicity and race depends on a dichotomous understanding of racial identities, where the ‘oligarchy’

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and the ‘masses’ are cast as polar opposites with Bucaram standing between them, belonging to neither group, and denouncing the traditional oppressors on behalf of the oppressed. In this respect the Gutiérrez government was drastically different from Bucaram’s or any other that had preceded it. Like Bucaram, Gutiérrez made great use of rhetoric laden with populist remarks. While jailed, for instance, he wrote: From this cold and small cell ... I send you a feverous and combative greeting, inviting you to plead to the little Jesus Child that in this Christmas JUSTICE be his gift, so that the country will never again have the oligarchy, the bankers, the financial debtors, and the corrupt politicians imposed upon it. [T]hey have stolen not only money, but also illusions and democracy when they, violating the laws, the Constitution, and morality, took away our power on April 20, 2005 through an infamous coup d’état. 16

However, unlike Bucaram, Gutiérrez was not standing between the oppressed and oppressors: he was part of the population historically oppressed by Ecuador’s socioeconomic and ethnic/racial ladder: he was a middle-rank army mestizo. Thus, at the height of the regime’s controversy, the oligarchy/masses rhetoric erupted into racist/anti-racist accusations, as can be noted by reviewing national media coverage of the period (which I do in Chapter 4). The Gutiérrez regime meant leadership of ‘non-white mestizos’ (in contrast to the ‘white-mestizos’ of the traditional elites), joined by Indigenous people who had historically been constructed as external to the political core, and this upset the status quo deeply. A series of new developments over the last three years (the economic crisis and its effect on oil prices, the forced Congressional recess, the installation of a Constituent Assembly, and the passing of a new constitution in 2008) have introduced further instability into Ecuadorian society and opened possibilities for new changes that might affect the upper classes. What narratives the upper classes will make use of in their struggle to remain in power in the midst of these changes remains to be seen. Perhaps ethnicity, in one of its many guises, will emerge once more as a useful political tool in this struggle. Previous Research on the Upper Classes

Even a cursory review of previous work on the ‘upper classes’ will surprise a reader by the numerous and disparate terms used: elites, ‘ruling classes,’ ‘dominant classes,’ ‘oligarchy,’ ‘aristocracy,’ ‘political

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class,’ the ‘power elite,’ are all terms that have been used to label this population. This hints at what Marcus sees as ‘an enduring problem in elite research’: “the focus, to the exclusion of other issues, upon the delineation of the empirical status of an elusive concept” (Marcus 1983:9). There is already much work that attempts to reconcile the terminology of ‘elite research’ and to describe the subtle differences in meaning conveyed by the different terms (Giddens 1972), (Barrera Restrepo 1988), (Carlton 1996), (Lachmann 1990). Rather than reviewing this terminology, however, I would like to concentrate on the historical development of ‘elite research’ to highlight some of its trends and emphases. I shall review the two main schools of elite research—the Elitists and the Pluralists—emphasizing the changing conception of power that has accompanied their historical development. Through this discussion I shall note the main methodological emphasis of research on the upper classes. National Elite Power Network Studies and the ‘Machiavellians’

Whether societies are mono-hierarchical or polyarchical, having one or several peaks of power, has been a central source of contention among those who theorize on elites and has driven much of the research in this area (Dogan 2003:3). According to Giddens, by the 1970s a consensus existed that a single, all encompassing ‘elite’ could not hold all power in post-industrial and industrial societies (Giddens 1972). Indeed, the dispersion of power came to be seen as one of the characteristics of the modernization process (Pachano 1991b). This consensus contradicted the view of the ‘Elitists,’ a view captured most eloquently in the writings of C. Wright Mills. In his monumental The Power Elite Mills argued that a ‘power elite,’ defined as “political, economic, and military circles which as an intricate set of overlapping cliques share decisions having at least national consequence,” controlled the United States, given that “so far as national events are decided, the power elite are those who decide them” (Mills 1956:18). It was the newly consolidated national leadership of the postWorld War II United States that led Mills and other academics to inquire into the changing nature of power structures, highlighting juxtapositions among those in leadership roles.17 Their research came to be known as National Elite Power Network Studies (NEPNS) (Evans 1994:15). Broadly, these studies argued that for a ‘power elite’ to exist, three elements must be present among its members: shared class and status, certain value consensus, and personal interaction between them. Later

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research, which came to be termed ‘neo-elitist,’ also considered the role of the electoral process in the formation and maintenance of a ruling elite (Albertoni 1987a:145).18 More recently David Rothkopf (2008) has argued that a global ‘superclass’ has developed—a group of highly interconnected individuals able to drastically affect national and international events. The influence of this superclass supersedes the controls of the nation-state, threatening democratic ideals. Rothkopf’s work is interesting in reminding us of the need to extend our analysis beyond the nation-state, pushing us to think about the nature of power that utilizes global networks, and about who these new ‘superclass’ are, where they are located, and how they perceive their status. Thinkers aligning themselves with the Elitists trace their ancestry back to the nineteenth-century foundational works of the Italians Michael Mosca (1858-1941) and Vilfredo Pareto (1848-1923), and the German Robert Michels (1876-1936). These three thinkers have become known as the ‘Machiavellians’ given their fascination, along with Machiavelli, on those who do/should rule and how they do/should conduct their rule. Mosca’s, Pareto’s, and Michels’ writings have been interpreted as being influenced by, and antagonistic to, Marxist views on class structures (Yannuzzi 1993:4), (Carlton 1996:5).19 Unlike Marxist scholars, the ‘Machiavellians’ did not define the ruling group strictly as that which controls the means of production, arguing that the group’s social and moral characteristics should also be considered. Thus, they sought to investigate the non-rational forces that lead to the success or demise of ruling groups. Some have interpreted the writings of the ‘Machiavellians’ as proto fascist, promoting an amoral stance in the search for power. A closer reading, however, reveals a critical spirit that sought to demonstrate the reality of social domination by a few, not to laud it in any way (Yannuzzi 1993).20 In this respect, these writers are comparable with Thorstein Veblen (1857-1929), who was writing in the same era to criticize the conspicuous consumption of the upper strata of the United States, whom he termed the American leisure class (Veblen 2001 [1899]). Like the ‘Machiavellians,’ Veblen isolated a group in control of a specific social arena and investigated its characteristics and processes of reproduction. They all sought to explain the institutional, structural, and, importantly, the non-rational forces that support the maintenance of certain individuals’ power. Nevertheless, while Veblen was critical of the leisure class, Mosca and Pareto endowed the ruling group with qualitative superiority over the masses. Mosca attributed the ruling class’s ability to rule to its organizational superiority, which granted it monopoly access to such

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resources as education, while Pareto held that the elite’s composition was constantly shifting as the best elements of society continually emerged to lead it. Given the inevitability of a ruling group, the ‘Machiavellians’ criticized the Marxist ideal of a classless society and the ideals of democracy as naïve, stating that all societies are always, and will always be, controlled by a minority. Their writings, in fact, foretold that the growing socialist movements would also result in the leadership of a limited group. Thus Pareto, recalling Machiavelli’s analogy, predicted the onset of fascism in Italy under the leadership of lions, those who lead by force, who would replace the foxes, those who lead by wit and cunning. The Pluralists and the Second Face of Power

Opposition to the idea that a single ‘elite’ group holds power has been strong and sustained. In the United States this position was exemplified by the ‘Pluralist’ school, which contested Mill’s claims. 21 Robert Dahl, along with such scholars as Daniel Bell, David Riesman, Edward C. Banfield, and Arnold Rose, argued that power is held by a variety of groups within one society, who lack the necessary cohesion to be deemed a ‘power elite’ (Dahl 1958:15). The idea that all power could reside upon a single group not only grated against the egalitarian ethos of the United States; it also contradicted the view of modernization that permeated the social sciences until the 1980s. Representations of the ‘third wave of democratization’ also fomented the view that societies throughout the world were increasingly seeing power flow from, and into, broader sections of the populations through electoral processes. This Pluralist position was strongly criticized by Peter Bachrach and Morton Baratz, who noted that in its attempts to map power in measurable ways (in order to prove the existence of several elites), the Pluralists ignored power’s second face. Beyond being able to impose one’s will on another (the first face of power), being able to impose what issues come up for debate also entails power, of a more devious and unquantifiable kind (Bachrach and Baratz 1962). Thus deciphering who was in control was more difficult than simply noting who held positions of leadership in recognized institutions—it was necessary to go beyond the architecture of power. A ‘power elite’ could tacitly exist despite, for example, democratic processes that appear to vest power in a large spectrum of citizens.

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Power’s Third Face: Studying Narratives

Drawing on Gramsci’s work, Steven Lukes explores a further ‘third face’ of power in his well-known Power—A Radical View (2005). Lukes defines this third face of power, as the power “to prevent people, to whatever degree, from having grievances by shaping their perceptions, cognitions and preferences in such a way that they accept their role in the existing order of things” (Lukes 2005:11). Several theorists have offered diverse frameworks to understand this most insidious kind of power, concentrating on different aspects of it. Antonio Gramsci refers us to the idea of ‘hegemony,’ Michel Foucault to ‘regimes of truth’ and Pierre Bourdieu to ‘symbolic violence’ and ‘doxic knowledge.’ Fanon and his followers lead us to inquire into psychologically internalized structures of oppression. The goal of these varied frameworks is to understand how individuals come to accept a status quo as natural. In other words, they seek to comprehend how individuals imbibe what they come to perceive as a ‘common sense’ understanding of reality. This third face of power permeates but is not contained in institutions, inhering in every human relation and individual creation. We might visualize it, therefore, as invisible webs sustaining and linking societal structures. Its study, clearly, poses a great challenge. One strategy to expose these webs of power is to undertake an analysis of the narratives that have evolved to explain societal structures—this is what Foucault calls an ‘archaeological investigation.’ Narratives are performative instances through which individuals seek to create meaning and justify social relations (Floya 2002). Narratives legitimate the status quo, explaining what individuals take for granted and feel to be natural. Thus, in order to discover the webs that sustain the placement of elites, we can study the narratives used by those at the apex of a system of power to understand and justify their position. This will be the methodology employed throughout this book, as I explore not the ‘architecture’ of those in positions of power within the Ecuadorian state (i.e., what institutions they influence and how these institutions are linked) but, rather, the narratives that have served to build and maintain this architecture. My main focus will be on identity narratives and, more specifically, on ethnic identity narratives. Through this investigation it will be clear that it is in the struggle to define identity boundaries, in the struggle to create new identities or defend existing ones, that power structures are revealed through the narratives used to naturalize identities. The role of narratives in naturalizing identities perhaps appears most clearly when we investigate hybrid identities, such as mestizaje. Hybrid identities can

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result from the amalgamation of other identities (in processes of ethnic/racial mixture), from the struggle to create new identities to appropriate resources (such as in the creation of new national identities), or even from attempts to destroy certain identities by incorporating them into other groups (through processes of citizenship naturalization for new immigrants, for example). ‘Hybrid’ identities pose a special problem for the maintenance of boundaries: their very nature is an aggression to established borders as they are the result of mixture; they are linked to previous groups and yet exist beyond their circumscription. By laying claim to the rights and entitlements of one of its ‘ancestors’ a hybrid identity can destabilize an established hierarchy—the number and diversity of claimants to the hierarchy’s benefits is suddenly expanded. This explains colonial concerns, often expressed through ideas of ‘impurity’ and ‘pollution,’ with ‘mixed children’ who might attempt to gain access to the privileges and entitlements of the ruling classes (Hutnyk 2005), even while maintaining allegiances with the oppressed. Thus, narratives have been built to explain and locate sundry hybrid identities, justifying and limiting their access to different types of capital or resources. Identities grant a certain order to social space and narratives naturalize and legitimate this order. Breaching boundaries, challenging or altering established identities is, consequently. Mixtures, such as mestizaje, are feared because they can dilute, pollute, or question boundaries. Once an identity is questioned, its entitlement to different kinds of capital might be problematized, a terrifying prospect for those whose status might suffer from these changes. Put differently, as the sundry components that create an identity are questioned—whether this be exclusive housing, certain clothing, specific surnames, languages or accents—individuals’ rights over these components become tenuous, inherently challenging their status quo. Given the many ways in which recent events in Ecuador have transgressed previously settled identity boundaries, researching the creation and maintenance of elites’ ethnic identities in Ecuador is particularly fascinating. Over the last few decades, a number of Indigenous and afroecuadorian individuals have attained higher education degrees and several have reached the highest spheres of political and economic power in the country. Thus, the capital disparities that have historically served as identity boundaries for several ethnic groups have diminished. No longer, for instance, can Indigenous people be tacitly understood as those external to the political system. Educational, economic, and political capital may no longer serve as boundary markers for Ecuadorian elites. It is important to understand

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how these elites are adapting to these changes, and the implications of their adaptations. As we work through the sizable literature theorizing elites in our search for understanding, we soon notice a gaping hole: that of ethnicity. The western cannon of literature on elites, being Anglo-American centered, has left this area largely understudied, as have previous studies of the Ecuadorian upper classes. This not only reveals to us what research still needs to be undertaken. It also hints at a very specific conceptualization of elites by previous scholars, one that implicitly holds ethnicity as irrelevant or unquestionable and might, consequently, permit certain webs of power to lie undisturbed. Diverging from Previous Research

Previous research on elites has a strong bias for structural analysis. Followers of both the Elitist and the Pluralist schools have applied a variety of methods in their attempts to ‘map’ the location of power holders within a society. This emphasis has distanced researchers from the Machiavellians and Weber’s interests in the ‘irrational’ forces underlying structures of power.22 Thus, narratives justifying individuals’ authority or privileges have been largely ignored as researchers have focused on charting measurable economic and political networks.23 The fact that the majority of research on elites has been undertaken by outsiders to their ranks, rather than by members of elite subcultures, partly explains why researchers have concentrated their efforts on structures and networks: it is easier for outsiders to have access to data on the financial and political networks of a society than to the private spheres and mentalities of the upper classes. However, as Marcus notes, it is not solely the inaccessibility of information that has guided elite research, as lack of access is a surmountable hurdle. Rather, the specific development of elite research in industrial and post-industrial societies owes much to the distinct ideological roots from which it draws—its emergence along with, and in contrast to, Marxism has led to its structural emphasis; its Machiavellian ancestry pre-disposed it to a concentration on institutions. Thus, Marcus states: Following the implicit guides for empirical investigation in the Italian theories, researchers sought to map the organization of largely political [elites], whose members were identified by their leadership functions in institutions, and to study the effective, as opposed to the formally defined power that members of the elite exercised as leaders in their societies (Marcus 1983:17).

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Research on Ecuador’s Upper Classes

The structural emphasis of elite research seems to have influenced recent research on Latin American and, more specifically, Ecuadorian elites. 24 Like its predecessors, such research tends to emphasize economic and political structures in its attempt to locate power foci. Zeitlin and Ratcliff’s work on Chile, for example, seeks, in minute detail, to identify what they term ‘kinecon structures’: “complex social unit[s] in which common economic interests and close kinship relations are indissoluble” (Zeitlin and Ratcliff 1988:7). In the case of Ecuador, the work of Fierro Carrión on Ecuador’s financial groups follows in the tradition of the Elitists, as he maps the networks of power in Ecuador to demonstrate the large degree of capital concentration and monopolization that characterizes the country. Convincingly demonstrating the existence “of a small but powerful monopolistic fraction of the bourgeoisie, which has come to control the principal economic activities of the country, in association with foreign capital and the state,” Fierro Carrion concentrates on the economic and, to a lesser extent, the political realm, carefully mapping the diverse interconnections between the largest players in these arenas, but giving little attention to social, cultural, or ethnic relations (Fierro Carrion 1991:14). Other research on Ecuador’s upper classes has concentrated solely on their economic role.25 During the 70s and 80s, several researchers looked at the interconnections of the economic and political fields. Examples of this can be found in the doctoral theses of Norris Lang (1969), David Hanson (1971), Leslie Ann Brownrigg (1972), and Catherine Conaghan (1983). A more recent attempt to map out the social architecture of elites is Guillermo Arrosemena Arrosemena’s three volume Ecuador’s Industrial History (1995), which tracks the birth, growth, and decline of the major Ecuadorian industries, concentrating exclusively on economic networks. In the last few decades there have also been some works on Ecuador’s political elites (Pachano 1991a), (Pachano 1991b). It is difficult, however, to differentiate these works from broader analyses of Ecuador’s political structure and political parties, given their exclusive emphasis on those in positions of power within political institutions and, then, solely on them as ‘political actors.’ Although these studies provide interesting insights into Ecuador’s economic and political institutions, their scope is limited, paying little or no heed to the cultural and ethnic. An exception to these are the works by Erwin Frank and Ninfa Patiño, which seek to uncover how political elites think about Indigenous people through a set of structured interviews (Frank and Patiño 1992). While these authors present

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fascinating information, it is necessary to expand beyond structured interviews to understand the narratives that sustain elites’ representations of ethnic others (not just Indigenous people) and themselves. It is significant that while the modern Ecuadorian upper classes have been studied in terms of their political and economic roles, very little has been written about post-nineteenth-century Ecuadorian elites’ ethnic identities or ethnic narratives. This is perhaps not surprising given that, as Cara and Wong note in the case of racial narratives, “while the study of race and politics is often the study of white racial attitudes ... research on racial identities almost always refers to non-white identities” (Wong 2005:699). We might propose that the lack of interest in elites’ ethnic identities could also be linked to the structuralist bias of ‘elite research.’ We can note, for instance, that the amount of research on elites’ ethnic identities has decreased as these identities have become less institutionalized. Most commentaries on the ethnic/racial identity of the upper classes look at the colonial period, when racial identities were codified through legal decrees (Büschges 1999), (Büschges and Langue 2005). Thus, two events might have led to a decreasing interest in these groups’ ethnic identities: first, the abolishing of legal decrees defining racial identities and, therefore, the blurring of racial structures; second, the adoption of mestizaje as a national narrative further blurred racial boundaries by appearing to homogenize the population.26 These two historical shifts might have made structuralist approaches inefficient for studying the identity of Ecuadorian elites and, perhaps, decreased researchers’ interest in this topic. While there have been few studies of post-colonial Ecuadorian elites’ ethnic identities, investigations of ‘ethnic others’—those in the lower levels of a society’s ethnic structure—have grown yearly. This is at least in part due to the growth of anthropology and other social sciences. In Ecuador’s case we might also advance that the mestizo paradigm, by highlighting those who fell outside it, namely Indigenous people and, to a lesser extent, afroecuadorians—has also prompted research on these identities. The investigation of ethnicity in Ecuador has thus become implicitly linked to the ‘ethnic other.’ In other words, although ethnicity applies to all individuals (Goulbourne 2003: 332), the upper classes have been de facto conceptualized as non-ethnic. Parallel processes can be noted in the creation of ‘whiteness’ in other contexts (Bonnet 1998). A process of exotization is also present, where academics, mostly of the upper socioeconomic classes themselves, research the exotic ‘other.’

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The exotization of the ‘ethnic other’ and the lack of attention paid to the ethnic identity of the upper classes are reinforced by Ecuador’s mestizo narrative. This narrative focuses attention on the acculturation of Indigenous people into the hegemonic culture and away from the identity narratives of the dominant groups. In fact, we can find almost no writings on mestizos of the middle upper and upper classes in Ecuador in the twentieth century. Polo Bonilla’s book on elites and mestizaje looks only at how the cultural ‘elite’ of Ecuador have struggled with the concept of mestizaje for others, without delving into whether and how these individuals understand their own mestizaje (Polo Bonilla 2002). Cuvi’s article on the upper classes of Ecuador (Cuvi concentrates on business elites) notes the lack of research on this social strata and then analyses this group’s gender discourses and reactions to the Indigenous uprising of 2000, but does not inquire far into the upper classes’ ethnic identity (Cuvi 2003a:281). As we shall further explore in Chapter 4, the fact that the middle-upper and upper classes have not been researched within the paradigm of mestizaje says much about how this identity has been conceptualized in Ecuador. ‘Hybridity’ appears imposed on the lower socioeconomic classes by a dominant sector whose own ethnic identity has not been questioned. The upper classes have implicitly been held as being above the process and troubles of mestizaje. A final reason that might have affected whether and how Ecuador’s upper classes have been researched is Ecuador’s political climate. Ecuador’s political history, as noted at outset of this chapter, has been characterized by political rhetoric that dichotomizes society into the ‘masses’ or the ‘people,’ versus the ‘oligarchy’ or the ‘elite.’ Research on elites might consequently have been circumscribed to avoid falling within this discourse. Such circumscription, however, and the bias to research and understand the upper classes only through a structural framework, might have impeded us from uncovering and comprehending structures of inequality that are harmful to Ecuador’s development prospects. Such circumscription and biases, otherwise stated, may have limited our understanding of elites to their most simplistic institutional definition, and, therefore, limited actions seeking to address inequalities to the institutional level (Camp 2003), leaving unquestioned the narratives that in fact sustain and legitimate such institutions.

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Conclusion

To conclude, let me quickly summarize the ground covered thus far. This chapter has been divided into two broad sections. In the first section I have provided an overview of Ecuador’s political history for the benefit of the reader unfamiliar with this terrain. Through this overview I have highlighted the constant tension between elites and ‘masses’ in Ecuadorian political rhetoric. I further highlighted the subtle and nuanced manner in which ethnic identities have played into this rhetoric. Ecuador’s political present is still being played out in the language of oligarchic/populist warfare and, evermore, in racial and ethnic terminology. Understanding these tensions is, therefore, of great importance to create effective socioeconomic development policies in the country. The historical overview provided in this chapter hopes to be a first step in our search for understanding, granting us a socio-historical context. In the second part of this chapter I have reviewed previous research on the upper classes, noting the historical bias for structural analyses within this research, as well as the growing sophistication in our understanding of the ‘power’ that the elite hold and, consequently, of who the ‘elite’ are. I have noted that we can also find a structural bias in how Ecuador’s upper classes have been studied and that this bias has prevented investigations into their ethnic narratives. Thus, while previous research provides us with many insights into the structures of institutional power in Ecuador, it leaves a great area for us to explore: the many narratives that sustain said structures. Through this book I wish to concentrate on one such narrative: the ethnic narrative. I shall start by critically examining the official representation of ethnic identities in Chapter 3. Notes 1

The income Gini coefficient in Ecuador was 0.55 for 2006 (II Informe). Concertaje was a labour system that tied Indians to haciendas and their landowners through progressive indebtedness. 3 It is significant that at this point the ‘ethnic identity’ of rural labourers was underplayed to their class identification as peasants. 4 It must be noted that the Junta’s anti-communist and anti-union stances, and its allowance for increased US influence led popular and radical sectors to also oppose it by 1966 (Isaacs 1993:xii, 178). 5 The fact that afroecuadorians are not acknowledged at this point reflects the extent to which they are invisible within the state’s discourse of mestizaje, 2

38

Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

and conceptualized as entirely distant from the spheres of political power. See Rahier (1998). 6 For more information on these instances, refer to: (Maiguashca 1994:436), (Burbano de Lara et al. 1989: 476), (Pachano 1991b:212), (De la Torre 1996). 7 Roldos died in an airplane crash on 1981 and was replaced by his vicepresident, Dr. Osvaldo Hurtado. 8 Here we can begin to identify the racialization of spaces in Ecuador, with ‘distant’ rural spaces understood as savage and Indigenous, as discussed by Radcliffe (1996). 9 ‘El pueblo.’ 10 The Presidential Palace. 11 Another example is Colonel Urbina’s manumission of slaves in 1851. 12 Noboa had also made it to the second round against L. Gutiérrez in 2002, and against Mahuad in 1998. He lost the presidency in 2002 on a regional-based vote—with most of the coast voting on his behalf. 13 Now from his exile in Panama, from where he continues to direct the PRE. 14 An exclusive upper-class neighbourhood in Quito. 15 PSC—Christian Socialist Party. A political party with neo-liberal tendencies, with members of the traditional agro-exporting ‘elite’ among its ranks (such as León Febres Cordero and Sixto Durán Ballén). 16 Gutiérrez, Lucio. Accessed online: http://www.sociedadpatriotica.com /article.php?sid=192, January 26, 2006. 17 Among those who sought to prove that leadership in the United States was increasingly entrenched in a limited number of hands were G. William Domhoff with his book Who Rules America? (1967), Floyd Hunter with his Community Power Structures: A Study of Decision Makers (1953), and Walter Burnham, who argued in The Managerial Revolution (1941) that a new managerial elite was increasingly establishing its dominion throughout society. 18 Joseph Schumpeter and Max Weber can both be considered ‘Democratic Elitists,’ given their understanding of individuals’ participation in politics as constrained by given social structures. 19 Simultaneously, however, Marxist theory has been interpreted by some as an elitist theory, given its emphasis on a single ruling class at each historical epoch, and on the state “as an instrument for securing class domination” (Evans 1994:3). 20 As Orozco notes about Mosca, for instance, “[Mosca] is part of an ethical, constitutional dimension: his system of values is opposed to fashionable spiritualism and pragmatism which can be readily used to support the normative supremacy of intangible commands and energies, which include the arbitrary nature of force—race, evolution, the fostering of the spirit, the will to power, manifest destiny, scientific administration or the purely mechanical physiology of behaviour” (Orozco, cited in Albertoni 1987a:174). 21 C. W. Mills argued that a pluralist distribution of power existed only at the middle level of society. A multi-member elite existed at the apex, although the parts that constituted this elite were not always in agreement or collusion (Evans 1994:16).

Foxes and Lions

39

22 There have been some recent works seeking to uncover narratives of power and heredity (Marcus 1992), (Piña-Cabral 2000), (Carlton 1996), but much more research remains to be done in this area, especially in regard to ethnicity and ‘race.’ 23 Biographical analyses of ‘elites’ provide one exception to the structuralist emphasis. Reconstructing the life and character of an individual requires the writer to move beyond political and economic structures into moral and ethical narratives. 24 There has been an attempt, spearheaded by John Higley, to revamp ‘elites’ as a useful frame for research in the social sciences given that “as a critical and conceptual tool elitism [had] practically [been] left in obscurity…” during the last quarter of the twentieth century (Albertoni 1987b:146). Looking at Southern Europe and Latin America (although not at Ecuador) John Higley, Michael G. Burton, and Lowell G. Field have attempted to model how ‘elite’ interactions can lead to diverse political outcomes, under the book that, “…democratic stability depends on agreements that can be struck only among representing rival organizations and popular groupings” (Higley and Gunther 1992:10). Paul Cammak and others, however, have strongly criticized this theory of ‘Elite Settlements’ for its limited explanatory power in empirical cases (Cammack 1990:420). In the case of Ecuador the theory could be used to explore the recent compromises between different ‘political’ elites in Ecuador, including the traditional parties, the Indigenous movement, and the labour movement, but it would not grant us a deeper understanding of the identity narratives that sustain the boundaries that create these different groups. Thus we can note that Higley’s model returns us to a structural analysis of ‘elites,’ rather than advancing by taking into consideration more sophisticated conceptualizations of power. 25 See for example the work of Jose Moncada (1984, 1986, and 1989) and Diego Mancheno (1986), cited by Fierro Carrion (1991). 26 I look in more detail at these legislative changes in the next chapter.

3 Constructing Identities: The 2001 National Census

We do not have to be content with the halfway house provided by the idea of plural cultures. A theory of relational cultures and of culture as relation represents a worthwhile resting place. That possibility is currently blocked by banal invocations of hybridity in which everything becomes equally and continuously intermixed (Gilroy cited in Hutnyk 2005:98).

Having noted the role played by ethnic narratives in the construction and addressing of socio-political inequalities and tensions in Ecuador, I shall now like to critically explore the official representation of ethnic identities in the country. This is the representation provided by the VI National Population and V Housing Census, conducted in 2001 by Ecuador’s National Institute of Statistics and Census (INEC). According to the 2001 census, almost three quarters of the Ecuadorian population identifies itself as mestizo, or ‘mixed ethnicity/race.’ This result seems to confirm the success of the ‘mestizo paradigm’: the view, increasingly influential since the early twentieth century, that Ecuador’s national identity should be based on the idea of cultural and/or racial ‘mixture,’ an idea appealing because it promises to include all of the country’s inhabitants. This paradigm runs counter to claims by Ecuadorian non-mestizo ethnic groups for greater recognition from the state. The findings of the census are, therefore, highly political and must be carefully analyzed. To undertake such an analysis I shall begin by briefly presenting the INEC’s findings, looking first at the national results and then more closely at the results for Guayaquil and Quito. I shall then analyze the construction of ‘mestizaje,’ ‘race,’ and ‘ethnicity,’ in an attempt to clarify what the census was actually able to quantify. In the last part of this chapter I shall delve more thoroughly into the methodological and theoretical problems of the census, arguing

41

42

Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

that grounded qualitative research, like the one undertaken in this book, is needed to disentangle the many meanings within ‘mixed identities.’ The 2001 Census

According to the 2001 census, when asked, ‘What do you consider yourself?’ and given six categories from which to choose, the Ecuadorian population responded as follows. National Results Table 3.1: Ethnic Identification Among the Ecuadorian Population Categories

Population

Percentage

Indigenous

830,418

6.83

Black

271,372

2.23

Mestizo

9,411,890

77.42

Mulatto

332,637

2.74

White

1,271,051

10.46

Other

39,240

0.32

Total

12,156,608

100.00

Processed with Redatam+SP Cepal/Celade 2002–2006. Source: INEC. 1

The INEC’s findings, shown in Table 3.1 above, seem to indicate that Ecuador is largely a ‘mixed’ country, as demonstrated by the great majority (77.42 percent) of individuals who opted to self-identify as mestizos. This outcome, in turn, implies that other identities make up only a minority of the Ecuadorian population, detracting from the Indigenous movement’s claim to represent a sizable portion of Ecuadorians (up to 45 percent, according to some sources). According to the census, however, Indigenous people make up less than 7 percent of Ecuador’s population, even less than its ‘white’ population, which makes up over 10 percent.

Constructing Identities

43

The INEC’s findings, however, must be read and interpreted with extreme caution, as they are tainted by an array of methodological and theoretical problems. Vast disparities between the INEC’s findings and those of other studies highlight the difficulties inherent in quantifying ethnic and/or racial identities. For instance, while the Association of Indigenous Professionals of the Littoral (APIL) estimated that 400,000 Indigenous people live in Guayaquil, the INEC’s Census estimated only 27,986—less than a tenth of APIL’s findings (Acosta 2001). Such unbridgeable differences prompt us to question what the 2001 census actually measured: to start with, did it measure ‘ethnic’ or racial identities? Media reports on the census used these terms interchangeably, demonstrating a lack of conceptual clarity (Iturralde Velasco 2001), (Pachano 2001c), (Burbano de Lara 2001b). Assuming that the concepts of ‘ethnicity’ and ‘race’ can be separated, we may further ask whether the census measured individuals’ public or private identities, or whether such distinction is a moot point. It also prompts us to investigate whether methodological dissimilarities affected outcomes, e.g., whether the use of verbal rather than written questionnaires resulted in drastically disparate results between this census and other studies. Before turning to these questions, let us look more closely at the findings of the 2001 national census for the two cities we are investigating: Guayaquil and Quito. Regional Results

Quito has a smaller population than Guayaquil, approximately 1.4 million inhabitants versus Guayaquil’s almost 2 million (INEC). Table 3.2 presents the ethnic composition of Guayaquil Canton’s urban areas, which includes the city of Guayaquil. A simple variable frequency comparison between Ecuador as a whole and Guayaquil Canton reveals several important characteristics about the latter. First, according to the INEC, the percentage of people self-identifying as Indigenous in Guayaquil is vastly smaller than the percentage identifying as Indigenous at the national level (1.41 percent to 6.38 percent), indicating a smaller concentration of Indigenous people in urban Canton Guayaquil than in other areas of the country. We can also note a greater percentage of people who self-identify as white in urban Canton Guayaquil than in Ecuador at large (18.88 percent to 10.46 percent). In regards to mestizaje, the percentage of people selfidentifying as mestizo is smaller in urban Canton Guayaquil than in the country at large (71.30 percent to 77.42 percent), although the great majority of Guayaquilenians still identify as mestizos. Finally, more

44

Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

individuals self-identify as afroecuadorians (blacks plus mulattoes) in urban Canton Guayaquil than in Ecuador at large (7.77 percent to 4.97 percent). Table 3.2: Ethnic Identities, Guayaquil Canton (Urban) Categories

Population

Percentage

Indigenous

27,986

1.41

Black

59,871

3.02

Mestizo

1,415,644

71.30

Mulatto

94,208

4.75

White

374,864

18.88

Other

12,806

0.65

Total

1,985,379

100.00

Processed with Redatam+SP Cepal/Celade 2002–2006. Source: INEC.

These ratios also hold if we concentrate only on Samborondón Canton (Table 3.3). While Guayaquil city is not officially part of Samborondón Canton, this Canton now hosts the luxurious residences, within guarded and fortified gated communities, of some of the wealthiest individuals in the city, who commute from this sector to their work place in Guayaquil City. I conducted several interviews in this area and all of my Guayaquilenian informants mentioned having family members or close friends who lived in Samborondón. Samborondón Canton differs from Ecuador at large in a similar way to Guayaquil Canton. Thus we can note that a smaller percentage of individuals self identify as Indigenous in urban Samborondón Canton than in Ecuador as a whole (1.07 percent to 6.38 percent); a greater percentage self-identify as white (16.41 percent to 10.46 percent); a smaller percentage self-identify as mestizo (74.23 percent to 77.42 percent); and a larger percentage self-identify as afroecuadorian (7.08 percent to 4.97 percent).

Constructing Identities

45

Table 3.3: Ethnic Identities, Samborondón Canton (Urban) Categories

Population

Percentage

Indigenous

118

1.07

Black

358

3.25

Mestizo

8,188

74.23

Mulatto

423

3.83

White

1,810

16.41

Other

133

1.21

Total

11,030

100.00

Processed with Redatam+SP Cepal/Celade 2002–2006. Source: INEC.

Turning to the Highlands we find that inhabitants of Quito Canton’s urban area, which includes the city of Quito, self-identify as seen in Table 3.4. Comparing our data on urban Canton Quito with the percentages for the national aggregate, we can note several trends that differentiate this Canton from Guayaquil Canton and, hence, Quito from Guayaquil. Urban Canton Quito stands closer to the national distribution of identities than does urban Canton Guayaquil. To start with, we find that only 13.76 percent of individuals in urban Canton Quito claimed to be white, a figure that stands far closer to the national percent of 10.46 than does the 18.88 percent claimed in Guayaquil. On the other hand, a greater proportion of urban Canton Quito’s population claimed to be mestizo (79.78 percent) than at the national level (77.42), and a far larger proportion than in urban Canton Guayaquil (71.3). More individuals claimed to be Indigenous in urban Canton Quito than in the urban areas of the coastal cantons, but the percentage of Indigenous people in the urban areas of Canton Quito is still smaller than the national percentage (2.96 percent to 6.38 percent). Finally, a smaller percentage of individuals self-identified as afroecuadorians in urban Canton Quito than in the country as an aggregate (3.16 percent to 4.97 percent). These results are summarized in Figure 3.1.

46

Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

Table 3.4: Ethnic Identities, Quito Canton (Urban) Categories

Population

Percentage

Indigenous

41,430

2.96

Black

17,418

1.24

Mestizo

1,117,654

79.87

Mulatto

26,860

1.92

White

192,527

13.76

Other

3,489

0.25

Total

1,399,378

100.00

Processed with Redatam+SP Cepal/Celade 2002–2006. Source: INEC. Figure 3.1

Percent

Ethnic Self-identification by Region 100% 90% 80% 70% 60% 50% 40% 30% 20% 10% 0% Ecuador

Guayaquil Canton

Quito Canton

Samborondon Canton

Region Other

White

Mestizo

Source: INEC data; Graph: author.

Black/ Mulatto

Indigenous

Constructing Identities

47

Ethnicity/Race and Development

We can use the census data to tentatively explore the relation between ethnic/racial identities and development within each city. For instance, we can look at the relation between these identities and employment categories; this relation can be used as a conservative estimate for socioeconomic class (Figueroa and Barron 2005). They are conservative estimates because the employment categories adopted by the census may conflate occupations across several socioeconomic areas and, moreover, because individuals may move across occupational categories several times in their life. The 2001 Ecuadorian census uses the following occupational categories: Group A

Members of the executive power, directors of public administration and business

Group B

Professionals, scientists, and intellectuals

Group C

Technicians and middle level professionals

Group D

Office workers

Group E

Service workers and merchants

Group F

Skilled agricultural and fishing workers

Group G

Artisans and mechanical workers

Group H

Machine and installation operators

Group I

Unskilled workers

Group J

Armed forces

Group K

Undeclared

Group L

New workers

Using these categories we can analyze census data in two ways. First, we can note how different ethnic groups, as defined by the census, were divided by occupation, i.e., what percentage of Indigenous people were part of group, A, B, et cetera. I shall look at this in Tables 3.5 and

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

3.6. Second, we can observe the ‘ethnic’ composition of different occupations, i.e., what percentage of group A self identified as Indigenous, black, mestizo, et cetera. I shall do this in Tables Appendix 3.1 and Table Appendix 3.2. Table 3.5: Occupational Category of Ethnic Groups, Guayaquil Canton (Urban) A B C D E F G H I J K L Total

Indigenous

Black

Mestizo

Mulatto

White

Other

Total

0.74% 1.33% 0.71% 1.91% 39.06% 1.07% 10.18% 3.67% 33.11% 0.21% 7.47% 0.53% 100.00%

1.19% 2.29% 1.41% 3.47% 17.71% 1.99% 21.64% 6.16% 31.71% 0.46% 10.80% 1.17% 100.00%

3.12% 7.59% 3.95% 7.38% 19.69 % 1.65% 20.71 % 7.49% 17.46 % 0.50% 9.58% 0.88% 100.00%

1.87% 3.82% 2.44% 5.43% 19 .50% 1.45% 23 .63% 7.19% 22 .02% 0.41% 11 .30% 0.96% 100.00%

5.84% 9.54% 5.45% 9.53% 21.20% 1.04% 16.26% 6.33% 13.42% 0.33% 10.22% 0.85% 100.00%

3.73 % 5.69 % 3.33 % 6.47 % 2 1.48% 2.00 % 1 8.95% 1 0.86% 1 6.80% 0.20 % 9.62 % 0.87 % 100.0 0%

3 .46% 7 .46% 4 .01% 7 .45% 20.27% 1 .53% 19.85% 7 .17% 17.69% 0 .46% 9 .78% 0 .88% 10 0.00%

Data source: INEC.

Table 3.5 breaks down census-defined ethnic groups of urban Guayaquil Canton by occupational categories. From this table we can note that 0.74 percent of individuals who self-identify as Indigenous in urban Guayaquil Canton fall within the top occupational bracket, versus 3.12 percent of those who self-identify as mestizos and 5.84 percent of those who identify as white. On the other hand, we can note that 33.11 percent of Indigenous people and 31.71 percent of afroecuadorians are listed as unskilled workers, in contrast to 17.46 percent of mestizos and 13.42 percent of whites. Glancing through these figures we can note that there is a greater concentration of whites in higher paying, more prestigious positions. This is more evident in Table Appendix 3.1. In Table Appendix 3.1 we can note that 31.07 percent of occupations falling in group A, 23.53 percent of those falling in group B, and 25.04 percent of those falling in group C, are taken up by individuals identified as white in contrast to 0.41 percent for group A, .034 percent for group B, and 0.34 percent for group C by Indigenous people, and 1.12 percent for group A, 0.99 percent for group B, and 0.34 percent for group C by individuals identified as black. The high prevalence of whites in high-

Constructing Identities

49

paying and prestigious occupations is particularly interesting given that, as noted earlier, they make up only 18.88 percent of the population of Guayaquil. Mestizos make up the majority of every category. We can find similar patterns in the INEC’s data on urban Canton Quito, as shown in Tables 3.6 and Appendix 3.2: 24.61 percent of whites are ‘government leaders, directors of public administration, and business leaders’ or ‘professionals, scientists, and intellectuals’ while only 2.13 percent of Indigenous people and 4.38 percent of blacks partake of these occupations. Looking at the ethnic make up of different occupational sectors (Table Appendix 3.2), we find that whites make up a fourth of the occupations in group A and a fifth of the occupations in group B, despite making up only 13.76 percent of Quito’s population. Mestizos make up almost the rest of these groups. Indigenous people, blacks, and others, therefore, are almost entirely excluded from high status, highly remunerated jobs. Table 3.6: Occupational Category of Ethnic Groups, Quito Canton (Urban) A B C D E F G H I J K L Total

Indigenous

Black

Mestizo

Mulatto

White

Other

Total

0.81% 1.32% 0.68% 2.65% 18.06% 2.00% 28.62% 3.99% 35.07% 0.12% 6.07% 0.61% 100.00%

1.91% 2.47% 1.48% 5.06% 18.4 7% 0.91% 17.7 8% 6.64% 34.7 5% 0.66% 8.99% 0.89% 100.00%

4.58% 10.97% 4.38% 9.91% 19.15% 0.90% 20.30% 7.17% 13.50% 0.67% 7.85% 0.62% 100.00%

2 .59% 4 .45% 2 .42% 6 .99% 20.48% 0 .94% 23.36% 7 .27% 21.10% 0 .67% 8 .84% 0 .89% 100.00%

9.18% 15.43% 5.75% 12.07% 20.10% 0.98% 12.74% 4.85% 9.65% 0.40% 8.26% 0.59% 100. 00%

8.92% 9.50% 4.23% 8.05% 25.38% 0.64% 15.76% 4.23% 12.98% 0.46% 9.56% 0.29% 100.00%

5.01% 10.97% 4.35% 9.81% 19.28% 0.95% 19.59% 6.73% 14.21% 0.61% 7.88% 0.62% 100.00%

Data source: INEC.

A few broad trends can be discerned from the data presented. It is first the case that more self-defined whites partake of more prestigious jobs, while Indigenous people and afro-descendants are strongly represented in less prestigious jobs. Mestizos are represented in all socioeconomic sectors, although the majority falls in the middle classes. In addition whites hold a higher percentage of jobs than their percentage as a section of the labor force in several of the more prestigious sectors.

50

Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

These patterns imply a possible exclusion of individuals from sectors of the labor force, and/or processes of discrimination within the labor force, due to ethnicity and/or race. This is corroborated by recent studies on the poverty suffered by Indigenous and Afro populations in Latin America that find a strong correlation between ethnic/racial identities and poverty (Hall and Patrinos 2005), (Ponce 2006). Hall and Patrinos, for example, have found that “Being indigenous increases an individual’s probability to be poor, even after controlling for other factors that usually predict poverty, a relation that remains almost unchanged between the early and late 1990s”; they further note that in the early 1990s in Ecuador, 33 percent of the difference in labor gains between Indigenous and non-Indigenous individuals could not be explained by individuals’ productive characteristics, and by the late 1990s this unexplained gap had increased to 45 percent (Hall and Patrinos 2005:5, 6). We can take this analysis further and, using education as a proxy for human capital (Figueroa 2006), note the extent to which ethnic/racial identity has affected individuals’ human capital development. In so far as ethnicity affects education, and education in turn affects an individual’s human capital, which will affect the individual’s prospects in the labor market, then an individual’s socioeconomic status is affected by ethnicity (Figueroa 2005:11). The importance of education, for socioeconomic development in general and for the well being of ethnic minorities more specifically, has been noted by various researchers, some of who have argued that the income disadvantages that exist in Latin America [can be] attributed in great part [to differences] in formal education. Therefore, an improvement in the levels of schooling would create better salary opportunities for the indigenous population (Partridge 1996:96).

Other researchers, however, are more cautious in their interpretation of education’s impact on ethnic inequality. Hall and Patrinos, for example, have noted that while differences in educational levels between indigenous and non-indigenous populations in Latin America are decreasing, the average gain for each additional year of schooling is smaller for Indigenous than for non-Indigenous people (7 versus 8 percent for Ecuador in the late 1990s) (Hall and Patrinos 2005:7). Data on educational achievement, therefore, is at best only a conservative estimate of individuals’ human capital. The information on ethnicity and education for Cantons Guayaquil and Quito is summarized below.2

Constructing Identities

51

Figure 3.2

Educational Achievement per Ethnic Group, Guayaquil Canton (Urban) 100%

Percent

80% 60% 40% 20% 0% Indigenous

Black

Mulatto

Mestizo

White

Ethnic Group Unknow n

None

Literate/ Primary

Secondary

Post-secondary

University/ Postgraduate

Processed with Redatam+SP Cepal/Celade 2002–2006. Source: INEC data; Graph: Author.

Figures 3.2 and 3.3 show us a rough pattern between educational achievement and ethnicity. Individuals identified as white are likely to be more highly educated than Indigenous or afroecuadorian citizens. For instance, in Guayaquil 0.26 percent of whites undertake postgraduate studies, in contrast to 0.05 percent of Indigenous, 0.04 percent of blacks, and even to .015 percent of mestizos. This pattern repeats for university education: 3.65 percent of Indigenous people undertake such studies, as do 5.73 percent of blacks, and 13.67 percent of mestizos, in contrast to 18.89 percent of whites. We can find similar patterns for the urban population of Quito Canton. Only 0.1 percent of Indigenous and blacks and 0.56 of mestizos undertake postgraduate studies in contrast to 1.17 percent of whites. On the other hand, we can note that in both cantons Indigenous people have the highest percentage of individuals who are illiterate or who have only completed primary education. In Guayaquil Canton 51.64 percent of Indigenous people have only a primary

52

Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

education while 10.96 percent are illiterate, in Quito Canton these numbers are 50.32 percent and 13.29 percent. Figure 3.3

Educational Achievement per Ethnic Group, Quito Canton (Urban) 100%

Percent

80% 60% 40% 20% 0% Indigenous

Black

Mulatto

Mestizo

White

Ethnic Group Unknow n

None

Literate/ Primary

Secondary

Post-secondary

University/ Postgraduate

Processed with Redatam+SP Cepal/Celade 2002-2006. Source: INEC data; Graph: Author.

It is important to note that the ethnic inequalities we have seen thus far only consider urban populations. This is significant because the largest inequalities in education in Ecuador are those between urban and rural inhabitants (Preal 2006: 14). We might, therefore, expect that the differences highlighted in this chapter are only conservative indicators of the reality in the wider country. Furthermore, patterns reviewed might be conservative in that ethnic identification may reflect, rather than or as well as, affect economic and educational achievements. In other words, it might not only be the case that those who are considered ‘Whites’ are economically and educationally advantaged, but also that those who have attained greater economic and educational advancement are more likely to consider

Constructing Identities

53

themselves, or be considered, white. Thus, the greater proportion of ‘Whites’ in different sectors could imply either that whites are favored in several occupational sectors, or that individuals employed in more prestigious occupational sectors are more likely to identify themselves as white. Statistical works3 that seek to build models based on census data (by regressing occupation on ethnicity, for example), are for this reason problematic (even if they control for education, residence, and other related variables), and might, at worst, hide processes of discrimination (Rattansi 2007: 291). A nuanced and grounded investigation into the construction of ethnic/racial identities is needed to understand what, in fact, statistical data reveals and, consequently, how it might be used. Such investigation is especially necessary to reveal the dynamics within the mestizo identity, as statistical tools problematically homogenize this identity. There are several dynamics to be investigated within the mestizo group. We can first look at how mestizos compare to other ethnic groups within Ecuador, thus analyzing horizontal inequalities (HI) within Ecuador (Stewart 2001). We can also analyze difference among mestizos, thus looking at the vertical inequalities (VI) within the group. Finally, we could also investigate how these two, HI and VI, interact within the mestizo group. This is what I shall attempt in this book: by analyzing how the upper socioeconomic classes represent mestizos and other ethnic identities I seek to understand how socioeconomic strata affects the identity of mestizos and, on the other hand, how ethnic identities affect socioeconomic development. Questions Elicited by the Census

Our discussion of the 2001 census results thus far opens up two avenues for investigation. First, we can strive to understand what was intended by the great majority of Ecuadorians who apparently self-identified as mestizos. Put differently, what does the mestizo identity entail? What are its symbolic boundaries? Is it reasonable to speak of a single mestizo group as the census does? To answer these questions I turn to an analysis of mestizaje in the next section. Second, we might discuss whether the census findings capture Ecuadorians’ ‘ethnic identity’ or their racial prejudices and, therefore, what the data collected actually reveals about Ecuadorian society. The close links between ideas of race and ethnicity make it necessary to question to what extent the 2001 census separated or conflated these two concepts. To delve into this question I shall review the theoretical constructions of ethnicity and race in the third part of this chapter. I shall conclude by looking more closely

54

Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

at the findings of the census, taking our discussions of mestizaje, race and ethnicity on board, to discuss the census methodology and its theoretical assumptions. The Problematics of Mestizaje

MIL VECES OH PATRIA SKINHEAD
mestizo Bestia MAS BESTIA EL QUE CREE QUE amar al país es renunciar al MESTIZAJE (Graffiti in Quito, Ecuador. August, 23, 2003) Translated, the above graffiti reads: “A THOUSAND TIMES OH MOTHERLAND” (part of the chorus of the Ecuadorian national anthem), signed: “SKINHEAD” To this remark someone replied: “mestizo Beast” Someone else’s scribbles added to the discussion: “The one who believes that loving our nation means renouncing MESTIZAJE IS THE GREATEST BEAST” I stumbled upon this graffiti while conducting research in Quito, in 2003. It was sprayed in large letters on a wall of Quito’s main bullfighting arena (La Plaza de Toros), located on Avenida Amazonas, in the north of the city, an avenue that houses a great part of Ecuador’s modern businesses and banks. Walls and spray paint have often served as a means of communication for younger generations of Ecuadorians. This particular graffiti lucidly captures the various debates surrounding the significance and acceptance of mestizaje in Ecuador. For over a century, Ecuador’s identity has been deeply tied to the idea of mestizaje, but the exact meaning of mestizaje, and who is embraced or repudiated by this concept, has always been controversial and, as the graffiti demonstrates, emotionally charged. As Traverso-Yépez succinctly notes, “Although it is said that mestizo ideology should be the dominant self-image among Ecuadorians, it is also insisted that this is assimilated almost unwillingly, because in their internal I, all want to be Western Europeans” (Traverso-Yépez 1998:250). Despite its lack of clarity, the widespread use of the term mestizo, as demonstrated by the INEC’s findings, implies that this concept has great cognitive significance for a large part of the Ecuadorian population. So, what exactly is rejected or embraced by the Ecuadorian population when

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it labels itself ‘mestiza’? Mestizaje means a mixture of some sort; it is a discourse or representation that is created as a reaction, as an aftermath of an initial “mixing, mingling, blending, crossbreeding, combining, superimposing, juxtaposing, interposing, imbricating, fusing, and merging....” (Gruzinski and Dusinberre 2002:19). A human ‘mixture’ is always fluid and its power structures are inherently gendered (Westwood 1997), (Radcliffe and Westwood 1996). The idea of mixture assumes the existence of ‘original’ substances that are in some sense pure and not mixtures in themselves. In other words, it presupposes an ‘alterior pure’ (Hutnyk 2005). What if such purity is valued more than mixture? What if power and resources are unequally allocated between the ‘original’ initial substances from which mixture derives? How would this alter the valuing of the mixture? Would it be considered equal, better, or worse than its components? There are several possible ways to conceptualize the process of mestizaje and its outcomes, each with different social, political, and economic implications. In this section, I shall first look at what will be termed a ‘traditional’ view of mestizaje, then comment on the view of mestizaje as ‘hybridity.’ In a ‘traditional’ sense, mestizaje has been understood as the mixture of two initial substances resulting in the creation of a third. Thus, the ‘mixture’ of Indigenous people and Europeans, according to traditional discourses, resulted in the mestizo race or ethnicity. Mestizos, therefore, are described as “ [having] physical traits that reveal their ethnic mixture and in their daily life [their assimilation of] Hispanic and Indigenous cultural elements” (Ayala Mora 2004:np). This apparently straightforward definition, however, can have problematic consequences. If mestizaje is understood as the “mixture of pure elements such as primary colors, that is to say homogenous bodies free from all ‘contamination’” and valued for their purity then, unless these two elements are seen as fully complementary, their mixture might be perceived as polluted and undesirable (Gruzinski and Dusinberre 2002:19). In Ecuador’s case, this perspective would translate into a rejection of mestizos and an embracing of the pure and ‘authentic’ groups of Spanish and Indigenous people. Views on mestizaje are also affected by whether the initial ingredients, in this case ‘pure’ ethnic groups, are equally valued, which is not the case in Ecuador or other racist societies. Any initial power disparity will affect how the resulting mixture is perceived, and gender dynamics will, of course, play into these power differentials. In the simplest scenario, if substance A is more highly valued than substance B then a compound that is closer to substance A will be preferred to one

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that is closer to substance B. In Ecuador’s case, the power disparity between Indigenous people and Spaniards resulted in a higher ranking for people perceived to be ‘more Spanish.’ Moreover, the symbols and characters adopted by the mixed population are not haphazard, as the stronger side of the mixture may be able to dictate the rules of the mixture. This might result in the dilution or disguising of the weaker group’s heritage. A hybrid group may end up speaking only the language of the stronger group, for example. Thus, in Ecuador mestizos are expected to speak ‘proper Castilian’ Spanish, rather than Quichua, other Indigenous languages, or altered forms of Spanish. The ‘traditional’ model of mestizaje has been critiqued for obscuring the power plays just reviewed. It makes it feasible to pretend that two initial substances meet and mix equally, resulting in a rich and peaceful combination. Mestizaje “becomes a metaphor for order, where the contribution of ‘both sides’ is symmetrical, while the result is a synthesis of these” (Polo Bonilla 2002:58). The struggle between the ‘two sides’ to impose their idiosyncrasies, and the possibly unbalanced outcome, is hidden. This ‘traditional’ model has also been critiqued for its implicit assumption of original ‘purity’: of identities that exist prior to any mixture, an assumption that ignores the relational and negotiated nature of all identities.4 Contrary to this ‘traditional’ view, mestizaje can be understood as a process that allows the formation of new forms that transcend the original ingredients and may even eventually influence them. Homi Bhabha terms this a ‘third space’: a space created by the colliding of two initial substances, which permits the creation of new ‘hybrid’ forms (Mitchell 1995). In the Ecuadorian case, this abstract concept translates into the belief that the Spanish colonization resulted not only in the mixture of genes and cultures, but also in the creation of new ethnicities. These new ethnic groups may have adopted certain Indigenous and Spanish elements but, importantly, they surpassed both of these and their mixture, reaching a new creative level. These new groups, therefore, can be “a liberating force which disrupts colonial and neocolonial categories of race and ethnicity” (Malon in Clark 1998a:205). Members of hybrid groups may not be fettered by traditional structures, as they inhabit a liminal place between traditionally recognized identity structures and can see beyond these structures and overcome them. If this model of mestizaje is adhered to, policies must consider the emergence of new and novel cultural and social forms as a result of mixtures. Dealing with, and learning from diversity, must be one of their principal concerns.

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This ‘alternative’ perception of mestizaje, however, can be criticized for not contextualizing the resulting hybrid forms. Even though new ‘hybrid’ groups are novel, they emerge within specific power structures to which they must respond and adapt (Anthias 2001:637), (Kingman Garcés 2000:307). The idea that hybrid forms have privileged knowledge due, according to Homi Bhabha, to the “potential transgressivity of inhabiting a liminal space” can also be questioned given the necessary contextual limits placed on the hybrid sector (Anthias 2001: 621, 23). At issue here is how socioeconomic constraints will affect mestizos’ worldview and actions. Will socioeconomic structures limit their conceptualizations of their identity and that of others? Spivak has also noted that hybridity may be exploited and advanced by the few who benefit from it (the ‘brown workers of the World Bank, IMF,’ et cetera) while exploitation remains hidden by it (in Hutnyk 2005). In other words, only a few gain from being located in this third space and by advertising their gains, they may draw attention away from the struggles of others. Finally, both the traditional view of mestizaje and the idea of mestizaje as ‘hybridity’ have been accused of serving homogenizing forces rather than promoting or permitting diversity within nation-states. Hybridity can serve to ‘flatten difference,’ as everyone can be seen as ‘mixed,’ serving “commercial festivals of difference in an equalizing of cultures that would confirm Adorno’s worst fears of a market that sells ‘fictitiously individual nuances’” (Hutnyk 2005:95). As a state discourse, mestizaje can easily become reified and solidified, forcing individuals to conform to given molds if they wish to partake of state benefits. By defining who is or is not mestizo, a state built on the idea of a mestizo identity, like Ecuador, can either exclude parts of its population from full civic participation or muffle unrest under an apparently all-encompassing umbrella, even if it also promulgates the maintenance of essentialized non-mestizo identities.5 On the other hand, it can be argued that mestizaje is a democratizing force that can embrace an increasing part of the population as its definition is expanded. If a state’s identity is built on the idea of racial mestizaje, for example, the “democratic inclusive aspect to this ideology ... holds out the promise of improvement [and integration] through race mixture for individuals and for the nation: everyone can be a candidate for mixture and hence moral and social uplifting” (Wade 2001:849). This argument ignores that ‘pure’ identities must necessarily be excluded from the democratic promise. Conversely, the more broadly mestizaje is defined, so that it includes cultural mixture with or without racial or genetic mixture, the more apparently encompassing it can actually be as an identity narrative.

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What permits mestizaje to serve as either a homogenizing or a democratizing narrative is its inherent creation of the ‘other.’ As with any other social identity, mestizaje can only exist by establishing what falls outside its boundaries. In order to homogenize, this discourse must first define what the basis for homogeneity is, and then dictate what falls outside the homogenous entity. Similarly, in order to democratize, it must delineate who will not form part of the democratic whole and why. In the case of Ecuador “[t]he Ecuadorian elites [have] attempted to create a national mestizo identity which excluded the ethnicity of the Indian and the black ‘other’” (De la Torre 2002:24). Ecuadorian mestizaje has been built in favor of the ‘white’ and ‘western.’ The search to differentiate oneself from the ‘Indigenous’ and ‘black,’ to fit within the establish mestizo template may lead to racist behavior and justify exclusionary practices. Moreover, while emphasizing one’s contrast from the ‘Indigenous’ (and ‘black’), the role of ‘whites’ is never questioned or problematized. The population’s attention is diverted to denying any links with ethnic others, while abuses by those at the summit of the ethnic ladder are unquestioned. Those who question these abuses have no choice but to compare themselves against the white elite, thus becoming vulnerable to the charge of being ‘more Indigenous, less white and therefore more mestizo.’ The discourse of mestizaje, therefore, forces complicity. Talal Asad writes that: In order to secure their unity—to create their own history—the dominant powers have always worked better with differentiating and classifying practices. In this context power is constructive and not so repressive. Moreover, their ability to select or construct the differences which serve their purposes depends on their exploitation of the dangers and opportunities contained in ambiguous situations (Asad in Rahier 1999b:99).

Ecuador’s post-colonial situation was clearly an ambiguous situation which elites were able to exploit in order to create differences that served their purpose. Thus, ethnic and racial differentiations, partly through the category of the mestizo, were cultivated by the elites. This ‘third space’ of mixed ethnicity and race has continued to be an ambiguous position which can be used to maintain differences, to exclude, and even to undertake racist practices, all of which can be hidden within the discourse of mestizaje. Mestizaje, then, becomes part of a Gramscian hegemonic discourse. It is accepted as the established

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order by the masses “... reduc[ing] the bourgeoisie’s need to resort to repression to maintain social control” (Conaghan 1988:14). Given mestizaje’s complex nature and the serious implications of how it is understood, any interpretation of the INEC’s findings must carefully consider the various ways in which mestizaje can be conceptualized. One must seek to uncover whether census respondents conceptualize mestizaje as a racial or ethnic mixture, what they perceive to be the components of mestizaje, and what are the power dynamics among mestizos and hidden within mestizaje. We might find that mestizos understand their identity as a ‘third space’—as a new identity surpassing its ancestry and with new possibilities—or even that mestizos have yet to problematize their identity, having simply imbibed the ethnic narrative historically imposed by the elite. If the latter is the case, mestizaje in Ecuador could continue to serve as an oppressive, exclusionary narrative. Mestizaje: Ethnicity or Race?

In our current discussion, both race and ethnicity have been linked to the concept of mestizaje. But, are mestizos thought of as a race or an ethnicity? To answer this question we must look in more detail at the difference between these terms. Historical Overview of the Concepts

The use of race to differentiate populations and to justify the unequal distribution of resources is, of course, not a modern phenomenon; physical attributes have been used to label individuals throughout the history of the world. Race is just one “ [means] of representing difference such that contingent attributes, such as skin color, are transformed into essential bases for identities” (Bulmer and Solomos 1998:823). The idea of race as understood in Europe from the era of Conquest and Colonization until World War II, evolved during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (Bonilla-Silva 1999:902). As new ‘scientific’ explanations emerged that demonstrated the existence of ‘racial groups,’ “the process of racial formation took root in New World colonies … with the convergence of skin color, prejudice and slavery” (Harrison 1995a:51). By 1684, Francois Bernier had presented a comprehensive classification of humans into distinct ‘races’ in his New Division of Earth by the Different Species or Races Which Inhabit It. In the eighteenth century, Carolus Linnaeus and Edward Long presented their

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own classificatory schemes. By 1805 Cuvier claimed to have identified “three distinct and intellectually unequal racial groups” (Groenewald 2003: 3), a claim that was expanded by Gobineau’s Essay on the Inequality of Races (1852), one of the first ‘scientific’ European expositions on the inherent differences between the “different peoples” (Biddies 1999), (Poliakov 1999). Houston Stewart Chamberlain’s The Foundations of the Nineteenth Century (1899) followed a few decades later. By the mid-eighteenth century a well-structured racial hierarchy was firmly in place in Latin America. Through this hierarchy “[e]thnic, religious, and class stereotypes were racialized, and long-standing disparities in power, privilege, and wealth were legitimated by discourses emphasizing descent and heritability” (Ibid. 51). The view that humanity fell into discrete racial groupings that could be distinguished by their physical attributes, continued largely uncontested into the early twentieth century, with the research of William Henry Boyd, Stanley M. Garn, and Carleton S. Coon, among others. Physical anthropologists such as Hooton and Hrdlicka led their field during this time with their emphasis on human typologies (Biddies 1999:52). The search to differentiate between human groups spilled over from anthropology into many intellectual currents such as the indigenista tradition in Latin America. Indigenistas, a literary and political ‘elite’ who concentrated their intellectual efforts on Indigenous people, arguably for their benefit, produced several works which set forth the “characteristic” traits of the Indigenous race (Clark 1999). The scientific validity of race, however, was increasingly questioned as the century progressed. Franz Boas and his students presented one of the most drastic academic challenges to the notion that racial differences equated with different capabilities (Harrison 1995a:52). Their attack, however, was directed at racism, rather than at the idea of race itself. 6 Two of the first direct attacks against the concept of race came from A. Montagu, who stated: “‘fixed, clear-cut differences’ do not exist between ‘genogroups’” (cited in Harrison 1995a:53), and from Barzun, who in his Race: The Modern Superstition argued that race could not be defined and was only a tool for political use (Groenewald 2003:3). The horrors of World War II increased opposition to the notion of race. The idea of ‘ethnicity’ then came to the forefront, at least partly to replace the politically unpopular concept of race (Baud 1996:12). Between ‘Race’ and ‘Ethnicity’

‘Ethnicity’ was not a wholly novel term. Weber, the only classical sociologist to look at this concept, had defined ethnic groups as “those

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human groups that entertain a subjective belief in their common descent because of similarities of physical type or custom or both, or because of memories of colonization or migration” (Weber, Roth, and Wittich 1968[1922]). Nevertheless, ethnicity did not become a widely used concept until after WWII, first appearing in the Oxford English Dictionary in reference to a cultural group in 1953. The introduction of ethnicity, however, fell short from providing conceptual clarity. Two new questions emerged: the actual meaning of ethnicity, and its relation to ‘race.’ Despite Barth’s assertion that ethnicity came to be used “to refer to groups of people who are considered to have a shared identity, a common history, and a traditional cultural heritage” (Barth 1998:5) much debate still rages around the meaning, and even the existence, of ‘ethnicity.’ Ethnic identity and ethnicity are liable to the same essentialism that race permits. A search to define “authentic” ethnic groups, who have maintained their “authentic” culture, untainted by hybridization or external impositions, can lead to a cultural insiderism [which] is as bad as an absolute commitment to biological insiderism [as in the concept of race] ... no single culture is hermetically sealed off from others. There can be no neat and tidy pluralistic separation of racial groups.... (Gilroy 1992:57).

The use of ethnicity may also shroud social structures that can better be understood through the paradigm of race. Harrison, for instance, argues that “the focus on ethnicity has euphemized if not denied race by not specifying the conditions under which those social categories and groups historically subordinated as “racially” distinct emerge and persist” (Harrison 1995a:47-8). Problematically, ethnicity is often used as a politically correct synonym for race. Racist discrimination, however, cannot be fought if hidden beneath discourses of cultural difference. Yet, the relation between race and ethnicity is unclear in both academic and colloquial use. Just, for example, holds race as a biological substitute for the notion of ethnicity (Banks 1996: 97). Chapman et al., on the other hand, interpret race to mean ethnicity plus biology (Ibid. 99). Researchers’ disciplinary orientation and geographical area of interest seem to bear relation to how they conceptualize links between ethnicity and race (Banton 2003:492-3). Thus, the specifics of European colonialism in Africa, Asia, and Latin America, versus the process of slavery in the United States, as well as whether a political, anthropological, economic, or sociological framework is used, affect how ethnicity and race are defined and

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framed. Banks, for example, notes that British anthropology at home has tended to concentrate on ethnicity rather than race (Banks 1996: 97). Given the existent theoretical confusion, it is not surprising that ethnic and racial terminology is also muddled in colloquial use. Political correctness and political mobilizations couched in ‘ethnic’ terms have led some to avoid racial terms, replacing these with ethnic labels. Ethnic identities may also be understood in racialized ways—as linked to unchangeable physical characteristics to which socio-psychological attributes are tied—thus an altered vocabulary hides unchanged meanings. Such a slippage of meaning and terminology can be noted in Ecuador and must be kept in mind when interpreting data on ethnicity or race. De la Torre, for example, states that “when the majority of state agents, journalists, and members of the dominant class use the concept of ethnicity they do so from an essentializing and racist perspective” (de la Torre 2002:22). With this in mind, several authors have been calling for a re-conceptualization of these ideas to address a new racism that no longer uses explicitly racial terminology, replacing it with coded terms that might include ethnic and cultural labels. Gilroy, for instance, declares: The frequent absence of any overt reference to race or hierarchy is an important characteristic of the new types of racism ... Apart from the way that racial meanings are inferred rather than stated openly, these new forms are distinguished by the extent to which they identify race with the terms ‘culture’ and ‘identity’ (Gilroy 1992:53).

If race is defined as the sum of certain physical attributes of a person (skin color, hair texture, etc), and racism as the expectation that these physical attributes reflect non-physical characteristics (such as intelligence and diligence) it must be noted that the selection of the physical criteria that are used for differentiation, and the characteristics attributed to these, are all socially contingent: “Stereotypes, are subject to historical change and geographical variation and salience” (Rattansi 1992:27). Whether races factually exist or not then becomes unimportant, as “races exist as social phenomena whenever a racial structure is in place—that is whenever there are social, political, and ideological practices that produce differential status between racialized social groups” (Bonilla-Silva 1999:900). Once a racial structure has been created and imposed in a society, the construction of ethnic identities in this society will have to take into consideration such structure. Ethnic identities cannot bypass the racial structure; they will almost automatically be racialized by it. Through this work I shall use

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ethnicity/race when I refer to the conflation or combination of ethnicity and race, such as when ethnicity is understood as encompassing race or when ethnicity is racialized.7 Battles Within ‘Ethnicity’

In order to further distinguish between the concepts of race and ethnicity, we might want to consider more extensively the idea of ethnicity. The main chasm between schools of thought on ethnicity is that between ‘primordialists’ and ‘situationalists, instrumentalists, or constructivists’ (Cook and Joo 1995:47). Primordialists perceive ethnic identity as an inherent human characteristic. Ethnic identity, they argue, exists prior to the individual; a person simply identifies his/her ethnicity and is embedded in it. Some primordialists hold that individuals cannot construct or alter their ethnic identity, while others see the exact content of the identity as malleable, but ethnic identity itself as encompassing other identities and always existent. Research, from this perspective, need not concentrate on why ethnic identity comes into existence, but rather how ethnic identities are used. As Geertz writes: Congruities of blood, speech, custom, and so on, are seen to have an ineffable, and at times overpowering coerciveness in and of themselves. One is bound to one’s kinsman, one’s neighbor, one’s fellow believer, ipso facto; as the result not merely of personal affection, practical necessity, common interest or incurred obligation, but at least in great part by virtue of some unaccountable absolute import attributed to the very tie itself (Geertz quoted in Cohen 1999:4).

The primordialists’ stance has increasingly been criticized as presenting a “functionalist straitjacket [that sees] social behavior simply as the enactment of fixed ‘norms’ by actors who are assigned equally fixed roles....” (Gledhill 1994:131-2). The fixed notions of identity that are presented by primordialists often draw from, or are limited by, romantic notions of the past as created by mass media and “‘pseudoacademic’ communities” (Baud 1996:11). More importantly for our purposes, the primordialist’s perspective is blind to new hybrid ethnic groups, which must either assimilate into the established groups or deny their uniqueness. This perspective may wittingly or unwittingly submerge the identity of non-dominant ethnic groups into the dominant discourse, forcefully homogenizing a population (Ibid. 17). Moreover, ethnographic research, such as that undertaken by Belote and Smith Belote (1984) in Ecuador, demonstrates that ethnic identity change is

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feasible, directly contradicting primordialism. Belote and Smith explore how and why Saraguro Indigenous people in the Highlands of Ecuador opt to change their ethnic identity from ‘Indian’ to ‘white’ through what they deem a process of ‘transculturation’ (Smith Belote and Belote 1984:24-25). Taking these issues into consideration, constructionists present a dynamic model of ethnic identity (Baud 1996:6). Ethnic identity is seen as a ‘transitory equilibrium,’ in the Manchester school tradition, changing through actors’ actions and in reaction to alterations in the environment (Gledhill 1994:128). How and why ethnicity is constructed is, of course, a matter of great debate. Some instrumentalists view ethnicity as a tool for the advancement of a specific community. The work of Abner Cohen, which highlights how struggles over resources (whether material or symbolic) might lead to the construction of ethnic identities, is most often associated with this position. Edwin Ardener, who, following Barth, proposes the idea of ‘hollow ethnic categories’ constructed by other ethnic groups through historically specific attributes, is another key figure in the constructionist school. Ardener’s work highlights the interplay between ‘self’ and ‘other’ in the creation of ethnic identities and, thus, the nonneutral taxonomic space in which these identities are constructed (Banks 1996:132). Carter Bentley calls attention to the emergence of ethnic identities as a result of individuals’ shared location in social space. Seeking to explore the interplay between individuals’ actions and their societal constraints in the creation of ethnic identities, Bentley invokes Bourdieu to understand ‘ethnicity as practice’ (Bentley 1987). Bentley argues that the sharing of a common habitus among individuals permits the creation of common ethnic identities. Bentley’s position, however, is critiqued by Yelvington, who fallaciously argues that Bourdieu’s model of habitus is statics and, therefore, so is Bentley’s.8 I agree with Bentley in seeing the concepts of habitus and practice as useful tools to understand the daily, restricted creation of ethnic identities. Using the habitus/practice model we can say that to the degree that ethnic identities structure agents’ understanding of reality and their actions, they are part of what Bourdieu has termed habitus, “a system of durable, transposable dispositions, structured structures predisposed towards acting as structuring structures” (Gledhill 1994:136). Ethnic/racial identity is then maintained and reconstructed through habitus-practice. Given the urgency to practice agents are not likely to question the given structures unless they are confronted with an environmental change that prevents them from indulging their normal behavioral patterns. Such a change might lead

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them to question their ‘taken-for-granted’ or doxic knowledge (Gledhill 1994:136), throwing doubt on aspects of their ethnic identity or that of others that they had previously assumed as ‘normal.’ Processes of enquiry may lead actors, within their limited capacity for action, to reconceptualize certain identities wholly or in part, reconfiguring or adapting existing explanatory narratives as needed. In short, ethnic identities are constructed and reconstructed daily by actors reacting to changing contexts, and their construction can be affected by dominating and well as by non-dominant groups. Thus, Bulmer and Solomos’ statement about racial identities is applicable to ethnicity: Rac[ial identities are] socially constructed ... defined by historical and political struggles over their meaning [i.e., questioning of the doxa] ... not simply imposed, since they are also often the outcome of resistance and political struggle in which racialized minorities play a key and active role” (Bulmer and Solomos 1998:823).

I propose that ethnicity can act as a field of power, meaning that it is through ethnicity that the resources of any two societal realms, such as the economic and the cultural, are exchanged (Bourdieu 1998 [1994]). In other words, ethnicity might permit or inhibit access to certain resources, even if an individual apparently has the means to acquire such resources. Thus, regardless of how much wealth or education an individual has, access to other resources may be limited by one’s ethnic identity, i.e., a specific ethnic identity is needed to translate educational capital into economic capital (a university degree or a high paying job). Power structures, therefore, may be dependent on the ethnic realm and, in turn, on the maintenance of ethnic narratives. A clear instance of this can be found in nineteenth-century Ecuador, where access to occupations and civil rights was based on ethnic identities (Büschges 1999). To what extent this continues to be the case in modern Ecuador, (in other words, to what extent horizontal inequalities are still based on ethnic and/or racial identities in Ecuador) is one of the questions that drive this book. Through this work I shall look at ethnic and racial identities as “negotiated phenomena” (Safa 1998:5): ‘racialization’ and ‘ethnitization’—the creation of racial and ethnic boundaries, takes place in interaction. It is through interactions that narratives sustaining identities are shared and ratified and it is through these narratives that vertical and horizontal inequalities are justified and perpetuated. It is through discussions, conversations, and daily interactions that new racial and/or ethnic identities are created, appropriated, assimilated, or

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rejected. The census findings as well as the ethnic narratives of Ecuador’s upper classes are contributions to the on-going discussion of what ethnic and racial identities exist in Ecuador, and they must be understood in this light to avoid reifying them as objective ‘truths.’ Census Methodology and Theoretical Assumptions

Following this discussion, it is evident that the census findings must be questioned on several levels. Whether the census measured ethnic or racial identities remains to be established. One must also question to what extent the census reified notions of race through its methodology. How the census findings can take into account the strategic and changeable nature of ethnic identities must also be considered. Looking specifically at mestizaje, we need to understand whether most Ecuadorians think of themselves as racially mixed, still conceiving of inherently distinct human races, or whether they think of themselves as culturally or ethnically mixed, seeing no innate physiological barriers between different ‘ethnic groups.’ We must then ask what interests are served by each of these conceptualizations. For example, does an understanding of mestizaje as racial serve to emphasize inherent physiological differences between individuals that can be used to justify hierarchies and inequalities? Taking these issues into consideration, in this last section I shall look more closely at the construction of the 2001 census, noting how its methodology and theoretical assumptions fail to consider the complex nature of ethnicity and, more specifically, of mestizaje. Theoretical Assumptions of the 2001 Census

The growing emphasis on the importance of ethnic/racial identities for socioeconomic development has prompted international development organizations to seek data on these social constructs. The World Bank, for example, is now seeking socioeconomic data that is disaggregated by race, encouraging countries to add questions on ethnicity/race to their censuses (these two concepts are still highly confused in the World Bank’s use) (World Bank 2003). Acquiring data on ethnic and racial groups is seen as the first step in addressing ethnic/racial inequalities. The World Bank has led two workshops titled Todos Contamos, on measuring ethnic groups in Latin America. These workshops have concluded that: 1) Afro-latin and Indigenous representatives should participate at all levels of census making, 2) New categories will be added to the census of certain countries (such as ‘Afro-Argentineans’ in

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Argentina), 3) NGOs should attempt to promote the importance of participating in censuses among the populations they serve.9 While these conclusions seek to increase the role and visibility of the ‘ethnic other’ in the census process, much more needs to be done to increase the very validity of measurements of ethnicity. I shall now analyze what might be learned for this purpose from the Ecuadorian experience. Question Six of the census asked individuals over twelve years of age, to choose what they ‘considered themselves to be,’10 from among six ‘ethnic’ categories.11 Thus interviewees were asked to self-categorize themselves as: 1. Indigenous 2. Black 3. Mestizo 4. Mulatto 5. White 6. Other The first query raised by the phrasing of this question is: why were these six categories chosen? Listing only these six categories ignores several other prominent ethnic identities in Ecuadorian society such as ‘montubios’ and ‘cholos’ (to be discussed in Chapter 5). The importance and even the reality of the ignored ethnic identities are compromised by their exclusion from the census. They are inherently excluded from the ‘official’ construction of Ecuador’s ethnic space. In fact, what categories were privileged by the census reveals more about the views of those empowered with the ‘official’ construction of Ecuador’s ethnic space, than about the reality of ethnic structures and identities in Ecuador. As Clark states, “The very categories used in the ... collection [of statistics] reveals conceptions of society and personhood” (Clark 1998a:185). Furthermore, by granting individuals only six categories to choose from, the census implicitly forced upon the population an acceptance of the dominant discourse: left with few other options, many might have had to opt for mestizaje. We can, of course, highlight that mestizaje encompasses a plethora of meanings and that, therefore, any two individuals ascribing to mestizaje might in reality be ascribing to two very different identities. The census, however, assumes a unified meaning for mestizaje, submerging the great majority of Ecuadorians within a confused and problematic narrative. In presenting the majority of Ecuadorians as mestizos, the census obscures the tensions and heterogeneity within this category and may, as a result, hamper policies that seek to thwart racial and/or ethnic discrimination.

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It is also problematic that although the census sought to quantify Ecuador’s ethnic groups, the categories used confound the ideas of ethnicity and race. The category of ‘Black,’ for instance, conflates under one label all individuals distinguished by phenotype rather than by culture,12 demonstrating the interchangeable use of ethnicity and race. The interchangeable use of ethnicity and race may hamper culturalist agendas by equating ethnic identity with skin color while also delaying efforts to fight racism by allowing racial discrimination to be disguised as cultural differentiation. The fact that a ‘mulatto’ category was included further demonstrates to what extent ethnicity is race in Ecuador: individuals of ‘mixed’ phenotypes that include Afro-ancestry are set up into a separate ethnic category from Blacks, apparently unable to adhere to Blacks culture(s). A separate listing for ‘Mulattoes’ also implies that they fall outside the mestizo narrative, i.e., although they are ‘mixed’ they do not posses the ‘proper’ mixture: their afroecuadorian background excludes them from the mestizo majority. The census’ categories are also essentializing. The category ‘Indigenous’ for instance, wraps a plethora of different cultural traditions with one broad label, essentializing these cultures and, inherently, ‘racializing’ them. The same is the case for the ‘mulatto’ and ‘black’ categories. The listing of a ‘white’ race/ethnicity is simply perplexing. If this category refers to the descendants of European immigrants to Ecuador, given the heterogeneous nature of these immigrants (Spaniards, British, Italians, French, Germans, et cetera), it is difficult to understand how all these individuals now partake of one white culture or race. The same criticisms, of course, apply to ‘Blacks.’ Moreover, the census ethnic question implies that ethnic identities are static and impermeable. In other words, the census did not take into consideration people who might have recently ‘become’ mestizos, montubios, et cetera, or those who will soon do so. Ethnic identity can change between generations or even within one generation. Several of the university students I interviewed, for example, stated that they had identified themselves as mestizos despite having one or both of their parents identify themselves as whites, which led to great unrest within their household (Susana 2003, Pablo 2003, Pedro 2005). The changeable and performative nature of ethnicity might have been captured if the census had inquired into the identities of more than one generation. Finally, the officials behind the census claimed that it sought to measure individuals’ self-ascribed ethnic identity, asking each respondent to identify his/herself. This is problematic, however, given that ethnic identities, as all identities, are constructed in relations. Individuals’ lived experience of an identity is influenced as much by

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their self-identification as by how others define them. The media and several of my interviewees related stories that revealed the effects of a paternalistic society and gender dynamics on how an individual is treated and self-identifies. El Universo reported the story of a young girl whose father was ‘a mestizo with green eyes’ and whose mother was afroecuadorian. When the census taker asked her ‘what she considered herself’ the girl answered ‘Black,’ only to have her father correct her, telling her she was a ‘Mulata.’13 She complained that “she felt Black,” but her father had the final word: “you must say that you are Mulata” (Abad 2001c). A story recounted by Lorena, a female interviewee, captured similar dynamics: My next-door neighbor’s maid, who is more Indigenous than white, she is mestiza, defined herself as white in the census, saying ‘imagine calling yourself an Indian, what an insult! … But the man who sells potatoes, I am sorry to say it, but he is an Indian, whatever he wants to call himself”” (Lorena, Quito: 2003).14

In a similar vein, Carolina stated, When the census taker came to my house my husband answered ‘white,’ which at first I thought funny, but later realized was right, because his mother and father are German so he is white. Then they asked my maid and she also said white! Of course I wasn’t going to fight with her, so I said nothing but ... well, I know what she really is… (Carolina, Quito: 2005).

In both Carolina’s and Lorena’s statements the effects of class disparities on the ethnic identities ascribed to individuals are made evident, highlighting another gap of the 2001 census: for its information on ethnic identities to be correctly understood, one must consider class dynamics. To summarize, even if methodologically untainted, the census can only claim to provide us with a vision of how individuals’ perceive themselves, leaving unanswered how Ecuadorians relate with, or identify to, each other. Methodological failures, however, force us to be wary of even this limited information. Methodology of the 2001 Census

Quantitative studies of ethnic/racial identities must bear in mind the inherent difficulties of obtaining accurate and comparable data. Previous research has demonstrated that respondents’ ethnic identification is sharply affected by their gender, whether the question is presented as an

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open or closed question, and by the choices made available to respondents (Lopez 2003). These are just some of the issues we must consider when interpreting the INEC’s findings. As a way to introduce this discussion I shall reproduce a small portion of a meeting with several members of an upper class family in Quito. Several of the dynamics underlying the 2001 census and its methodology were illustrated during this conversation: Renata (female, age: early 60s)—Did you call yourself a mestizo in the census? Paulina (female, late 50s, Renata’s sister)—[jumps!] Not me, I am white! Renata—[laughs] So, you called yourself white when the people from the census came? Paulina—Do you consider yourself mestizo Pablo? Pablo (male, mid 30s, Paulina’s son)—I know that I am mestizo. Lourdes (female, late teens)—I consider myself mestiza. Paulina—Not me, I consider myself white. Lourdes—My friend who is darker bragged about being white and I said ‘Well, you are a fool because I am mestiza!’ Renata—My grandfather would defend our ancestry and say, ‘We are Smith,15 Smith. I am not ‘Smith Cata’!’ The mixed—those that [are born] from [illegitimate relations with] the cooks,16 the Indigenous, those were the ones that my grandfather called the Smith Cata.

How can a mestizo come from white parents? Paulina—Because I am sure my son thinks I am wrong, and that I am a mestiza. Pablo—My great grandfather on my father’s side was a peasant in Loja. Paulina—No, I don’t think so. And when the census took place your father called himself white.

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Pablo—But for my dad ... well, it is completely different, if a longa17 comes over and asks you ‘what do you consider yourself’ You are not going to answer ‘mestizo like you’! (Quito, 2005).

This excerpt illustrates how perceived differences between census takers and respondents, the ‘interviewer effect,’ might have affected the way the ‘ethnic question’ was asked and answered in the 2001 census. Indeed, the implicit and explicit interactions between an interviewer and an interviewee are of vast significance to the methodological soundness of any social survey. Several interviewees reported their reticence to discuss their ethnic identity with individuals they considered ethnic inferiors. This is what Pablo refers to in the above conversation when he states “it is completely different if a longa comes over and asks….” Similarly, another interviewee noted, “I was not about to call myself a mestiza in front of some longa” (Graciela, Quito: 2003). We might infer that individuals interviewed by those they considered ‘ethnically superior’ might have also been hesitant to discuss their identity. How the age and gender of the census taker affected these power dynamics must also be kept in mind. Finally the perception of the census as an official and ‘scientific’ exercise might have also influenced how people sought to answer the questions posed to them. It is also the case that how a society perceives and represents ethnic identities at any one time will affect how individuals feel about their own ethnic identity and how they answer questions about it. As the 2001 census was administered only a year after the Indigenous uprisings of 2000, which had incited some anti-Indigenous feelings, it is possible that certain individuals would hesitate to claim an Indigenous identity, wishing to avoid links to recent events. Individuals may answer questions strategically, their identification may be opportunistically chosen. If socioeconomic status and ethnicity are seen as linked, ethnic identification might be chosen to reflect an individual’s socioeconomic situation or his/her socioeconomic inspirations, leading the same individual to claim different identities at different times. Socioeconomic changes may also affect how one is perceived by others: Pablo Cuvi, an Ecuadorian journalist, relates how when filling in a scholarship application and listing himself as mestizo, a family member reading his application over his shoulder chastised him, declaring “What! Maybe before [we were mestizos], but now we are whites!” (Cuvi 2003d my emphasis). Generational dynamics may also come into play, as younger generations challenge the older through their answers (Stutzman 1981), or respond differently to an interviewer closer to their age.

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Finally, and most importantly, several of my interviewees stated that they were not asked the ‘ethnic question’ at all during the 2001 census. Some of the census takers appear to have taken it upon themselves to classify interviewees. This might have occurred because the census taker thought the answer to the question evident, or because ethnic differences between the interviewer and interviewees made the census taker hesitant to pose the question. Regardless of why this happened, however, it led to statistical discrepancies on how people were classified: some were classified according to their self-perception while others were classified according to their physical appearance or cultural surrounding, as perceived by the census taker. Conclusion

In short, the 2001 census’ findings are problematic on both theoretical and methodological grounds. To start with the latter, the difficulties of assessing identities that are daily created in, and affected by, relations, appears not to have been considered in the construction of the census’ question on ethnicity. ‘Researcher effects,’ historical events, and methodological inconsistencies further hamper the census’ findings. In terms of theory, I have noted that the census conflates race and ethnicity while essentializing racial identities. Most importantly, I have noted that the INEC’s findings gloss over the complex realities of ethnic identities in Ecuador. Concerning mestizaje specifically, the census’ results are far from revealing what mestizaje actually entails in Ecuador and the power dynamics that this category hides. The overview of mestizaje’s theoretical construction undertaken in this chapter reveals the need for a more sophisticated approach to researching this identity if one hopes to untangle its many implications for the socioeconomic development of Ecuador. Further research should take us away from homogenizing vast sections of the population under broad labels such as mestizo. Notes 1 The INEC, National Institute of Statistics and Census of Ecuador, allows researchers access to the 2001 Census database for simple tabulations at http://www.inec.gov.ec/REDATAM/RpWebEngine.exe/PortalAction (Accessed on August, 2006). 2 Data for these figures is available in Table Appendix 3.3 and 3.4. 3 As attempted by Ponce (2006) 4 Some scholars have advocated the complete dismissing of terms like ‘mestizaje’ and, ‘mixture’ because they emphasize the mixture of two

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substances, promoting instead ‘creolization’ as a means to “escape the political cage and unscientific trap of racial, phenotypical and biological categorizations…” (Cohen 2007). In this book I use mestizaje because it is the main ethnic term used in Ecuador, but struggle throughout my research to undermine the notion of human ‘races’ and of original, ‘pure’ groups. 5 Wade (2005) argues for mestizaje to be understood as a ‘mosaic’ that requires the maintenance of the identities from which it evolves (e.g. in Ecuador’s case the idea of an ‘Indigenous’ identity and a ‘European’ or ‘Spanish’ identity), rather than as a homogenizing force. He does not highlight, however, the power dynamics within the mosaic. Through this book I shall note that Ecuador’s mestizo narrative has indeed allowed and required the maintenance of ‘ethnic others’ but only outside the political core and socioeconomic apex of the state. 6 Ruth Benedict also argued against racism rather than race, stating, “Race, then, is not the modern superstition. But racism is” (cited by Groenewald 2003:4). 7 The interrelation of ethnicity and socioeconomic class is also labyrinthine. According to Groenawald, post-WWII revisionist writings increasingly placed the construction of race within the framework of socioeconomic structures (Groenewald 2003:4). Nevertheless, the racialization of classes—the ascription of psycho-emotional qualities tied to physical attributes to specific socioeconomic sectors—and the classification of ethnicities—such as the tying of Jewish people to trading sectors prior to WWII—must both be carefully considered as one investigates how the discourses supporting different identities have been constructed (Balibar 1997), (Castells cited by Groenewald 2003:12), (Arendt and Baehr 2003). 8 Yelvington further critiques Bentley for not taking into consideration the ‘ethnic other’ in the construction of ethnic identities (Yelvington 1991: 158). I agree with Bentley’s reply to this point, noting that he does not ignore the role that ‘outsiders’ play in the creation of ethnic identity, but simply chooses not to emphasize this aspect in his article (Bentley 1991). A nuanced understanding of the concepts of habitus and ‘identities,’ moreover, prevents this accusation, as the habitus is constructed in relation to the placement of others in social space and an identity is constructed in relation to those that fall outside its boundaries. 9 Ecuador welcomed the 21st century with one of the most effectively organized Indigenous movements in the continent and with the voices of several Indigenous leaders ringing from the floor of Congress. It was partly the growing importance of the Indigenous movement that prompted a census question on ethnicity: the state needed to know the magnitude of the Indigenous population claiming its attention. Indigenous communities were called upon to support the census, but they were not fully integrated into the creation of the census itself. 10 In Spanish: ‘Como se considera….’ 11 High school students administered the census. They read out the questions and wrote down respondents’ answers. 12 Unless we assume that there is a ‘black’ ethnic group in Ecuador—if such a group exists or is emerging, more research is needed to understand its characteristics and what has led to its emergence. 13 Feminine of ‘mulatto’ in Spanish

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14

Year). 15

I shall use this notation to identify interviewees: (Pseudonym, City:

Traditional elite surname, see Chapter 3. The interplay of ethnicity and class is interesting in this statement. 17 The meaning of this term used here as an insult, will be further discussed in the next chapter. Also, refer to the glossary. 16

4 Economy, Etiquette, and Ethnicity: Defining Ecuadorian Elites

The time of the Plaza Lasso, of the Gangotena, of the Chiriboga, of the Cordovezes 1 is over and the time of the Pacaris and Quishpes2 has begun … (Nina Pacari as Ecuador’s Foreign Minister, according to Ximena, Quito: 2005).

As we came out of a literature seminar attended by several female members of Guayaquil’s elite, I asked Susana to chat with me about the identity of her city’s upper classes. She kindly agreed and we remained in the classroom as everyone else left. I began by asking her to define the upper classes. Susana puzzled for several minutes over my question and yet, even while struggling to identify the boundaries of the upper classes, she emphatically insisted on their existence and importance: What are the elites, I don’t know, I could not tell you, but I know that an upper class exists … or a class that believes itself to be higher than others … perhaps it is not marked but it exists (Susana, Guayaquil: 2005).

Like her, most of my informants struggled to define Ecuador’s elite, but none denied the existence or significance of these strata. During interviews in Quito and Guayaquil, I often witnessed that an immediate cognitive recognition and intuitive understanding was accompanied by confusion and hesitation as my interviewees sought to define what to them was a doxic concept. A careful analysis of interview data reveals a series of identity markers used by respondents to delimit the upper-classes: 1) specific surnames (kinship), 2) European (especially Spanish) ancestry (race/ethnicity), 3) landownership (economic capital), 4) social wellbeing (social capital)3 5) economic wellbeing (economic capital), and 6) education (cultural capital).4 While the majority of my interviewees consistently identified these identity markers, they were

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less consistent in how they perceived the impermeability of the upper classes: [How closed are the social ‘elite’ you speak about?] [Pause] I think they are very closed. But defining who is [part of them] is very difficult. It is a very subtle definition. I would draw a transparent [invisible] bubble if I had to ... those inside are people who don’t want anyone to enter because they are very [exclusive—demeanor to show aloofness] (Susana, Guayaquil: 2005).

Some interviewees noted that the markers delimiting the upper classes “are changing because other people are now the basis of Ecuador’s economy” (Guayaquil: 2005). Often a sense of nostalgia emerged from conversations about Ecuadorian elites;5 some interviewees who identified themselves with a ‘traditional elite’ decried (although some celebrated) the changes that threatened this identity and hampered its influence. Sonia, a member of a highland family involved in Ecuadorian politics since the early nineteenth century, shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of capitulation as she described how she perceived Ecuadorian society to have changed: Before there was a proper ‘society’ in Ecuador; now people of the lowest level have the most. There are very few people of the upper class left. That is why they are no longer known. For example, in El Condado6 there might be two or three people who are part of the upper class, the rest is just money. I mean surnames no longer count. Now it is ‘tell me how much you have and I shall tell you who you are’! Now it is the middle class, for instance the maid’s children, who get an education. My friends’ daughters are now marrying people of the middle class! (Sonia, Quito: 2005).

Like Sonia, several interviewees argued that economic wealth (and education) have overcome the boundaries of Ecuador’s upper classes. In contrast, other interviewees emphasized the long heritage of the socalled ‘traditional social elite,’ even hinting at a certain impermeability of this group: The social elites of Ecuador are people who have been in Ecuador for many generations, not new people. The social elite has been maintained from the time of the colony to the present, and it has been a very limited group of people. Very, very few people [closing her hand to gesture a very limited, guarded number] (Gloria, Quito: 2005).

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[The upper classes are] ... absolutely closed. Like a group of friends that always goes out solely among themselves and if someone brings along an outsider, they will admit him/her for the day but not allow him/her to become part of the group. In the best-case scenario, it takes a very long time to penetrate and become part of ‘the’ society. Even among the youth (Cristina, Guayaquil: 2005).

We may propose that the boundaries of traditional elites are impermeable to the extent that the identity markers that delimit them are impermeable. Two of the six characteristics identified above may be able to maintain such solid boundaries: surnames and ancestry. Neither individual agency nor changes to the cultural, economic, or political structures of Ecuador can grant access to specific surnames or ancestries to individuals born outside the traditional elites. These identity markers can only be attained through birth or marriage. These two characteristics, surnames and ancestry, moreover, may be linked to a racial realm, as they are tied to the biological constitution of an individual. The remaining four characteristics reside in different realms: land ownership and economic wealth belong to the economic field and education to the cultural realm. Social wellbeing falls within the nebulous social field, and was attached by my interviewees to the aforementioned surnames, to ‘manners and customs,’ to etiquette and, at times, expressed as ‘social connections.’ In short, it might be the case that even if individuals are able to acquire economic wealth, education, and even the etiquette associated with the elite, it is those characteristics attached to racial field that serve to maintain the boundaries of traditional elites. Thus, Sonia’s concern at her friends’ daughters marrying people of the middle class becomes understandable: such actions can corrupt the biological boundaries of the traditional elites. Nevertheless, my interviewees constantly downplayed the importance of the ethnic/racial field in the creation and maintenance of their identity, emphasizing instead the value of elusive social qualities. The role of the social must, therefore, be highlighted and studied further, as I shall do later in this chapter. On the other hand, as we noted in Sonia’s comments, interviewees often stressed the power of money to breach any identity boundary. Thus, informants noted that as new parts of the population had acquired economic wealth and education, a new modern elite had been created. Social manners and customs were stated to be what separated the traditional elite from these modern elite. Let us analyze this dynamic further by looking first at the role of wealth as a boundary marker and then turn to the role of more abstract social markers.

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The Power of Money

In differentiating between traditional and modern Ecuadorian elites, my interviewees almost invariably pointed to economic wealth as a decisive variable. According to interviewees, access to economic capital by outsiders to the traditional elite has eroded its influence, permitting a new social sector to appropriate its identity. The great majority of interviewees thus echoed what Sonia captured in a succinct phrase, “Now it is ‘tell me how much you have and I shall tell you who you are’” (Sonia, Quito: 2005). Gloria agreed, explaining her view in a more elaborate manner: I would say that the concept [of elites] has changed much in the last few years. Before there was a social elite, and that was the only one that existed in Ecuador and one that was generally linked to an economic class. Now I think this has changed drastically. I think that elites now are more economic than social. I think the previous concept is no longer held (Gloria, Quito: 2005).

Gloria’s statement is interesting in that it points to a divergence between the social and economic fields. This was the crux of my interviewees’ arguments: once upon a time the wealthy had also been the socially significant, but this marriage had soured over the last several years. There is now new wealth that does not correspond to the elite of old, and which does not live by its values. Gloria and several other interviewees went beyond simply noting this divergence, however, to argue for the importance of the economic over the social in establishing modern Ecuadorian elites. Thus, Gloria expressed a view held by the great majority of my interviewees, who forcefully declared, “money is power” (Matias, Quito: 2005); or, more wittily, ‘A powerful gentleman is Mister Money’ (Verónica, Guayaquil: 2005).7 Tomaso acknowledged the power of money, even as he derided the ‘human worth’ of many of those who now posses it: Here as in the whole world, whoever has economic power is in some way part of the elite. Without giving names here we have great economic groups who in themselves, as far as human worth is concerned, amount to very little, but they are an elite because they posses significant economic power (Tomaso, Guayaquil: 2005).

Matias shared a similar perspective: I think the struggle to climb economically is a struggle to achieve power. Money is power.... The person who comes to have money

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(through any means), well, all of a sudden his concepts, his ideas begin to have value, begin to have weight, a weight given by his economic success, nothing else ... One must listen to him because he has achieved economic success.… Yes, surnames are spoken about as well as heritage, but I think that now with money one enters anywhere. It doesn’t matter how that money was made; I think money gives one access to any elite (Matias, Quito: 2005).

The view that economic wealth can transgress any boundary was professed as much by Guayaquilenian as by Quitenian interviewees. For instance, during a conversation with a couple in Guayaquil, I was told: Carlos: There are still social elites here, although the Guayaquil of today is not the same as that of 30, 40 years ago. The concept of social class has had to face the issue of economic problems ... social class is now the brand of an economic status. 30, 40 years ago one could have a very good social position while being poor. And one could have no position at all being wealthy ... there are good families, descendants of important ancestors who ... in the past would marry a girl of a good surname with a boy of another good surname even if [without money]. Cristina: Now doors are open to whoever has money (Carlos and Cristina, Guayaquil: 2005).

If my interviewees’ statements are taken out of context, it might appear that the traditional elite is being crowded out by a growing number of wealthy newcomers who seek to socialize in what were until recently prohibitively expensive places. Such a view, however, is contradicted by interviewees’ differentiation of two separate social elites: the traditional and the modern. But if these elites are indeed separate, then money does not open all doors. How exactly does the ownership of money by new hands change the traditional elite? It is certainly not the case that any of my interviewees was hard-pressed financially; interviews routinely took place in the wealthiest neighborhoods of Quito and Guayaquil, in houses elegantly decorated with expensive art. I also noted that the great majority of my interviewees were among the wealthiest citizens of Ecuador according to the tax records published by the Ecuadorian Internal Revenue Service (SRI).8 It appears, then, that as economic wealth becomes more widespread within Ecuador, the traditional upper classes are trying to disown it as a boundary marker for their identity. Thus, those with recent access to money cannot appropriate the identity of the traditional elite but have become a new elite on their own terms. These individuals were represented as an Ecuadorian nouveau riche and granted few

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qualities other than economic power. This process parallels developments in a plethora of other societies that have experienced the economic gains of what had been lower economic strata—such gains can be the result of economic booms or of changes in the international markets. What is of interest to us here, however, is what role ethnic identity narratives play in this social change; in other words, whether and how they instigate or stultify social mobility. The Perspective of ‘Modern Elites’

To better understand to what extent economic power can in fact overcome various boundaries delimiting elites’ identities, we can turn to those who have accumulated economic, and even political, power, and enquire about their relationship with the traditional elite. During my fieldwork in Ecuador, I interviewed the general managers of several large corporations, individuals of considerable wealth,9 who were not, however, considered to be part of the traditional elite because they lacked the surnames attached to that group. In several cases these informants were the descendants of Arab and Jewish immigrants to Ecuador.10 During interviews, this ‘business elite’ also emphasized the power of money to alter social relations and, consequently, the composition of Ecuador’s upper class. Nevertheless, they nuanced their statements regarding the power of money by acknowledging a separation between the ‘traditional social elite’ and themselves. Simon, for example, said, “I think that the elites are principally those who have money. To me money is what marks class, the upper class, but I do not feel part of the upper class” (Simon, Quito: 2005). Diego, another interviewee with a high income, differentiated between service sector-based wealth and industrial and capital-based wealth. He tied the latter to investments financed through the sale of colonial land holdings by the traditional elite. The service sector, on the other hand, was characterized by ‘new money,’ which, Diego noted, could not join the traditional social elite although he could not discern why. Thus, he stated: A group of us exists, who, given a good academic formation and much work, have created things, created businesses, but businesses based on services, not capital. Thus, we are a group that is close to the elite because we offer services to the industrial and commercial enterprises, etc. And, obviously, there are many people like me, a group of the population that can be called professionals, who have been successful. Therefore, today we enjoy an economic situation in nothing close to that of the elites, but also in no way close to that of the majority of the

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population ... [We have] very little social interaction with the elites because these are rather closed social groups; groups where relations between the families have been maintained through lineages for generations (Diego, Quito: 2005).

Diego’s statement is interesting on several accounts. Like other interviewees in the business sector, he emphasized his achievements in the economic field, which were facilitated by his education (almost all interviewees in the business sector had obtained a university degree abroad, often in the USA, and their university diplomas where usually prominently displayed in their offices). Yet, despite the access to different social realms granted by his financial wellbeing, Diego noted that his access to the traditional elite in the public sphere has not translated into access in the private sphere. In fact, he characterized the elite as very closed, with a closeness maintained through kinship lines. David, an economist who has also succeeded in the political realm, replicated Diego’s views: There are still families in this country and in this city [Quito] who consider themselves ‘noble,’ of the upper class, even though they no longer mean much economically. But there is also doubtlessly a middle class that has made money and which has become an upper class. Here I am referring to merchants, industrialists, and certain professional groups that have linked themselves to certain highly profitable businesses, such as oil ... Surely, then, the upper class of today is not the landowning class [of the colonial era]. Rather, it is the class that has achieved fortune through education. And this is [an important] difference with the traditional upper class, for whom education was less practical: they are not engineers or economists they are rather lawyers or follow humanist professions. They studied in Paris. This [new] industrial class, this commercial class [on the other hand] ... is a group of people who was educated in Ecuador or sent their children to be educated [in practical, scientific professions] in the United States (David, Quito: 2005).

Like Diego, David emphasized the ascendancy of what he deemed a former ‘middle class,’ distinguishable from the traditional elite by their economic role and educational achievements. Simultaneously, however, he acknowledged that even if lacking economic clout, the traditional elite continue to consider themselves an ‘upper class,’ implying the maintenance of their identity boundaries. It can also be noted that contrary to the implicit views of traditional elites, David and other informants from the modern elites attributed an entrepreneurial spirit, vision, and determination to the new economically powerful sectors,

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while, several others, David more markedly than Diego in the cases I have cited here, presented the traditional elites as static, unpractical, and, therefore, degenerating; a representation that calls to mind Pareto’s observations regarding the organic changes inhering in the shifting composition of a society’s ruling class (Pareto and Zetterberg 1991). A level of contradiction is discernible in the information provided by my business informants. While they emphasized the power of wealth to breach social boundaries in modern Ecuador, they also acknowledged that they have not been able to reach the private sphere of the traditional elite. Carolina, a successful professional married to an important businessman, for example, initially downplayed the solidity of traditional elites’ identity, lauding the power of money to overcome the elites’ boundaries: Now it doesn’t matter if you are a Ponce Yépez or a Cordovez,11 if you don’t have money you are no one. Therefore, I now speak of the upper class, the middle class, and the lower class, solely in terms of economic welfare (Carolina, Quito: 2005).

Later in our meeting, however, as I asked her more about social interactions with traditional elites, she noted that to access these networks money did not suffice, as a friend of hers had noticed in her attempts to help her daughter advance socially: Well, now, if I speak not of an economic but of a social class, there are people who consider themselves the crème de la crème … even if they have no money, always among them there is a union of some sort. For example I have a very a good friend [who] thinks she is of that group and therefore aspires, for example, that her daughter befriend only such and such people. Last year it was fashionable to host Catholic novenas12: it was a social thing, meeting in the Ponce Yépez’ house, for example, with only ‘certain’ people. My friend was desperate that her daughter be invited so that she could be with these people (Carolina, Quito: 2005).

In short, despite their inability to integrate into the traditional elite, business leaders emphasized the increasing permeability of these elites’ boundaries through economic and educational gains. Significantly, by promoting the ‘myth of the markets’—the idea that every individual can overcome any identity boundary through successful competition in the markets—the importance of non-economic variables used to guard the boundaries of Ecuadorian upper classes was downplayed by interviewees. The ‘myth of the markets’ also shifts the responsibility for

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surpassing these boundaries to those outside them: the onus is on nonelite individuals to amass the wealth that will grant them education and opportunities. The agency of those who maintain the boundaries from within, on the other hand, is ignored. Simultaneously, we might note that emphasizing wealth as a means to change serves those in the elite as a justification for their success and promises further integration without radically questioning the social structure—i.e., if the markets are left to work, other individuals will also eventually advance. Essentialist threads within social boundaries, such as the idea that one must be born with, rather than become a possessor of elite ‘social capital’ (as will be discussed in the following section), need not be confronted or questioned once this myth is in place. The role of ethnicity in the maintenance of social boundaries also remains unquestioned. The implications of impermeable social boundaries for socioeconomic development processes are never broached. Education and Etiquette: The Power of the Social

Members of Ecuador’s traditional social elite were not immune to the contradictory stance I noted among my business-sector informants. While they highlighted the growing power of money to overcome all barriers, they also noted that despite its power, money was not enough to become a member of Ecuador’s traditional ‘elite.’ Gloria explained this dynamic through a colloquial saying: Let’s see, there was a saying that said … how does it go? Oh yes, that ‘to have money you need a generation but to learn to be people you need at least two’ [laughs]. I think this means that, well, one also needs culture, one needs to learn how to treat people” (Gloria, Quito: 2005).

Culture, or ‘social etiquette,’ thus emerges as an important boundary marker for the upper classes. For example, when I asked a descendant of one of the great cacao families13 whether those who had accumulated economic wealth could indeed integrate into Ecuador’s elites, he underscored the importance of the social in his answer: To a certain extent yes, but it is not an immediate thing, it is a process. Perhaps the second or third generations [will be able to join]. Through education, they may acquire the needed manners, since they will be able to travel and see a bit more of the world (Ricardo, Guayaquil: 2005).

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The ‘culture’ or social manners necessary for integration were, as can be noted in Ricardo’s and Gloria’s statements, presented as accessible to all those who have the necessary economic resources to buy them, even if they are arduous to acquire. Ideally, once economic wellbeing smoothes the way to education and travel, any hard working individual (and/or his/her descendants) might proceed to gain the social graces necessary to integrate into Ecuador’s traditional elite. Formal education was clearly given a crucial role in this process. As I conversed about this with a couple in Guayaquil they noted: Cristina: All doors are opened now for whoever has money. Carlos: Of course! Cristina: But also the children … [hesitation] (Husband jumps in) Carlos: Of course, it can’t just be money; there must also be a process of social imitation14—getting the best manners, the best education. Cristina: Yes, I think so. I also think that wealth is a means for this, without a doubt (Carlos and Cristina, Guayaquil: 2005).

Although formal education—that having to do with intellectual knowledge—was what my interviewees most often emphasized, the process of socialization that education entails (acquiring the manners of the hegemonic culture) was regularly implied. In Bourdieu’s terms, we might say that interviewees were describing the bodily expression of an individual’s habitus (Bourdieu 1996). During an evening meal, the importance of education’s socialization role was made explicit. As my interviewees talked about what others would need in order to be accepted in their society, they mentioned the importance of education and the role economic wealth played in facilitating access to appropriate schools. Yet while education was lauded, more intangible characteristics tied to social manners were repeatedly mentioned as important social boundaries. In the following short excerpt from that conversation I have underlined those remarks that refer to such non-economic and non-educational capital: How do you know who is a social elite? Paulina—Look, I think that now the upper class depends on where you are born (from what cradle) and your economic situation. Before, it was more a matter of surname. Now, without a doubt, education also

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plays a role. I think education is very important, the manners one has, and the social contact15 one has.

Social contact? Paulina—Yes, what sort of people you befriend. Here I am not speaking of surnames but of education. I mean, I do not have a university degree but I am an educated woman. Therefore, it shocks me to be with rural people who do not have manners. Who do not know how to eat, have no hygiene, do not know how to dress, who use words incorrectly, and pronounce them incorrectly.

Have surnames, then, lost all importance? Is money all that matters now? Paulina—I don’t think so. For me the money is the least important thing, for me education is the main issue. For me, any person with education can enter [pause] ... well, not so much anyone, because there are now many people with education … but they simply jar me. Renata—I am relieved to hear you say this. Your previous statement about the value of education made me fear you were changing [laughter]. Paulina—[Ignoring Renata’s comment] For example, the ones that are in the Congress right now, dear, they have university titles but they are just a bunch of common Indians.

Why? Paulina—Because they have no manners, no customs, no education … how can I explain this to you? Renata—They don’t come from a proper cradle! [No tienen cuna!] Paulina—Without speaking about their cradle, they just don’t have a delicate, an adequate way of treating people. Renata—It’s the cradle [that gives you that etiquette]! The cradle is something you can’t buy or study. Paulina—I think they lack a certain contact and the ability to treat others.

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Renata—And what gives that—the cradle! (Paulina, Renata Quito: 2005).

This brief exchange brings to light a plethora of tensions within the construction of social elites’ identities. As identities are always sites of contention for access to society’s material and non-material resources, such tensions are unsurprising (Bauman 1992). The exchange above begins with my interviewees differentiating between the traditional and the modern elites of Ecuador, a differentiation prevalent in all interviewees’ responses. In making this differentiation my interviewees seem to imply that traditional elites are born (“before it had more to do with surnames”), but modern elites may be both born and made (“now ... it depends on ... what cradle [you are born into] and your economic situation ... now education ... plays a role ... [your] manners ... [your] social contact”). If traditional elites are born rather than made, a racial differentiation might be implied: certain psychosocial attributes can be tied to a group from birth—they can be seen as inherent in those born within a specific family. This view, however, is ambiguous, as it is not clear whether interviewees’ references to the ‘cradle’ allude to early processes of socialization or to biological heritage, i.e., to upbringing or to ‘breeding.’ The possibility that the ‘cradle’ refers to biological heritage is somewhat refuted or hidden by interviewees’ emphasis on the role of education in the making of modern social elites. Yet, even if ‘cradle’ is understood as the intimate socialization process that takes place in the private sphere during childhood, this still implies that the formal education accessible to those with enough money to pay for it will not be able to overcome the boundaries of the traditional elites. As Renata puts it, ‘the cradle is something you can’t buy or study.’ Nevertheless, education is presented as playing a fundamental part in making modern elites, and money is necessary to obtain an education. Education in the above conversation, however, entails more than academic learning; it implies a social decorum, a way of being. It even becomes apparent that, according to the interviewees, one can be ‘educated’ without an academic education, as Paulina claims to be. On the other hand, there can be individuals who have attained a formal, academic education but still lack in social mores, something for which Paulina chastises “common Indians”. My informants struggled to explain the failure of formal education in ‘reforming’ these individuals to the appropriate traditions and manners, and were tempted to return to a definition of elites as ‘distinct from the cradle,’ rather than made. However, such a definition would re-establish the boundaries of this group as impermeable and diminish the power of wealth and education

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to overcome them, contradicting my informants’ earlier arguments, hence the tense struggle at the end of the exchange. At the end of the conversation recorded above, those unable to gain social capital through formal education are labeled “common Indians”. The tacit role played by ethnicity in structuring identities is thus revealed almost casually. The phrase “common Indians” evokes the historical narrative of Indigenous people as homogenous, uneducated, fearsome, and not belonging to the urban space (this last characteristic was also hinted at by my interviewees’ use of ‘rural people’ at the beginning of the exchange recorded here), even if in possession of economic wealth and academic education. It also draws a sharp distinction between the upper classes and those who might aspire to become part of the upper classes but who will never succeed in such an endeavor: “common Indians”. Returning to the struggle that took place at the end of the conversation cited above, it is notable that through a certain ironic humor, two of my informants questioned and challenged each other’s ethnic and racial views. At one point Renata ridiculed a possible change in Paulina’s perspective (“I am glad to hear you say this ... [I] feared you were changing.…”), a derision that Paulina chose to ignore. A certain sense of discomfort lingers in this exchange, as each interviewee works to state her position while apparently being judged by the other. This discomfort is most evident when my two informants wrestle with using the idea of the ‘cradle’ as a means to explain the impermeability of their identity boundaries. During conversations with other families I witnessed similar instances of discomfort among interviewees when discussing ethnic/racial narratives. In theorizing about the role of ethnic/racial narratives in modern Ecuador the significance of this discomfort should not be underestimated as it might signal the beginnings of change in my interviewees’ perceptions of race and ethnicity and, therefore, in their identity narratives. We might also interpret this discomfort as related to: generational changes in the construction of ethnic and/or racial narratives; the tensions aroused by bringing private narratives to the public sphere through the interview process; or the on-going juxtaposing of long-held ethnic narratives with recent developments in Ecuadorian society. In the last section of this chapter I shall look at one such development: the presidential victory of Lucio Gutiérrez in 2003.

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Ethnicity/Race and the Gutiérrez Regime

The Gutiérrez government was unique in several respects: it was led by an outsider to the traditional political class; it was the government of a former coup leader (Gutiérrez had been part of the triumvirate that sought to succeed Jamil Mahuad in 2000); it was the government of an individual from the popular classes, a mid-ranking mestizo military officer; and it was a government brought to power by the support of Ecuador’s Indigenous sector. The joining of class-based and ethnicbased sectors during the first months of the Gutiérrez regime was novel for Ecuador, where labor movements have historically avoided ethnic/racial labels. Thus, the emergence of a race-class alliance was significant, as Sociologist Burbano de Lara remarked: The struggles of the indians have shaken the mentality of important sectors of the lower classes: part of the distances between Indians and many non-indigenous groups of the popular sectors have been broken.… The Colonel [Gutiérrez] expresses a luck of alliance between indigenous sectors and mestizo groups of the lower classes of Ecuador, especially those stigmatized by racist language like cholos or longos (terms related, without a doubt, with the old disqualifier of Indian) (Burbano de Lara 2002b).

Gutiérrez’s coming to power brought to the surface a plethora of tensions that had lain tensely dormant beneath the existing power structures. There is no doubt that Gutiérrez’s triumph, with the Indigenous’ support, altered the ethnic representation of power. A mestizo, a cholo, depending on the perspective, arrived in Carondelet aided by the ‘runas’ (Burbano de Lara 2004a).16

These tensions became apparent when Nina Pacari was appointed Minister of Foreign Relations. Upon her appointment Pacari, a female Indigenous lawyer and leader of Pachakutik, pronounced what one of my interviewees deemed a ‘lapidary phrase’ highlighting the chasm between traditional elites and the ‘ethnic others’: “The time of the Plaza Lasso, of the Gangotena, of the Chiriboga, of the Cordovezes17 is over and the time of the Pacaris and Quishpes18 has begun.…” (Ximena, Quito: 2005). According to the press, Pacari actually said ‘not only the Ponce and Cordoveces (sic) have the right to occupy these charges’ (Burbano de Lara 2003c). While informants recalled Pacari’s statement with slight variations, I was surprised by how many of them brought up her phrase during interviews to demonstrate Indigenous people’

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resentment toward the elites and to argue that it was individuals like Pacari who were establishing a dichotomy between the elite and ‘ethnic others.’ Thus, according to these informants, if the elite and the ‘masses’ are separated by ethnicity, it is because the others felt separated and sought separation: Opposites are always dualistic. The upper classes and the Indigenous people believe the same and hold the same racisms. This is in essence what happens (Soledad, Quito: 2005). I think that the Indigenous races are as racist as the elites. I think that as much as the elites try to maintain their race and differentiate it from others, so do the Indigenous, and the ‘longos.’ In general the mestizos do too. I think, for example, that at this moment there are individuals within the Indigenous movement who are trying to keep ‘the Indigenous’ differentiated [separate] (Simon, Quito: 2005).

The view that ‘ethnic others’ were responsible for ethnic separations in Ecuadorian society has also been communicated in the national press, where the Indigenous movement has at times been accused of racism: Nowadays [to profit] it is not only necessary to share an ideology, to belong to a political movement or party, now it is also necessary to belong to a determined race.… The political ambitions of certain groups and individuals have generated a new segregationist tendency (Rumazo Vela 2003b). Until January 21 of the year 2000, whites, blacks, indians, cholos, and mestizos agreed with keeping and strengthening the identity and traditions, spiritual, cultural, linguistic, social, political, and economic, of the Indigenous people, to guarantee their ways of life and social organization, … But from [guaranteeing their ways of life] to [supporting and agreeing with] the wish of Mr. Vargas19 and some other indian leaders that the indian minority (with their racist feelings) should assume control of Ecuador, there is a [large gap] (Macias Hurtado 2000c).

In response to the criticisms received, the Indigenous movement changed its rhetoric, stating that it wanted ‘nothing only for the Indians” but sought the best for all the oppressed masses (Burbano de Lara 2001e). This changed rhetoric established the Indigenous leadership as new ‘ventriloquists’: individuals taking it upon themselves to speak on behalf of others. These new ventriloquists, however, did not dissolve the dichotomy between the ‘ethnic-others’ and the socio-political elites.

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They only reversed temporarily who was granted the power of speech. The temporary power shift, if anything, made the voices of the ‘ethnicothers’ momentarily louder, but never questioned the ethnic/racial structures from which these voices spoke. The criticisms of racism leveled against the Indigenous movement also ignored these ethnic/racial structures. In fact, we might argue that the empowering of ‘ethnic others’ in the early twenty-first century left the existing structure largely untouched, affecting only the relative beneficiaries of this structure. Even these marginal changes created unrest as they disrupted the status quo; as evinced by reactions to the growth of a national indigenous leadership: Yes, with the news that Miguel Lluco (a 57 year old carpenter, indigenous leader, a moral reserve for Ecuador, a Chimborazo20 of ethics, ‘taita’21 because he is a decent and intelligent man, with a patriotic vision…) was appointed trustee, racist reactions were unchained (Perez 2003b). [In regard to the 2000 uprising] Would the majority of mestizos have accepted an Indigenous president? Up to the point when the indigenous took over Congress, the majority of the people supported [them], but when it was evident that Antonio Vargas would form part of the triumvirate, racism flourished (2000a).

Critics of the government were accused of resenting the fact that a non-white was in power. “The defeated were horrified,” stated an opinion editor for El Universo, and Gutierrez was presented as ‘A longo in the Presidency’ (Espinosa Cordero 2002d). Many, such as the brother of former President Rodrigo Borja Cevallos, attempted to distance themselves from imputations of racism, emphasizing that their opposition to the regime was political and ideological, rather than racial (Borja Cevallos 2004b). In Diario HOY, for instance, we could read: ‘But the truth … is that the majority of criticisms follow from the perception that Lucio makes too many mistakes and has not had the wisdom to find lucid consultants” (Borja Cevallos 2004b); “To oppose the discourse and attitudes of the Indigenous leadership is in no way an exercise of racism” (Farto B. 2003); and, “It is not a matter of trying to grab the radish by the leaves and cover up the lack of preparation for their duties (to which they were assigned thanks to favoritism), by saying that criticisms are due to racism” (Fisher 2003). Among my interviewees the reactions were mixed, with most pointing to the government’s lack of competence, while a few noted that racism also played a part:

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Here I think the problem is not about race, it is about incompetent people. All I hear people talk about is the incompetence and ignorance [of the government]. That such people would get to power and give jobs to people with no knowledge, I think this is what bothers all Ecuadorians.… I am sure that the people who I know in the elite wouldn’t be bothered if an Indigenous person became president, if that person was qualified. This is what I think. I even think that it would be a beautiful representation of Ecuador, because there are all sorts of people here and how wonderful it would be to say, look here is someone very qualified who can represent us … but there is no such thing.… (Gloria, Quito: 2005). We are living under a government with which I do not agree. It is a government labeled as an ‘Indian government.’ [But] it is an inept government. Nevertheless, the upper class also feels humiliated to be led by these people because they are Indigenous (Soledad, Quito: 2005).

I must emphasize that my interviewees’ reactions to the government should be understood in the context of Ecuadorian politics at the time of my fieldwork: as I conducted research very large marches against the government were organized in Guayaquil and Quito, accusing the government of corruption, nepotism, and dictatorial tendencies. This was partly a reaction to Gutiérrez’s choice to disband the Supreme Court and appoint new judges. In reaction to its opponents, the government promoted its own march, for which television adverts were created. These adverts presented the struggle as one against the ‘corrupt oligarchy.’ In one advert, for instance, a dark-skinned car mechanic wearing oil-stained overalls and working in a small and dirty garage chastises his wife for wanting to attend the march of the aniñados, the ‘snobs,’ who were protesting against the government, instead of joining the honest workmen and women who support the government’s struggle against the oligarchy and on behalf of Ecuador’s development. The tacit message of the advertisement was that opposition to the government was class-based, even perhaps ethno/race-based, and certainly opposed to Ecuador’s progress. By 2003 the government had severed its ties with the Indigenous political movement, and found itself at odds with both this movement and the traditional elite. Interestingly, at this point the regime began to emphasize its mestizo nature, opting to label itself a cholocracia [cholocracy] (Perez 2003a). By emphasizing the distance between certain mestizos (namely ‘cholos’) and the elites, the regime unwittingly

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revealed the complexity of mestizaje in Ecuador, and pointed to processes of discrimination against mestizos. The government chose to defend itself by deriding critics as ‘oligarchs unhappy at having a ‘cholo leader.’ Cholo, as we shall note in the following chapter, falls within a contentious area of meaning linked to the idea of mestizaje and to socioeconomic mobility. The ‘cholocracia’ label, in some respects, only made explicit the position the Gutiérrez government had always held, as a representative of the popular classes and those oppressed by the ethno/racial hierarchy. My interviewees strongly opposed the government’s representation of its opponents as simply a corrupt and racist oligarchy, arguing that the governments’ complaints about ‘racism’ were often no more than a tool to hide its incompetence and support its ‘resentment’ of the upper classes.22 Upon my bringing up the topic, for instance, Francisco stated: In the past, people that came to teach in Ecuador, especially the ones further left [politically], only spoke about what they called the dominant classes [placing responsibility on them for the state of the country]. I don’t think anyone is responsible, and I am tired of hearing about it.… (Francisco, Guayaquil: 2005).

In a separate interview Carolina noted: All this talk about oligarchies I think it’s all politics, all populism. The only way for populist governments to get to the people is to speak of oligarchs. This president [Gutiérrez] speaks of the oligarchy, and the oligarchy this, and the oligarchy that, but I think it is only because he is resentful.… (Carolina, Quito: 2005).

While the competence or corruption of the government is not of interest for our present discussion, the fact that ethnic/racial narratives were invoked to explain the frictions between the Gutiérrez regime and the traditional elites provides an interesting insight of the extent to which ethnicity/race have been used by both elites and non-elites to construct the boundaries separating socioeconomic strata. It is important to highlight the role of non-traditional elites in using ethnicity/race as identity boundaries: for one thing, the Gutiérrez regime’s choice to selfidentify as a ‘cholocracy’ and its appeals to racism to defend itself against accusations of incompetence, served to solidify ethnic/racial boundaries, making these the most visible reason for social fractures that are in fact the result of intricate and multi-layered social, economic, and political structures. Thus, as we investigate the ethnic/racial narratives of Ecuador’s upper classes, it is important to keep in mind that ethnic/racial

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boundaries are also being built by other sectors of the population and that elites’ narrative must react to these constructions. Similarly, we must also remember that significant developments, like the rise and fall of the Gutiérrez government, may canalize and alter hidden social tensions, affecting existing narratives and how they are expressed. Conclusion

It would, of course, be fallacious to blame the crisis of the Gutiérrez’s regime simply on ethnic/racial and/or class tensions. This crisis, like its predecessors and the current struggles of the Correa regime, are due to unsustainable development paradigms based on problematic and nontransparent financial, legislative, legal, and social structures built over many generations. The Gutiérrez’s crisis did, however, serve to make particularly visible the role of ethnic/racial narratives in maintaining power structures. It brought to the public space discussions about whether support or opposition for government members was based on their credentials, their abilities, or their ethnicity/race. In this chapter we have also noted that interviewees often downplay their use of ethnicity/race as identity boundary markers. In the first part of this chapter I reviewed how Ecuador’s upper classes define their identity in terms of wealth, education, and etiquette, referring to ethnicity/race only tangentially. I argued that, although wealth and, subsequently, education, are represented by interviewees as means to overcome all socioeconomic inequalities, the ethnic/racial realm may still play a role as an identity boundary for them. To unfold further why ethnicity/race is only referred to peripherally, and how it plays a roll in the dynamics of identity in Ecuador, I shall now turn to look more closely at the ‘lived experience’ and historical construction of ethnic narratives in the country. Notes 1

Traditional ‘elite’ surnames. Traditional Indigenous surnames. 3 I use ‘social capital’ to denote the ‘bienestar social’ (translated as social wellbeing) and ‘social position,’ which interviewees referred to as distinguishing the upper classes. My use of ‘social capital,’ therefore, refers to social prestige and influence, being closer Bourdieu’s interpretation of social capital than to Putman’s. 4 Education was not always mentioned. 5 This was especially the case with female informants. 2

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6 El Condado, along with the Yacht Club, Union Club, Tennis Club, is one of the most exclusive social clubs of Ecuador. 7 A well-known Spanish saying: ‘Poderoso Caballero es Don Dinero.’ 8 Accessible online at http://www.sri.gov.ec/pages/estadistica /estadisticas.html. September 16, 2006. 9 They generally registered taxes greater than 10,000 USD according to the list published by the Ecuadorian Internal Revenue Service (SRI). 10 I should note that interviewees of Arab descent were practicing Catholics. Interviewees of Jewish descent, on the other hand, practiced Judaism to different extents (i.e., some visited the Synagogue regularly, some had not been there for many years and saw their ‘Judaism as a matter of inheritance and culture rather than religion’). 11 Surnames of the traditional ‘elite’ 12 Prayer vigils held during Advent season. 13 Families that led Ecuador’s cacao exports in the nineteenth century, becoming markedly wealthy through this trade. They include, but are not limited to, the Morla, Durán-Ballén, and Seminario families. 14 Significantly, the Spanish term used here was mimetización, which can be translated as camouflage. It simultaneously points us to a process of ‘hiding’ non-elite characteristics (flagging up the idea of essentialist characteristics), and to a process of acquiring the characteristics of traditional elites—an acculturation process. 15 In Spanish roce social—literally translates to ‘social rub.’ 16 ‘Runa’ is the Quichua word for ‘human,’ however, it is sometimes used derisively to refer to Indigenous people. 17 These are surnames of Ecuador’s traditional ‘elites.’ Several interviewees claimed Pacari used the incorrect plural form, highlighting that “…even to be racist one should be educated” (Matias, Quito: 205). 18 Traditionally Indigenous surnames. 19 Vargas was an Indigenous member of the Triumvirate that was briefly in power after Mahuad’s overthrown. 20 Ecuador’s highest summit. 21 Quichua word for ‘father’ or ‘elder.’ 22 A point I shall follow up in Chapter 8.

5 The Mestizo and the ‘Other’: Ethnic Narratives in Ecuador

Races are not “things” but relations. The content of race, its materiality, and the interests of racialized actors, can only be recognized in the realm of racial relations and positions (Bonilla-Silva 1999:901).

More than once my questions about cholos, longos, mestizos, and other ethnic identities in Ecuador provoked quizzical looks from my informants. A couple of informants excused what they seemed to regard as my surprising ignorance by murmuring under their breath “Well, you don’t live here; I guess that is why you wouldn’t know.…” To these informants it was startling that someone claiming to be an Ecuadorian would need clarifications on ethnic terminology used daily. This terminology, such reactions led me to suppose, was common knowledge and self-explanatory, implying that the ethnic narratives upon which it is based were fully naturalized and, therefore, unquestioned. In this chapter, I seek to de-naturalize these narratives by tracing the historical emergence and use of ethnic terminology in Ecuador. Through this investigation I shall highlight the growing ethnic polarization and politicization taking place in the country, and the challenges it poses for the idea of a ‘mestizo state.’ Three causes can be found for Ecuador’s ethnic politicization and polarization: the implicit marginalization of ‘ethnic others’ through the use of mestizaje; the historical role of ethnicity as a tool for the acquisition of economic, political, cultural, and educational capital—otherwise stated, the historical role of ethnicity as a ‘field of power’ as suggested in Chapter 3; and the hierarchical structures implicit within mestizaje. I shall begin this chapter by looking at the historical construction of mestizaje in Ecuador, noting that this construction has avoided or ignored Indigenous and afroecuadorian influences. Indigenous people have been used as a negative frame of reference for the

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conceptualization of mestizaje in Ecuador, i.e., they have served to exemplify all that a mestizo should not be. Afroecuadorians, on the other hand, have been almost entirely ignored in the creation of Ecuador’s mestizo identity. I shall then argue that the importance of ethnicity in permitting or inhibiting access to socioeconomic resources, and the marginalization of Indigenous people and afroecuadorians by the mestizo state, has prompted both of these groups to resort to essentialized ethnic identities. More significantly, I shall propose that groups unable to benefit from the mestizo discourse and unable to claim membership in Indigenous or afroecuadorian communities, are also searching for and adopting essentialized local ethnic identities. This is perhaps most clearly demonstrated by ‘montubios’ in the coastal area. A consequence of this strategy, however, is that the very role of ethnicity/race as a basis for social hierarchization is not questioned or opposed but reinforced (Anthias 2002: 496). These dynamics make vulnerable those populations who find that they cannot claim politicized ethnic identities, including most mestizos. This argument will be expanded in the last part of this chapter as I introduce ethnic terminology used to guard liminal spaces inhabited by mestizos. Mestizaje as Acculturation: Historical Overview

It is important to remember that the ethnic make up and socio-political situation of the Ecuadorian Highlands before the arrival of the Spaniards was in no way static or homogeneous. Several distinct Indigenous groups inhabited the region prior to the conquest. The Inca Empire, which expanded from what is now Peru, had influenced most of these peoples to some extent. When the Spanish arrived in the early sixteenth century, this Empire was engulfed in civil war as the two princes, Atahualpa and Huascar, sought hegemony. It proved feasible for the Spanish to use this internal rife for their conquering interests. Yet once the Spanish succeeded in their enterprise the ethnic diversity within South America was often forgotten, as the new power structure pitted the conquerors against the conquered. Thus, the Spanish conquest had two main impacts in the ethnic realm of Ecuador. First, it homogenized the pre-conquest inhabitants of the Highlands, all of whom became ‘Indians’ (Guerrero 1997:559), (Casagrande 1998:261). Second, the conquest established an ethno/racebased hierarchy. This hierarchy was zealously maintained by the burgeoning legal system. A clear marker of ethnic/racial identity was established in the seventeenth century through the ‘Indian Tribute.’ This was a tax collected solely from people who were classified as

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Indigenous. Thus, “[t]he tribute was central in defining an ethnic categorization of the population: one [was] Indian because he pay[ed] tribute” (Ibarra 1998:13). In return, the contributor was entitled to a plot of land and certain protection from the state. Furthermore, an Indian was prevented from undertaking jobs that were deemed appropriate only for mestizos or whites. An ethnicity-based division of labor was, thus, established and it, consequently, became feasible to speak of the ‘Spanish Republic’ and the ‘Indian Republic’ (Ibarra 1998:10). Initially within the Spanish Colonies those of mixed heritage, were considered castas, while pure ‘races’ were identified by their race (the hierarchy, therefore, was: Spaniards, (chapetones—those born in Spain), Creoles (Spaniards born in America) Castas, Indians, Blacks, Mulattoes—mixture of Black and whites, and Sambos—mixture of Blacks and Indians). Soon, however, the term castas was utilized to mean racial group. Therefore, a Spanish casta, and an Indian casta were conceptualized (Ibarra 1998:12). Individuals of mixed Spanish and Indian ancestry came to be termed mestizos. In a more encompassing sense, of course, a process of mestizaje or mixture was taking place even among those who were not the biological result of Spanish and Indigenous unions, as the cultural bodies of both conquerors and conquered were mutually altered through daily interaction. These two meaning of mestizaje were conflated, allowing for the existence of certain ‘Indigenous mestizos’ (De la Cadena 2005). According to Ecuadorian scholars, however, the term ‘mestizos’ was mainly reserved for the ‘product’ of biological mixture, and for the most part only for European/Indigenous mixtures (Ibarra 1998:9). A terminology emerged to refer to Indigenous people who adopted non-Indigenous identity markers in order to claim a mestizo identity and its benefits; this laid the foundation for a growing perception of mestizaje as a process of acculturation for Indigenous people. Indigenous people who appropriated Spanish dress and custom were termed ‘peinadillos’ (referring to a change in hair style) in the sixteenth century (Espinosa Apolo 2000:18). In the eighteenth century the term ‘forastero’ (transient) was used to refer to Indigenous people who became landless (and therefore transient) when they refused to pay the Indian Tribute (Espinosa Apolo 2000:45). Finally, these people came to be called ‘cholos’ in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (Espinosa Apolo 2000:18). Significantly, while this term initially referred to Indigenous people who had migrated to cities from rural areas, modern civic and history books used throughout the nation now teach that ‘cholos’ are one of the types of mestizaje of the Ecuadorian highland (Ibarra 1998:16), (Ayala Mora 2004). Thus, an important conflation of

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meanings takes place, permitting mestizaje to be understood primarily as an acculturation process. While better off than Indigenous people, mestizos still suffered from the established hierarchy. To understand the large social gap that existed between Spaniards and mestizos, it is interesting to note that for lowerclass Spaniards in the eighteenth century, termed plebe, being called a mestizo was considered an insult (Ibarra 1998:11). Thus, mestizos were not accepted by Spanish society, even at its lowest spectrum, while they were no longer entitled to the state-benefits reserved for Indians. Mestizos’ unclear ethnic belonging and their lack of contribution to the Colonial state, as they did not pay the ‘Indian Tribute,’ made their condition easy to criticize. Thus, “the political position of mestizos was liminal in that they had none of the specific political rights held by either Indians or Spaniards ... they [lacked] a juridical existence” (Smith 1997:1). Mestizaje and the State

When the ‘Indian tribute’ was ended in 1857, the clearest legal marker of ethno/racial identity was lost (Ibarra 1998:12, Guerrero 1990). The process of mestizaje was then facilitated. Moreover, after its independence in 1830 the Ecuadorian state came to emphasize the growing cultural and racial mixture within its borders as the cornerstone of its identity.1 As Martínez-Echazabal declares: “During the nineteenth century, mestizaje was a recurrent trope indissolubly linked to the search for lo americano” (Martínez-Echazabal 1998:21). The ‘mestizo paradigm’ thus became a central paradigm of the Ecuadorian Republic. 2 Mestizaje answered the need for a nationalistic ideology that has to begin with the proposition that a nation ‘has no singular fountainhead for the classificatory criteria out of which a unity of substance can be recognized. [Yet, this ideology is to] invent a unitary substance and to link that substance to a socio-political unit (Williams in Wade 2001:853).

The modernization of the Ecuadorian nation-state led to the emergence of a class structure, however, ethnic/racial differences were never subdued to this new hierarchy, rather both structures collided into a complex new form. Therefore, “[w]ithout the disappearance of the state structures and the caste hierarchies, [the twentieth] century [saw] the appearance of an embryonic class structure trapped in the language of castes” (Ibarra 1998:18).

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Historically the creation and maintenance of the ‘mestizo paradigm’ has been the responsibility of the elites of Latin America. By defining what fell in and out of this category, elites have been able to structure the social realm. Propagating the idea of the mestiza nation meant not only imposing but also helping to see and speak of ‘us,’ to create relations with the ‘other,’ to classify the other classifying oneself, to recognize one’s place within the social taxonomy while simultaneously recognizing the legitimacy of the state authority (Polo Bonilla 2002:59).

By defining mestizaje and, from that definition, working for the advancement of a ‘mestizo nation,’ the Ecuadorian elite dictated who could or could not claim the mestizo identity and the benefits that came with it. The elite, therefore, created the society’s “regimes of truth,” “the types of discourse which [society] accepts and makes function as true...” (Foucault and Gordon 1980:131). For example, by defining mestizos as people who did not habitually partake of superior education, elites could hamper the access to education for a large part of the population. A discourse then, can permit and perpetuate a process of domination as: [I]t is proven that in the process of domination, it is not only the power of physical coercion that is imposed, rather, parallel to physical force is the world of ideas which becomes the permanent mean of argumentation generally effective in the process of imposing and consolidating power relations over the life and mentality of a social conglomerate” (Traverso-Yépez 1998:260).

Thus, it is important to remember that mestizaje is not a neutral discourse, as its use and definition are entrenched in structures of power (Smith 1999b:34). The elites’ construction of mestizaje in Ecuador, significantly, reflected a preoccupation with incorporating the masses into the state project, with providing a strategy of integration for the Indigenous people of Ecuador, rather than an interest in questioning and rephrasing their own identity. And it is not only by appropriating the history of those less powerful and constructing it according to their ‘truth’ that the elites accrue power; they can also gain power by constructing a history that conveniently does not problematize their own status. When the structures of power are not questioned because they are covert, as in the case of the dominating white-mestizos, the ability of others to subvert these structures might be hampered. The Liberal Revolution of 1895 greatly increased the overt importance of mestizaje as the foundation of Ecuador’s national identity

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(Ayala Mora 2004). This Revolution opposed the rule of the entrenched conservative Criollo elite, which in part meant supporting the leadership of new mestizo regimes. Eloy Alfaro, the leader of the Liberal Revolution, “expressed the chola or mestiza identity, which overcame the Criollo identity” (Ibid.). Thus, mestizaje was legitimated and increasingly accepted as the narrative of national identity due to “two fundamental historical events: the conversion of the mestizo into a historical actor after his active participation [in the Liberal Revolution], and the constitution of this group as the numerical majority [of the country]” (Espinosa Apolo 2000:130). The Indigenistas

As mestizaje was built in contrast to representations of Indigenous people, changes in these representations led to commensurate alterations in mestizaje. During the early twentieth century, the construction of the ‘Indian imagery’ 3 was led by the Indigenistas (Guerrero 1997), (Clark 1999). Indigenistas were ‘white-mestizo’ scholars and policymakers with a common interest in Indigenous people. The ideological influence of Indigenistas dominated from the 1920s until the mid-1940s (Becker 1995). Their views were momentous for the creation of national ideology as “[m]any Ecuadorian Indigenista intellectuals were not only influential in academic circles but also in the political life of the country” (Clark 1999:80). Although Indigenistas’ intentions might have been laudable, “due to their emphasis in quantifying differences, Indigenistas, ultimately, contributed to a racialized version of the Indians: that is, a vision of Indians as a separate racial group, with innate and hereditary characteristics” (Clark 1999:79). Their work, therefore, set the groundwork for the conflation of race and ethnicity still prevalent today. Indigenista models implied subtle connections between race, ethnicity, and social behavior. On the one hand, biology was used to explain the innate separation of Indigenous people from other groups of people (such as mestizos, blacks, or whites), claiming that biological differences underlay the social and behavioral traits of Indigenous people as individuals and as communities. On the other hand, alterations in a person’s behavior were presented as a tool for ethnic and even racial changes, since by definition Indians were seen as ignorant because it was assumed that Indians who were educated would automatically become mestizos. Perceived racial differences in Ecuador were clearly defined in terms

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of social behavior, rather than genetically determined characteristics. Thus dominant ideology assumed that an Indian who learned Spanish, left behind his poncho,4 and moved to the city would immediately begin to partake of national culture as a mestizo (Clark 1998:203, my emphasis).

Mestizaje, then, was conceived as a process of alteration for Indigenous people, which implied an understanding of race as malleable. It was, in fact, an understanding of race as ethnicity. The Indigenista movement sought to incorporate Indigenous people into the national mainstream by promoting policies of social change. Language, dress, and other social customs could ‘make a mestizo from an Indian’ or make ‘an Indian into a mestizo.’ This view, which I challenge through this book, implies that the “mestizo race in Latin America is largely defined through culture rather than phenotype or color. A publicly defined mestizo can be virtually any biological mixture ... but must have acquiesced to the dominant ‘national’ culture” (Smith 1997:506). As I shall note in Chapters 6 and 7, mestizaje is still very much defined racially, permitting the discrimination of individuals based on their physical characteristics regardless of their cultural acquiescence, and, consequently maintaining a racial hierarchy in Ecuador. Through the configuration of Indigenous identity as changeable and different from mestizaje, and with mestizaje set up as the core national identity to which all should aspire, two processes take place. On the one hand, mestizaje is presented as a broad and abstract category into which all the country’s inhabitants can fall, as everyone is or can become a mestizo, whether biologically or culturally. The dominant representation of mestizaje, therefore, includes a universal promise of inclusion. On the other hand, mestizaje became concretely understood as the acculturation of Indigenous people, the ‘Other,’ into the urban dominant culture. afroecuadorians and others who could not trace their heritage to ‘Indian’ roots were tacitly excluded from the national identity, as were Indigenous people unwilling to ‘be whitened.’ Elites who did not identify with the idea of mestizaje, including those who self-identified as white, also fell outside of the national identity narrative. In fact, the place of elites in the ethnic hierarchy is not mentioned within this dominant narrative, which implies that mestizaje is the ‘highest’ achievable identity.

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Responses to Indigenism

Two trends of thought emerged in response to the Indigenistas. ‘Democratic liberalism,’ epitomized by the intellectual Benjamín Carrión, advocated the advancement of the mestizo nation, conceptualizing mestizaje as what was not Indian. Mestizaje, according to ‘democratic liberalism,’ could be understood as a new creation, based on the mixture of genetic and cultural ingredients, but a creation that favored Spanish components (Polo Bonilla 2002:41, 51). In this version of mestizaje, “the Indigenous ... is not incorporated but diluted, only his/her past remains” (Polo Bonilla 2002:51). Other thinkers, such as Camilo Ponce Enriquez and Jacinto Jijón y Caamaño, advocated for a ‘Hispanized’ nation, which should garner its strength, its “cultural essence, [from] the Hispanic culture which [was] clearly superior” (Polo Bonilla 2002:41). This view held mestizaje as degenerative, and did not seek to construct a mixed identity, but to encourage a return to Spanish roots. While more overtly racist and intolerant, the support for a ‘Hispanized nation’ coincided with ‘democratic liberalism’ in favoring an understanding of mestizaje as non-Indian. During the 1960s the Tzantzicos, a small intellectual group, criticized the ‘Othering’ of Indigenous people through the discourse of mestizaje. The ‘Tzantzicos’ did not oppose the idea of mestizaje but rather “its abstract and illusory character” calling for a ‘deeper’ cultural and biological mestizaje which would dissolve the category of the ‘other’ (Polo Bonilla 2002:82). Along these lines, Fernando Tinajero stated that “[Ecuador’s] culture has not ... become an organic whole because the necessary mestizaje has not been produced ... because ... purity of blood is held as a value which cannot be substituted” (Polo Bonilla 2002:82). A critique of the notion of acculturation was not what underlined the Tzantzicos’ statements, however. Even though they supported a greater incorporation of Indigenous values into the process of mestizaje, they still saw the result as something that was not Indigenous. Nevertheless, this group presented an interesting criticism to those who advocated ‘racial purity,’ and to the elites who silently remained aloof from the mestizaje of the masses. The Late Twentieth Century and Neoindigenism

In the late twentieth century, the national narrative of mestizaje was increasingly institutionalized and, correspondingly, became evermore ideologically dominant. The strength of the mestizo paradigm was demonstrated by dictator Guillermo Rodriguez Lara (1970-1978) who

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“at the same time [as] he appealed to the ‘common Indigenous ancestor of all Ecuadorians,’ stated: ‘There is no longer a problem in relation to the Indigenous ... we all become white when we accept the goals of the national culture’” (Silva 1995:17). Thus, the ruling perspective held that “contemporary cultural and social dynamics [were] principally a matter of acculturation and assimilation of subordinate peripheral heterogeneity to the dominant homogenous centre” (Stutzman 1981:49). The state was strongly involved in promoting the appropriation of the mestizo identity by Ecuadorian citizens as a means to reduce the ethnic diversity that threatened to disrupt development policies by questioning hierarchical relations. Education was one of the main tools through which this was accomplished. Stutzman illustrates the power of education on ethnic identity narratives with a short anecdote from his research in five communities of the northern Ecuadorian Highlands: During the survey process we learned just who it is that understands mestizaje ideology in terms that deny primordial significance to Indigenous descent. In at least one-third of instances when hesitant respondents agreed to a suggestion that “we’re/you’re mestizo,” the suggestion was made by a school-age child or young person. The younger the person, the more obviously anxious he or she was that the question about descent be answered correctly. It soon became apparent that the response “We’re mestizos” was, in effect, an answer to the question, “What have you learned in school about what it means to be an Ecuadorian?” (Stutzman 1981:80).

‘Neoindigenism,’ which demands the maintenance of Indigenous cultural traits within the national culture, developed partly as a reaction to the strong acculturation message spread by the dominant mestizo narrative. It was embraced by many of the Indigenous organizations that became increasingly politicized after the 1960s land reform. In response to neoindigenismo, a space within the mestizo state was created for the maintenance of certain Indigenous cultural traits. For example, and thanks to the activism of Indigenous leaders such as Dolores Cacuango, schools that permitted the use of Quichua (the most spoken Indigenous language in the Ecuadorian Highlands), were established, although Spanish remained the national language (Rodas Morales 1998). Thus, bilingual education was promoted among, and only among, Indigenous people. The implicit logic of these actions was that Indigenous people should be able to maintain their language, at least within private spheres, but the nation was still mestizo, that is non-Indian and, therefore, in order to partake of mainstream society, command of Spanish was still a necessity. Thus, “in order to ensure and control [Indigenous people’]

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contribution to society ... [the state] proposed the protection, conservation, and investigation of ‘vernacular cultures’ so that the acculturation of their members would not imply the abandoning of their cultural identities” (Rivera Velez 2000:386). The myth of an ‘inclusive’ (or democratizing) mestizaje could then still be strongly adhered to: all could partake of national resources if they simply became mestizos, and they were allowed to maintain Indigenous ethnic traits on the periphery (Muratorio 2000:370). The influence of this perspective is evident in the policies of several of the Ecuadorian Presidents who followed Rodriguez Lara—namely, Jaime Roldos (1979-1981), Oswaldo Hurtado (19811984), Rodrigo Borja (1988-1992), and Sixto Durán-Ballén (19921996)—(Silva 1995). ‘Ethnic Earthquakes’5

After the presidency of Durán Ballén (1992-1996) Ecuador entered an especially unstable political era where bloodless coups ended the presidencies of Abdalá Bucaram, Jamil Mahuad, and Lucio Gutiérrez. As noted in Chapter 2, ethnicity/race has played an important role in these political developments. During this era, ethnic policies in Ecuador have been complicated by the increasing politicization of diverse ethnic groups, most significantly the Indigenous population. For the first time in history Ecuadorian Indigenous people has become an overt part of the political machine that creates national discourses. Yet, while Indigenous people’ conquests within the national space have granted them greater socioeconomic, political, and cultural rights, the political activism of certain Indigenous groups has also fomented a reactionary opposition to ‘the Indigenous’ among other parts of the Ecuadorian population. A new tension thus emerges, as mestizaje is still conceived in contrast to what is Indigenous, yet the Indigenous is no longer easily oppressed. Ecuador’s upper classes are now forced to re-conceptualize the Indigenous as a contender for national power. Several questions emerge from this new situation. Can ethnicity, in general, and mestizaje, more specifically, continue to guard the upper classes’ interests given the recent political changes? How will mestizaje change given the new empowerment of Ecuador’s Indigenous population? Is there a paradigm that can replace mestizaje in Ecuador? Ecuador’s ‘Ethnic Identity’: Summary and Implications

To summarize my historical review thus far I shall make use of Andres Guerrero’s periodization of Ecuador’s history according to the

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ethnic/racial construction of its national identity (Guerrero 1997).6 The first period of Ecuador’s history, from the on-set of Colonial rule until 1857, is characterized by the juridical creation of ethnic identities through the legal system. During this period we can observe the initial construction of an ‘Ecuadorian’ identity that is formed in contrast to that of the Indigenous population. Until 1857 Indigenous people were defined by their obligation to pay an ‘Indian Tribute’ to the state in exchange for land and recognition within the legal system. Individuals who refused to pay the tribute or who, due to mixed parentage, could not claim to be Indigenous fell within the amorphous category of the ‘castas’ (Ibarra 1998:12). The number of these ‘liminal’ individuals expanded between 1875 and the 1960s. In this second period, according to Guerrero, citizenship was extended to a greater part of the Ecuadorian population, necessitating the creation of a national identity that could be more inclusive. Such events as the Juliana Revolution of 1925, the growth of the labor movement, and the creation of the Concentration of Popular Forces political party (CFP), increased popular participation in politics, and therefore, a greater number of voices participated in the debate to redefine the ‘Ecuadorian citizen’ (Smith 1997:1), (Ayala Mora 2004). It is during this period that we see the growth and consolidation of mestizaje as a national narrative, attractive in its promises to include all Ecuadorians and to provide an ideological basis for the state (Polo Bonilla 2002). The inclusionary promise of mestizaje, however, has proven empty on several levels. In practice mestizaje has often been interpreted to mean only the acculturation of Ecuador’s Indigenous people into the hegemonic national culture (Roitman 2004), rather than an encompassing narrative that could serve all Ecuadorian citizens. Afroecuadorians, moreover, have been entirely left out of Ecuador’s mestizo narrative (Rahier 1998). Finally, as we explore throughout this book, mestizaje has failed to integrate liminal identities, i.e., those who have opted for acculturation. The last period of Ecuador’s history, starting in the 1960s with Ecuador’s land reform and the politization of several ethnic movements, has seen a tremendous growth in the size and importance of ethnicitybased political movements—the clearest case being the rise of the Indigenous movement. The growth of these movements has been fomented by a variety of forces including rural-urban migrations, liberation theology, and educational policies, as well as by exclusionary nature of Ecuadorian mestizaje. As we have noted, these ethnic movements have dramatically affected Ecuador’s political sphere, but it

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remains to be fully understood how they have affected the ethnic narratives of different social strata. In summary, in reviewing Ecuador’s ethnic history, we can note that socioeconomic changes have permitted or prompted increasing sectors of the population to become involved in the political process of “nationmaking”. In turn, the “nation” has had to adapt, thus moving from 1) a process of differentiation (period 1); to 2) a process of theoretical inclusion but practical exclusion through a mestizaje that disowns the Indigenous (as noted by Stutzman 1981), and, even more, the afroecuadorian (as noted by Rahier 1999b); to 3) more recently, a battle to re-establish and empower difference—exemplified by the struggle to decree Ecuador a pluri-national state in the last two decades. In this last stage multiculturalism, in its many versions, has been promoted as a tool to grant the diverse socio-cultural groups within Ecuador spaces for expression and greater access to economic resources (Almeida Vinueza 1999), (Hooker 2005). Table 5.1: Ecuador’s Ethnic Identity: A Possible Periodization Colonial Period–1857

Process of Differentiation: Juridical creation of ethnic identities; e.g., ‘Indian Tribute’ Process of Theoretical Inclusion:

1857–1960

Mestizaje increasingly invoked as a central ‘national myth’ for the Ecuadorian state. Growing politicization of diverse social sectors calls for more ‘inclusive’ state ideology. Battles to Re-establish Difference:

1960– Present

Increasing politicization of ‘ethnic groups’ forces new search for a ‘national identity.’ Multiculturalism (and later inter-culturalism) advocated for.

Periodization based on Guerrero (1997).

Opting for multiculturalism, however, is complicated by several issues, most notably the reality that many individuals cannot claim an

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Indigenous, afroecuadorian or any other identity recognized by multicultural policies. Multiculturalism, in fact, demands a strategic essentialization of identities that may marginalize many individuals. Second, the fact that mestizaje is now an intrinsic part of Ecuadorian symbolic space challenges the possibility of establishing a multi-cultural regime: as Ecuadorian mestizaje has been built in opposition to other ethnic and racial identities it is incompatible with multiculturalism. Even if multiculturalism promises a marked improvement from the oppressive realities of a hegemonic ‘mestizo narrative,’ a joint multiculturalism and mestizaje are unsustainable, and a large part of the Ecuadorian population now see themselves only as mestizos, being unable to integrate to the state through any other ‘ethnic category.’ On the other hand, taking mestizos as an ethnic group for the purposes of multiculturalism ignores the heterogeneity within this category. There are two main points to be highlighted from our discussion of Ecuadorian ethnic narratives thus far. First, the importance of ethnicity in structuring Ecuador cannot be sufficiently emphasized. From the time of the colony, access to economic, cultural, social, and political resources was divided along the lines of the ‘Spanish Kingdom’ and the ‘Indian Kingdom’ (Ibarra 1998). Later, as the mestizo narrative became dominant, resources were made available to those who successfully adopted a mestizo identity. Concurrently, access to goods such as education and material wealth, was understood as leading to mestizaje (as demonstrated by Rodriguez Lara’s comments and the Indigenistas’ arguments). More recently, state and international resources have been made available to individual and groups on the basis of their ‘ethnic identity.’ Ethnic/racial identity and socioeconomic status have been, in short, thought of as irrevocably linked. Ethnic/racial identities have allowed or prohibited access to different resources working as a ‘field of power,’ in Bourdieu’s terms (Bourdieu 1998 [1994]). We have also noted, in broad agreement with previous scholarship in this area, that the mestizo narrative continuously denied the influence and heritage of Indigenous people and ignored afroecuadorian influences and heritage. These negations and the historical use of ethnicity as a ‘field of power,’ may explain why groups seeking socioeconomic advancement have chosen to essentialize their ethnic identity in the third period of Ecuador’s history. Groups marginalized by the dominant ethnic/racial discourse may opt to emphasize, rather than deny, the very identity being denigrated as a means to oppose the established hierarchy and access socioeconomic resources. We can think of the Black Power movement in the United States as a clear instance of this dynamic. This strategy, however, further strengthens the boundaries

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of ethnic identities, promoting their further essentialization and even their racialization. In the next section we shall note this taking place in the case of afroecuadorians. Invisible Citizens: Afroecuadorians

The 2006 Football World Cup brought the marginalization of afroecuadorians to national attention. As this was only the second time Ecuador participated in the World Cup, the country watched in ecstasy as its team qualified for the second round. As media outlets followed the success of the Ecuadorian team, attention turned to the biographies of the individual players, a large number of whom are afroecuadorian. The hometowns of these players, made up largely by afroecuadorians as well, were for once in the spotlight. Tremendous poverty and neglect by state authorities were revealed. A media flurry followed as governmental leaders rushed to denounce the condition of these communities and to promise improvements. A newspaper interview of a female resident of ‘El Juncal,’ part of the highland Imbabura Canton, presented the situation as follows: Doña Gloria’s sadness turns into tears and, unable to contain herself, she vents her frustration and rage: “If it were not for the football and our lads, this town would continue sunken in forgetfulness. I hope that now the authorities will fulfill what they are promising” (A El Juncal le hace falta de todo 2006).

An analysis of media coverage of Esmeraldas and El Juncal, two communities with a high percentage of afroecuadorian residents, not only reveals the poverty of these communities, but also the great extent to which they are still essentialized and racialized in popular understanding (Granda Merchán 2004). A mestizo official in charge of the Police Unit in El Juncal, for example, explained the lack of unity in the community by calling upon deterministic psycho-social characteristics tied to the ‘black race’: “The black suffers from very high [blood] pressure; they say their blood is very hot and in any misunderstanding, instead of speaking [with each other] they become violent” (Botero 2006). In the coverage of afroecuadorian communities, comparisons between Afro and Indigenous population were often made. These comparisons highlighted the location of both groups as minorities marginal to the dominant core, emphasized possible strategies for their

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incorporation into the core, and noted essential racial characteristics that could aid or prevent such incorporation. For example, the mayor of Canton Ibarra, of which El Juncal is part, explained the plight of afroecuadorians by noting, “The topic here is lack of organization. In contrast to the indians, here it is difficult to [seek cooperation],7 they [the “blacks”] just chatter all the time” (Ibid., my emphasis). Press coverage of afroecuadorian communities during and after the 2006 World Cup did not differ substantially from how these communities have been portrayed historically. Throughout Ecuador’s history, afroecuadorians have been granted little attention by the state and have suffered from widespread essentialist representations of their race and ethnicity (Rahier 1999b), (Rahier 1998), (Guerrero C. 2005). Moreover, Ecuadorian mestizaje has excluded afroecuadorians: the mixture evoked as the core of ‘Ecuadorianness’ is that of Europeans and Indigenous people, Afro-descendants are never mentioned. Unlike Indigenous people, afroecuadorians have not been promised, however deceitfully, integration through acculturation. They have simply been left out as foreign to Ecuadorianness. As Rahier declares: In this [mestizo] imagination of Ecuadorianness, there is logically no place for blacks; they remain invisible. Afro-Ecuadorians constitute the ultimate Other, some sort of a historical aberration, a noise in the ideological systems of nationality, a pollution in the genetic pool, the only true alien, the “non-citizen” par excellence; they are not part of mestizaje (Rahier 1998:422).

Afroecuadorians are, in short, not simply a marginal group in Ecuadorian society, they are almost invisible. Their invisibility is demonstrated by the fact that until the World Bank funded PRODEPINE, the ‘Indigenous and Afro-Ecuadorian Peoples Development Project,’ in 1998, there were no estimates of the size of the afroecuadorian population (Guerrero C. 2005:15). Until the 1970s, the treatment of afroecuadorians in research and literature had been at best superficial. Rahier, for example, notes that the writings of Ecuadorians Leopoldo Benítez Vinueza, Alfredo Pérez Guerrero, and Victor Gabriel Garcés, in the early twentieth century, all presented essentialist and determinist representations of afroecuadorians (Rahier 1999a). Perhaps an exception to this trend were the so called ‘Guayaquil Group,’ a writers collective made up by three Guayaquilenian writers (Enrique Gil Gilberto, Joaquín, Gallegos Lara, Demetrio Aguilera Malta), and José de la Cuadra, who are said to have first attempted a realistic representation of afroecuadorians in the 1930s (Handelsman 1999). The extent to

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which their writing escaped static and essentialist representations can, however, be debated. More recently Whitten (1965, 1986, 1988), Quiroga (1998), Wamsley (2006), Rahier (several), de la Torre (2002), Rival (2004, 2007), and Johnson (2007) have contributed insightful ethnographic research on different communities within the afroecuadorian population. The modern press, however, continues to provide essentialist representations of afroecuadorians. Rahier’s in-depth analysis of how Vistazo, the most widely read socio-political magazine in Ecuador, represents afroecuadorians as violent, lazy, depraved and insular, is a powerful example of this (Rahier 1999a). Such representations, deny the important contributions of afroecuadorians to Ecuadorian society.8 Several reasons can be discerned for the invisibility of the afroecuadorian population. First, as already noted, is a national narrative that has excluded this population. The need for an ‘other’ in the creation of the national-identity was fulfilled by Indigenous people; afroecuadorians could be ignored (Rahier 1999b:78). Afroecuadorians have only been noticed to the extent that they do not act as Indigenous people, then they have been used as a model of what Indigenous people should or should not do. Indeed, afroecuadorians have often been conceptualized only negatively: as not mestizo and not white, but also, and most often, as not Indigenous. Moreover, the limited number of afroecuadorians has made it easy to forget this group in its isolation. In fact, another reason for the invisibility of afroecuadorians might be the geographic isolation (accentuated by inadequate infrastructure) that this population has largely suffered from. Only recently are growing internal migrations beginning to challenge this spatial separation (Guerrero C. 2005:8). According to Michael Handelsman the first Africans arrived to Ecuador in 1533. Survivors of a capsized slave boat, they settled in the northern coastal province of Esmeraldas (Handelsman 1999:12). Anthropologist José Chala notes that a different population of Africans was brought to the Ecuadorian Highlands (Carchi and Imbabura provinces) by Jesuit priests at the beginning of the seventeenth century for the production of cotton and sugar cane (Historia de los negros 2006). In 1851, General José María Urbína (1851-1852) abolished afroecuadorian slavery. However, afroecuadorians were not granted titles for the land they had worked on for generations and were consequently plunged into a state of chronic poverty as they faced ethnic/racial discrimination with few economic or educational resources. At present Ecuador’s afroecuadorian population, is disproportionably affected by poverty and violence (Whitten 2003:16). As noted in

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Chapter 3, afroecuadorians are estimated to make up 5.3 percent of the national population; 68.7 percent live in urban zones, 70.6 percent are considered poor, and 37.9 percent live in extreme poverty (Guerrero 2005:8). According to research by the Economic Commission for Latin America (ECLAC), in 2001, 59 percent of non-Indigenous and nonafroecuadorian Ecuadorian homes had unmet basic needs in contrast to 87.8 percent of Indigenous homes and 72.5 percent of afroecuadorian homes (Guerrero C. 2005). The participation of afroecuadorian communities in national and local politics has historically been extremely limited. Referring to the situation in ‘El Juncal,’ for instance, media sources note that, while 80 percent of the area’s population is afroecuadorian, most political representatives are mestizos (Botero 2006). Land titles and territory demarcation continue to be pressing problems for much of the afroecuadorian community. Seeking to gain a greater place for afroecuadorian culture and as a means to struggle for land rights, “during the 90s and the first years of the new millennium, the blacks that reside in zones disputed by wood industries have began to re-establish the ‘Comarca,’ an old form of social and territorial organization that was put in practice by the first groups of blacks” (Guerrero C. 2005:5). In reestablishing Comarcas, afroecuadorian populations are calling upon ethnic identity as a tool in the struggle for political, economic, and social welfare. They are not the only ones to do so. Powerful afroecuadorian businessmen and political leaders have also made use of ethnic and racial discrimination to guard against the competition of Indigenous communities (Rival 2007). Afro ethnicity/race-based regional political organizations, such as FECONIN—the Federation of Black Communities of Imbabura and Carchi, and UONNE—the Union of Black Organizations from the North of Esmeraldas, have also been created to “advanc[e] initiatives in regard to natural resources, land rights, and political representation initiatives for Blacks and Mulattoes”: (Guerrero C. 2005:14). Furthermore, as will be discussed in Chapter 9, NGOs working in areas with large afroecuadorian populations have also prompted the essentialization and use of these groups’ identities (Rival 2004, 2007). A lively discussion about the culture and identity of afroecuadorians has characterized the community of Esmeraldas, one of the areas with the highest concentration of afroecuadorians in Ecuador. Interestingly, a review of magazines published in this community finds that in writings on behalf of afroecuadorians’ advancement, these magazines have not invoked mestizaje’s rhetoric of national unity. Instead, they oppose the state and demand a cultural and geographic space of autonomy for self-

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definition (Handelsman 1999:166, 172). Race is invoked as the boundary for this space, and as a link to other Afro movements outside of the state (Ibid. 166-69). The use of ethnicity/race for socioeconomic and political advancement is evident in this case. Mestizaje: Implications for ‘Pure’ and ‘Mixed’ Identities

Thus far we have discussed how two groups perceived as non-mestizo have responded to the hegemonic mestizo narrative by emphasizing essentialized ethnic/racial identities. These groups have been pushed to the side despite the cultural mixing they partake of, which points to a racial rather than ethnic, i.e., biological rather than cultural, understanding of mestizaje in Ecuador. However, the discourse of mestizaje has also proved problematic for groups perceived as culturally and racially mixed. Thus, we can find some such groups distancing themselves from the broad mestizo label and highlighting instead local identities. To explore this further, I shall now like to look at one such mixed identity: montubios. Montubios9

In the Spring of 2001, after a protracted hunger strike by several group members, President G. Noboa was prompted to sign Executive Decree 1394 by which montubio people were officially acknowledged as an Ecuadorian ethnic identity and the ‘Council for the Development of the Montubio People of the Ecuadorian Coast and Subtropical Zones of the Littoral Region’ (CODEPMOC) was granted official recognition and government funding. CODEPMOC is defined as a decentralized technical organism, lead by the very Montubio people, through their Representatives who make up the National Council, greatest authority within the organism, [to] define and establish policies for the rural, integral and sustainable development of the Montubio populations, with an exact knowledge of their reality and within their own vision of development (CODEPMOC).

CODEPMOC seeks to “plan, program, and execute projects of global and integral development, conceived by the [Montubio] communities.…” (Ibid.). Its proposal implies the existence of an established ethnic community with solid ethnic boundaries, whose demands for development can be based on their ethnic identity, and sets itself up as the official leader of this ethnic community. CODEPMOC’s

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official website provides some insight into how this community’s ethnic boundaries are being conceptualized. The website opens with a picture labeled ‘The Montubio People’: in it a crowd of individuals is shown, where almost every person wears a light-colored Panama hat and brandishes a machete. All other pictures in the website follow this model, showing individuals in light colored Panamanian hats talking, walking, and undertaking ranching and agricultural activities. Through its website, CODEPMOC presents the identity of the ‘Montubio People’ as well established and idiosyncratic, with well-defined, non-porous boundaries based on labor roles, habitat, and customs. This is supported by a number of folkloric representations of montubios in the media, which highlight the costumes, rodeos and, to a lesser extent, the music and dance of this population as distinctive and unique (Torres 2000), (Arte Montubio en Guayaquil 2002), (Movimiento montubio 2003), (Medina, 2003). The website constantly uses the plural possessive ‘our’ to present a unified voice for montubios’ wants and needs. CODEPMOC’s actions seek to solidify the montubio identity by delineating its ethnic capital: the use of Panamanian hats and machetes, a Coastal location, a rural lifestyle, ranching and agricultural activities, rodeos, et cetera. The stronger the boundaries surrounding the montubio identity, the better this ethnicity can serve as a justification for the acquisition of economic and political resources. montubios can then be presented as a united whole with a shared history of oppression, and a common need for state acknowledgement and aid, rather than as a loose coalition of individuals seeking socioeconomic advancement. This is one reason why CODEPMOC has sought dominance over all movements invoking the montubio identity. Actually, CODEPMOC is a particularly fascinating instance of the growing importance of ethnicity in Ecuador, as it is in fact the redressing of a labor movement, the Peasant Solidarity Movement (Movimiento Campesino Solidaridad MCS), under an ethnic label (El CODEPMOC a paso firme 2001). We have here an instance of an ‘ethnic’ identity being chosen over a ‘class’ identity in the strategic game for power. Importantly, in using ethnicity as a political tool CODEPMOC has at times joined with the Indigenous movement, strategically positioning itself as a fellow representative of an impoverished ethnic minority. In April of 2000, for example, montubio leaders threatened the government of Gustavo Noboa with joining the protests of the CONAIE (the Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador) if Noboa did not approve and fund the CODEPMOC (Unidad dentro de la diversidad 2000). Positioning montubios as analogous to Indigenous people

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accomplishes several things. First, it reinforces the idea of montubios as an ‘ethnicity’ comparable to Indigenous people. Interestingly, this is partly accomplished by emphasizing class similarities between Indigenous people and montubios as rural peasants. In second place, it forces the state to aid montubios financially, and to grant them similar political leverage to that granted to Indigenous people. montubios also become eligible for development programs aimed at ‘ethnic minority groups’ (Bonnet 1998). This supports Breton’s thesis that the transition of labor identities into ethnic identities is not a “natural evolution of the [ethnic movements’] leadership, but goes hand in hand with neoliberal privatization of the state development projects and the massive presence of NGOs” (in De la Torre, 2006). Simultaneously, however, this positioning of montubios firmly separates them from Indigenous people, despite their similar labor roles; they are presented as analogous but distinct. Finally, it also separates montubios from mestizos, given that their request for economic and political resources is based on their status as an ‘ethnic minority’ outside the mestizo majority. Like all identities, the montubio ethnic identity is an exclusionary paradigm. As a politically active group montubios seek to increase the material wellbeing of their members, those who use the group’s identity markers and embrace its particular life-style. This entails a struggle to increase the value of what can be deemed ‘montubian ethnic capital’ against other ‘ethnic capitals’ within Ecuador’s ethnic/racial hierarchy. An increase in value means greater capacity to exchange ‘ethnic capital’ for other capitals (economic, social, cultural, etc.). To obtain such an increase, however, it is necessary for the community to solidify its boundaries. It must necessarily exclude ‘ethnic others’ including Indigenous people and afroecuadorians, while excluding itself from the larger mestizo masses. Ethnographic research is still needed to understand how the montubio identity is experienced and understood by those who claim it. The fact that little research has been undertaken in this area is an instance to the lack of research about mestizos and within mestizaje, as noted at the beginning of this book. This paucity of research may also point to the unquestioned and uncontroversial status of this identity up to recently. While montubios were mainly represented as a class identity— as an agricultural labor force—and were not part of ethnic mobilizations in Ecuador, there was no need for research on their ethnic identity to be undertaken. Recent events, however, such as the consolidation of CODEPMOC, have prompted a trickle of research from the Guayas’ Historical Archive, leading to the publication of three new works on montubios by Willington Paredes Ramírez: Los montubios y nosotros

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(2005), Los montubios, una etnia sociocultural invisibilizada (2006), and Eloy Alfaro y los montubios (2007). Los Montubios y Nosotros (The Montubios and Us) presents a summary of the research agenda and findings of the Archive’s efforts. Several interesting points can be highlighted. First, the insurmountable distance between montubios and ‘Us,’ the unexplored ‘us’ who undertake the research, is striking. At all times the montubio is represented as an outsider, even if a laudable outsider, while the identity of ‘Us,’ the ‘other Guayaquilenians,’ is never questioned or explained. This evinces an ‘exoticized’ understanding of ethnicity as a characteristic of the ‘other,’ never of the dominant classes. I note that the montubio is represented as an outsider because, despite the extensive fieldwork that apparently substantiates the findings of The Montubios and Us, Paredes Ramirez’s work allows little space for the experiences of montubios. When ‘montubio’ voices are introduced, it is next to their pictures, where we once again see images of individuals (all males) wearing white Panamanian hats. These voices are introduced to answer the question ‘[What are you] montubios or peasants?’ (Paredes Ramírez 1989). Both things are the same...! I am a Montubio because I make my life from agriculture in the hills and I am a peasant because I live in the fields. Francisco Troya I do not leave my land: I am a montubio to the core. I don’t like the town, I have to ... wear shoes there ... Montubio or peasant? It is all the same. Montubio is the peasant who works the earth. Ecuador Sellan Carpio Montubio and peasant are similar things. Peasant is the one who works in the fields, the one who sows rice, and the montubio is the one who does things like ride horses, raise cattle and other things we do which make us montubio[s]. Gabriel Villamar

Despite these individuals’ statements that their montubio identity is their peasant identity, Paredes Ramírez seeks to define the specifics of montubios as an ethnic identity. Their role as peasants is in effect presented as their ‘essence’: “The montubios can easily be identified by their lifestyle. What is more, in the rural social and cultural lifestyle of [these] men and women is expressed economically, socially and culturally not just their doings but also their being and their life itself” (Paredes Ramírez 1989). In fact, Paredes Ramírez argues that it has been montubios’ struggle for land, especially between 1900 and 1970 that “forced them to a relative distance from their socio-cultural reference as

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a montubian social ethnicity ‘forcing’ them to behave and ‘be’ peasants” they were also influenced “by leftist ideology, politics and organizations which in their labor structures, as well as in their dogmatic insistence on peasantization (for their political and union interests) repressed and silenced the socio-cultural aspects of the montubios” (Paredes Ramirez 1989). To Paredes Ramírez, then, montubios are not a sector in the labor market that has chosen to emphasize and ethnic identity but, rather, an ethnic group that was forced to emphasize their class identity as peasants. Again, more ethnographic research is necessary to understand montubio’s self-identification and to what extent their identity is being ‘ethnicized,’ whether by themselves or by others such as Paredes Ramirez, for political/economic gain. Research is also necessary to understand the implications of these representations for different socioeconomic and ethnic sectors of Ecuador’s population, and for Ecuador’s ethnic/racial structures. Paredes Ramírez both presents the racial ancestry of montubios and admits diversity among them “they are diverse: of light skin, copper [skin], with evidence of their mulatto, black, and chola ancestry” (Paredes Ramirez, 1989). Montubios are presented as the “‘other’ mestizos of the coast” (Paredes Ramirez, 1989), while the identity of the first mestizos is left unexplored, submerged under the occasional use of the ‘white-mestizo’ label. Like CODPEMOC, Paredes Ramírez positions montubios as analogous to Indigenous people and, consequently, as deserving of similar aid and state support: They ask that just like the indigenous they [montubios] be attended to with development programs to attenuate and alleviate their poverty. The montubios also ask for their right to [such aid]. They want those who facilitate and grant those programs to see them as another poor, forgotten, segregated, and silenced [group]. From the depths of the rural area they cry out ‘We Montubios also exist!” (Paredes Ramírez 1989).

Clearly, the montubio population may make political and economic gains by emphasizing its ethnic identity. While we cannot be certain from existent research whether this community a) exists as a selfidentified community (outside of those who make-up CODPEMOC) and b) identifies itself as an ethnic group, the question remains: why are others such as the Guayas’ Historical Archive choosing to emphasize their ethnic identity? Second, if montubios are understood as a ‘type of mestizaje’ or as an ethnic group that emerges from mestizaje, would such representation allow them to act as progressive identity,

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overcoming the power dynamics inherent in Ecuadorian mestizaje? To answer this latter question, let me turn to look a bit more closely at how montubios have been historically constructed. Most of the previous writings on montubios come from Ecuadorians literature, which has drawn on the ‘montubio’ as a stock coastal character. Demetrio Aguilera Malta, Enrique Gil Gilberto, Joaquín Gallegos Lara, and Alfredo Pareja Diezcanseco, who formed the literary ‘Guayaquil Group,’ and José de la Cuadra, were among the first to write about identities developing in the coastal areas of Ecuador in the first part of the twentieth century. These writers were, therefore, instrumental in forming the national understanding of the ‘montubio’ identity. Three previous works have attempted to describe the reality of ‘montubios’ from a sociological, rather than literary, perspective: Jenny Estrada’s El Montubio—un forjador de identidad (1996), Teodoro Crespo’s El Montuvio: Centro de la Colonización (1959, 2nd Edition), and José de la Cuadra’s El Montuvio Ecuatoriano, published first in 1937, and re-issued in 1996. Jose de la Cuadra’s book is by far considered the classic treatise on ‘montuvios’ and referred to by all later writers as an authority on the nature and identity of montubios. In his book, de la Cuadra distinguished four different periods in the treatment of ‘montuvios’ within Ecuadorian literature. During the first period, which spanned from the inception of Ecuador to the end of the nineteenth century, the “montuvio is only a name ... [that is] when he is at least given a name ... [often] he is simply called ‘peasant’” (de la Cuadra and Robles 1996: 39). De la Cuadra unwittingly notes the lack of a fully formed, or at least a fully recognized, montubio identity during this initial period, during which the emphasis is on economic roles, and therefore on class, something de la Cuadra decries as hiding or ignoring ‘montuvios’’ identity. In the second period (1910-1920) the uniqueness of the montuvio is highlighted, but his/her idiosyncrasies are used for derisive purposes. This second period coincides with Ecuador’s Liberal Revolution, in which montuvios played an important part as revolutionary fighters. Derogatory representations could therefore be a reaction by conservative forces that felt threatened by the ‘ferocious montuvio.’ The role of the montubio in the revolutionary struggle may also have served to consolidate the montubio identity as a useful political recourse for the new elites. De la Cuadra places himself and the writers of the Guayaquil Group in a third period, during which a realist representation of the montuvio is attempted, under the slogan ‘reality, but all reality’ (de la Cuadra and Robles 1996). De la Cuadra and the Guayaquil Group sought to present the reality of the montuvio as they saw it, hiding no antipathies and disguising no brutal habits. Their most

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well known attempt to capture the reality of the montubio is found in the Guayaquil Group’s edited volume Los que se van (1930). Finally, de la Cuadra predicts and criticizes a fourth and future era in which literature will seek to use the montuvio for political purposes. Despite de la Cuadra’s stated desire to communicate the entire reality of the montuvio people with no political goals in mind, his writings exemplify the essentializing of an ethnic identity (Sinardet 2005). His work attributes both physical and psycho-emotional characteristics to montuvios, and romanticizes these people as a lifesaving force for the construction of the Ecuadorian nation-state. Similarly, in his ‘El Montuvio: Centro de la Colonización,’ Teodoro Crespo presents a romanticized idea of the montuvio as “The wild man who lives in our tropical jungles, whom for me is the hope and most valuable treasure that this country has” (Crespo 1959: 9). Unlike de la Cuadra, Crespo’s intention is clearly political: he seeks to place the montuvio at the centre of development in the rural coastal areas. Neither de la Cuadra nor Crespo question the reality of the ‘montuvio’ identity or explore its construction. Both treat the montuvio as a solid entity upon which future policies could be built. More recently the writings of Jenny Estrada have also presented the montuvio as a solid entity, characterized by specific music, dance, food, and ranching traditions (Estrada, 2000), (Estrada, 1996). Significantly, Estrada notes that the montubio is the core of coastal mestizaje. Three characteristics seem to substantiate the separation of ‘montuvios’ from other mestizos. First, contrary the Ecuadorian mestizo as reviewed at the start of this paper, afroecuadorian ‘blood’ and afroecuadorian cultural traits, broadly defined, are mentioned as part of the ‘montuvio’s’ racial/ethnic mixture. De la Cuadra, for example, summarizes the ‘composition’ of montuvios as “60 percent Indigenous, 30 percent Black, and 10 percent white” (de la Cuadra and Robles 1996: 27). Following this formula, the prologue to the first edition of de la Cuadra’s book on montuvios, introduces them as: Rural proletariat that lives next to the great rivers, [and] is the result of the fusion of the Indians with the black on which[,] through the passing of the centuries[,] have been deposited drops of white blood.… it is the product, moreover, of the inheritance left by African imports (IMAN 1937: 10 my emphasis).

Estrada’s recent book on montubios (1996) supports these ideas by presenting a photograph of the different ‘races’ that have combined to create the ‘montubio’ people: the ‘white European,’ the ‘Black,’ and the

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‘Cayapa Indians’ of the Ecuadorian coast (Estrada 1996: 25). The linking of montubios to a specifically coastal Indigenous ancestry, rather than to Indigenous people more broadly should be highlighted, as it sustains their separation from the larger Indigenous movement and marks them as uniquely coastal. The 1937 prologue to de la Cuadra’s work also hints at the second distinguishing characteristic of montuvios: they are linked to rural space. The importance of spatial location is reflected in the etymology of the label ‘montuvio’: there is some debate as to whether it should be spelled ‘montuvio,’ in reference to the hills (montes) and rivers (fluvius) within which the ‘montuvio’s’ life flows, or ‘montubio,’ in reference to the life (bios) that emerges from the hills (montes) that sustain the ‘montubio’ (Robles 1996: ix, xxiv). The linking of ‘montuvios’ to the landscape of the Ecuadorian coast is so significant in the conceptualization of this identity that Toledo Crespo speaks of those who have left this area as ‘ex-montuvios’ (Crespo 1959: 12). The modern definition of ‘montubios’ as given by the Dictionary of the Spanish Real Academy continues to highlight a spatial understanding of this identity, defining montubios as a “peasant of the Coast (Ecuador and Colombia)” (RAE). Finally, we can note that a process of acculturation is seldom linked to the ‘montubio identity.’ montubios are understood as a ‘sui generis’ group, rather than as a group in transition to the dominant core (IMAN 1937). This marks a most significant distance between montubios and mestizos, the latter being tacitly understood in Ecuador as acculturated Indigenous people. The ‘roots’ of montubios are not questioned even if they are occasionally mentioned. Their ‘mixture’ is presented as stable and settled. The new hybrid identity of montubios is represented as solid. The idea of montubios as a ‘sui generis’ group, along with an emphasis on montubios’ links to specific occupational niches, has allowed the increasing mobilization of this ethnic group for political purposes. It thus appears that, contrary to de la Cuadra’s prediction, it has not been the literary ranks, but rather those who consider themselves part of the montubio people, who have turned to this identity for political purposes. Breton proposes that transition of labor identities into ethnic identities is not a “natural evolution of the [ethnic movements’] leadership, but goes hand in hand with neoliberal privatization of the state development projects and the massive presence of NGOs” (in De la Torre 2006:253). Further research is needed to understand to what extent this is true for montubios: whether the transition of the montubio identity from a class to an ethnic identity is the result of the availability

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of resources for ethnicity-based movements, or of the economic value of ethnic capital. Our brief review of this topic highlights that Breton’s hypothesis seems plausible in this case. Responses to Exclusion and Liminal Identities

Why haven’t montubios, as a mixed ethnic group, adopted mestizaje as their core ethnic identity? I propose that this might be due, at least in part, to how individuals who explicitly choose to adopt mestizaje are treated by the dominant sectors. To understand this we can explore the varied terminology used for mestizos in Ecuador. Through my research I found that the terms ‘cholo’ in the coast10 and ‘longo’ in the Highlands were used to denigrate or dismiss individuals attempting to integrate into the hegemonic core through a process of ‘mestizaje.’11 This terminology implies a hierarchy in mestizaje: it suggests that individuals, whether Indigenous, afroecuadorians, or ‘mixed,’ can be oppressed by a tacit ranking within mestizaje, among mestizos. This is consistent with an understanding of mestizaje as acculturation: acculturation implies extremes along a graded spectrum—one extreme made up by that which one leaves behind and the second extreme constituted by the ideal that one seeks to embrace. This spectrum facilitates a higher ranking for those who are closer to the ideal sought, in this case Ecuadorian phenotypes and cultures. The portrayal of mestizaje as an egalitarian and inclusive paradigm thus appears, once again, problematic. While officially branding all individuals as equal, all as mestizo, mestizaje actually permits the maintenance of an ethnic/racial hierarchy; mestizos can actually be disaggregated, as was done by my interviewees, into white-mestizos, ‘more mestizos’ or ‘more Indigenous.’ Faced with the prospect of remaining within this oppressive hierarchy, individuals may opt instead to emphasize other identities. To better explain these dynamics, let us look in more detail at the ethnic terminology applied to liminal identities. Cholo

As we noted earlier, while the term cholo can be traced back to the nineteenth century when it was applied to Indigenous people who became landless (Ibarra 1998:16), modern civic and history books now teach that cholos are a types of Ecuadorian mestizo (Espinosa Apolo 2000), (Ayala Mora 2004). Yet, since the early twentieth century, cholo has also been used to refer to coastal Indigenous people (see, for example, Jose de la Cuadra’s study of the coast, 1937). Over the last

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decade, moreover, a movement seeking the recognition of cholos as an ethnic group comparable to montubios and Indigenous people has emerged. At the moment, however, the use of cholos as an ethnic identity is sporadic, as attested by the very occasional use of the term in this way in the national media. I only found one instance of this use in review of the media between 2000 and 2004 (Valverde Rubira 2001). The conceptualization of a cholo ethnic group has been greatly aided by the work of anthropologist Silvia Alvarez. Alvarez argues that coastal populations colloquially known as cholos should be understood as a separate ethnic group given their collective organization, collective land ownership, and “ancient form of government” (Medina 2003). Others, however, argue that this group should be considered as part of the Mantena-Huancavilca and Punae Indigenous people. There is an inherent tension between the desire to mobilize this population so that they might benefit from their ethnic capital, and the need to avoid detracting from the ethnic capital of other groups—for instance, decreasing the numerical strength of and Punae Indigenous people. If Alvarez’s arguments were heeded and this group was recognized as an ‘ethnic group,’ its ‘ethnic capital’ would be inherently legitimized and increased. This would allow cholos to follow the example of montubios and Indigenous people and use their ethnicity to claim access to economic, cultural, and social resources, a desire clearly verbalized by certain members of the community (Soria 2003). Patricia Sanchez, a consultant for the Federation of Guayaquilenian Communes (FCG) highlighted how cholos had yet to catalyze their identity as other groups have: “We never had anyone to collect or interpret our need to grow as a people and to seek power, as has happened with other indigenous groups in the country” (Ibid.). In a different instance, speaking at a colloquium about ‘Chola culture, identity, and communal rights,’ coastal historian Willington Paredes noted the weakness of this group’s organization and its lack of “ethnic defense projects” (Ibid.). The term cholo, however, was rarely used as a noun to describe an ethnic identity among my interviewees. It was far more frequently used as an insult. Local media has more than once discussed how cholo serves as an insult by linking individuals to lower socioeconomic classes and to the consumption patterns of these classes (La Guerra 2001). Consequently, this term also serves to establish a relation between ethnicity and class and, more subtly, a connection between class and the mestizo hierarchy.

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Longo

The term ‘longo’ and its derivatives: longa, longote, longuear, et cetera, form part of the ethnic lexicon of the Ecuadorian Highlands. Unlike for cholos on the coast, the idea of ‘longos’ as an ethnic group is almost non-existent in the Highlands. In an analysis of Diario HOY, longos were spoken of as an ethnic group only once between 2000 and 2005, and that as part of a letter to the editor (Crespo Riofrio 2002). The term longo is also different from cholo in that its negative connotations are unambiguous. For example, based on her ethnographic work in Ecuador, Mary Weismantel notes that the negative connotations of longo are so strong that the term can only be explained to an Englishspeaking audience as analogous to the offensive term ‘nigger’ (Weismantel 2001:xxxiv). Longo, largely like cholo, is not applied to Indigenous people or afroecuadorians, but to individuals who would be deemed mestizos through acculturation. Thus, like cholo, this term helps to maintain a hierarchy among mestizos, guarding the ethnic boundaries of the established elites, supporting the status quo. The term longo originates from Quichua,12 meaning ‘young man’ or ‘adolescent youth’ (London 1952:98). Colloquially, however, it is understood to be linked to racial and, to a lesser extent, to cultural mixture. This has led some writers to advocate for an acknowledgement that all Ecuadorians ‘have something of a longo,’ de facto reinforcing the idea of the longo as a mestizo (Jijón y Chiluisa 1999). Thus, rather than a movement advocating for the establishment of a longo ethnic group, as we found for cholos in the Coast, in the Highlands we find a movement promoting the ‘embracing of the longo within,’ meaning an acceptance of the Indigenous physical and cultural characteristics that are part of Ecuadorian mestizaje. These characteristics, however, are not lauded but rather accepted as unavoidable. The use of longo as an insult and the representation of Indigenous characteristics as simply unavoidable rather than valuable, demonstrate the strength of the racial/ethnic hierarchy structuring Ecuadorian society even while mestizaje is extolled. Only by making this hierarchy explicit can it be disempowered. Gender and Context

We might pause here to note the implicit interaction of gender and ethnicity in the construction of identities. As we have already noted in Chapter 3, the power dynamics within ethnic constructions are inherently gendered (Westwood 1997). Gender and ethnicity are

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intrinsically interconnected. Ethnic identities are experienced differently by different genders and vice versa. Gender identities affect interpersonal relationships and are, therefore, interlaced with the building of all ethnic narratives. Through their effect on inter-personal relations, gender identities also affect national narratives. As Radcliffe notes, “gendered national identities are constituted through racializations and gendered insertions into differential national spaces” (Radcliffe 1999a:213). In the data to be presented in the following four chapters the reader may note that interviewees almost always use the masculine form of ethnic identities. My interviewees, for example, speak mostly of longos and only seldom of longas, always of montubios and never of montubias. More research is necessary to fully understand why this is the case, but we may hypothesize that the masculine form is used because informants are more often exposed to male ‘ethnic others’ in the public space. Moreover, the male may be more easily attributed with aggressiveness and, consequently, allows the ethnic other to be qualified as fearsome. Fear constitutes a basic tool in the creation of ethnic identities, as it allows one to paint the ‘others’ as dangerous and unwanted in order to justify the guarding of identity boundaries against their encroachment. Thus, gender and ethnicity narratives play into each other to build interviewees’ representations of social space. This may be why Radcliffe has found that: “In Ecuador, women’s racial positioning is arguably more ambiguous than it is for their male counterparts … [as they are] caught between national and patriarchal games.…” (Radcliffe 1999b:223). It is also important to note the context-specific understanding and use of different ethnic identities. As we shall observe, for example, highland interviewees rarely mention ‘Montubios.’ Cholo/as, conversely, are spoken about by both highland and lowland interviewees, but with severely different meanings. Cholas were most often mentioned in the Highlands in relation to the folkloric song ‘Chola Cuencana,’ which has a very different meaning to cholo as reviewed in this chapter. Cholos were also mentioned in reference to the regional divide between the highland and the coast, noting that cholo is a condescending and aggressive way to designate highland immigrants to the coast.13 Furthermore, in occasional mentions of ‘Cholas Cuencanas’ and ‘chagras’ (rural ranchers of the Highlands) by highland interviewees, and in certain references to Indians by all interviewees, a plethora of picturesque and endearing qualities were invoked in a romantic folklorization of these identities. Such romanticizing is not surprising given that these identities reside outside my respondents’

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daily realities, thus they are not threatening in any respect. The same dynamic surrounds the romantic construction of montubios as distant rural inhabitants. The spatial location of identities is, therefore, of great significance for how they are represented. Alternatively, identities that could threaten my interviewees’ boundaries were never romanticized. This is most evident with liminal identities. Liminal identities like longos and cholos are not tied to a distant cultural or geographic space and, therefore, threatened to breach my interviewees’ ethnic boundaries (Roitman 2004).14 Unlike other labels or identities based on mestizaje, moreover, what distinguishes ‘longo’ and ‘cholo’ is that they refer to the process of acculturation involved in mestizaje, rather than to an apparently established identity resulting from a mixture of ‘races’/ethnicities, as is the case with montubios. The acculturation process, unlike a consolidated identity, does not entail any necessary end and is, consequently, an ever-present threat to the ethnic status quo. Put differently, cholos and longos always threaten to stop being ‘them’—the ethnic other—and become one of ‘us’—the hegemonic group—a menace that more stable or distant identities, such as afroecuadorians or ‘chagras,’ do not contain. Finally, it is also the case that all the ethnic identities reviewed thus far are Janus-faced: while they are often romanticized (mestizaje as a ‘cosmic race,’ blacks as sensual, care-free warriors, montubios as the future of Ecuador), they can also be used as insults and justifications for discrimination, as demonstrated in the definition of montubio given by the Spanish dictionary of the Real Academy: “Adj. Said about a rude person, from the hills” (RAE, my emphasis). In the same manner, the acerbic nature of cholo and longo can be hidden behind endearing paternalistic (longuito, cholito), or the ‘friendly insults’ that are at times exchanged between friends.15 This points to the need for careful, critical, and, most importantly, context-specific research to understand the many layers within ethnic narratives. Before turning to such analysis in Chapters 6 and 7, let us briefly consider the importance of the city as context, and highlight the particulars of each city. The City as Context

Comparing and contrasting the two cities that this book covers may help us understand the particularities of each city’s elites, including their ethnic identities and ethnic vocabulary. It will also inform us about the specifics of how each city has reacted to the national discourse of mestizaje.

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The complex relation between Guayaquil and Quito has significantly impacted Ecuador’s socioeconomic development. National electoral outcomes have more than once depended on regional tensions and interests, with Guayaquil and Quito leading the regional divide. It may even be argued that this regional schism is one of the main inhibitors for national socioeconomic development, inefficiently diverging resources to local elites and rent-seeking activities. For this reason, the similarities and dissimilarities between these two cities have been the subject of a number of books and articles (Adoum 2000[1997]), (Donoso Pareja 2000 [1998]), (Maiguashca 1994). The ethnic narratives of these two cities have remained under-researched, yet such research is necessary, as it will contribute to our understanding of Ecuador’s regional schism and the dynamics that maintain it. The distinct geopolitical roles of Quito and Guayaquil have been fundamental to each city’s unique development. Guayaquil grew as an international maritime port, touched by international flows of people, fashions, diseases, and ideas. Quito, on the other hand, was more closely linked with the Spanish Crown, given its role as the political centre, and, secluded in the Highlands, it was more internally than externally focused. Distinct in nature, both cities have vied for national influence, creating narratives to support their local interests and idiosyncrasies. Moreover, each city’s regional placement has mandated its history. The northern Highlands, where Quito sits, are a mountainous area abundant in labor that was turned to domestic agriculture in the eighteenth century, after the Bourbon reforms made its textile industry uncompetitive in the international market. The coastal area housing Guayaquil, on the other hand, benefited greatly from its shipyard activities during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and then became the epicenter of several agricultural export booms that have characterized the Ecuadorian economy. These booms began with the rapid growth in the international demand for cacao in the late nineteenth century. The cacao boom was brought to an end by a series of agricultural epidemics and the economic depression of the 1930s, but was replaced by bananas in the 1950s (Maiguashca 1994). A limited number of investors within the region led the production of bananas, with a banana oligarchy replacing the previous cacao oligarchy. Oligarchic structures also characterized the production and export of other commodities including: tagua, rice, sugar, coffee, and shrimp. The coast also became the financial centre of Ecuador from the early twentieth century onward, as capital from the cacao boom was deployed in the financial system.

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In the 1970s, oil was discovered in the Ecuadorian Amazonian basin. The concentration of political and administrative power in the Highlands permitted part of this wealth to flow into Quito rather than into the rest of the country, financing the growth and education of a new middle class. For the last several decades, Ecuador has also become one of the world’s main rose exporters, an exceptional export in that it is concentrated in the Highlands rather than the coast. Oil continues to be the first source of income for Ecuador (Guerrero C. 2005). Ecuador’s mono-productive economic structure, largely dependant on primary goods, has historically needed a ‘working class’ which, as in other contexts, was often ‘ethnicized’ or ‘racialized’ at the local level (Balibar 1997). The different economic structures of each city implied different labor needs and, in turn, resulted in different ethnic narratives to support the local ethnic divisions of labor. The representation of Indigenous people as needy and fearsome, for example, supported the maintenance of concertajes, which fed the labor-intensive agricultural economy that characterized the Highlands until the mid-twentieth century. The seasonal, export-oriented economy of the Littoral, in contrast, involved a large but more flexible labor force, necessitating a different ethnic construct. As we shall see in the next chapter, the montubio successfully fulfilled this need. To summarize, the environmental and economic conditions of each city affected not only the cities’ outputs but also their ethnic narratives. A dynamic process appears: the economic structures of the cities, mandated by extractive economic interests and geographic limitations, have affected the social relations spun within each city, while these webs of relations have been supported and legitimated by local narratives. Thus, unsurprisingly, interviewees in Guayaquil and Quito invoked the socioeconomic histories of their cities to explain their privileged status and the ethnic structures of their societies. Pirates, the expanse of the sea, the comfort of surrounding mountain chains, the ‘independence and strength’ mandated by cane cutting as opposed to the silent and monotonous concentration of textile weaving, were mentioned to explain why Indigenous people are ‘poor and somber,’ why ethnic separation does not entail racism in Guayaquil, and why the ruling strata are constituted as they are. Conclusion

In this chapter, I have sought to provide a historical background to the ethnic narratives used by my informants in Guayaquil and Quito, which I shall discuss in the following two chapters. I began by analyzing how

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mestizaje, Ecuador’s central ethnic identity, has historically served to channel individuals’ access to political, economic, cultural, and social resources. I have discussed how while promising universal inclusion, Ecuador’s narrative of mestizaje has rejected Indigenous people and excluded afroecuadorians from the state’s decision-making centers. Unable to appeal to mestizaje for their socioeconomic advancement, several groups have chosen to reinforce their local ethnic identity and use it as a political tool. A closer analysis of the mestizo narrative reveals the reason behind their choice, namely that mestizaje is not only exclusionary (of all that is Indigenous and afroecuadorian) thus reinforcing horizontal inequalities, but it is also hierarchical, forcing those who partake of this identity to suffer from a stratification that favors ‘European phenotypes’ and culture. The ranking of mestizos is made evident in the ethnic terminology used to describe liminal identities: longo and cholo. If this review of Ecuador’s ethnic history presents us with an hypothesis as to why different groups have chosen to emphasize, politicize, and even racialize ethnic identities in their search for socioeconomic resources from the state and aid agencies, it remains to ask how the upper classes of modern Ecuador conceptualize and represent ethnic identities in the face of these developments. To this task I turn in the next two chapters of this book. I shall begin in Chapter 6 by looking at the upper classes of Guayaquil. Notes 1 Scholars in several other Latin American countries also explored and promulgated the idea of mestizaje as a basis for new states: The Mexican José Vasconcelos promoted racial mixture as a means to overcome undesirable traits and obtain a ‘Cosmic Race’; Alcides Arguedas in Bolivia, on the other hand, spoke of mestizos as the ‘Bronce Race’; in Peru, Jose María Arguedas explored the Indigenous roots of mestizaje through his novels. 2 Given the fundamental role played by mestizaje in Ecuador’s history, I investigate the history of this concept in depth in the next chapter. 3 In Spanish, ‘imaginario Indígena’ 4 Square piece of cloth draped around the shoulders, or hung from the shoulders through a gap for the head. 5 Ethnic earthquake in Ecuador is the title of an edited volume analysing the implications of the Indigenous uprising of 1990. Quito: Abya-Yala, Cedime, 1993. 6 I summarize this periodization in Table 4.1, below. 7 In Spanish ‘hacer minga.’

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8 In 1993, for example, Nelson Estupiñán Bass received the Eugenio Espejo Price for Literature, the highest national award for this art. Adalberto Ortiz, and Antonio Preciado have also contributed to Ecuador’s literary production during the twentieth century (Handelsman 1999:13). Another famous afroecuadorian, Carlos Concha, on the other hand, was critical for the defense of Liberalism/Alfarism at the beginning of the century. 9 Please note that the spelling of this word varies, as will be discussed in the text. Teodoro Crespo, José de la Cuadra, and the ‘Guayaquil Group’ use ‘montuvio.’ Estrada and Ecuadorian newspapers between 2000 and 2005, on the other hand, use ‘montubio.’ 10 And, to a lesser extent, in the Highlands. In this book, however, I shall concentrate on its use in the coast. 11 I shall explore these findings in the next two chapters. For the moment, however, I simply wish to offer a background on the terminology for the reader’s benefit. 12 Although some argue that Spanish has influenced this word. 13 Cuenca is a city in the southern Highlands of Ecuador. The song speaks of the beauty of the ‘chola’ from Cuenca, who has ‘the charms of Spain with the colours of a new land.’ 14 In some respects this differs from other societies where distance increases fear of the other. Historically the ‘ethnic other’ in Ecuador has been linked to distant, rural space (Radcliffe and Westwood 1996). The liminal identities of cholo and longo are urban identities that threaten the established power structure, by seeking to enter the urban space and its political machinery. 15 Anthias notes the use of such insults in male bonding processes (2002). I have witnessed and experienced similar processes among women in Ecuador.

6 The Port and Mestizaje: Ethnic Narratives in Guayaquil

Accustomed to the peculiarities of the Highlands, my first day in Guayaquil felt distinctly overwhelming. The city centre was a mass of noise and colors that seemed to melt into each other because of the humid heat. Skins browned by the sun glittered past each other beneath brightly colored fabrics as individuals maneuvered in and out of the many porticos offering some protection from sudden tropical storms. Indigenous clothing, a constant reminder of the country’s multi-cultural reality, was harder to spot in this coastal city than it had been in the Highlands. The social distances between individuals in Guayaquil, between street peddlers and their customers or between pedestrians and drivers, seemed shortened by common demeanors and dress codes. Only slowly, as I became familiar with the city, visiting its different residential areas and befriending its residents, did the spatial separations among the inhabitants, and the identity differences that these spatial separation instantiate, begin to emerge. Only then did the veneer of complete integration dissolve to reveal a complex social reality interlaced by multiple ethnic narratives. Having reviewed the historical construction of ethnic identities in Ecuador in Chapter 5, I now seek to narrow my focus to Guayaquil and explore how members of the Guayaquilenian upper classes understand their city and their identity through the lens of ethnicity. I shall undertake this exploration by looking at how narratives about Guayaquil and ethnic narratives interact, and how these interactions fit within the national discourse of mestizaje. Thus, I shall look into how Guayaquil’s elites represent Indigenous people, afroecuadorians, and montubios, and how they relate these different groups to the idea of mestizaje. Throughout this and the following chapter I shall use an analysis of the local media to contextualize and expand on my interviewees’ narratives.

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The Myths of Guayaquil

My intonation in Spanish immediately allowed my coastal informants to locate me as a ‘highlander.’1 Perhaps for this reason these interviewees often resorted to their city’s history and idiosyncrasies in their efforts to explain their ethnic identity to me, a fellow Ecuadorian but also an outsider to their city. Through their representations of Guayaquil they sought to justify and explain the ethnic narratives and structures about which I sought information. In order to analyze their representations, I shall begin by summarily identifying two of the ‘myths’ about Guayaquil that were repeatedly invoked. Guayaquil: An Open Port

Guayaquil’s geography was almost invariably the first argument interviewees called upon to explain the character and nature of their city and its inhabitants. The city’s coastal location, they noted, makes its people warm; its links to the sea make them open and receptive. In short, interviewees spoke of Guayaquil as a warm and welcoming port, openly receiving foreigners who wished to make their fortune among the warm waves of the Pacific and the generous and entrepreneurial Guayaquilenians. Thus interviewees said that, “Guayaquil is much more open [than Quito]. One of the characteristics of Guayaquilenians is to be embracive and welcoming of any person who brings commercial or entrepreneurial possibilities” (Estela, Guayaquil: 2005). Joseph, a prominent member of the traditional elite of Guayaquil, began our conversation about ethnic identities by declaring: You are from Quito and know [that] in every neighborhood [in Quito] you [see mountains all around you] ... the human being who lives in Quito is surrounded by mountains, while here you head to the Ocean and your horizon has no limits ... for this reason the man who lives in the Littoral has a broad perspective while the man in the mountains is undoubtedly limited by his view.…” (Joseph, Guayaquil: 2005).

Similarly, a member of the city’s government stated: All ports are always more open due to the number of ships and people constantly coming in from the outside…. It’s rooted in our history: the natives of the coast were always great navigators and merchants ... they were in commerce since the Aztec empire ... cities that are in the Andean passageway are evidently more closed, also because they had the weight of an imperial tradition, first the Inca then the Spanish. The

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Incas never conquered the coast; they never got here (Nicolas, Guayaquil: 2005).

My interviewees’ deterministic interpretations of Guayaquil’s environment coincide with the opinions of local intellectuals (such as historians Jenny Estrada (2000), Jose Antonio Gomez Iturralde (2004), and Willington Paredes Ramirez (1989)), and with representations of the city in the local press. Writing about the origins of the city for the local media, for example, Gomez Iturralde has declared, “We, the Guayaquilenians are different because we did not develop in the cold agricultural activity of the Andean highland (paramo)” (Gomez Iturralde 2004). By appealing to the environment as a fundamental, shaping factor, interviewees laid the groundwork for further depictions of ethnic identities as locally/geographically based and innate. This was further collaborated by the second myth presented. Guayaquil: City of Immigrants

The portrayal of Guayaquil as ‘an open port’ was often accompanied by stories that illustrated how welcomed and included people from every nation felt in Guayaquil—irrespective of their race or ethnicity. In fact, the numerous and varied immigrants who settled in the city are said to have galvanized and tested Guayaquil’s openness. For instance, a female member of a distinguished Italian family noted: Guayaquil is less racist [than Quito] because [as a] port it is more heterogeneous. Many times, in several generations, ships with seamen have come; there have been boats with foreigners who tend to settle here, in the ports, rather than climbing and crossing the Highlands. Such is the origin of my European roots (Verónica, Guayaquil: 2005).

Similarly, Alfredo stated: [Guayaquil] is much more open…. In general tropical cities, and especially coastal cities, are more open than geographically closed cities. This is understandable because the sea brings foreigners.... If you grab the first newspapers of Guayaquil from 1820, 1821 there are lists of the boats that came from England, France, the United States, Chile.... This was so that around 1870 more than 50 percent of Guayaquil’s commerce was in the hands of foreigners. Guayaquil, in this sense, has always had a strong foreign influence, and this creates an open society (Alfredo, Guayaquil: 2005).

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Thus, interviewees represented Guayaquil as a ‘city of immigrants,’ a vision that was reinforced by the local media: El Universo, Guayaquil’s main newspaper, poetically writes about the city: “Pearl of the Pacific, which has welcomed and housed Ecuadorians from all latitudes, as well as many foreigners who have notably prospered in the city” (Arias Altamirano 2003), and one of Guayaquil’s main scholars writes “Guayaquilenian are all those who decided to remain here, it does not matter where they come from. They gain their citizenship, [and] if they do not deserve it, they soon emigrate” (Julio Estrada cited in Dos Reflexiones 2006). In 2001, as part of the yearly commemoration of Guayaquil’s founding, El Universo carried a special issue on how immigrants remembered the Guayaquil of old that had welcomed them (La ciudad de antaño 2001). Similarly, for several weeks in 2003 the newspaper celebrated the biographies of successful immigrants to the city, focusing on how these travelers viewed Guayaquil and its people (Robalino 2003), (Benites 2003). The Port and Mestizaje

These representations of Guayaquil, as an open and welcoming port with a large percentage of immigrants, have important implications for this city’s placement within the national narrative of mestizaje. At first sight, these representations appear concordant with mestizaje’s promise of universal inclusion—according to them all individuals who wish to integrate into Guayaquil can. In this respect, Guayaquil is presented as a model for an ideal, all-inclusive mestizaje. Yet, by emphasizing Guayaquil’s roots in international immigration, these representations lay the groundwork for the construction of a mestizaje that is nonIndigenous and non-Afro-descendant. In fact, the experiences of European immigrants to Guayaquil (and Ecuador more broadly) have been quite different from those of nonEuropean, Indigenous, and afroecuadorian immigrants.2 For example, while the Ecuadorian government exhibited a hostile attitude toward Chinese and other East Asian immigrants,3 to the point of barring Chinese immigration between 1899 and 1944 (Estrada 2005), European immigration has been encouraged as a means to increase technical capacity in the country as well as a tool to ‘whiten’ the population (Kingman Garces 2006: 79). An 1861 immigration law that allowed the government to foster “foreign immigration from Europe and the United States” supported this policy (Almeida 1996:89). Descendants of European immigrants told me of the warm reception their ancestors received and how, once settled, they cooperated with fellow European

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immigrants to seek their mutual advancement (Verónica, Esteban, Alfredo, Joseph, Susana, Guayaquil: 2005). Interviewees spoke of ‘Indigenous people’ as immigrants to Guayaquil from the Highlands rather than as a diverse category that could include ethnic groups from both the coast and the Highlands. Following the idea that Guayaquil is a warm, welcoming port, interviewees, like Evelyn below, noted that Indigenous people are fully welcomed and able to integrate into the city if they so desired: It is curious how [Indigenous immigrants] just become Guayaquilenians. The Indigenous who live in the Highlands maintain their values, their culture, their poncho, and their hair. The Indigenous people who come to Guayaquil are integrated within a year: in one year the poncho is put away for when they visit Quito; in two years they have cut their hair, then they put on sandals and a t-shirt, and that is it! They only have their outfits for Indigenous festivities. Guayaquil has its culture as a city—it is informal, it is independent, it is completely metallic [money leads the way] and people can be quickly incorporated (Evelyn, Guayaquil: 2005, my emphasis).

Three points stand out from Evelyn’s remarks. To start with, her representation of Indigenous people is highly essentialized, inextricably linking Indigenous identity to a specific physical culture of ponchos and long hair. This essentialized representation was common among Guayaquilenian interviewees, whether interviewees lauded or decried the ‘Indigenous’ physical culture. Next, Evelyn constructs Guayaquilenians and Indigenous people as mutually exclusive cultures, as implied by the idea that it is when Indigenous identity markers are discarded that Indigneous people become Guayaquilenians. This construction suggests that there are no Indigenous people native to the city, and may allow the linking of all Indigenous movements exclusively to the highland and Amazonian regions. Indigenous people in Guayaquil are, in short, presented as recent immigrants who must choose whether to remain Indigenous or become Guayaquilenians. Lastly, Evelyn emphasizes a single culture for Guayaquil, noting that it is possible for Indigenous people to become Guayaquilenians by adopting this dominant culture. Integration through participation in diverse subcultures, or while maintaining ethnic identity markers seen as Indigenous, is not presented as a possibility. Exemplifying similar views, a member of the modern business elite in Guayaquil recalled:

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When I was a child ... I walked by the market with my mother and saw some Indigenous people who had come to work [in Guayaquil]. They were terribly mocked. They came here with their baskets on their shoulders…. You know what they did when they were here for a while? They cut their hair, they took off the poncho, and they tried their hardest to speak like ‘monos’ [monkeys].4 So, by force they integrated ... to the heat, to the climate, to the type of work, to the way of dressing because they could not work with clothes like the poncho ... they became Guayaquilenians (Francisco, Guayaquil: 2005, my emphasis).

Francisco, like Evelyn, emphasized the acculturation process of Indigenous immigrants to the city, and both interviewees present acculturation as a process of integration. Pointing to the environment as decisive in structuring Guayaquil, Francisco declares that integration is mandated by the material nature of the city—its type of economy, its climate, et cetera. Becoming a Guayaquilenian is presented as a matter of embodiment—a physical process of adopting the necessary material culture and mannerisms, such as a coastal intonation (Wade 2006). As physical culture is strongly tied to ethnic identity, membership into the city appears to require an ethnic change. Pedro, a descendant of one of the ‘big cacao families’ thus noted, When the Indigenous of the Highlands come, they come with the poncho, alpargatas,5 hat, all that is distinctive of their identity. They get here and logically, due to the climate, they get rid of the poncho and of the hat ... then they begin to use white shoes, which is the second phase. In the third phase they cut their hair, and as soon as they do this, they have stopped being Indigenous, they are part of the Guayaquilenian mass, they are integrated … in the Highlands it is impressive how the indigenous man continues to use his outfit—his hat and all the attributes of his culture. Is this not what forces, obliges us, in terms of our vision, to segregate them a bit? (Pedro, Guayaquil: 2005, my emphasis).

Like other interviewees, Pedro conceptualizes ethnicity as largely defined by external identity markers: once clothes and hairstyles are changed Indigenous people are no longer ‘Indigenous people’ but ‘monos.’ Importantly, this view of integration denies a racial understanding of ethnicity, as no ‘essential,’ biological Indigenous nature is attached to people once they adopt the dress code and manners of Guayaquil. Pedro contrasted what he perceived as an ease to ‘integrate’ into Guayaquil with the situation of the Highlands, where unaltered identity markers, according to him, foster and justify certain

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discrimination. The discrimination that occurs in the Highlands is, then, implicitly blamed on the resistance or inability of non-Western groups to integrate into the dominant culture. The scale of ethnic mobilizations over the past two decades has, in fact, been much lower in the Littoral than in the Highlands. Several of my interviewees attributed this to the integrative and non-discriminatory nature of Guayaquil that, they claimed, has made ethnic consciousness and mobilizations unnecessary. In other words, GuayaquilenianIndigenous people and afroecuadorians are purportedly pleased with their situation and, therefore, have not needed to cry out for public attention. This view was supported by alluding to Gutiérrez’s failed attempts to mobilize coastal Indigenous and afroecuadorian populations. The leaders of the Indigenous movements have stopped coming here. The Indigenous here see these leaders coming to mobilize them but ... they are so well integrated here, they just don’t want to mobilize…. This is something I have always said, the Indigenous that comes here ... wishes to be part of society (Francisco, Guayaquil: 2005). [Gutiérrez] and one of the main Indigenous leaders, Lluco, wanted to come to [Guayaquil] and have a meeting with the Indigenous and blacks of the coast. This happened around March of 2004, a couple of months after they were elected. The impact of their coming to the coast, however, was negligible (Luis, Guayaquil: 2005). There is no racism in Guayaquil. The strongest political party of Guayaquil, the PSC, which is supposed to represent Guayaquil’s oligarchy, needs everyone for its political survival. If racism existed, other political parties would have exploited it in their battle against the PSC, but that has not taken place. Even recently, when this government tried to mobilize the Indigenous people and the blacks of Guayaquil against the ‘White March’ of the mayor, they could only get 50 Indigenous and they were almost all part of the same family— related to Gonzales, I think (Ernesto, Guayaquil: 2005).6

Some interviewees linked the acculturation of Indigenous people to a process of mestizaje. Thus, when they spoke about mestizos in Guayaquil, they referred to the Indigenous population that has immigrated and acculturated to the coast, rather than to a process of amalgamation that could include the upper social strata. Sebastian, for instance, noted, I think the percentage [of mestizos] is very high here in Guayaquil ... this has something to do with the unclear definition of the Indigenous

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people of the coast ... there are many people from the rural area, who were originally Indigenous, but they have immigrated to the city and their customs have changed, losing their identity somewhat they have integrated into the city (Sebastian, Guayaquil: 2005, my emphasis).

An understanding of Indigenous and mestizo identities as fluid and porous, in which whether or not a person is considered Indigenous or mestizo is largely the result of external markers such as clothing, was pervasive among coastal interviewees. However, if Indigenous ‘immigrants’ to the city integrate by altering their culture and, subsequently, their ethnic identity, and if this alteration is perceived as mestizaje, then the ‘embracive’ nature of Guayaquil city seems to prevent, de facto, the existence of groups other than mestizos. It is then not surprising that several interviewees held that there were no Indigenous people in the Coast partly, at least, because “in the Coast they can have no consciousness [of themselves as Indigenous] ... they can have no ethnic consciousness” (Carlos Antonio, Guayaquil: 2005). In brief, if integration into Guayaquil takes place through a process of acculturation resulting in ‘mestizaje,’ then mestizaje and integrated Indigenous people in Guayaquil are also mutually exclusive. This mestizaje requires the disappearance of the Indigenous: The mestizo is necessary for society but the Indigenous might see mestizaje as a bad word because for them it means acculturation—they would have to disappear! [Indigenous people] are the enemies of the mestizo because it eliminates them, it annuls them as an autonomous social group (Carlos Antonio, Guayaquil: 2005).

Yet, when interviewees were asked to define mestizaje, they often did not speak about acculturated populations but rather defined it as a racial, not cultural, mixture7 and, at times, questioned its results. For instance, after declaring that “all studies show that the key to development, to betterment, resides in racial mixtures.… This means that, contrary to what is thought, racial purity is not what helps humans better themselves, but rather mixture, biologically speaking,” Nicolas added, “thus Ecuador should be a laboratory of intense mixtures that produce more developed beings ... but something is failing here, I don’t know what, honestly, because that is not happening” (Nicolas, Guayaquil: 2005). In brief, Guayaquilenian interviewees’ representation of mestizaje is multifaceted: it involves an emphasis on European roots; sees acculturation as a means to integration into the hegemonic local culture; implies that the city contains no Indigenous people except migrants; and

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underplays the role of race in local identities. How do non-acculturated Indigenous people fit into this construction? The Indigenous ‘Other’

Given their views on integration, it is not surprising that most interviewees represented non-acculturated Indigenous people and their political concerns and causes as distant and foreign to the inhabitants of the coast: The Indigenous problem here is seen as very distant, like the Amazon, [like] the Galapagos; it is something from an external world, outside Guayaquil, like the president of the United States (Evelyn, Guayaquil: 2005).

Interviewees’ representations paralleled a trend in media descriptions of Indigenous people. Between 2000 and 2005, a large part of articles on Indigenous people in El Universo focused on Indigenous people as political actors; these include all items on individuals claiming an Indigenous identity who served in a political office and news items regarding Indigenous political movements. As with other political actors, legislations proposed by Pachakutik8 were reported and tracked, and the actions of different Indigenous congresspeople were followed. The fact that Pachakutik’s congresspeople represented an ethnic group rather than any other interest or civic group, however, was highlighted. Therefore, the interests of Pachakutik and Indigenous congresspeople were presented as the interests of a specific, bounded, ethnic group rather than as those of the Ecuadorian people at large. The ‘otherness’ of Indigenous political players was emphasized by the titles of these articles. I have listed a few, and their translation, below:9 “Indígenas tienen su Consejo.” 2000. El Universo, April 23, A5. “Indigenous have their Committee.” “Indígenas llegan a Quito.” 2001. El Universo, January 31, A2. “Indigenous arrive to Quito.” “Indígenas no asistieron.” 2001. El Universo, March 21, A5. “Indigenous did not attend.” “Indígenas no tienen candidato único.” 2001. El Universo, May 1, A3. “Indigenous have no candidate.”

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“Indígenas ponen plazos.” 2001. El Universo, April 5, A7. “Indigenous set timeline.” “Indios exigen resultados.” 2001. El Universo, April 24, A5. “Indigenous demand results.” “Indios marcharon y se despidieron de Quito.” 2001. El Universo, February 8, A2. “Indians march and say goodbye to Quito.” “Indios no fueron escuchados.” 2001. El Universo, April 19, A6. “Indians were not heard.” “Indios quieren ir solos.” 2001. El Universo, February 11, A4. “Indians want to go alone.” “Indios recobran fuerzas.” 2001. El Universo, February 2, A4. “Indians recover strength.” “Indios rompen conversaciones.” 2001. El Universo, February 3, A3. “Indians break conversations.” “Indígenas preocupados por medidas.” 2003. El Universo, February 3, A3. “Indigenous are worried about measures.” The use of “Indians” instead of the names of individual politicians or the names of Indigenous political movements homogenizes Indigenous people, emphasizing their ‘otherness.’ The syntax of these titles, furthermore, prioritizes the ethnic/racial identity of these political actors and conflates the leaders of the Indigenous political movement with the entirety of Ecuador’s Indigenous population. A threatening, nameless, and undistinguishable mass is consequently created. Glancing over these articles one might also note a shift from ‘Indigenous’ to ‘Indians,’ the latter word having more aggressive and pejorative connotations. The verbs used in these titles are also particularly belligerent. The impact of these titles may be better understood if we put them in a different cultural context. In a US context these titles could sound something like ‘Blacks have their committee’; ‘Blacks recover strength’; ‘Whites demand results.’

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A second orientation in El Universo’s coverage of Indigenous people is one that presents them as foreign, exotic, and even fearsome to the Coast. Between 2000 and 2005, El Universo published several ‘special reports’ on ‘Indigenous ethnic groups’ of the Amazon and the Highlands. Accompanied with colorful pictures, emphasizing exotic traditions and the ‘essential’ characteristics of Indigenous people, these reports succeed in exoticizing Indigenous people as ‘folkloric others.’ Thus, for example, an article on the Zapara notes the ‘independent nature’ of this ‘uncivilized race’: This belief came from the independent nature of the Zapara man, [a belief] that led the communities to remain isolated from civilization for decades to live from what the jungle gave them … four Zapara communities [now exist] with more children than adults which guarantees the perpetuation of the race (Sicouret 2001a, my emphasis).

Similarly, the Amazonian Huaorani’s ancient culture was romanticized and separated from ‘civilization,’ in an article that states: The Huaorani feel that they are being closed in. They express their anger by singing in their own language, which has not been lost in the noise of the machines that open roads and cut trees, of the seismic [corporations around them], and of civilization (Alcivar Santos 2002c, my emphasis).

Another report on the Huaorani describes them as follows: Four children, barefoot and with little clothing, avidly eat pieces of skin [cuero] and steaming flesh from a monkey head. Close by dozens of women and other children also eat diverse foods; the men, in a group, drink manioc chicha, dance and scream (Olmos 2004).10

On several occasions, the media made use of neo-conservative representations of Indigenous people, highlighting their struggles with mestizos or others who were not part of their ethnic group. Through these articles Indigenous people and mestizaje are presented as incongruous and the boundaries between these two identities were emphasized. A 2004 report on the Tsáchilas, for example, contains several stories of individuals discriminated against within the Tsáchila community for not being ‘pure,’ or for wishing to marry outside the community (El amor prohibido 2004). A separate report notes “Tsáchilas ... are in a process of reform ... to impede mestizaje ending

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their culture” (Los Colorados 2004). Similarly, a report on the Zapara ominously notes that the “Zapara ethnicity is disposed to preserve its rules, laws, language, beliefs, and traditions at any costs and will not allow the entry of strange religions.…” (Ley India puesta 2001). Rumors of anti-mestizo and anti-white remarks among the leadership of the Indigenous political party Pachakutik were also highlighted by the media (Ronquillo 2003), (Ponce 2006), (Vargas: No estamos contra blancos 2000). In a report that emphasized the cleavages between Indigenous people and mestizos within Pachakutik, for example, Luis Macas, former president of CONAIE and a leader within Pachakutik, was asked, “Do mestizos control Pachakutik?” to which he responded, downplaying the ethnic focus of the question, “I don’t believe any person can manipulate Pachakutik” (Macas: Nos equivocamos 2003). These articles, in a few words, portray Indigenous communities as insular, closed, and hostile to those unlike them. Indigenous uprisings have prompted an array of opinion pieces and letters to the editor, some of which applauded the Indigenous effort, but all of which highlighted the foreignness of Indigenous people to the Ecuadorian coast. Many letters forecasted the failure of the Indigenous uprising in the Coast, at times comparing an Indigenous movement with a contagious disease (see italics): Until now the battle has consisted in the rising of the highland peasants and what they denominate [the] “taking of Quito” ... but the coast has remained immune, and would hardly allow itself to be taken over by the minions of Antonio Vargas11 or by the other aboriginal organizations (Rojas 2001, my emphasis). Guayaquil, advantageously, has not been contaminated with the street violence and the subversion of the public order, because in [this city] there is political leadership and the people’s will for creative and fruitful work for the development of the nation (Valverde Rubira 2001d, my emphasis). Mr. Tituaña12 has all the right to convert his nostalgia for the Tahuantinsuyo13 into a political purpose, but let him not forget that even at the summit of the Empire’s glory the aboriginal peoples of the Coast remained virtually inaccessible to the process of domination (Oramas Gross 2004c, my emphasis). An unknowing observer would have believed last week that the scenes belonged to two different countries: the Highlands in a mess because of the indigenous uprising while the coast is foreign to the sense of protest (Oramas Gross 2004c).

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In other letters, Indigenous people were portrayed as a minority that threatens to impose its will on the greater nation, reminding us of the importance of the census findings for daily politics in Ecuador: What reason should move us to tolerate an insolent ethnic minority? (Sierra Hidalgo 2001). How many Indians are there in the country? About 15%. Can a portion of this 15% ... impose its will on the other 85%? (Alcivar Santos 2001). Is it impossible that a group of some ten thousand indigenous (who have all the right to protest, but not in this way), saunter through the streets with sticks with nails ... stopping commerce and people like me who have worked for over ten years and given jobs even to indigenous [peoples] sometimes…. Would the indigenous like it if we, the mestizos, went to their communities to steal from them as they do from us? (Viteri Vela 2001, my emphasis). It is not fair that because of a few we are not able to be in peace. (Icaza Martínez 2001).

The threat posed by Indigenous people has aroused not only anger but also fear among sectors of Guayaquil. María Cuvi found this fear clearly expressed by female business leaders in Guayaquil: The reaction of businesswomen in Guayaquil had no ambiguities … they expressed the fear and rejection they felt toward what they considered an Indigenous coup d’état ‘an exclusive minority in an eminently mestizo country’ whose demands do not correspond to the common good (Cuvi 2003a:291).

But what exactly is frightening about non-acculturated Indigenous people? Why do they pose a threat to the Coast? We might propose that their fearsomeness comes from their use of ethnicity as a means to appropriate what had previously been denied to them by the very ethnic structure they are now emphasizing. In other words, as they are overtly using their ethnic identity as a political tool they can no longer be silently oppressed by the hegemonic structure. They are undermining one of the core supports of the social structure as it now stands. The implications of their actions were succinctly captured in a letter published by the press of Guayaquil:

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[The actions of Indigenous people show that] anyone, if he wishes to, can threaten the state and nothing happens. Don’t worry, tomorrow you will come out free and be heroes. [This is a] bad example for the montubio, the black, and the cholo of the Coast (Villota Mendieta 2001, my emphasis).

As this letter makes evident, the threat of Indigenous people is that they may lead other ethnic groups to step outside the hegemonic mestizaje of acculturation necessary for integration into Guayaquil and, as a result, destabilize the status quo. This is not an empty threat as other ethnic groups in Ecuador are following the example of the Indigenous movement in invoking their ethnic identity as a justification for access to state resources. The montubios provide a clear example of this. A ‘Montubian’ Mestizaje

As noted in Chapter 5, the montubio ethnic identity has gained notoriety over the past decade, as those claiming this identity have sought state recognition and access to economic resources. Demonstrating an essentialized and racialized understanding of this identity, Guayaquilenian interviewees felt able to describe montubios’ physical and psycho-emotional characteristics, and usually did this in a positive light. Although confusion permeated explanations as to the actual origin of montubios, there was a definite consensus regarding their cultural uniqueness and specificity. Their diet, their way of speaking, their outfits and customs, and their physiognomy were noted to constitute their unique identity (Estela, Esteban, Verónica, Pedro, Guayaquil: 2005). This view was supported by a number of folkloric representations of montubios in the media, which highlighted the costumes, rodeos and, to a lesser extent, the music and dance of this population as distinctive and unique (Torres 2000), (Arte montubio en Guayaquil 2002), (Medina 2003b). Interviewees’ representations of the montubio as the “man of Guayaquil,” the “man of the coast,” the “autochthonous representative of the region,” fell in and out of historical veracity and consistency: montubios’ unique qualities were linked to the coast’s geography, to their race, and to Guayaquil’s labor history. The montubio was presented as an embodiment of Guayaquil’s openness and independence, even as he was also spoken of as distant from my interviewees’ identities (Pedro, Joseph, and María, Guayaquil: 2005). Informants unanimously argued that there were substantial differences between montubios and their counterparts in Quito,

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Indigenous people. To explain who montubios were, for instance, a member of Guayaquil’s traditional ‘elite’ began by noting the differences between montubios and highland inhabitants, stating that when the Spanish conquistadors came to what is now Ecuador: The highland territory was populated entirely by Indigenous people from the time of the Incas, while Indigenous people did not inhabit the Littoral region. The people of the Littoral were not Incas, they were people who, if you did a study, you will find have racial characteristics, customs, and a physical aspect, that are rather Malay. Some time ago, according to researchers, these people [the Malays] came to America through the Bering Straits and settled here. If you look at the native of the Ecuadorian coasts, he is Malay, with rather copper-colored skin, with pronounced cheek bones, with eyes a bit slanted; he is not our Indigenous who lives in the Highlands ... the typical man of the Littoral is incommensurable to the typical man of the Highlands. The montubio is different to the Indigenous peasant of the Highlands. Our montubio is a man of another category, with an agile mind, with certain degree of intellectual capacity, I would say better [than the Indigenous of the Highland] (Joseph, Guayaquil: 2005, my emphasis).

Two female members of Guayaquil’s elite elaborated further on the differences between montubios and highland Indigenous people: Pilar: If we compare the two you find that [in the Highlands] the Indian is more obstinate in his customs. Even if you tell them ‘here you have a bed and some soap so you can take a shower everyday’— they will not accept it.... Perhaps it is the climate, that they are cold, I don’t know. Our montubio, on the other hand is a man who is always trying to improve. Always in the houses of a montubio you will find a refrigerator and a TV, even if they are all sleeping together in a single room.… [In the Highlands] they don’t have that form of advancing, of trying to… (Pilar, Quito: 2005).

Victoria [cutting in]: …of trying to progress. Not that the Indigenous need to change their dress or anything, because their dress is beautiful, if they know how to carry it well like the Otavaleños ... but they insist on not improving (Victoria, Quito: 2005).

Several interesting ideas emerge from Joseph, Pilar, and Victoria’s remarks. First, as already noted, is the idea that the montubio is innately different from highland Indigenous people (according to Joseph, ‘racially’ different). Joseph also declares that montubios are inherently better than Indigenous people and, since each group is presented as the

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foundation of its region, this differentiation and ranking grant a basis for an ethnic-regional understanding of the nation-state, with a clear bias for the coast. The idea of ownership is also present in these comments, when informants speak of our montubio, our Indigenous. The use of possessives may reveal a power relation—as only that which is endowed with less power can be owned. It also implies an essential separation between interviewees and the people of whom they speak. Only two interviewees linked themselves to the montubio, and only in a tenuous and distant way. Esteban, for example, stated, “all Guayaquilenians have some montubio, some cholo, or something from the original indigenous of the coast” adding that his grandfather would be considered a montubio—the son of a Spanish immigrant with a native of a small coastal town (Esteban, Guayaquil: 2005, my emphasis). This distant linking to montubio ancestors is similar to a linking to ancient Indigenous people that will be explored in the Highlands (next chapter) or the connections to an ever-distant Inca Empire claimed in the Highlands of Peru, as noted by de la Cadena (2000). Significantly, by linking themselves to montubios rather than to highland Indigenous people, interviewees implicitly underlined their distance from the Highlands and lay the groundwork for a conceptualization of a Coast-specific mestizaje. Several interviewees thus spoke about the ‘unique mixture’ that took place in the Coast after the conquest (Joseph, Esteven Guayaquil: 2005). This was forcefully conveyed by one of the city’s literary elites in the local media: It is imperative, then, to remind ourselves that we have a mestizo ancestry of different combination: it is not the highland indigenous who brings us the symbol of ancestral strength and links us to the earth, but rather that human version far closer to our way of being, belonging to the people of hot blood and conceptual disorder. We are, certainly[,] montubios. (Ansaldo Briones 2004).

Links between montubios and highland Indigenous people were either unknown or denied by coastal respondents. This permitted a representation of montubios as a sui generis group, entirely separate from the inhabitants of the Highlands. Interviewees spoke of montubios as a labor force native and exclusive to the coast, not as a cultural group that has evolved from such economic and social forces as export booms and migrations. My interviewees, in short, essentialized and naturalized montubios, with some proposing that the distinct economic history of Guayaquil supported the unique nature of montubios: the export booms that have led the coast’s economic development required large expanses

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of land and a large and fluid labor force. High demand for labor, according to interviewees, endowed the montubio with certain power within the labor market, while the coastal environment nourished his strong and independent spirit. The opposite was the case in the Highlands, characterized by an abundant labor force tied to the land through a debt system. In fact, interviewees accentuated the independent and willful features they attributed to montubios by juxtaposing these characteristics to the communal tendencies they ascribed to highland Indigenous people: The montubio is from birth individualistic, he is independent, he is a man who is open, vivacious ... the montubio forms an open society: every montubio wants his own land, his own territory, and no montubio wants anyone to come over and ask him to form a cooperative. No! ‘Go to hell!’ they would say. But if you go to the Indigenous communes, you will find that they have cooperatives, that they have associations, and they are closed communities (Pedro, Guayaquil: 2005).

Esteban expanded on the montubios’ willful nature and their power in the labor market: My great grandfather was one of the greatest cocoa producers of Ecuador, Don Julio Paredes. He had many haciendas ... to these he brought his workers whom he fed very well: every day they killed a calf for them, giving them good meat and rice…. The montubio was very independent and if you treated him badly or spoke to him [rudely], the next day you did not know where he was! He would take his machete, his woman, his children, and he would go and work elsewhere. There was always demand for these people…. Thus, the montubio has always been respected. The criollo bosses who managed the haciendas have always respected him. Try to imagine it, the [bosses] indulged the montubios almost to a fault so that they would stay and work (Esteban, Guayaquil: 2005).

Esteban’s remarks on the good relations existing between montubios and their ‘criollo bosses’ imply a separation between montubios and the ruling group. Other interviewees also remarked on the cordial relations between montubios and criollos, translating these into cordial relations between different and separate economic sectors: manual laborers and property owners. Sebastian claimed that this state of affairs was the result of the Liberal Revolution of 1895. Coastal forces led the Revolution, relying heavily on the coast’s lower socioeconomic classes for the Revolution’s fighting strength (Ayala Mora 1983). Montubios, as

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the main human component of the revolution, gained in status. The Revolutionary leadership embraced montubios and other non-’elite’ groups as representatives of its ideals. Sebastian, whose family has been deeply involved in national politics since the inception of the country, explained this as follows: I think that through the Liberal Revolution, in Guayaquil and the Coast, cordial relations developed between the elites and the montubio and cholo.14 In Guayaquil and in the coasts of Manabí, for example, there has not been a great difference between how property owners— landowners, hacendados—and their workers are treated. Their interaction has been quite close because the Liberal Revolution erased many social boundaries (Sebastian, Guayaquil: 2005).

The idea that “cordial and warm” social and labor relations have existed between property owners and workers in Guayaquil fits within a representation of this city as an “open port” with a welcoming population. Openness, however, need not imply a willingness to mix. Thus, while respondents lauded the egalitarian nature of social relations in the city, they paused when asked about the ability of people to intimately fraternize across ethnic divides. For example, while Sebastian started by stating, “I think that there is no racism, properly speaking, in the Ecuadorian coast,” when questioned about the upper classes’ private interaction with other ethnic groups and classes, he was forced to modify his answer: Well, effectively, there exists a great social tolerance, where we can hug and take a drink between whites and mestizos, but when the time comes to make mestizaje a reality, through a wedding for example ... or by having one of the elites permanently invite to their house a mestizo, well, then I think this is very difficult.… I think that there is racism in Ecuador. There might not be racism in the sense that there is no apartheid, or in the sense that race does not prohibit access to public offices ... but I do think that sadly racism does exist both in Quito and Guayaquil (Sebastian, Guayaquil: 2005).

The Upper Classes and Mestizaje

It was the concept of mestizaje that catalyzed Sebastian’s acknowledgement of tacit ethnic/racial boundaries existing in Guayaquil. Despite the outcomes of the 2001 census, the idea of mestizaje has not been embraced as a personal identity by Guayaquilenian interviewees. Respondents did not use the term mestizo to identify

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themselves or others; in fact Guayaquilenian historian Jenny Estrada adamantly stressed, “The word [mestizo] is not used! And whoever tells you the contrary lies!” (Estrada 2005). Interviewees noted that while they might have felt forced to answer a certain way in the context of the census, given the closed-question format of the census and a sense of civic-pressure for all to identify as mestizos, there was no pride or consciousness of mestizaje in Guayaquil (Ricardo, Guayaquil: 2005).15 This seems supported by the fact that between 2000 and 2005 the local media hardly broached the idea of a mestizo identity in reference to the population of Guayaquil. Interviewees in Guayaquil only used the terminology of mestizaje if I asked them to define mestizaje or to contrast Quito and Guayaquil with regard to mestizaje. The promotion of a mestizo nation-state ideal by highland, rather than coastal, elites (Espinosa Apolo 2000:10) might explain why the concept of mestizaje is of regular use among highland interviewees while it is forced and uncomfortable among lowland interviewees. Yet although uncomfortable with the use of mestizo as a term of self-identification, Guayaquilenian interviewees emphasized that the process of mestizaje was far more advanced in Guayaquil than in Quito, again supporting the idea of Guayaquil as an inclusive, integrated city (Andrea, Guayaquil: 2005). Quito was cited as having a greater number of ‘pure races’ partly, as we have noted in this chapter, because interviewees saw ethnic identity markers as more visible in the Highlands than in the coast. While my interviewees presented the boundaries between Indigenous and mestizos as porous, surmountable through an alteration in clothing and manners, their own ethnic boundaries were rarely mentioned. Mestizaje, then, was presented as an attribute of certain individuals who have changed culturally and perhaps advanced socioeconomically, but not as a characteristic of the upper classes. As Sebastian explained, I think that those who have been able to achieve the proper education have integrated, but we are speaking of very few people, very few. Therefore, in Guayaquil, for example, in the Junta de Beneficiencia,16 in the Chambers of Production, in the media, those who rule remain the elites rather than the mestizos. [These mestizos] might work there or work elsewhere and distinguish themselves so that one says ‘Caramba! What an interesting man, he is a newspaper editor or editor of a news channel…’ et cetera. Nevertheless, in the end, well, just look at the leading TV programs and see if you find a mestizo in any of the shows. What you will find are whites who are modeling.… And you can find many people who say they have no racial prejudices, who say,

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“everyone is the same to me, we are a mestizo nation …” but when he has to name the company’s manager, or to look at the best friend of this son, or to marry his daughter … then racial prejudices really come out” (Sebastian, Guayaquil: 2005).

The mechanisms through which interviewees’ maintained their identity boundaries will be one of the areas on which I shall concentrate in the next two chapters. Before turning to that, however, we must speak about identities conspicuous for their absence. Those Still Invisible

A reader familiar with Ecuador might arrive at this point of the present chapter and be surprised to find so little written about coastal Indigenous people or afroecuadorians. This fact reflects the rather limited role these groups of people play in my interviewees’ consciousness. It has already been noted that several of my informants believe that Indigenous people do not exist in Guayaquil except as immigrants. 17 Only two interviewees spoke romantically about ‘still pure’ and distant Indigenous races living in poverty in coastal fishing villages (such as San Pablo, and the Peninsula of Santa Elena),18 and two others mentioned the Huancavilcas as one of the Indigenous roots of Guayaquil. Most did not mention the afroecuadorian population.19 The tremendous poverty suffered by the great majority of afroecuadorians appeared beyond the knowledge or interest of my interviewees. Yet, once again supporting the representation of Guayaquil as an open and welcoming city, several of my respondents argued that afroecuadorians, referred to as blacks, have only recently immigrated to Guayaquil and have been well integrated into society without suffering any discrimination. Esteban, for example, told me: The black … he has been our mate in schools ... we have not really had with the black a social relation that is very accentuated. I went to [elementary] school with a black, we were good friends, we played football, baseball ... I boxed with him. It is true that I did not invite him to my house but neither did he invite me to his, I don’t know why…. If this friend of mine now needs something he comes to me and tells me—that he needs to go to the clinic, or [to university], or whatever, he asks for help—and I help him (Esteban, Guayaquil: 2005).20

Esteban was adamant that the undeclared barriers between him and his afroecuadorian classmate, evinced in the undisputed separation of

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private spheres, were attributable to personal idiosyncrasies rather than to Guayaquil’s ethnic structures. The different roles played by him, as a successful national leader, and his former black playmate, who must now ask for his help in order to access the sectors Esteban is influential in, were blamed on ‘the luck of the draw’ rather than on structural racism prohibiting his classmate from advancing. Similarly, when asked about the geographic separation of different ethnic groups in the city, interviewees strongly opposed the idea that such separation might be due to racism, arguing instead that it was the result of groups’ idiosyncratic preferences (Pedro, Ernesto, Guayaquil: 2005). Interviewees told me about different neighbourhoods in Guayaquil known for their common regional and ethnic background, such as Trinitaria and Marimba, two ‘black’ areas I was warned repeatedly never to enter. These areas were spoken about as ‘horrendously violent,’ ‘from which a women could not emerge unused.’ An advert for ‘Deja’ laundry detergent, which uses an afroecuadorian laundry maid, ironically named ‘Blanquita’ (Little White One) as its logo, was twice offered as evidence of the extent to which afroecuadorians were integrated even into the media of the city (Francisco, Ernesto, Guayaquil: 2005). Thus, interviewees argued that afroecuadorian ethnic mobilizations were unnecessary and unjustified. Ethnicity/race was presented as an excuse rather than as a reason for social inequalities. Joseph spoke about this as follows: These Indigenous movements, why do you think that there is currently a racial attitude against them? Because their members have not advanced economically, and they complain against those who have ... let’s compare these ethnic groups with the afroecuadorians…. Look at Dr. Juan Isaac Lobato: he was black, black with the hair of a black man and everything, and yet with him there was no problem. Who would have said to this intelligent man ‘black so and so…’? No one. And why? Because he did not demand things. What is happening now with the Afro-Ecuadorian mobilization? They are asking for things, things that go against the normal state of the country. The Indigenous are doing the same (Joseph, Guayaquil: 2005).

My interviewees’ stress on afroecuadorians as recent immigrants to Guayaquil and, consequently, as outsiders is significant. Research on other afro populations in the Americas has noted this as a form of discrimination that makes individuals feel unwelcomed in their city (Torre 2002). The stress on afroecuadorians’ foreignness reinforces ‘racialized’ notions of space, making only certain individuals legitimate users of the city and, in the process, justifies differential access to power

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sources (Radcliffe and Westwood 1996), (Westwood 2002). The representation of afroecuadorians as external to the city, moreover, justifies the ‘invisibility’ of afroecuadorians to Ecuador’s dominant classes. Such invisibility was aptly captured during a lunch I attended in Samborondón. A young mother who had been invited to the lunch entered the house followed a few feet behind by an afroecuadorian nanny holding the children and all manner of bags. The afroecuadorian nanny quickly curtsied and scurried to the kitchen while the young woman sat among the other guest. The lunch went on and when conversations turned to racism a few guests offered views on the state of Indigenous people but never mentioned afroecuadorians. When directly asked about them they simply said the few that lived in Guayaquil were well integrated. Conclusion

In this chapter I have sought to understand the ethnic narratives of Guayaquil’s upper classes in relation to the national narrative of mestizaje. To do this I have contrasted their representations of Guayaquil as an open and inclusive port with their representation of the different ethnic groups in their city. This contrast revealed that Guayaquil’s inclusiveness rests upon a process of acculturation that denies Indigenous people a place in the city except as immigrants. Afroecuadorians are also presented as foreigners to the city and yet both groups, Indigenous people and afroecuadorians, are spoken of as well integrated into the city. The low levels of ethnic mobilizations experienced by Guayaquil were cited as a testament of this integration. Thus, Guayaquil was lauded as an integrated city, with a more advanced process of mestizaje than Quito. The oppressive nature of an integration that demands acculturation with racial impediments to full integration was hidden beneath narratives that praised the nature of the city and, to a lesser extent, praised mestizaje. Interestingly, however, my interviewees never claimed mestizaje as their own identity, demonstrating yet more limits to the idea of mestizaje as a pervasive national identity. Even when the process of mestizaje, or rather acculturation, was supported, interviewees sought to distance themselves from the mestizaje of the Highlands, calling upon a unique ethnic identity for their city, which was captured by montubios. Montubios were applauded as representatives of the autochthonous spirit of Guayaquil and were unopposed because, while using their ethnicity for political purposes, their demands are still largely related to rural space, which has

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historically been relegated to the ‘ethnic other.’ In the following chapter I shall turn to see how interviewees in Quito understand and represent the ‘ethnic other.’ Notes 1

In Ecuador, a ‘serrana’ Historically as the principal seaport, Guayaquil has been the main entry point for immigrants to Ecuador. 3 East Asian immigrants have become increasingly intertwined with Guayaquil’s society. While no national political leaders have emerged from this population, several important business leaders are of Asian ancestry. Several of my interviewees pointed to the Wong family, one of the wealthiest in the country, as an example of Guayaquil’s welcoming nature. 4 To speak with an intonation characteristic of the coast. This intonation, of course, varies across the different regions and socioeconomic classes of the coast. Several different theories exist as to why people from the coast are referred to as ‘monkeys.’ According to Espinosa Apolo, there was a ... myth among Indigenous people from Riobamba, registered in 1808 by W. B. Stevenson, then secretary of the President of the Real Audiencia of Quito, from Conde Ruiz de Castilla, who heard it from an old Indian Mayor. According to the myth a monkey colony from the Occident crossed the mountain range and infested the Central Andes before being exterminated by the Indians… this leads to the belief that the Occident was inhabited mainly by monkeys (Espinosa Apolo 2000:203). Historian Jenny Estrada, on the other hand, notes that this nickname came about when monkeys sent to the Spanish King from Guayaquil escaped their cages and frightened the Monarch into a frenzy (Estrada 2000:28). 5 Shoes worn by certain Indigenous groups of the Highlands 6 Here Ernesto is referring to the ‘White March’ that took place in Guayaquil on February 2005. This march was presented as a movement of civic solidarity from all social strata, but it had strong undertones of racial and class warfare against the government of Lucio Gutiérrez, then in power. The Gonzales Ernesto refers to was the Sub-Secretary of Social Welfare during the Gutiérrez government. According to El Universo Mr. Gonzales’ stated: “We have received requests from all over the country from people who want to advance over Quito. 100,000 indigenous are ready to come to Quito, 100,000 to Guayaquil. We will not answer for the consequences” (La Crisis en Frases 2004). 7 This stance stands in contrast to that of elites in Quito, who defined mestizaje in both racial and cultural terms. 8 The political party of the CONAIE—Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador. 9 For a complete list refer to the bibliography. 10 For more on how the Huaorami have been essentialized see Rival (1994). 11 Former president of CONAIE and Minister of Social Welfare during the Gutiérrez regime 2

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12

Mayor of Cotacachi Inca Kingdom 14 The term cholo will be further explored in the following chapter. 15 Regarding the pressure to self-identify as mestizo refer to Stutzman 1981. 16 A prestigious charity organization 17 It is thus not surprising to find the leader of a Council for Indigenous People of the Coast declaring that the council’s purpose was “…that they [the authorities] would know that we exist and that we have not been attended to by any public power” (Organizaciones formaron Parlamento de los pueblos 2004). 18 Istvan Praët recently completed a D.Phil. on the Chachi (Oxford, 2006). During his fieldwork he noted that ‘elites’ in the Coast were entirely uniformed and unconcerned about this population. 19 This is paralleled by the media’s strikingly limited coverage of afroecuadorians as illustrated in the bibliography. 20 It is significant to note that, in contrast to what we have seen for the Indigenous and the montubio, no ownership of the afroecuadorian population is taken by Esteban or any of my interviewees. Their interaction appears to have been too distant to elicit such reactions. 13

7 Learning Mestizaje: Ethnic Narratives in Quito

During my time in Ecuador I witnessed several ‘social dramas’ that provided fresh insights to my understanding of ethnic relations in the country. These were ‘crises surrounding key individuals [that could be used] as a way of looking at a limited area of transparency on the otherwise opaque surface of regular, uneventful life” (Gledhill 1994). One of these events took place during a tranquil afternoon as I transcribed notes at a friend’s house. My friend suddenly came into the house looking quite distraught. I would later learn that an argument about the filing of certain documents had broken out in her office earlier that day, and that the office accountant had accused her of inefficiency. On the verge of tears Nicole rushed past me to the phone and called her husband to complain about her day. Her voice was loud and charged with emotion, thus I could not help overhearing her from a different room: What? No, I am not going to talk to her! She is nothing but a longa! Where does a longa like her think she can come and be rude to me? Such a longa! ... No, I was not going to lower myself to the level of being upset in front of a longa, so I just left the office.… (Quito: 2006).

Although I had spent a considerable amount of time with her over the past several months, this was the first time I had heard Nicole use such language. In previous conversations with me she had acknowledged her mestizaje and ridiculed those who used ethnic/racial criteria to demarcate or substantiate their status. Thus, her actions that afternoon surprised me and made me wonder…. Why had she chosen the term ‘longa’ in a moment of distress? Were her actions an insight into some long-hidden racism? A demonstration of the invisible racial/ethnic web that is an intrinsic part of individuals’ habitus in

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Quito? Could her words be understood as racist? How were her views similar or dissimilar to those of Guayaquilenian interviewees? In this chapter I seek to contextualize Nicole’s outburst by looking at the ethnic narratives of the upper classes in her city. Thus, I explore the ethnic narratives used by the upper classes of Quito and compare and contrast these with those I found in Guayaquil, as presented in the previous chapter. I shall start by noting how Quito’s elites define themselves in relation to the idea of mestizaje. I shall then examine how these elites negotiate their relation to others through narratives of mestizaje. Finally, I shall highlight a troubling similarity between the elites of Guayaquil and Quito: their disregard for afroecuadorian citizens. Mestizaje as a Learned Identity

The great majority of my working-age informants in Quito selfidentified as mestizos, four self-identified as white, and two refused to acknowledge the existence of races, identifying themselves simply as ‘human.’ Two other interviewees refused to answer the question. Among university students, of the thirty semi-structured interviews undertaken in Quito, twenty-eight students self-identified as mestizos. Miguel identified as “White, in terms of race” but as mestizo culturally, while Ximena first identified as white, perhaps jokingly, and then corrected herself, stating that she was mestiza. These responses point to the pervasiveness of the mestizo narrative in Quito. Interviewees’ responses appeared well rehearsed: ‘we are all mestizo,’ most answered quickly. Those who self-identified as white appeared to feel that their response was contentious, with several interviewees noting the societal pressure to identify as mestizos. For instance Pilar noted: People who believe themselves to be part of the upper classes do not think of themselves as mestizos (except perhaps very few). But I think they now know they cannot say that [they are not mestizos]. I think that mestizaje took place with … the Spanish conquest of the Indians.… Therefore, it is true that we have indigenous roots and, therefore, we are all mestizos! (Quito: 2005).

Another interviewee further explained, Now everyone is a mestizo because … through the media people are learning that the autochthonous values of Indigenous people are good, or [at least] not as bad as they were thought to be…. Moreover it is

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now trendy to say ‘yes, I am [partly] Indian.’ It is a process of selfexpiation for the past (Tomaso, Quito: 2005).

Tomaso’s statement captured what I repeatedly noted among interviewees in Quito: when asked to speak about their ethnic identity or ethnic relations in Ecuador, most began by highlighting that in the last decade they had learned that ‘we are all mestizos.’ An educational process leading to the adoption of mestizaje as one’s identity was evident. If people define themselves as mestizos, they are correct. We all are. It is fashionable now [to call oneself mestizo]. You know why? Because there are many human rights activists [teaching this] (Carolina, Quito: 2005). I think the reality is that we are all mestizo and education has made the [social elites] aware of this…. I think that people with enough education to know the history and trajectory [of this country] know that they are mestizos (Gloria, Quito: 2005).

Mestizaje, in short, was presented as a token umbrella term under which all ‘mixed’ people could stand. When understood as referring to a biological mixture, most interviewees acknowledged that they had learned about distant Indigenous ancestors that qualified them for this mixture. At its most liberal, mestizaje was extended to mean any biological or cultural mixture, and could then be applied to the entire Ecuadorian population. To a student of ethnicity in the Andean region these statements call to mind those collected by Stutzman during his investigation of the Ecuadorian Highlands in the early 1980s (Stutzman 1981). While Stutzman’s research concentrated on rural Highlands dwellers (Chapter 5), I have found that members of the Highlands’ urban upper classes have also come to adopt mestizaje as a taught identity. Interestingly they have done so as large parts of the rural sector have chosen to renounce the mestizaje they had learned about in favor of strategically essentialized Indigenous identities. Based on this change we might wonder whether ‘learned’ identities are sustainable in the face of alternative strategies with higher returns. It remains to be seen whether the upper classes might not also turn away from mestizaje if another narrative lays out greater promises for them. Learning an identity is no simple process, and it may create generational tensions as younger learners are more adaptable than mature students. In the vignette I presented at the end of Chapter 3, for

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instance, we can note that while the children and grandchildren of Lourdes identified as mestizos in the census, Lourdes herself refused to accept mestizaje as her identity, noting that her descendants ‘were certainly not mestizos through her ancestry.’ Such generational discrepancies might denote that the incorporation of the mestizo narrative among the upper strata is still in an early stage—it has been picked up by younger generations through the educational curriculum but has yet to fully influence the older generations. Thus, the promotion of the mestizo narrative that Stutzman recognized in the rural Highlands in the 1980s seems to have taken place far more recently among the upper classes of highland urban centers. Importantly, when informants spoke about the mestizaje they had learned about, this mestizaje was usually presented as a racial fact, as a ‘biological mixture,’ and less often as a cultural mix or as a new identity. This interpretation necessitates the idea of an ‘anterior pure,’ an original race or biological substance that mixes with others to create hybridity (Hutnyk 2005). The narrative of mestizaje being learned, in other words, includes the notion of ‘original’ or ‘pure’ races, and the idea that mestizaje is the sum of these ‘pure races’ does not necessarily imply that these ‘races’ are equally valued. Mestizaje as Acculturation and the Indigenous ‘Other’

A second way in which mestizaje was used by informants in Quito was as a way to categorize those who were not considered ‘properly’ Indigenous, or acculturated Indigenous people (Roitman 2004). Individuals who did not fall within an essentialist understanding of Indigenous people, those, for example, who did not wear ‘traditional’ ethnic clothing, were labeled as mestizos by interviewees. This has been the dominant interpretation of mestizaje used by Ecuador’s political and cultural elites, as shown in Chapters 2, 3 and 5, and by the upper classes of Guayaquil, as noted in the previous chapter. If the main interpretation of mestizaje is that of acculturation, however, the adoption of mestizaje as a learned identity by Ecuador’s upper classes appears problematic: as holders of the hegemonic culture they have not undergone a process of acculturation. The content of their mestizaje must then either be vacuous or they must be implicitly left out of the narrative, in an unquestioned, silent hegemony over a national ethnic structure that promotes acculturation. If mestizaje is interpreted as acculturation, the importance of physical culture as a symbolic boundary for ethnic identities in Ecuador is highlighted and the idea of ‘races’ is avoided. According to this

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interpretation any Indigenous individual can become a mestizo by adopting the appropriate physical markers. Physical culture was noted by interviewees in Quito as the marker par excellence between Indigenous people and mestizos.1 They reasoned that once physical markers were obliterated, there would be no reason to differentiate and discriminate against certain groups. Soledad, for example, declared, There are less [reasons] for racism in Guayaquil because people there all sort of dress the same. Therefore, the differences among them are less noticeable (Quito: 2005).

In both cities most interviewees applauded the lack of physical markers as a sign of integration rather than exclusion, assuming that differences must lead to discrimination and, consequently, favoring homogeneity. However homogeneity can only be achieved by imposing one group’s cultural values on all others. Differences do not disappear, they are erased. This implies a solidifying of the identity’s boundaries, as by defining what is mestizo the borders of the ‘other’ are inherently delimited. Such physical delimitation of mestizaje opens the door for the encroachment of racial ideas, even if racial terminology is never explicitly used. In April of 2006 this possibility became a reality. During that month, in response to threats of uprisings and protests by the Indigenous movement, the government of Alfredo Palacio2 decided to prevent Indigenous people from traveling to Quito. What followed was termed a ‘witch hunt’ by the Ecuadorian media: Whoever Wears a Poncho Cannot Enter Quito Uniformed personnel stop all inter-provincial buses. The list of passengers is analyzed and a visual inspection of the passengers is conducted. If anyone has indigenous traits or dresses as such, s/he is obliged to descend from the bus, his/her identification is reviewed and s/he is interrogated about his/her motives for traveling to Quito. Carmen Sarmiento, an Ambateña3 traveling to Latacunga,4 narrated her experience. “They came up on every bus and if there was an Indigenous they made him/her get off. This is a violation and an abuse”. … “The fear of [an] ‘indigenous uprising’ leads them to promulgate an emergency decree ... it is enough to have indigenous traits to be

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detained or stopped,” said a representative from the Confederation of Workers. … [The Government’s] spokesperson, Enrique Proaño, said that this is taking place at the request of the “non-Indigenous population”. “[We] mestizos are not in agreement with movements that stop the city and the productive activities of the poorest” (Taken from ‘Cacería de brujas’ 2006).

The events of April 2006 made explicit the dangerous possibilities hiding beneath the narrative of ‘mestizaje as acculturation.’ The ‘mestizaje as acculturation’ narrative allows the exclusion and discrimination of those outside the parameters of acculturation, parameters that can easily change to suit the ruling class and, as demonstrated by the government’s actions in 2006, these parameters can easily become solid racial barriers. The fact that uniformed personnel were ordered to look for and stop individuals with ‘Indigenous traits’ shows that mestizaje was largely interpreted in racial terms. This racial understanding of mestizaje, moreover, was clearly biased toward European phenotypes, as it assumed that those who ‘looked’ Indigenous could not be mestizos. A similar logic was applied to physical identity markers, ignoring the possibility that individuals attired in ‘traditional’ Indigenous clothing or with ‘traditional’ Indigenous surnames could consider themselves mestizos. Mestizaje was clearly interpreted as European acculturation from which individuals with certain phenotypes will always be excluded. Succinctly, in April 2006 ‘Indigenous people’ and mestizaje were essentialized and racialized. This allowed socio-political stances to be forcefully attributed to all members of the racial groups fabricated. Accordingly, individuals perceived as Indigenous were not allowed into the city under the conjecture that all Indigenous people opposed the government and threatened social order. On the other hand, as Proaño clearly stated, it was held that all mestizos decried the Indigenous uprising and supported the established order. Indigenous people as a whole were, once again, portrayed as fearsome and untrustworthy. Mestizaje as a Political Tool and the Pure Indian

Despite the dangers lurking beneath mestizaje as acculturation, or perhaps unaware of these, most of my interviewers and many national commentators have invoked mestizaje as Ecuador’s only and best

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option. Their support for mestizaje might be partly due to their having learned that all Ecuadorians are mestizos and, consequently, they believe that there is no alternative. It may also, however, be a reaction to the growing politicization of certain ethnic groups. The statements of Ignacio Perez Arteta, President of the Agricultural Chamber of the First Zone, on behalf of landowners during the Indigenous uprising of 1990, appear to support the latter interpretation: [Indigenous people’] desire to own land in the way they imagine things to have been 500 years ago, leaves aside all that happened in history from that point forward (whether this was positive or negative) forgetting processes such as mestizaje and a whole series of sociological phenomena which, whether or not the Ecuador of 1990 likes it, are now a reality (Perez Arteta 1992: 39, my emphasis).

Perez Arteta’s statement found echo among many interviewees who noted “we cannot forget that we are now a mestizo state” and “history cannot be undone” (Quito, 2005). Similarly, Manuel Hernández Terán, a commentator for El Comercio newspaper, wrote: The country cannot be re-established on forgetfulness. For good or evil, depending on how (each) one wants to see it, we are a fusion of races that have to assume themselves in their present reality, where there is no space for exclusion of any kind, so that from this point forward the construction of a new society can have as its principal axis the improvement of the life of all its members (Hernández Terán 2001).

Some informants supported mestizaje out of fear of the Indigenous political movement, representing Indigenous political figures and the ‘masses’ that follow them as threatening and fearsome: Well, between you and me ... [pause], I don’t know if I would like to have an Indigenous government. I am not sure that the racism that they [Indigenous people] have experienced through the centuries might not reverse itself in a much more violent form and in a much smaller period of time once they are in power. This is a complicated topic because I don’t think my opinion is racist. I don’t think so. But racism might be there.… (Jose Miguel, Quito: 2005).

Mestizaje was then supported as a better option than the empowering of historically oppressed ethnic groups, who might seek revenge or challenge the established order. On the other hand, ethnic identities that did not threaten my interviewees’ socioeconomic

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positions were not opposed. This was often the case when interviewees spoke about non-politically involved Indigenous people. Informants talked about the ‘beauty,’ ‘goodness,’ and ‘respectfulness’ of ‘pure’ indigenous people. Ana, for example, stated, “I have the highest opinion of pure and proper Indigenous [people], because they are a healthy, natural people” (Ana, Quito: 2005). Along the same lines, two interviewees narrated: Paulina—The Indian race is pure and better. I am talking about the pure, pure, Indian [whom] I met when I was a young girl and lived in a hacienda. Renata—They were so nice, so beautiful! Paulina—They were so dignified! These were people whom you would never need to humiliate; on the contrary, I have great love for these Indians! Renata –So do I! Paulina—Our mother used to send us to the bus stop with an Indian… Renata—Huasicama was his name. Paulina—Yes, Huasicama. One day it was raining and she dressed us in raincoats so that we would not get wet on our walk to the bus stop. She sent us with an umbrella and with this little Indian. He wanted us to go in front of him so that he could hold the umbrella over our heads. But we said ‘No, you cover yourself and we shall walk next to you.’ Why? Because he did not have a raincoat and we did. And so he covered himself and we walked next to him, getting our sides wet! Renata—[Laughs]. The Indians were precious. They were beautiful! Paulina—The love I had for my Indigenous nanny was such that I asked my daughter to name my grandchild after her. (Paulina, Renata, Quito: 2005).

Several informants recounted vignettes similar to the one above. In such tales Indigenous people they had met in rural areas were recalled as helpful, docile and kind. In an important way these tales are similar to some recounted by informants in Guayaquil. To illustrate my point let me compare this vignette with a story about the upper classes in Guayaquil offered by a Guayaquilenian interviewee:

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It is as though [elites] have much to be careful about. They have certain rules, certain norms ... [for example] if one runs into a supermarket clerk; when I sometimes run into him he says, ‘Hello Miss’ and I think, who is this man—as though outside of the supermarket context I don’t know who he is—oh! I realize after a moment, he is the man from the supermarket! ‘Hello how are you?’ I then reply. He quickly recognizes me—and after a bit I recognize him. Others would simply not recognize him, as though afraid to have their space encroached upon (Susana, Guayaquil: 2005).

While the context of these narratives is different—one relates to a distant past and is set in a rural area while the other takes place more recently in suburbia—they both highlight interviewees understanding of ‘the other’ as distant and role-specific.5 Thus, in both examples, ‘the other’ is appreciated because of the role s/he plays rather than for his/her individuality. Susana admits that she recognizes the man who greets her because he is ‘the man from the market.’6 In Paulina and Renata’s anecdote this role-related understanding of ‘the other’ is made particularly clear by the fact that the name granted to the servant they reminisce about is actually only the Quichua term for ‘house-servant,’ not the individual’s name. Renata’s statement could, therefore, be correctly translated as ‘His name was house-servant.’ In these vignettes my interviewees also evince a spatial and social separation between themselves and those about whom they spoke. Representations of the ‘pure Indigenous’ as beautiful were tied to a spatial separation of the Indigenous from my interviewee’s daily experiences. The Indigenous was often related to an idyllic rural setting in a similar way to what we noted for montubios in the previous chapter. As one of my informants remarked, When I was growing up I never thought there was any racism in Ecuador. I just grew up with ... well I was socialized into ... the idea that the Indigenous looked pretty in the fields, just like cows. That is where they were from and where they belonged (Galo, Quito: 2005).

Besides being distant, ‘the other’ is anonymous—those spoken about were never individuals known by their names, they were nameless people known by their function in the labor market or amorphous masses seen from afar. The effacing of individuality aids the maintenance of spatial and social separations, and these separations support the maintenance of the power differentials. The breaching of these distances implies a change in the status quo, and is consequently feared, as noted by Susana above.

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We can also note that rural areas are distant from the sphere of modern politics. Thus, not surprisingly, interviewees never referred to the current Indigenous political leaders as ‘kind’ or ‘beautiful,’ although some did acknowledge their intellectual merits. By being outside the rural area and in the core of government, these political figures have transgressed the context in which they are unproblematic, and they can no longer be easily exoticized. Indigenous political leaders, furthermore, are not anonymous people, lacking individuality. Many, such as Nina Pacari, Luis Maca, and Auki Tituaña, have become well known figures in Ecuadorian society: they are no longer nameless, interchangeable members of an amorphous mass. In summary, a distinction between different ‘types’ of Indigenous people in Ecuador was drawn: the rural or distant, nameless and pleasant; and the urban, politically active, and threatening.7 This false dichotomy is insufficient to understand the lived experience of Indigenous people in modern Ecuador. An Indigenous political leader whom I have known for several years in Ecuador told me a personal anecdote that illustrates this. Miguel, like many other Indigenous males, has opted to dress in ‘Western’ fashion, while his wife and several of their children have opted to dress in what my informants would consider ‘traditional Indigenous clothing.’ Thus, wearing a yellow dress shirt and grey trousers, Miguel visited a government office where a mid-level employee courteously greeted him. A few minutes later his wife, who had been parking the car, entered the same office wearing an anaco, a colorful cloth skirt, and with her long hair wrapped in a cloth behind her head. Miguel politely introduced her to the mid-level employee who, as soon as Miguel’s wife was out of earshot, whispered, “What are you doing with an Indian?” (Miguel, Quito: 2005). Miguel told me this story as an example of how often he encounters people trying to define for him what an Indigenous person is or is not. His story exemplifies how Indigenous people are essentialized and ethnic boundaries are guarded, to the extent that what appears to be a cross-ethnic relation is disapproved. This story further reminds us of the complex and powerful manner in which ethnicity and gender interact to create structures of power (Alexander 2002:543). Finally, it also underlines the limited reach of an ideal mestizaje that can encompass all cultural mixtures in Ecuador. Seeking a Mestizo Identity

A great number of interviewees, particularly those who identified as ‘white,’ chastised mestizos as lacking an identity. Mestizaje’s lack of

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concreteness was presented as a large impediment to Ecuador’s socioeconomic development. Tomaso, for example, said, We have lost [our] identity, culture, sense of nation (patria), and sense of state. In some respect this is exactly what elites should lead a society in, in creating a nation ... sadly, I think this country has never had a true identity ... a cultural, economic [or] racial identity, we never identify with anything, in contrast, for example, with Mexico [which has many parallels with Ecuador] ... Mexico has defined what is Mexican culture, and they feel proud of their culture, they feel proud of their ancestors. And in some way they know what future they can have because they have a good base. We have attempted to create a tabula rasa, without cultural or historical bases.… (Tomaso, Quito 2005).

Mestizos’ lack of identity was blamed on their lack of roots: according to interviewees, mestizos are unable and/or unwilling to claim the qualities of ‘pure’ Indigenous people or those of whites. Whether these qualities are cultural or biological was not entirely clear. A most dramatic illustration of this view took place during an afternoon meeting with a female interviewee whose family has belonged to the literary and political elites of two highland cities for centuries. When I asked her about mestizaje she, rather calmly, began to repeat the official narrative of mestizaje, as presented in recent educational books (e.g., Ayala Mora 2004), In the census mestizo means [ethnic] mixture. The mestizo is the mixture of the white with something of the Indigenous or cholo … Ecuador has at least seventy percent of a mestizo race while the rest … well, we are speaking of about 5 percent indigenous, 5 percent black, and 5 percent white.…

As she came to the end of this short exposition the phone in an adjoining room rang and her personal assistant, who had been filing some papers (we were meeting in this lady’s home office), walked out of the room to answer it. Immediately my informant’s voice and demeanor changed, she leaned closer to me and quickly whispered, Look, the great problem here is that while the Indigenous are a pure racial group [for whom] I ... have great respect ... the child of the Indigenous detests being Indigenous and not being entirely white. We are speaking of a racial group whose identity is ‘I am not’ and ‘I hate everything—from where I came and what I am not’ ... basically ... 75 percent of the country is mestizo ... and it is this racial group that

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foments and suffers from this complex…. The problem for the mestizo is not the white. [Pointing to the door through which her assistant had left] They are the problem. Because among themselves they discriminate and brutally hate themselves (Ana, Quito: 2005).

Like Ana, some respondents removed the responsibility for accepting and substantiating the narrative of mestizaje from themselves and placed it on the ‘mestizo masses’ abstractly constructed. If we link the idea that it is these other mestizos who deny their roots to two of the interpretations of mestizaje presented in this chapter—’mestizaje as a taught identity’ and ‘mestizaje as acculturation’—we obtain further insights regarding these interpretations. It is interesting, for example, that interviewees represented the ‘others’ as not having properly learned about their mestizaje. Interviewees’ statements imply that learning about mestizaje should include learning about mestizaje’s ‘predecessors’: the ‘pure’ races or ethnic groups that combined to produce modern mestizaje. If, then, mestizaje is understood as a process of acculturation, interviewees’ statements imply a desire for an acculturation that is aware of its roots and, consequently, never fully acculturated. From interviewees’ statements we can discern several different reasons why mestizaje may be felt to lack as an identity narrative. First, mestizaje’s multiple meanings appear to have emptied it of any substantial value; its nebulous and retractable promise of universal inclusion makes it particularly inconcrete in nature. Presented simultaneously as a distant reality that all must apprehend through education, as a means for the integration of certain ‘ethnic others’ into the hegemonic national culture, and as a means to guard against the gains of non-mestizo ethnic groups, mestizaje serves many purposes and, therefore, provides only a shifting and incoherent basis for a national narrative. Second, mestizaje, as presented by interviewees in Quito, is profoundly tied to ideas of ‘original’ races and/or ethnic groups. Interviewees’ narratives of mestizaje, therefore, call upon romanticized and essentialized non-mestizos, simultaneously constructing nonmestizos as exotic and distant from the mestizo state (Hutnyk 2005). As the construction of these identities change and shift with socio-political and economic development, so does the construction of mestizaje, becoming inherently unstable.

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Differentiating Among Mestizos

Although not explicitly recognized by my interviewees, the narratives of mestizaje presented are also problematic because they do not fully acknowledge the diversity existing among mestizos. Rather, they simplistically speak about a generic ‘mixture’ characterizing all Ecuadorians. Thus, as Gilroy has noted, they become “banal invocations of hybridity in which everything becomes equally and continuously intermixed.…” (Gilroy cited in Hutnyk 2005:98). Like all ‘hybrid’ identities, mestizaje contains much diversity within its boundaries. In the following section I shall analyze how my interviewees represent such diversity and compare and contrast the dynamics of difference among mestizos, or within mestizaje, in Quito and Guayaquil. ‘Longos’ in Quito

University-aged interviewees in Quito defined mestizaje as varying degrees of biological/cultural mixture. All of them acknowledged that vast heterogeneity exists within the mestizo group. Andres, for example, stated that there are “economic and also physical differences ... as some [mestizos] look more like Indians” (Quito 2003). This may lead one to ask: what criteria do interviewees use to differentiate mestizos, and where do they fall within the mestizo narrative they use? Given that historically education has been presented as a tool for Indigenous people to ‘become’ mestizos and for mestizos to advance socioeconomically (Partridge 1996), my first hypothesis was that education could serve as a criterion for differentiation among mestizos. Indeed, all interviewees promoted education as a tool for social mobility. Miguel, for instance, stated, “Education plays a very important role within mestizaje, because it is what allows people to break racial and ethnic barriers” (Miguel, Quito: 2003). However, the majority of university-aged interviewees were adamant about the direct link between education and economic resources. Different educational institutions, dependant on their cost and prestige, were linked to different ethnic identities and classes. Thus: for example, if you attend ‘El Americano,’8 it is expected that you will be white and from money ... in ‘Mejia’ [a public school] you will find only ‘longos mensajeros’ [‘longo’ couriers] even if they have money. In ‘Montufar’ [another public school] you see the children of janitors (Julian, Quito: 2003).

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It is important to note that the students interviewed granted much more importance to what schools individuals attended, than to the universities they graduated from. This might be due to a more significant demarcation between public and private institutions at the elementary level than at the university level, or to the still limited number of individuals who attend university.9 Furthermore, interviewees were quick to add that education does not present the ultimate answer for those who wish to break out of ethnic chains. Susana declared that: There are people who are prepared10 but they are not that pleasant [agradables]11 and because of that they are not given work. When you go to a place if you have the right image they help you quicker (Susana, Quito: 2003).

Could economic variables be the root cause for differentiations among mestizos? If this were the case, support would be gained for the idea of ‘whitening’ (Wade 2004). According to this idea, in racially hierarchical societies such as Ecuador, where individuals often wish to be white, an increase in one’s economic status is paralleled by an upward movement on the color ladder. One is ‘whitened’ by the money one possesses. If this theory holds, wealthy mestizos should be perceived differently from impoverished ones. Interviewee responses, however, throw doubt on this thesis. Some did consider economic status a key division among mestizos, or at least initially claimed that it was so. Thus, they stated, “In societies like ours money gives a certain social class” (Esteban, Quito: 2003) and, “there are no real physical differences [between mestizos] because, although there are some phenotypical differences, the determinant is money” (Patricio, Quito: 2003). Interestingly, this last statement implies that even if money is held to be a significant factor, physical differences are still noticed. This was a pattern often replicated among respondents who wished to prove that phenotypes did not influence peoples’ experiences: they would overtly note the physical aspect of an individual to highlight that “even though he looks like an Indian, he has been accepted by mestizos” (Galo, Quito: 2005). These statements implicitly drew attention to interviewees’ awareness of others’ phenotypes and of a certain hierarchy among phenotypes. Furthermore, respondents who initially disregarded the importance of physical characteristics would often modify their answer in later conversations accepting that “Yes, phenotypes are important, they brand you” (Patricio, Quito: 2003). A wealthy and famous Ecuadorian lawyer was cited as an example. A man of ‘Indigenous features’ he was deemed a “janitor dressed as a lawyer” and as “[forever

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the] son of a laborer” (Patricio, Esteban, Quito: 2003). In fact, the majority of interviewees stated that biological differences, rather than money, created the difference between mestizos. One respondent, for instance, declared: If I go to play football with some guangudo,12 even though we are both wearing the same clothes [a uniform, so there are no apparent differences in clothing which could denote socioeconomic differences], one can still see the difference. Deep down physical characteristics are fundamental, regardless of socioeconomic status (Julian, Quito: 2003).

Attesting to the ambivalence in this area, however, the same respondent later contradicted himself and said, “if one sees a mestizo, a ‘cholito’ with good education, who ends up with money, people will see him as less of a cholito” (Ibid.). A complex interplay thus seems to exist between phenotypes and socioeconomic levels. A respondent stated that, “It usually goes together: poverty with more Indigenous phenotypes, with less access to education. They [those with Indigenous phenotypes] have fewer opportunities than the less mestizos” (Ximena Quito: 2003). Another respondent was able to give examples of the role phenotypes played in access to resources: In my university13 it is about the looks, you can be rolling in money but you cannot get into the ‘A group.’ ... kids with no money but with the right looks will get together, and this also happens in bars, such as the Cerebro: gringos with their awful outfits are allowed in, but a person that is well dressed and with money but darker [skinned] will not be allowed in (Susana, Quito: 2003).

The veracity of this interviewee’s statement was attested by the owner of one of the most popular bars in Quito in 2005. His partner noted, “Yes, Rodrigo, does that. He stands at the door and checks who comes in. If you look ‘longo’ we just say ‘members only,’ or ‘it’s already full’ (Maritza, Quito: 2005).14 In short, the homogenizing promises of mestizaje seem unable to embrace those labeled ‘longos’ or ‘longuitos.’ But, who are these individuals? They were unambiguously distinguished from Indigenous people by my interviewees. Carolina for example noted: You never call an Indigenous person a ‘longo,’ you never say ‘Indio “longo,”‘ because you call ‘longo’ someone like the construction worker, who is darker, who has more of the features of the Indian than the white ... it is a derisive term similar to moron.15… ‘Longo’ you call

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any of those ‘cholos’ who make you upset, then you yell out ‘longo de miércoles!’16 (Carolina, Quito: 2005).

The ‘longo’ was, therefore, always identified as a mestizo. Often the ‘more Indigenous’ or ‘more mestizo’ characteristics of this mestizo were emphasized. Longos were further linked to socioeconomic and occupational rankings—as can be noted above in Carolina’s comment about a construction worker being a longo and in Pablo’s rude attempt at humor when he remarked that “a longo is a mixture between the bus driver and the street peddler” (Pablo, Quito: 2005). Among university interviewees, the image of Indigenous people, although romanticized, essentialized and not always appreciated, was far more respected than that of longos. I would argue that this takes place because ethnic boundaries have been crossed by longos whereas Indigenous people, especially those who promote the radical culturalist agenda of neoindigenismo, contribute to the safeguarding of symbolic boundaries between themselves and mestizos. Thus, Lorena stated: “The Indigenous [person] who maintains his culture is more respected than those who are westernized” (Lorena, Quito: 2003). Indigenous people who choose to acculturate were described as “Igualados”17 (Karina, Quito: 2003), while Indigenous people were characterized as “well defined” (Isabel, Quito: 2003). Even geographically [Indigenous people] are well defined—one can know where they live. [Therefore], there is much more discrimination against longos than against Indigenous people. We all agree that the Indians are our roots and because of that we have a respect for them even if no one wants to be an Indian…. The Indian has his culture, his music… (María Soledad, Quito: 2003).

Indigenous people, in fact, were almost portrayed as a tourist commodity. When asked whether they would hire an Indigenous person, for example, a respondent answered, “I would ignore the fact that she is Indian because there are some advantages.... I ignore that she is Indian and hire her” (Julian, Quito: 2003) given that “Some gringos like that” (Ximena, Quito: 2003). A couple of students in Quito mentioned the use of Nina Pacari as a ‘key chain’: useful for the government to carry around to demonstrate political correctness and diversity (Xavier, Paco, Quito: 2003).18 Longo, therefore, functions as an appellative for individuals acculturated into the mestizo identity with an Indigenous rather than European heritage. Thus, even while embracing mestizaje, my interviewees drew a distinction between themselves and longos. As

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Andres declared, “There are economic differences and there are also physical differences [among mestizos], some look more like Indians ... these are the ones that are called longos because of the way they speak and because of their appearance ... and also because of their habits” (Andres, Quito: 2003, my emphasis). In Andres’ statement the habits and physical appearance of individuals are conflated and presented as barriers to their incorporation into interviewees’ socioeconomic networks. Some interviewees, however, sought to distance themselves from a physical characterization of longos; they sought to link this term solely to habits and behaviors: To me this appellative of longo is a cultural issue. It is not a matter of skin ... [to be a] longo for me is rather a mentality, in which a rejection of everything is evident: I have to be aggressive, violent, uncultured, not trust anything from society. We all have a bit of longo from some point of view (Tomaso, Quito: 2005).

In Tomaso’s statement the ‘resentment’ or ‘self-rejection’ characterizing longos is highlighted. Several interviewees concurred and, like Ana and Tomaso, argued that longos are not accepted because they are aggressive in their rejection of their heritage and unhappy with a situation in which they are neither Indigenous nor Spanish. In so many words, longos were defined as mestizos unreconciled to their status, suffering from some sort of psychological complex. Despite this psycho-social explanation of longo, the fact that race plays a significant role in determining who is a longo was attested by my interviewees’ ease in describing what a ‘longo looks like’: [they have] “dark hair and look runita,”19 said Roberto (Quito: 2003), and according to several respondents they are ‘small,’ ‘dark [skinned],’ with ‘very straight, shiny hair, like bristles’ and slanted eyes.20 It was also stated that they are ‘unattractive’ and have less ‘refined’ features (Paulina, Quito: 2003). In this regard, one of my interviewees spoke about her experiences with students in one of Ecuador’s most elite and expensive universities: One of the things that shocks us every year when we start school in September is that always a high percentage of students undergo plastic surgery over the summer holiday; they all come here with bandages on their noses, because they want to look better to come here. [This is] because discrimination is still visual here in Ecuador ... to say this is very hard for me, but it is the truth ... you look at people and think, you, yes, you, no…. It is true. For those, whom some would call longos, little is actually done. They are the ones who come here every

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year with nose surgeries and they try to integrate, they try to get into some niche in society and never get anywhere (Gloria, Quito: 2005).

Several socio-behavioral characteristics were also listed as typifying the longo. Among these were that longos “have an inferiority complex” (Karina, Quito: 2003), and are “poor and slow” (Susana, Quito: 2003). The nature of the longo was essentialized through these characterizations, as one of my interviewees noted: “Even if you educate a longo he is still a longo” (Pablo, Quito: 2005). Sadly, these are the same characteristics that have been ascribed to Indigenous people throughout the history of Ecuador—see Guerrero (1997), Clark (1999), Muratorio (2000). The discourse of mestizaje, therefore, appears to have done little more than provide a cover for the paternalistic racism that has continually been imposed against the descendants of Indigenous people. Hierarchies Among Urban Mestizos: A Parallel with Guayaquil

A similar dynamic of differentiation among mestizos was evinced by interviewees in Guayaquil, as demonstrated by their use of the term ‘cholo.’ When asked ‘who are cholos?’ very few informants ventured descriptions of the ‘fishermen of the coast,’ a ‘rather submissive character,’ and a few others spoke of the cholo as “the mixture of a natural inhabitant, proper of this region, with a mestizo.…” (Joseph, Verónica, Antonia, Cristina, Guayaquil: 2005). The idea that the ‘cholo’ is of mixed heritage was usually present, but a clear definition of who ‘he’ was, was evidently lacking. The most common and unambiguous use of cholo among my interviewees, however, was not as a noun referring to an ethnic community, but rather as an adjective, qualifying individuals or actions. As a normative concept, cholo was defined by the context of what it branded, yet all of my respondents were clear about the negative connotations of the term. The negative meaning of cholo was further attested by local media articles noting individuals’ efforts to dodge the cholo label by wearing foreign and expensive brands (Buen año 2004), (Racismo rima con Nazismo 2001), (Fougeres 2001), (Límites al diálogo 2001), (Larrea Vásconez 2001). This appears to highlight that the cholo is linked to national roots and to low-income brackets. Through my fieldwork in Guayaquil it became apparent that the negative connotations of cholo were due to the luminal location of this identity. Admiral, a journalist and politician from the coast, argues that a cholo is an individual who enters into non-Indigenous space, into ‘Western space’: “the mestizo of European and Indigenous blood; and

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also the westernized Indian” (Damerval Martinez 2001b, my emphasis). Like the longos, the cholos are individuals who seeks a Western rather than an Indigenous tradition; individuals who seek social advancement through the path of cultural mestizaje and, by moving beyond the distant anonymous ‘other,’ threaten to breach separations, whether economic, social, or ethnic. As presented in the articles noted above, such individuals are seen as reaching for social mobility through consumption, hoping to buy their way into higher socioeconomic classes. Several interviewees explicitly expressed their dislike of cholos because they have crossed unspoken boundaries; as a female respondent explained: Cholo ... cholo is the one who wants to be in a position that does not belong to him…. Because they have always been subjected, they have always been peons in the haciendas or they have worked as domestic servants, they have always been marginalized. Now, then, when these people try in one way or another to progress they are called CHOLOS! (Susana, Guayaquil: 2005).

Cholo was also used as a verb by my informants: one ‘cholea,’ calls another person a cholo/a, in order to re-establish threatened boundaries (Pedro, Guayaquil: 2005). Thus, a person who refuses to conform to the norms of speech, dress, and manner associated with his or her ethnic identity and economic strata, one who adopts western models of dressing, for example, will be deemed and often called a cholo. In this, my findings closely parallel those of Torres Cárdenas and Patiño Rodríguez on youths of Guayaquil’s upper socioeconomic stratum, who use ‘cholo’ as a tool of verbal violence against the invasion of elite areas by others (Torres Cárdenas and Patiño Rodríguez 2002). An interesting difference in opinion could be discerned between how male and female informants explained the negative value of cholo. This difference might be due to the dissimilar realms of experience from which interviewees draw their conclusions. Several male informants argued that cholo was used to denote economic differences between individuals. As Ernesto noted, “It is a matter of distinguishing someone not by their social class or ethnicity, but by the size of their saving account” (Ernesto, Guayaquil: 2005). Several women, however, declared that a person might become quite wealthy and still be termed a ‘cholo’: There are, of course, isolated cases of ‘such’ people becoming successful, to be honest. And when that happens ... you hear people say very quietly, almost under their breath, ‘He is a worthless cholito

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and yet look at where he is’—and they mean [what he has achieved] in terms of education and wealth, how much he has achieved even though he is just a cholito (Susana, Guayaquil: 2005).21

My respondents rarely described the boundaries that separated a cholo from a non-cholo in terms of race or phenotype, rather they explained these in terms of immeasurable qualitative differences in aesthetics and manners.22 Thus, explicitly racial categories were almost entirely avoided and replaced by ‘coded terms’ (Gilroy 1992:53). Attempting to describe the vague qualitative differences that set the cholo apart, a female interviewee said: You perceive that [the cholo] is of a different ‘type,’ or at least you think so, and you also hold him beneath you because he is not at your level. I am not referring only to education but also to behavior, to the way one carries oneself…. The way of speaking, of dressing, the clothes of a cholo ... we call these chola because they are not aesthetically pleasing, because with what little money they have they are vulgar.… (Cristina, Guayaquil: 2005).

Cholos, then, were critiqued and disliked for their attempts to gain social mobility in terms of wealth, education, and fashion, and criticized for their inability to do this well. In contrast to them, several interviewees praised the ‘beauty of pure races.’ In other words, while the cholo was criticized for attempting to embody values that the elites saw as reserved for their type, people who were satisfied with identities distant from my interviewees’ social space were lauded. Folkloric identities were applauded as long as they remained distant and nonthreatening to my informants, with several of my respondents waxing poetic on descriptions of essentialized and romanticized peoples. In one instance, an interviewee gave me a short tour of some of the paintings in her house, stopping before what she saw as ‘realistic and beautiful’ depictions of Indigenous people and montubios, and spoke about a certain painter who was able to capture ‘the essence of those people’ (Cristina, Guayaquil: 2005). In a similar way Susana declared: At least I am not the sort of person who would ever say ‘this cholo’…. On the contrary I love being able to appreciate the purity of the race, this is something that I have always liked. For example while reading Entre Marx y una Mujer Desnuda [Between Marx and a Naked Woman] where Adoum23 does many studies on the Indigenous of the Highlands—he speaks much about them, giving beautiful descriptions ... he describes the Indian, he describes even geometrically how the Indian stands up like a triangle, because he is all poncho, until the

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bottom…. And I love it when he speaks about the Indian, about our Indian, the Highland Indigenous who is considered very, very, submissive, and is often painted this way.… (Susana, Guayaquil: 2005, my emphasis on the possessive).

Liminal Identities: Parallels Between Guayaquil and Quito

To summarize, an interesting parallel can be drawn between the elites of Quito and Guayaquil in their understanding and representation of mestizaje: even while advancing the national narrative that commends mestizaje, they communicated a bias for purity over mixture. It is, after all, through mixture, a mixture that defies boundaries of purity, that challenges to established hierarchies transpire. Mixture defies locational stability. Interviewees’ ambiguous stand toward mestizaje makes visible a rich area of contestation where duels over what should and should not be mixed are conducted. In this area how ‘mixed’ individuals should be treated is also disputed. In this area a new ethnic terminology emerges to delimit a space that is by nature controversial. Longo, cholo, and their derivatives are liminal identities: they lay at the nexus of the struggle for mestizaje as socially constructed categories to describe elements that challenge the hegemonic mestizo narrative. Longo and cholo are terms used to defend against those who seek social gain by ascribing to the promises of mestizaje, while not directly attacking the idea of mestizaje. They are negative labels with strong racial undertones used to chastise individuals or actions that could destabilize the ethnic hierarchy by appropriating creative power, that is, by attempting to change the constitution of ethnic identities and their relative value. Like all ethnic appellations, cholo and longo cannot be “objectively” defined because they are daily created in colloquial exchanges. However, they are even more problematic than other ethnic labels because their narrative is more unstructured and less historically grounded, being, therefore, far more flexible. First of all, these terms are not attributed to a group with a common history or geographic location; cholo or longo as insults can be applied to all but Indigenous people or afroecuadorians—thus they can be applied to the vast majority of Ecuadorians who fall within the nebulous realm of mestizaje. They are, consequently, extremely fluid labels. Moreover, cholos and longos have not become institutionalized as ethnic groups and are consequently more threatening to the status quo. For instance, while the montubio has been defined as a rural, agricultural identity, the cholo and the longo may yet seek to be identified with the mestizo urban space, seeking political,

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economic, and symbolic power currently in the hands of the upper classes. Furthermore, when montubios, Indigenous people, afroecuadorians, and other groups use their ‘ethnic capital’ as a political tool, they represent themselves as separate non-mestizo populations within the mestizo state, but longos and cholos seek to share the ethnic capital of mestizos. As long as the upper classes are implicitly understood as mestizo, longos and cholos would have to share their capital. Sharing capital, however, dilutes it and might, consequently, alter the ethnic hierarchy. The cholo and longo narratives are particularly devious because they are mostly hidden. A great number of interviewees in Guayaquil denied ever having used the term cholo; they declared that this term was increasingly fading out of use given its negative and lacerating connotations. These declarations, however, were contradicted by my observations during informal social gatherings, by declarations from my informants’ children (Hugo, Alexandra, Felipe, Guayaquil: 2005), and by my analysis of the use of the term in the local media. The ‘cholo narrative,’ then, is not an open social narrative, but rather an unacknowledged reality, unaddressed in the public realm. Similarly, while the use of longo is well acknowledged among the inhabitants of Quito, it is not officially recognized and, therefore, not officially addressed. An interviewee in Quito even interpreted this as a sign of non-discrimination, stating, “Here if the press catches you saying longo they kill you!” (Matias, Quito: 2005). The hidden nature of the longo and cholo narratives may explain the lack of research on this terminology.24 Investigating these terms and the narratives that support them requires a sophisticated analysis of processes that are often private, as it is in the private ambit that these narratives are established and reproduced. Their maintenance is an active process: as economic, cultural, and social changes attempt against the internal logic of ethnic narratives, individuals must daily struggle to re-establish the identities through which they understand social space. Pablo’s tale about teaching his cousin’s wife to ‘distinguish longos’ provides an illustration of how identity narratives are created and reinforced in daily interaction: Pablo—When Sarah, my cousin’s wife, came to visit from Spain she saw that we ‘longueamos’ everyone,25 and she did not understand how it worked… Paulina—She asked us who longos were and we did not know how to explain to her who they were…

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Pablo—But after three months with us she knew exactly who they were. Paulina—Indeed, she could locate them precisely. She would look out the car window as we drove through the city and point: this is a longo, that is a longo, that one is white. She could place people precisely.

It is important to note that longos and cholos are unable to call upon the essentialized identities of Indigenous people, afroecuadorians, montubios, et cetera, to incur ethnic capital for socioeconomic advancement. The longos and cholos are also unable to decry the racism they experience because racism thus far has been understood as only suffered by non-mestizos. These two realities make this population particularly vulnerable. They are a poignant example of the intersection of ethnicity/race and class, as they are trapped both by unspoken racial prejudices and by their socioeconomic status. Contrasting Guayaquil and Quito

The similarities we have highlighted between Guayaquil and Quito may mistakenly lead us to believe that ethnic/racial relations are entirely alike between the two cities. Yet while similarities in the use of the liminal identities longo and cholo can be discerned, it is also important to note the dissimilarities between Guayaquil and Quito. We have already noted some of these differences: in Chapter 3, when we examined the official statistical construction of ethnic identities in both cities, and in Chapters 5, 6, and 7, related to the idea of mestizaje. We can also draw attention to how the media of each city represents, and deals with, Ecuador’s ‘ethnic diversity.’ For example, Quito’s Diario HOY appears to have made an effort to replace ‘ventriloquists’’ voices (Guerrero 1997) with representatives of Ecuador’s historically excluded populations. It employed two Indigenous individuals, Carlos Viteri Gualinga, from 1996 until 2002, and Ariruma Kowii, from 1997 until 1999, as well as an afroecuadorian anthropologist, Juan Montaño Escobar, from 1996 until the present, as op-ed writers. Guayaquil’s El Universo has so far not made any such overt attempts to serve as an outlet for the diverse voices of the Ecuadorian state. Diario HOY’s reasoning for hiring a diverse op-ed staff was revealed by Gualinga Viteri’s explanation of why he became an editorialist for this newspaper: I began with sporadic contributions eight years ago [1994], which had something to do with my friendship with certain editors. In 1996 Diego Araujo invited me to become an editorialist, as HOY had

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considered the necessity of incorporating ‘voices’ of the diverse regions and identities of the country.… (Veinte Años 2002, my emphasis).

The ‘diversity’ brought to the capital’s newspaper by these editorialists has been made explicit by including their pictures next to their columns, while Ariruma Kowii’s articles were offered to the public in the Quichua language. Furthermore, these writers’ columns have tended to focus largely, although not exclusively, on topics related to ethnicity. It is significant that attempts to increase the diversity in Diario HOY’s editorial staff only started around 1996, almost 166 years after Ecuador became a Republic and following several uprisings by Indigenous people. It is also interesting that Diario HOY as a highland publication has chosen to emphasize diversity in order to promote equality. This suggests two interesting points. To begin with, it highlights the growing voice of non-mestizo ethnic identities in Ecuador (or at least in Quito’s political sphere), questioning the official depiction of Ecuador as a mestizo state. Second, it may imply the gaining of space by Indigenous people and afroecuadorians within Ecuador’s cultural sphere although, interestingly, this space is being granted to these individuals on their ‘ethnic merit’ (as well on their intellectual merit, we may suppose), inherently emphasizing their ethnic ‘otherness.’ The importance of their ‘ethnic merit’ and the doubts apparently still held by some about their intellectual capacity, were publicly displayed in one of Gualinga Viteri’s editorials, where he disclosed that several other intellectuals had expressed doubts about the authorship of his articles, attributing them to his non-Indigenous former partner (Viteri Gualinga 2001). Gualinga responded: Is it perhaps that my identity as a Runa (quichua) from Pastaza generates unexpected intellectual doubts when I give my opinion in the national press? Is it that some people still conceive that an Indian is not capable of expressing a thought or writing a book if s/he does not have a white by his/her side? Is it that for some intellectuals we Indians are perpetually subordinated to ventriloquist representations (using Andres Guerrero’s category) [or] oracles…? (Ibid.).

If we seek clues as to the ethnic narratives of Guayaquil and Quito in the actions of the cities’ media we might begin by noting the different approaches adopted by each newspaper to promote knowledge about the ‘ethnic other.’ The most dramatic difference in this regard is that while El Universo informed about the ‘ethnic other’ through ‘special reports’ on different ethnic groups, as noted in Chapter 6, Diario HOY hired

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members of the historically excluded populations to represent these populations within its pages. Both approaches can be held as problematic, but for different reasons. El Universo may be accused of exoticizing and speaking for the other, promoting a folkloric distance between the hegemonic mestizo core and non-mestizos. That nonmestizo ethnic identities are only granted space within El Universo as external to Guayaquil—usually being displaced to the Highlands or the Amazon—while the columnist representing the cultural elite of the city all tacitly fall within the mainstream narrative of mestizaje, fits the representation of Guayaquil as characterized by one hegemonic culture, noted in the previous chapter. The more liberal Diario HOY, conversely, emphasizes ethnic differences and may be seen to essentialize ethnic groups, appearing to believe that one member of an ethnic group can ‘represent’ all the rest. Noting how interviewees speak about each city also provides interesting insight into these two metropolises. We noted in the previous chapter that Guayaquilenian interviewees represented Indigenous people as distant and foreign to their city. Highland interviewees held that Guayaquilenians are fearful of Indigenous people. For example, Diego said: I think that [elite] families [from Guayaquil] often despise the Indigenous, even though they do not know about them. [When] Indigenous people have been elected ministers it is shocking to note the disdain and fear that exists in the Coast for this type of situation (Diego, Quito: 2005).

Similarly, David declared: In Guayaquil they are frightened of the Indigenous! An indigenous uprising makes Guayaquil tremble because they don’t know them! Not so here in the Highlands.… If they wish [the Indigenous] could lay siege to Guayaquil (David, Quito: 2005).

The great majority of Highland informants appropriated Indigenous people solely for the Highlands, one even stoutly stated that no Indigenous people had ever existed in the coast (Ana, Quito: 2005). This appropriation is of great significance as it maintains an idea of ownership (already mentioned in the previous chapter) that disempowers Indigenous people by making them into objects. Simultaneously, it acknowledges the distinctiveness of Indigenous people as a separate entity, maintaining a degree of essentialization.

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There was no broad agreement among interviewees as to which city suffered from more racism but, as we shall note further in the following chapter, neither interviewees in Quito nor Guayaquil perceived racism as a serious problem. The Invisible 5 Percent

To complete this inquiry into how social elites in Quito represent and understand ethnic identities in their city, we must look at the population spoken of least: afroecuadorians. Much as in Guayaquil, the limited amount of interest and time spent by my informants discussing the situation of afroecuadorians, the silence that surrounds this population, highlights the extent to which afroecuadorians are almost invisible in the elites’ imagery of their city (Rahier 1998:422). When interviewees in Quito mentioned afroecuadorians it was to contrast them with Indigenous people in terms of their lack of political mobilization. The impoverished situation of afroecuadorians was acknowledged, but only as part of a distant reality, in other words, not as something directly affecting my interviewees in any way. The onus for altering their marginalization and poverty was, moreover, placed entirely on afroecuadorians themselves. It is up to this population to gain social recognition, this view implies, by constituting themselves into political actors through the use of their ethnic identity. They must do as the Indigenous population has done. The discrimination suffered by afroecuadorians, when acknowledged, aroused far fewer emotional reactions from my interviewees than did the situation of Indigenous Ecuadorians. A female interviewee, for example, after listening to her husband argue that racism, including that against afroecuadorians, pervaded Ecuador, casually added with a giggle “Oh yes, that reminds me, I have a friend who won’t hire black maids because she says they smell” (Carolina, Quito: 2005). Such emotional distance may be attributable to the limited political mobilization and size of the afroecuadorian population. Afroecuadorians are not perceived to pose a radical challenge to the status quo, as the Indigenous political movement does. As an informant remarked: The situation of the blacks is something else; the blacks are not as numerous [as the Indigenous population] so as to have political clout.... Thus in the case of the black population we are speaking of something philosophical and intellectual: is one racist against blacks

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because they are black? … It is not because they are a social force to be feared (Jose Miguel, Quito: 2005).

We might further note that afroecuadorians are also not threatening because they do not pose a threat to the boundaries of mestizaje— individuals perceived to be afroecuadorians are automatically cut out of from the national narrative of inclusion and, therefore, do not pose a threat as do cholos or longos. As an informant noted, “Whether a black dresses with expensive clothes or not, he is still a black,” hinting that the acculturation process available for Indigenous people who opt for mestizaje is not so readily available for afroecuadorians (David, Quito: 2005).26 Thus, in the case of Ecuador, the limited advancement of afroecuadorians it is not as Hooker (2005) argues, due to a lack of ‘ethnic capital’: it is not that this population lacks ethnic capital but rather that afroecuadorian ethnic capital is incompatible with the state’s mestizo narrative and, therefore, unable to vie for resources within the state. Conclusion

The analysis I have undertaken in this chapter suggests various ways in which the ethnic narratives used by Quito’s upper classes differ from those of Guayaquil’s upper classes. To start with, unlike in Guayaquil, my discussions in Quito revolved around the idea of mestizaje, pointing to the pervasiveness of this narrative in the city. My informants constantly emphasized that they had recently learned they were mestizos. The mestizaje they had learned about served as a label broad enough to encompass all Ecuadorians27 and yet, also one that could be called upon to oppose the growing political power of other ethnic groups. Mestizaje, moreover, was also used as an appellation for westernized Indigenous people, slipping into racial definitions of belonging that permit the discrimination of ‘Indigenous looking’ people, even while ‘pure’ Indigenous people are romanticized. Support for Ecuador’s narrative of mestizaje was accompanied by the use of longo, a race-based slur used to oppose individuals who through acculturation sought mestizaje’s promises of inclusion and social advancement. A similar dynamic can be noted in Guayaquil with regard to the use of the term ‘cholo.’ There are also similarities between the elites of Quito and Guayaquil in their disregard of, and indifference to, the afroecuadorian population in their cities. Unlike those termed cholos and longos afroecuadorians pose less threat to the identity of the upper classes because they cannot appeal to the narrative of mestizaje.

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It is important to note that throughout my fieldwork in 2003 and 2005, in both Quito and Guayaquil, my interviewees sought to describe their own identity mostly by contrasting it to that of others. In other words, they defined themselves as non-Indigenous, as non-longo and, in Guayaquil, as non-montubio and non-cholo. The upper classes’ mestizo identity thus appears vapid. The fact that the ethnic identity of social elites is not discussed except in contrast to that of others creates an interesting silence. This is the silence of hegemonic unquestioned narratives, narratives that turn the focus of socioeconomic development to the integration or exclusion of ‘ethnic others’ into the state project, rather than to a questioning of the very ethnic structures that maintain differences within the state. Now, having undertaken a thorough analysis of the ethnic narratives invoked by elites in Guayaquil (Chapter 6) and Quito (Chapter 7) and of their historical development and implications (Chapters, 3, 4 and 5), it is time to turn to the last section of this book, in which I seek to draw out the repercussions of these narratives for Ecuador’s socioeconomic development process. I shall begin by looking at the effects of these narratives in the development of socioeconomic networks. Notes 1 In the past it has been used as a determinant of ethnic identity for censuses. 2 Who took power after Gutierrez was deposed 3 From the highland city of Ambato 4 A highland city 5 It is, of course, the case that we have all misrecognized individuals when seeing them out of context, irrespective of race/ethnicity. This instance, however, was specifically highlighted by my interviewee to explain the upper classes’ differentiation and separation from non-elites. Given the structural nature of ethnic/racial labor divisions in Ecuador, ethnicity/race adds an extra layer to processes of social differentiation. 6 In Ecuador the use of the construction ‘the man’ denotes social and emotional distance. 7 Within this categorization Otavaleños were specially lauded for their ‘hygiene,’ beautiful dress, and ‘entrepreneurial’ spirit. 8 An expensive American private school founded by Galo Plaza Lasso in 1940. 9 This further implies that the tentative links between ethnicity and education presented in Chapter 2 are a rather conservative estimate, given that a differentiation is made even among individuals with technically the same educational level.

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10 Who have an education, i.e., who have the skills to undertake a job successfully. 11 ‘Pleasant’ refers to their physical aspect. In other words ‘they are not pleasing to the eye.’ 12 ‘Guango’ was used by interviewees to rudely refer to the long hair worn by certain Indigenous men. ‘Guangudo’ was a derisive way to refer to Indigenous men. 13 She was referring to the International University of Ecuador, an expensive private university established in 1992 and fully recognized in 1997. The high fees of this university limit its access to specific sectors of the Ecuadorian population. 14 A restaurant in Lima, Peru, was closed and fined in 2007 for undertaking similar practices (BBC, July 8, 2007 < http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas /6281346.stm>). The Ecuadorian state is still far from addressing these more subtle ways of exclusion as Peru has done. 15 In Spanish ‘pendejo’ 16 ‘Longo’ of Wednesday—a euphemism for a ruder insult 17 An aggressive and demeaning term meaning ‘those who have attempted to make themselves equal,’ similar to ‘uppity.’ 18 This referred to the period when Nina Pacari served as Minister of Foreign Relations and, therefore, was a particularly visible figure of the Ecuadorian government. 19 Runita is the diminutive of runa, as discussed in Chapter 3, an expression to refer to Indigenous people. 20 An interviewee also mentioned the shape of their noses ‘narizes como escuadras,’ which helps to explain Gloria’s comments below. 21 When the diminutive of the word cholo—cholito, cholita—is used, the term becomes less confrontational and more endearing, paternalistic and condescending. 22 This might have been influence by my physical characteristics, as I discuss in the Methodology Appendix. 23 Adoum, Jorge Enrique. Entre Marx y una mujer desnuda. 1976. 24 Presently there are only three works seeking to examine the sociological use of these terms: Torres and Patina (2005), Kelly (2004), and Chihuisa (2000). Of these, Kelly’s short article concentrates on the etymology of these terms while Chiluisa uses the terms as a basis for a general critique of Ecuadorian social structures. 25 Call someone a longo/a. 26 Johnson (2007) highlights that many afroecuadorians in Esmeraldas self define as mestizos, an option not considered by my interviewees. 27 Afroecuadorians were ignored within the conceptualization of Ecuadorianness.

8 Ethnic Narratives and Socioeconomic Development

In symbolic politics, the power to name a social problem has vast implications for the policies considered suitable to address it. (Hilary Silver, 1994)

As we now possess an understanding of the historical construction of the ethnic narratives used by Guayaquil’s and Quito’s upper classes, as well as of their current use in relation to the state’s mestizo narrative, we can turn to look at the significance of these narratives. In the last section of this book I shall, therefore, analyze how ethnic identity narratives affect the socioeconomic development of Ecuador. I shall follow two routes to achieve this. In the present chapter I shall note how ethnic narratives undermine the market forces of competition presented by interviewees as promoting equality and combating discrimination. Then, in the final chapter, I shall look at the policies interviewees proposed to address ethnic/racial discrimination in Ecuador, and examine the implications of these policies for the future of the Ecuadorian nation-state. More specifically, I shall observe how my interviewees perceive their agency and responsibility with regard to the ethnic/racial structures of their society. This chapter’s exploration into how ethnic narratives can serve as tools for exclusionary and racist processes can be theoretically grounded on the idea of networks. This idea postulates that individuals’ social relations form interlinked structures that partly delimit further actions. We might think of these structures as the social expression of an individual’s habitus. The networks that are formed by individuals’ actions and relations can either inhibit or permit their personal advancement in different areas. My emphasis on the role of ethnicity/race in the construction of Ecuadorian upper classes’ socioeconomic networks runs counter to much classical work on Latin America that negates or strongly

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underplays the role of race in social structuring, prioritizing class instead (Safa 1998), (Hooker 2005). Weismantel attributes this oversight in previous research to the fact that a racial vocabulary is not colloquially used to explain social differences in the region, although racial terms strongly color daily exchanges (Weismantel 2001:xxviii-xxix). I would add that racial terminology is colloquially used in Ecuador to explain social differences, but only within the private sphere. We might expect, after all, that identity narratives constructed within a nation-state that was built upon a racial hierarchy, as Ecuador was, cannot simply fall outside this hierarchy, whether implicitly or explicitly, they must react to it. These ethnic/racial narratives might be revealed in instances of participant observation or in unexpected ‘social dramas,’ such as Nicole’s outburst with which I opened Chapter 7. This is one area in which being a native researcher is of special use: as an insider one is able to experience the use of race/ethnic narratives within Ecuadorian private spaces, even if one is not aware of these identities until undertaking a reflexive research project or, as in my case, leaving the society and being exposed to other private narratives. One might then realize that Ecuador is a covertly racialized society, given how often racial/ethnic terms are mentioned in private realms and avoided in public. I shall begin this chapter by examining how my interviewees perceive ethnic/racial relations in Ecuador. Through this examination I seek to understand how the local ethnic/racial narratives we have reviewed in the previous chapters affect interviewees’ perception of the urgency and need to address ethnic/racial inequalities in their society. I shall then analyze the mechanisms through which interviewees’ ethnic/racial narratives, including those about mestizos, affect the creation of socioeconomic networks and, therefore, affect individuals’ educational and labor opportunities. Ecuador’s (Non-Existent?) Racial Problem

On September 2004, the first national survey on ‘racism in Ecuador’ was undertaken by request of the Ecuadorian government and with funding from the Inter-American Development Bank. The preliminary results of this survey were released in March 2005. According to the survey “62 percent of Ecuadorians believe there is racism in the country, although only 10 percent consider themselves openly racist, with whites being the most racist (14 percent) and afroecuadorians the least (5 percent)” (Día internacional 2005). Indigenous people ranked in second place, apparently being more racist than mestizos, who ranked in third

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place (Klinkicht 2005). To understand these statistics we need a grounded qualitative understanding of racism in Ecuador. Not surprisingly, however, obtaining such knowledge is difficult. Even while accepting narratives that racialize certain human groups, and refusing to relate to some persons because of their race, individuals might not perceive their views and behaviors as racist. We must, therefore, begin by seeking to understand how individuals define racism.1 Different definitions will result in different measurements. This was illustrated by the 2004 survey findings: while “63% of those interviewed acknowledged that in Ecuador there are prejudices against afroecuadorians ... only 9% acknowledge having or being responsible for these…” yet when the survey directors created an ‘Index of Indirect Racial Prejudice’ against afroecuadorians they calculated that 76% of the Ecuadorian population participated in indirect, i.e., unacknowledged, racist practices (Ibid.). Interviewees’ Views on Racism

My interviewees’ views on racism were complex and varied. Some interviewees saw racism as an indubitable fact of Ecuador. Ximena, for example, stated: The Ecuadorian has been racist by principle, and this has limited [individuals’] access to everything.… So much so that still in the 1950-60s, there was a strong belief within Ecuador that only those individuals whose ancestors could be identified should be allowed to lead in the public sector (Ximena, Quito: 2005),

A few interviewees cited examples to demonstrate the existence of racism in Ecuador: Yes, there is racism [in Ecuador]. Once I invited a black schoolmate of my children (who attend a liberal international school) to the country club ... forget it! … Everybody [let us know] he was not welcome. He felt awful. It is not that anyone chastised me ... but we felt it. I never invited him again (Linda, Guayaquil: 2005).

On the other hand, there were respondents who resolutely argued that racism is not a problem in modern Ecuador: I don’t think that there is still racism in Ecuador.… Although we must consider that it is a natural human tendency to try to have one’s own

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group. But racism, racism in Ecuador, I have not seen! (Ana, Quito: 2005).

And again: It depends on how you define racism: if it is a negative attitude toward other races, blocking development opportunities for them, I would say that this is not significant here [in Guayaquil].… Although there are some who ... still think that their last name should work for them (Nicolas, Guayaquil: 2005).

In general, the majority of interviewees believed racism to be insignificant, if at all existent, in Ecuador. Among those who believed that racism did exist in Ecuador, there was often an emphasis on its decreasing strength and racism was often conflated with socioeconomic mobility: In terms of ... segregation of people or ... having more opportunities because one is in this or that social class, eh, I would say yes, however, this is decreasing, especially in Quito. I think that now [work] opportunities are given because of ability (Jason, Quito: 2005, my emphasis).

The achievements of Ecuador’s Indigenous movement were often cited as evidence for the decreasing significance of racism. Interviewees also often highlighted the role of certain institutions, especially educational institutions, in opposing racial boundaries: In Ecuador we have had prejudices primarily against afroecuadorians and Indigenous [peoples] ... 15 years ago Indigenous [peoples] were relegated to a completely different strata from that of all other Ecuadorians. The same with blacks. But lately ... they have organized themselves in such a way that they constitute a powerful force, powerful! This, to some extent, has made political powers unstable. Not in the case of blacks, [however], they are still on the ‘waiting list.’ (Emanuel, Quito: 2005). Sadly, I do think that there is discrimination. I think that if you look white you can more easily enter anywhere.… [I know that] at [an elite university] there are many Indigenous students, people from Otavalo and all the rest…who have been given interviews in certain companies, and the doormen of the companies wont let them enter because they cannot believe that these students are going to an interview. These students have had to call [the university] on their mobile and complain: ‘They will not let me go in.’ … [However] I

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think that little by little these barriers are being broken and I think and hope that the university is one of the main means through which this change is being accomplished (Gloria, Quito: 2005). I personally think it is very good that in the last few years the few Indians who have been able to reach the universities have succeeded and that has sort of woken up their people from the morass in which they have been for the last 500 years. Now you no longer see as many Indians oppressed as they used to be, like 100 years ago when they sold plots of land with the Indians that lived on them just like the cows and the donkeys.… I think that now the Indian is [still] manipulated, is used, but not so much as before. So I don’t think one can speak of racism in Ecuador (Carolina, Quito: 2005, my emphasis).

In all of their remarks none of my interviewees addressed the discrimination suffered by mestizos. These problems were also not addressed by the 2004 survey I cited at the beginning of this chapter. Ignoring the experiences of individuals treated as longos or cholos can and has led anti-racism policies to concentrate solely on afroecuadorian and Indigenous people, leaving a large part of the problem untouched. Only Indigenous people and afroecuadorians, in other terms, are seen as possible victims of racism, implying that they are the only racial subjects. This blindness was recently manifested in a new law making racial discrimination illegal in Quito. The Council set up to investigate allegations of racism is to be constituted by a local councilman and the city’s Social Development Secretary (whose ethnicity is not mentioned or questioned and, thus, appears to tacitly represent the mestizo state), an afroecuadorian delegate and an Indigenous delegate, who represent the ‘ethnic other,’ the possible victims of discrimination (El racismo se prohibio 2007). Interviewees who argued that there is no racism in Ecuador often used the United States and South Africa as examples of what ‘racism really is’: I think that racism doesn’t exist [in Ecuador], as it does in the US, or in South Africa…. To think less of, or to hate, an Indian is just something I don’t do. What I feel toward them is pity ... because all the governments use them…. When I see, for example, those poor Indian women carrying a basket, their baby, sweating, selling, I feel sadness and tenderness…. [There is also no racism] against the black [here] because there are so few they don’t even cross our mind, they are just in Esmeraldas and El Chote,2 therefore one cannot speak of racism against the black. (Carolina, Quito: 2005).

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I can sincerely tell you that I personally have never seen a problem of racial segregation in Ecuador…. And I have traveled much [as Minister and Ambassador of Ecuador] ... we can compare Ecuador with the United States, for instance, when I went to New Orleans [in the 1950s] it really caught my attention that blacks could only sit in the back of the bus, and in the front of the bus only whites sat ... there was in other countries an active discrimination against blacks and other races. We have not had that here. What happens is that economically [in Ecuador] certain races have been more exploited (Joseph, Guayaquil: 2005).

Similarly, a former president of Ecuador recalled how as a young man he visited the south of the United States with his wife and, disturbed at the segregation imposed on those using the bus service, ceded his seat to an older Afro-American lady, for which he was reprimanded by the bus driver (Durán Ballén, Quito: 2003). Like Joseph, Durán Ballén used the example of the United States to argue that racism in Ecuador is significantly limited, if it exists at all. The implicit definition of racism that undergirds these interviewees’ statements is that of racism as violent, institutionalized actions against a clearly defined racial group; by this definition they believe that Ecuadorian society can be exonerated. Understanding the realities of racism in Ecuador is a complex challenge. To start with, as I have argued throughout this book, much racial discrimination in Ecuador is hidden beneath the narrative of mestizaje. As we noted in the last chapter, individuals whom interviewees labeled as longos, cholos, ‘more Indigenous-mestizos’ or ‘more Indigenous’ suffer from much discrimination, yet, because these individuals fall within the official category of mestizos, this discrimination is not understood as racism. The official representation of ethnic identities in Ecuador as constructed by the 2001 census (Chapter 3) foments an interpretation of racism as only those processes of antagonism that take place between officially recognized identities, i.e., between ‘whites’ and ‘blacks’ or between ‘Indigenous’ and ‘mestizos,’ et cetera. Discrimination of mestizos against mestizos is illogical under this system: two individuals held to be of the same ethnic group cannot discriminate against each other. This, of course, ignores the heterogeneity existent among mestizos. Ecuador’s official representation of ethnic identities might, in short, permit certain racist practices to continue unacknowledged and, consequently, unaddressed. This is of profound importance because if racism is not acknowledged as such, those battling against it are disempowered. They cannot turn to the state for justice or reparations,

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and they cannot seek the help of NGOs that aim to aid discriminated and excluded ‘ethnic minorities’ as they are considered part of the country’s ethnic majority. Racism in Ecuador is also complicated by the fact that interviewees seem to differentiate between narratives used in private spaces and those used in the public realm, arguing that the first do not constitute racism and are, therefore, insignificant. As noted above, interviewees define racism only as overt and aggressive actions against a well-defined ethnic/racial group; private practices that maintain social distances between ethnic/racial groups or even between mestizos, however, are not perceived as racist. Furthermore, as noted in Chapter 3, ethnic/racial narratives are often mixed with, or expressed in terms of, narratives about other socioeconomic variables. As in Paulina and Renata’s exchange in that chapter, interviewees frequently linked manners and customs, social graces and etiquette, to racial categories. Through this conflation, qualities attributed to different ethnicities by local ethnic narratives can be used as identity markers by interviewees, while these differences are explained as social capital rather than as ethnic/racial differentials. We should also note that a result of structural racism is ignorance: the separation between individuals fostered by racial narratives limits interactions and, as a result, limits the information they have about each other. Thus individuals might be unaware of the conditions suffered by other ethnic/racial groups or of the extent to which these conditions are caused by ethnic/racial narratives. In this respect, even those individuals who benefit from existing social structures are also caught in them. Members of the upper socioeconomic strata, however, often lead governmental, financial, and cultural institutions, and it can be expected that they would have gained certain knowledge regarding the state of different ‘ethnic’ groups in Ecuador through their offices. Finally, when the use of race is tacit, it is not surprising that only a small percentage of the population identifies itself as racist. As we have noted in Chapters 4, 6, and 7, interviewees did not explicitly use ethnicity/race to define themselves within the interview setting. However, rather than leading us to dismiss ethnicity/race as a component of their identity, I believe this might inform us about how interviewees use ethnicity/race as a boundary in the public realm: by constructing the ethnic identity of the ‘other’ rather than their own, interviewees can still use ethnicity/race as an identity boundary by separating themselves from the ‘ethnic other’ even while not representing themselves as an ethnic/racial group. They might tacitly set themselves apart by drawing attention to the merit of early socialization

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processes or birth (the ‘cradle’), and by noting that they do not belong to the ethnic/racial groups they describe, but it is not necessary for their own ethnic or racial identity to be overtly disclosed. Their segregation from the other then appears entirely unrelated to racism. As long as the identities of others are described, and it is made clear that my interviewees consider themselves distant from these others, a solid ethnic/racial boundary stands. Cuvi arrives at a similar conclusion through her research of the upper classes: In the conversations of these women and men their ethnic and class privileges are so naturalized that none of them needed to evoke markers like skin color, phenotype, surnames, family heritage ... to affirm or secure their discursive position (Cuvi 2003a:314, my emphasis).

Indeed, informants only addressed the role of ethnicity/race as an identity boundary when I asked them about the social mobility of different ethnic/racial groups. Thus, for example, during a conversation with two female members of the social ‘elite’ in Guayaquil I asked: Could an Indigenous person enter the social ‘elite’ in Guayaquil? Susana—[silence] Well … it could happen. Ofelia—Yes, for example with Guayasamín.3 Susana—Yes, the painter, he kept his pure Indigenous race. Ofelia—He even married a gringa.4 Susana—Or a Frenchwoman, I don’t remember. But I dare say that if it is a very pure person, from my personal point of view, a person who remains authentic to himself, who becomes attractive, then I think, why not? This happens in the United States where, for example, Black artists can enter all spheres just because they are artists, I don’t see why that couldn’t happen here (Guayaquil, 2005).

We can note in this conversation one more instance of ethnic/racial ‘purity’ and ‘authenticity’ being exalted while, simultaneously, the ethnic/racial hierarchy is supported by highlighting a marriage to a ‘white’ foreigner as an achievement. For the purpose of our current discussion, however, what is of interest is the hesitation on the part of my interviewees about whether or not an Indigenous person could enter

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the networks of the elite, a hesitation that points to the fact that ethnicity/race is indeed understood as a boundary for social mobility. Linda, the wife of a European businessman who has integrated into the traditional elite of Ecuador through his activities in two prestigious social and charitable clubs, represented this boundary more forcefully with reference to afroecuadorians: Here social circles, like everywhere else, move by money. Thus, you can apparently enter any place with money, but this is just a façade. For example those involved with the Popular Bank5 are accepted, they can buy society with their money, even if people don’t quite understand how they have made their money and quietly wonder about it. On the other hand I don’t think this could happen with blacks because it is something that comes from the cradle. From childhood one is told that they are different from you, so it is difficult to accept them regardless of how much money they have (Linda, Guayaquil: 2005).

Linda’s statement expresses an indubitable racial understanding of boundaries: she notes that afroecuadorians are understood as inherently different and, therefore, unable to join the country’s elites even if they amass vast quantities of money. We can note, however, an interesting ambiguity in her phrasing, which leaves unresolved whether ‘from the cradle’ refers to an inherent difference between afroecuadorians and my interviewee, or whether it refers to the earliest processes of socialization, processes that cannot be amended by formal education or economic status. This is a stronger version of Lourdes’ views on ‘common Indians,’ seen in Chapter 3. Similarly, when I asked informants about mestizos, they also noted the difficulties faced by mestizos when attempting to integrate into the upper classes: It is very difficult. It is very difficult for a mestizo or someone from the middle class to become part of these elites. Mestizaje, which is an enormous reality at the popular level, takes place very little in the upper classes, the upper classes and the economically well off sectors recognize the mestizo and speak very often about the fact that this is a mestizo society, but this recognition costs them a lot! To get used to, for example, the marriage of one of their daughters with a mestizo! Impossible! So, effectively, there exists great social tolerance, where we can hug and have a drink between whites and mestizos, but when the time comes to make mestizaje a reality, through a wedding for example ... or by having one of the elites invite a mestizo to their

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house in a regular basis, that I think this is very difficult (Sebastian, Guayaquil: 2005).

Given the intricacy of racism in Ecuador, how might we study its impact on the country’s socioeconomic development processes? Socioeconomic Networks

We can examine how ethnic/racial narratives incur socioeconomic costs for Ecuador’s development by using the ideas of network analysis. Network analysis emerged as a reaction to the static approach of the structural-functionalist tradition (Boissevain 1973:vii). From its inception to the present, the idea of using networks—with all their fluidity, multiple layers, and complexities—as a way to conceptualize the workings of the social world has become increasingly influential (see Burt 2000). Network analysis is “an attempt to reintroduce the concept of man as an interacting human being capable of manipulating others as well as being manipulated by them. The network analogy indicates that people are dependent on others, not on an abstract society” (Boissevain 1973:vii). Individuals, in other words, function within specific cultural, social, ethnic/racial, and economic relations to others. These relations constitute networks through which positive and normative information can flow. These networks are heterogeneous, non-bounded, and fluid, interlacing and being altered through individuals’ actions. Individuals, then, as “socially embedded actors,” embedded within social, economic, and normative networks, have the “capacity to appropriate, reproduce, and potentially to innovate upon received cultural categories and conditions of action in accordance with their personal or collective ideals, interests, and commitments” (Emirbayer 1994:1442). The complex and constant tension between the actions of an individual and the limitations networks place on him/her is clearly summarized in Granovetter’s statement: Actors do not behave or decide as atoms outside a social context, nor do they adhere slavishly to a script written for them by the particular intersection of social categories that they happen to occupy. Their attempts at purposive action are instead embedded in concrete, ongoing systems of social relations. (In Webster, et. al. 2000:np).

Networks can either aid or hamper the outcome of actors’ agency. Kingman (2000) recognizes the limitations that networks can place on individual action in Ecuador when he states:

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‘Que me respeten por ser alguien’ [‘Respect me because I am somebody’] means in Ecuador: because I am not a nobody. In Ecuador, the citizen as a subject with universal human rights is missing. Only the specific person has value, with his/her friends and prestige, weighted with attributes: s/he has the right of being treated decently (Kingman Garcés 2000:303).

Individual action in Ecuador, as in other Latin American countries with strong traditions of patronage, is far more effective if channeled through networks than if it attempts to bypass them. This recalls interviewees’ emphasis on social networks noted in Chapter 3. The location of an individual within societies’ diverse networks, serves as a resource from which s/he can draw. Being ‘well located’ or ‘better connected’ is as a form of ‘social capital’ (Burt 2000:3). One of the clearest ways in which ‘connections’ represent a resource for an individual is in terms of access to information, where information is defined in its broadest economic sense. Even if only slight market imperfections exist, it will take time for information to be relayed across a population. Given that “information ... will circulate within groups before it circulates between groups” a person’s specific relations will determine when s/he has access to a piece of information (Burt 2000:6). Julian offered a clear example of this process, stating, If your uncle tells you ‘Look, I need a lawyer for my company,’ you tell your friends and, therefore, they have an advantage over those who are not your friends (Julian 2003).

Networks work through social cohesion, “certain behaviors or processes [can be explained] through the fact of social connectivity itself ...” (Emirbayer 1994:1419). Put differently, the strength and cohesion of the ties that form a network will dictate how quickly information filters through it, how much information is leaked out to other networks, what kind of information this network has access to and, in consequence, what actions become feasible for an agent connected to this network. If the networks that are formed among the Ecuadorian ‘elite’ are strong, then it can be expected that information will flow quickly among them, while little of it will be relayed to other social sectors. The strength of these networks can be verified in at least two ways. Economically, we can note with Fierro Carrión the extensive level of interconnection between investment groups in Ecuador (Fierro Carrión1991).6 It is also the case that interviewees often spoke about the importance and strength of their social networks. Referring to the traditional elite, one of my business interviewees exclaimed: “Si son todos ñaños! [But they are all

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siblings!]” in reference to their strong interrelations (Milton, Quito: 2005). Most interviewees mentioned elite social and charitable clubs as playing an important role in the maintenance of socioeconomic networks. Several interviewees noted that it was in these social clubs that business transactions were informally created and agreed upon, where new contracts and ideas were initiated (Evelyn, Susana, Santiago, Pedro Guayaquil: 2005; Sonia, Jason, Quito: 2005). While those that are part of a cohesive network will have quick and effective access to this network’s pertinent information, those outside the network are inherently excluded. It is important, however, to clarify that all individuals are interlaced in different networks. Thus, it is not their connectedness that is being questioned, but the location of this connectedness and, consequently, the efficiency and ability of an individual’s networks to provide relevant information. A person’s network, for example, may suffer from a high level of constraint, meaning that all of his/her contacts are interconnected but not linked to any external source (Burt 2000:33). In such case, information available will swiftly circulate among the network’s members, but lack of access to information from other socioeconomic groups will limit member’s possibilities for socioeconomic mobility. Cleaver’s research in Tanzania exemplifies this process. Her research shows that the poorest segment of the population in Tanzania, while well linked internally, has no access to information on high paying jobs due to its lack of access to external sources of information (Cleaver 2002). As Cheong et. al. have noted, this indicates the need for a more nuanced understanding of social capital for development, not simply as access to other individuals, but as effective and useful access (Cheong et. al. 2006). Narratives and Networks

Exclusion from a network necessarily signifies a lack of access to the resources of that network (Silver 1994). This is not, however, an equity or justice problem unless all possible routes of access to the network are negated and the network monopolizes certain resources. Thus, if “Group boundaries impede individual freedom to participate in social exchanges, exclusion [in the form of] discrimination” takes place (Silver 1994). As Silver further states, “[e]xclusion may be based on virtually any social difference, but the extent to which differences produce exclusion depends on such issues as the permeability of boundaries” (Silver 1994). Ethnic/racial narratives can aid exclusionary processes by justifying the use of certain identity markers as group boundaries. As we have noted in Chapters 4, 6, and 7, in the case of the upper classes in

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Guayaquil and Quito, racial characteristics can act as boundary markers. As ethnic/racial boundaries cannot be overcome by individuals’ agency, their use as boundary markers can result in systemic injustices. Moreover, ethnic/racial boundaries may interact with other types of boundaries, so that exclusionary processes arise from the interplay of class, status, and political power [to] serve the interests of the included. [This] social “closure” is achieved when institutions and cultural distinctions not only create boundaries that keep others out against their will, but are also used to perpetuate inequality. Those within delimited social entities enjoy a monopoly over scarce resources (Silver 1994:np).

How do ethnic/racial narratives work in practice to prevent the creation of socioeconomic networks across groups? We can start by noting that while individuals might choose whom they will speak to and relate with, they can only choose from among those with whom their networks put them in contact. Several of the university students I interviewed provided examples of how these restrictions work. Julian gave a concrete example: For example, on the first day of school it is more probable that one will become friends with someone who takes the same bus from the South, rather than with someone who arrives in a great car (Julian, Quito: 2003).

More abstractly, Esteban stated: One relates more with people with whom you feel more equal (Esteban, Quito: 2003, my emphasis).

These two responses reveal several of the forces that underline the creation of social networks. First of all, as Esteban states, networks cannot exist without the consent of their members. A semi-conscious process takes place whereby agents choose their associates on the basis of normative values. These normative values, the reflection of on an individual’s habitus, are affected and justified by the narratives that legitimize social structures. Thus we can expect that the different ethnic narratives that permeate Ecuadorian society will inform these values. Gender, geographic, and economic variables also play a part in the creation of social networks. Julian speaks about Quito’s specific reality, stating that one can more easily establish a relationship with someone from the same geographic region (such as the South) and with people of

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similar economic level (as the South is one of the poorest regions of the city, and buses are the most economical means of transportation, it can be expected that someone who comes from the South in a bus will be from quite a different socioeconomic status than a person who arrives from the North, a wealthier part of the city, in a ‘great car’). Furthermore, when Julian declares that it is more probable that one will befriend someone from the same area and economic status as oneself, an analyst must relate this statement with others that reveal the economic and geographical layout of ethnicities/races in a city; in other words, the racialized nature of social space. Longos and cholos were linked by interviewees to specific social, spatial and economic sectors, such as the South of Quito “where all the longos are” (Andres 2003, Pedro 2003). It is then feasible to extrapolate that a multilayered process of exclusion is taking place, with certain individuals being geographically marginalized, economically disadvantaged, and ethnically discriminated. These several facets of exclusion, combine and reinforce each other. Creating networks across boundaries where ethnic/racial, geographical, educational, and economic differences coincide is unsurprisingly challenging. As an interviewee noted, I think in the US and Europe friendships between two social strata must be difficult but here they are even more difficult because besides the economic part there are also ideas about racial differences, which, well, in reality don’t exist. Still I think we are all a bit racist (Cristina, Guayaquil: 2005).

It is not difficult to demonstrate the existence of processes of discrimination and ‘social closure’ in Quito and Guayaquil. Andres, for instance, stated: Those with money always join together and those who are excluded from all groups get together somewhere else.... I mean those that they call longos, of course. They [longos] get together because they would never be (accepted) by people of white looks. If they do get together [with people of ‘white looks’] it is only because of work or homework (Andres, Quito: 2003).

This response presents economic and racial variables as intertwined, and this mixture as the reason why certain people are excluded from specific networks. Individuals who are conceived of as longos are not allowed to join certain groups because of their physical characteristics. Another respondent recalled how at the school she attended she and “the whitest girls in the school” formed a group of “the ‘good’ girls to hang

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out together” (Lorena, Quito: 2003). Again, racial variables played a part in who had access to this network. In this case, moreover, discrimination was taking place among a group of girls most of whom would be classified as ‘mestizas’ according to the latest national census. Within the same school, among individuals with similar investments in education, ethnic/racial narratives introduced differential access to social resources. If the cases cited above were exceptions within Ecuador’s reality, they would not be so troubling: they could be understood as aberrations within the social structure. However, the preponderance of such examples (in thirty-five semi-structured interviews in Quito, for instance, I was able to gather forty-one separate examples of racist behavior that led to social exclusion) hints at the structural nature of social exclusion in Quito and Guayaquil. Exclusionary mechanisms become structural when they “are repeatedly confirmed through social relations and practices” (Silver 1994). The structural separation between ‘Indigenous-mestizos’ and ‘white-mestizos’ was made particularly evident by students’ answers to a short survey they were asked to complete. In this survey seventeen (out of twenty four) of the students stated that they use the terms ‘Indian’ or ‘longo’ in order to insult others; eighteen stated that a person with ‘white’ phenotype-characteristics is more attractive than one with longo characteristics; and fifteen stated that it was easier to relate to people who looked more like themselves than to those who looked more Indigenous (Quito, 2003). As I have noted in Chapter 4, my interviewees often stated that economic, geographic, and cultural variables can be overcome through individual’s agency. In terms of socioeconomic networks this would imply that an individual is able to establish links with other individuals regardless of economic, geographic, cultural and other barriers, if she only applies herself. However, undermining this assertion, ethnic/racial variables appear to inhibit the creation of networks in Ecuador. University age students were especially candid about such obstruction even among mestizos. We admit that there are different degrees of mestizaje, and that one tries to befriend only those that look like one [who resemble oneself] ... even though it is hard and difficult to admit this (Irene, Quito: 2003).

Several interviewees noted that they had simply never interacted with individuals outside of their ethnic/racial networks. Maria Soledad for example noted, “Look, it is not that I hate black people or Indians, it

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is just that I never actually met one of them. All I know is what I hear. So when I see them I don’t know, I can’t befriend them” (María Soledad, Quito: 2003). An interviewee who works with impoverished populations in Guayaquil noted that the first time the youths she works with leave their neighborhood, it is usually to work as servants or construction workers in wealthier areas. Thus their first interaction with other networks in only as part of a hierarchical and racialized labor force, embedded in a plethora of narratives that dictate their role (Evelyn, Victoria, Pilar, Quito: 2005). Limited Socioeconomic Networks

Research by GRADE (Grupo de Análisis para el Desarrollo, Perú) has demonstrated that social exclusion results in a lower rate of return to investments in education and other social goods (Saavedra et. al. 2002). We expect an individual to base her investment in education—the economic cost of instruction, materials, transportation, and time that could have been spent elsewhere—on her expected returns in terms of educational credentials and future earning potential, but also in terms of socioeconomic networks created through the educational process. Thus school is not just about what you know, but about whom you come to know. By preventing the creation of these networks, ethnic/racial narratives directly diminish the returns to educational investment for certain individuals, undermining efficient and optimal choices. Ethnic/racial narratives might also affect returns to education in terms of employment in the labor market. This links us back to Chapter 3, where we noted differential returns to labor that could not be accounted for in terms of skill inequalities. A clear example of how ethnic/racial narratives affect the labor market, was provided by Andres, I have friends [who] ... know as much as me, but in the street they would call them ‘ignorant’ simply because of how they look. If they saw Nina Pacari in the street and did not know she was a Minister, they would think she is ignorant (Andres, Quito: 2003).

Other students interviewed presented more examples of how investments in education by non-whites did not result in the expected returns. Susana, for example, declared that in her university students who were ‘more longos’ “coincidentally always received lower grades” (Susana, Quito: 2003). These example, as well as Paulina’s, Linda’s, and Ricardo’s’ comments above, provide counter evidence to the theory of social mobility being based on an individual’s skills and preparation. It

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is reasonable to extrapolate that if an investment in education does not result in commensurate returns, the incentive to undertake such an investment is reduced. Discrimination on the basis of physical phenotypes in Ecuador is facilitated by the requirement that all job applications include a picture of the applicant (Burlong, Quito: 2003). Given this fact, discrimination within the labor market can take place in at least two ways. First, applicants can be discriminated against on the bases of ‘soft skills’: “skills, abilities and traits that pertain to personality, attitude and behavior rather than formal or technical knowledge” (Shih 2002:104). Shih found that employers in the United States “said they looked for job seekers with ‘natural aptitude’ and [used] intangibles such as their ‘intuition’ or ‘gut feeling’ to decide whether they could train and ‘get along’ with a job seeker” (Ibid.). In a society where discrimination has become structural, such as Ecuador, the process of deciding who holds these ‘soft skills’ permits exclusion based on racial and ethnic variables to be perpetuated. Several interviewees stated that racial characteristics in Ecuador were seen as linked to the behavioral attributes that make up ‘soft skills.’ Individual competitiveness, for example, was attributed to white-mestizos given that “Indigenous-mestizos seek collective goods, while white-mestizos seek individual advancement” (Miguel, Quito: 2003). Similarly, it was stated that “some [mestizos] think less of themselves, as in the case of Indians, and they will not better themselves even if the opportunity is given to them” (Roberto 2003, also Victoria and Pilar, Quito: 2005). This lack of motivation was seen as “part of their culture” (Monica, Quito: 2003). The attribution of such characteristics as passivity and lack of motivation to ‘Indigenousmestizos’ permits these individuals to be disqualified from employment due to a supposed lack of ‘soft skills.’ In the Coast an interviewee attributed the advancement of a well-known businessman to his refusal to work with ‘cholos’: He used to say “cholos in charge [of the company] with me? Never!”

And he was not a cholo? No! No, no. He was poor, which is different. He was not cholo at all. Neither cholo nor Indian. He was white. Very white. (Milton, Quito:2005).

We have noted that mestizos are differentiated partly along racial lines and, in turn, different soft skills are attributed to different ‘types’ of

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mestizos. This division is at odds with the homogenizing discourse of mestizaje. Respondents, however, couched the differentiation of mestizos in a rhetoric of ‘image,’ which might not appear overtly racial (Rattansi 1992). Statements regarding companies’ and peoples’ right to associate only with those who portray the “right image” were constantly cited to explain discriminatory behavior. Andres, for example, stated that “If an educated ‘longo’ was in a high position within a firm, he would be ignored at managers’ meetings because of his looks ... in firms for the high positions they are always looking for people with a ‘good presence’ [image], they will never take a longuito” (Andres, Quito: 2003). Similarly, Monica declared, “In the client-service sector you try to choose people that will give the image of your company. Perhaps in a closed room where they have no contact with people there, perhaps, knowledge is more important [than looks]” (Monica, Quito: 2003). ‘Statistical discrimination’ also permits exclusionary processes to be perpetuated in the labor market. ‘Statistical discrimination’ is “defined as the process wherein employers use easily discernible markers such as race (as a group marker that employers believe is correlated with behavioral traits) in lieu of more expensive hiring practices” (Shih 2002:17). The examples given above clearly demonstrate how racial characteristics are seen to predict behavioral traits. Andres shared a specific instance of discrimination in the workplace (Quito: 2003): In my work ... my boss would choose not to hire people simply by looking at them and deciding they were longuitos. My [colleagues] said [those longuitos] would make the group look bad...

Andres further stated that all the applicants had comparable educational credentials but that this governmental office “searches for white personnel to have a good image.” When asked whether they would hire a ‘longo with a graduate degree’ (i.e., with very high educational credentials within the Ecuadorian context) he responded that: They would not take him. There was one girl who only worked with us for a month, she was a bit longa and no one got along with her, she was always by herself.

Was it because of her manners? No, she had the same manners, the same socioeconomic level; it was all because of appearances (Andres, Quito: 2003).

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Speaking of a similar situation, Ana stated: In the Bank where I work a man without ‘good presence’ applied and because of that he did not get in. It is the same with Indigenous [people], they don’t want them to get in power even though they now have education (Ana, Quito: 2003).

However, a member of the traditional elite in Guayaquil argued that the use of ‘perceptions’ and race in the employment process was not racist, stating: It depends on how you see it. I think that an Asian, a Chinese is considered a person of discipline and of loyal principles. If four qualified people compete for the same spot, a black, a white, an Indigenous, and a Chinese, based on the characteristic of loyalty I would probably hire the Chinese. But this is not a matter of discrimination; it is a matter of perception. Other people might think that the indigenous is more appropriate because he speaks the language and thus hires the Indigenous. I would not see that as discrimination (Santiago, Guayaquil: 2005).

Conclusion

Santiago’s argument brings us back to the start of this chapter where we noted that by and large my interviewees did not perceive racism to be a significant problem in Ecuador. Santiago’s argument demonstrates how naturalized ethnic/racial narratives serve to justify and explain the differential treatment of individuals based on skin color or other external identity markers. As we noted in this chapter, my research population does not understand such actions as racist because they conceptualize racism only as systematic, and mostly state-endorsed, acts of overt aggression against a clearly defined ethnic/racial group. In brief, without my interviewees in general perceiving this to be a problem, ethnicity and race deeply affect the socioeconomic networks available to individuals in Ecuador. This, in turn, affects the returns to individuals’ investments in education, limiting their possibilities for socioeconomic advancement and strengthening horizontal inequalities. Ethnicity and race, moreover, mix and interact with other boundaries, resulting in varied equations of exclusion. The coincidence of several different types of boundaries in exclusionary processes is significant because if these multiple boundaries are not recognized, attempts to address these processes by targeting only one of the boundaries will be

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ineffective or even counterproductive, inadvertently creating new dynamics of oppression. It is most important to note that barriers of ethnic/racial exclusion and discrimination in Ecuador affect not only Indigenous people and afroecuadorians, as other researchers have analyzed (such as De la Torre (2002), Whitten (2003a), Rahier (1999a, b), Muratorio 2000, Almeida Vinueza (1999), among others), but also significantly impact certain sections of the mestizo population. This has not been previously studied. Thus, in this and the previous chapter I have noted the use of the longo and cholo narratives as a means to discriminate and exclude parts of the mestizo population without directly offending the narrative of mestizaje or using racial terminology. This means that the plight of mestizos suffering from racial discrimination is obscured by the very paradigm of mestizaje, which promises equality to all its adherents. An understanding of racism as only those processes of exclusion and discrimination that take place between officially recognized ethnic categories disempowers mestizos and solidifies Ecuador’s racial structure. Through this chapter I have analyzed how ethnic narratives aid in the solidification of socioeconomic networks that, in turn, permit ethnic narratives to continue unquestioned. In other words I have undertaken a structural analysis of the Ecuadorian upper classes, in keeping with the tradition of research on elites as noted in Chapter 2, but I have concentrated on how narratives create and support the structures of the upper classes, rather than on mapping these structures. Through this analysis it appears that the path to address ethnic/racial discrimination in Ecuador is arduous, given the ideological strength of the structures of oppression. We have noted how narratives justify and naturalize these structures, making my interviewees unaware of their existence and of their detrimental effects. With this in mind, I shall now look at some of the solutions offered by interviewees to address ethnic and racial inequalities in Ecuador. Notes 1 Alternatively, we could attempt to decide whether individuals or their actions are ‘racist’ based on a researcher-set definition of racism. My interest, however, is to understand my research population’s ethnic and racial narratives, not to quantify or define racism in Ecuador. Moreover, I do not wish to imply that there is “…a single monolithic racism which structures ideas and values in all societies, or which shapes social relations in all specific environments”…rather I see racisms as “…constructed and reconstructed through time and space by social action” (Bulmer and Solomos 1999:14).

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2 Areas with large concentration of afroecuadorian individuals in the coast of Ecuador. 3 Famous Ecuadorian artist. 4 Gringa: colloquial for white, blonde, North American or, in some instances, European. 5 A Bank closed down in the late 1990s due to a corruption scandal. 6 Figueroa’s (2005) findings on Peru are very similar.

9 Responsibility and Change

In the last 15 years things have changed. The new rich, people who have corrupted all the governments, people with huge economic resources, the great golden bureaucracy, they are now leading ... those who have worked in the military, in customs, in ministries ... their populism is the worst of political currents because populism means destroying what is there. In respect to racism this people have done nothing. When one leads a people in ignorance, the people go down, the country goes down (Ana, Quito: 2005).

In this final chapter I shall look at how the Ecuadorian upper classes represent the responsibility for addressing ethnic and racial discrimination in their country. As noted in Chapter 5, several groups in Ecuador have chosen to emphasize their ethnicity/race as a political tool and that their strategy has been supported by governmental and NGO programs that fund ethnic groups. In this chapter I shall note how the upper classes’ identity narratives are also complicit with this emphasis. I shall argue that in so far as the ethnic/racial identity of ethnic others prevails over their civic identity, the upper classes do not perceive a need for change of ethnic/racial structures to involve society at large, but rather only those deemed as ‘ethnic others.’ Thus, an emphasis on the ethnic/racial aspects of individuals’ identities, in other words their racialization allows responsibility for change to be placed on the very communities that have been historically marginalized by ethnic and racial structures, while the consequence of these structures on individuals’ actions is downplayed. I arrive at this conclusion by analyzing the strategies, if any, advocated by my interviewees to address ethnic and racial inequalities within Ecuador. I shall also draw attention to the extent to which these solutions concentrate solely on Ecuador’s Indigenous populations, largely ignoring afroecuadorians and never addressing mestizos. I shall conclude by broadly considering some of the problems with the ways in which ethnicity is currently addressed in Ecuador, conducting a general overview of how ‘gender’ has been

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conceptualized within the development framework to illustrate my argument. Education as a Panacea

Like María Cuvi’s upper class interviewees, my respondents depicted education as a golden road to development. 1 As one of Cuvi’s interviewees put it: Without education there is no development in a country. [For this reason] we are looking to all [available] means to prepare the people for the future[,] because if we do not put them on competitive academic levels we shall definitely reach the greatest level of poverty seen in history (Cited by Cuvi 2003:298).

Interviewees who saw racism as a problem in Ecuador supported education as a tool for the advancement of discriminated groups. Those who did not perceive racism to be a problem promoted education as a way to increase the country’s human capital and the productivity of labor, as can be noted in the citation above. For these reasons the Chambers of Commerce of Ecuador’s three main cities, Cuenca, Guayaquil, and Quito, “have financed various projects to expand ... peoples’ access to education.…” (Cuvi 2003:298). Among my interviewees, statements about the impossibility of creating policies that would affect the ethnic and racial prejudices of the upper classes generally preceded support for education. Thus, education as a means to inform the greater Ecuadorian population against racist ideas was seldom discussed. Educational policies advocated for were designed to affect the ‘ethnic other.’ The working hypothesis among my interviewees seemed to be that once Indigenous people, afroecuadorians, and others were educated, they would be able to integrate fully into society, bypassing any hierarchy. Individuals involved in public policy often claimed ownership and responsibility for educational programs they saw as designed to help traditionally marginalized ethnic groups. Three former Ecuadorian presidents, for instance, claimed ownership of bilingual education initiatives. Dr. Hurtado stated: When I was President [1981-1984], something very important [to address ethnic problems] was undertaken, namely literacy programs and rural education. A great part of the current Indigenous leaders were formed there. Now there are many Indigenous leaders with a university education. What is going to change Ecuador is that—access

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to education for those people. That is why today there are Indigenous ministers. And well, bit by bit they will, I believe, guard their cultural individuality and integrate ... [they will then] have opportunities to progress, to develop and advance (Hurtado, Quito: 2003, my emphasis).

According to Dr. Hurtado’s statement, education can be used as a tool for the ‘integration’ of Indigenous people into the dominant, presumably mestizo, society. This integration is implicitly held as the way to achieve ‘development.’ Dr. Hurtado’s statement appears to imply that the dominant culture is fixed, demanding that other groups change and adapt to it. When asked if educational policies could instead be drafted to affect the views held by the dominant mestizo population—in order to develop a national identity that would not overtly or covertly renounce its Indigenous roots, Dr. Hurtado denied such possibility, declaring: I don’t think an education in that direction is possible ... but I remember that the first time I went to Europe, Spaniards where not well looked upon ... they were not considered Europeans. Today everyone considers them European, why? Because of Spain’s development. I think that is the best road in the case of the mestizos and the Indigenous (Hurtado, Quito: 2003).

In this statement the weight of change is implicitly placed upon the classes that are being oppressed by the hierarchical structure: as Spaniards (according to Dr. Hurtado) gained the respect of Europe by developing, so must Indigenous people, mestizos, and afroecuadorians develop in order to gain the respect of the rest of the country. Similarly, when Dr. Borja was asked about legislations enacted during his presidential administration to counter ethnic discrimination, he spoke about bilingual and inter-cultural education programs established for Indigenous people (Borja 2003). I once again asked whether there had been, within his administration, an intention to create educational policies that would affect the dominant mestizo sector. Perhaps, I asked, his administration would have considered establishing Quichua-language programs for the Spanish-speaking youth, as such strong emphasis was being made on having Quichua-speakers learn Spanish.2 Dr. Borja responded: No, [the programs established were] for those who already had Quichua … if we created Quichua schools here.... I don’t think there would be an interest, except for linguists, sociologists, and

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anthropologists, but not from the population in general. [Quichua] is not very functional, [not very practical] it does not have the words we use everyday.... Even Spanish has fallen behind modern technology as a good percentage of technical words now used are in English (Borja 2003).

This statement reveals a particular view regarding the nature of languages and epitomizes an ideology that has underlain most ethnic policies in Ecuador, namely that those ethnic groups which are not part of the dominant class are in some way inadequate, and must therefore change if they wish to enjoy society’s best. This ideology hides racism in Ecuadorian society by placing blame on the minorities who have ‘failed to grasp’ their chances to integrate. Former President Durán Ballén also spoke of education as an infallible cure for ethnic problems in Ecuador. He related how during his 1992 presidential campaign he was saddened to realize that he had to be introduced to a part of the Ecuadorian population in a language he did not understand. For this reason he “decided to make bilingual education mandatory in ... Imbabura, Cotopaxi, Bolivar, Chimborazo and Cumbaya” (Durán Ballén, Quito: 2003). He went on to relate how “they [the Indigenous people] were the first to oppose this,” as bilingual education would take away their ability to communicate among themselves (Ibid.). Durán Ballén’s declarations link us back to a perception of Indigenous people as mysterious, closed communities: a homogeneous, and distant group (Prieto 2004). Did non-Indigenous people support bilingual education? And if so, was it not partly because bilingual education did not affect the non-Indigenous population? The fact is that bilingual education was not seen as a possibility for the nonIndigenous. Having the non-Indigenous population become familiar with Quichua as a means to build national unity was not considered. The education policies showcased by the various former Heads of State placed the responsibility for change on the Indigenous population while others were exempted. In turn, these policies implied that the Indigenous population was to be blamed if it failed to make use of the opportunities offered. Interviewees who argued that ‘ethnic minorities’ could improve their status by acquiring educational credentials did not address the vast disparities in the educational opportunities available to different sectors of the population. When asked about this, a former Minister of Education noted,

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When I was Minister of Education, I set up a plan to put a school in each canton of the country. The Ecuadorian state has made an effort (although it is not enough and that we should acknowledge, because the constitution states that the state has the obligation to provide free [primary] education for all) ... during my term we created many schools [throughout the country]. No student who wished to attend school was ever prevented from doing so—the Mejía in Quito, or the Central Técnico, or ... the Simón Bolívar or the Manuela Cañizares, all these schools would take such students.... There was never in Ecuador discrimination leading to a student being told ‘you cannot enter the Mejía because you are Indigenous or the Rocafuerte because you are cholo or montubio.’ Never! What was prioritized? The intelligence and preparation of the people! This is a fact: anyone who wanted to study could study and there were schools in all parts of the country. But what happened? When they reached school age, Indigenous children were taken away from school by their parents to help cultivate their land, and they were, therefore, denied an education (Joseph, Guayaquil: 2005).3

The former Minister presents an idealistic vision of Ecuador where social advancement is limited only by individuals’ willingness to take advantage of the opportunities provided. He stresses that opportunities are available for all, without acknowledging the substantial disparities in the quality of these opportunities. Public schools, as we noted in Chapters 7 and 8, while indeed providing educational opportunities for some impoverished families, are often incommensurable with the private schools attended by the country’s upper classes in terms of resources and prestige. Most importantly, as discussed in the previous chapter, state schools are judged by many of my interviewees to carry a social, ethnic, and even a racial stigma. The ex-Minister, however, does not acknowledge these facts and, thus, places the weight of change on the very backs of those historically marginalized. Interviewees’ support for education as a panacea, in short, is problematic when examined closely. To start with, it disregards ethnic and racial inequalities within Ecuador, presenting socioeconomic inequalities as the result of individuals’ negligence while ignoring structural constraints. Its emphasis, moreover, is on changing the ‘ethnic others’ for their integration into the dominant mestizo space, rather than on promoting a questioning of the ethnic hierarchy among the Ecuadorian population at large. The educational policies presented prioritize the individual as the locus of change, ignoring the communal networks in which an individual is embedded. Furthermore, despite all the problems with Ecuador’s national mestizo narrative, the educational policies lauded by interviewees, implicitly hold mestizaje through

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acculturation as an ideal national narrative. The purpose of these policies seems to be to make the ‘ethnic other’ compatible with, and productive within, the mestizo state. The Responsibility for Change

Our conversation thus far has highlighted a trend among interviewees to place the responsibility for addressing ethnic/racial inequalities on the individuals who claim to suffer from them. Several explanations of why responsibility did not fall or was not acknowledged by the upper classes were presented during interviews. Interviewees from the ‘modern elite’ distanced themselves from the traditional upper classes and noted that such groups had no interest in addressing social inequalities given their preoccupation with economic profits (Pedro, Milton, Diego, Mariano Quito: 2005).4 Informants from the modern elite repeatedly proposed that the traditional elites’ views on ethnic or racial discrimination be understood in term of their business interests: acknowledging and fighting racism is not the concern of the upper-classes, as business leaders of the nation their interest is to create wealth and in this way to benefit others. A majority of interviewees also argued that it was the middle classes, rather than the upper classes, or those who were ‘ethnically closer’ to historically oppressed populations, who were responsible for the maintenance of ethnic/racial inequalities in Ecuador. This was due, they went on, to the fact that those closer to discriminated groups fear being linked to these groups and, therefore, underscore their distance through discriminatory acts. In such way these middle classes assert their membership in the discriminating (rather than the discriminated) group. Diego, explained this as follows: I think ... that within the mestizo group there is a whole continuum, and I think that those most worried about the idea of racism are those who are closer to the pure races, to the Indigenous or to the black ... since they have just left these groups, they need to establish a greater distance with what they have just left. The ones who really don’t have many complexes and who are not trying to deepen these distances are the mestizos who are a bit further [in the continuum], with more education, better cultural levels ... I see myself within this [latter] group. (Diego, Quito 2005).

Similarly, Gloria noted:

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Look, I think that, despite what they are today, the elite ... [have] helped integration ... for example my family, who have been owners of lands and all the rest, they have made the greatest efforts to educate5 all the people around them…. Rather I think the people who most discriminate in the country are the middle class. The middle class discriminates much against the Indian. And the cholos of Ecuador are the ones that most discriminate.… (Gloria, Quito: 2005).

This view was more extensively expressed by one of my Guayaquilenian interviewees: The ‘modern upper economic class,’ where the money is now, is really [just] a middle, middle upper class of people who have been able to arrive, to climb, through hard work [and] intelligence ... consequently they feel a need to take revenge because their grandparents or greatgrandparents were discriminated against. They feel they need to belittle others that have less, but this is not fair ... they are the ones who are the most racist, those who come from a lower stratum, I am not sure if this is due to a trauma, but they tend to be more racist ... [on the other hand] those who truly have family quality, are of [good] surname, those people are not racist. Those people are respectful of all the races. I tell you this because I have friends who, like me, never dismiss a poor person because [he] is a descendant of Indigenous people, because he is cholito, dark, black.… (Verónica, Guayaquil: 2005).

Verónica’s statement hints at some ‘psychological trauma’ as the reason for the discriminatory behavior of those she deems a ‘modern upper economic class.’ This links us to a third argument presented by interviewees to justify their lack of responsibility: that the lower status of certain individuals is due not to racism, but to the racist complex these individuals have internalized. The ‘self-limitation’ of ‘ethnic others’ was, therefore, blamed for their plight, once again displacing responsibility from the strata of my interviewees. In this regard, as the head of a prestigious firm, Jason noted: I think labor opportunities are now based on an individual’s capacity. However, I have seen very capable people of humble origins who selflimit themselves, because they do not have the strength, the courage, to get out of a paradigm where they feel themselves to be less. They feel that because they have a different color, or because they have a different, I don’t know, a different way of being, they are less (Jason, Quito: 2005).

Likewise Santiago said,

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Sadly, in our country ... the mixture of the ‘races’ creates a psychological pressure so that despite whether one has money [or] power, he [the ‘other’] always feels inferior (Santiago, Guayaquil: 2005).

We have already encountered references to the ‘psychological complex’ apparently suffered by Ecuador’s under classes in Chapter 7, where interviewees presented the psychological profile of longos and cholos. If ethnic or racial inequalities in Ecuador are due to the psychological traumas of those decrying oppression, then the onus for slaying this monster lays with the individuals said to suffer from discrimination: they must overcome their trauma if they are to prosper and aid Ecuador’s development. It is the ethnic others who are either guilty of racism or paralyzed by the ethnic/racial complexes they have internalized. Ana, for instance, spoke as the president of a large charity for poor and disabled people in Ecuador, noting: I shall tell you something that will shock you. The great problem of Ecuador is not racism, it is hatred and complex [psychological traumas]. There is a deep inferiority complex in the Ecuadorian citizenry ... and the only person who can end this complex [is] the individual…. I remember the wonderful declarations of Jefferson Perez6 who said ‘I have been able to deliver myself from [an inferiority] complex of 500 years.’ The moment Ecuadorians can clamor in support of Spain, because we have been white for 500 years,7 and also in support of the Indigenous, then and only then, will we overcome the complex. If they teach us to hate the Spaniards, they teach us to hate our mother, if they teach us to ... hate the Indigenous, we are hating our father. We must learn to love ourselves through our ethnic roots. And get over the complex—which is always based on hatred and envy.…

What do you consider yourself? I am white (Ana, Quito: 2005).

It is interesting to note that while Ana decries the racist complex that prevents part of the Ecuadorian population from accepting its ‘mestizo heritage’ and, therefore, advancing socioeconomically, she places herself firmly outside this heritage. Again we see a displacement of responsibility onto the ‘ethnic other’ and an emphasis on the need for the ‘ethnic other’ to adapt. In a conversation about newspaper job adverts requiring a ‘white’ individual, Verónica also emphasized the importance of individuals

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overcoming their traumas, while downplaying the importance of racist practices in Ecuador: Are there racial limits to individuals’ advancement in Ecuador? No, no, no. Maybe for those little jobs as a secretary advertised in newspapers: ‘secretary/receptionist needed with good presence and no older than 25.’ If a poor, dark skinned person8 shows up, with a vulgar style,9 they will not accept her regardless of how smart she is. But if a doctor has just arrived from [studying] abroad10 regardless of how cholo or dark he looks, if he is a brilliant doctor, a clinic will have him.11 So it all depends on you: studying, making yourself valuable, and improving yourself, because you are the only one that will give yourself value. Because if you are not white, blond and pretty, then you will have to earn your merits elsewhere. How many times have I been told, ‘Verónica, this is a wonderful doctor,’ and when I go to their practice I find that the doctor is an insignificant being, a dark skinned, curly haired12 person who is physically worthless, who might look like a taxi driver. And yet he is a genius (Verónica, Guayaquil 2005).

Like many of my interviewees, Verónica underlined the possibilities for advancement open to all individuals, even “physically insignificant ones,” if they apply themselves and compete in the labor market. By adhering to this perspective, which we had noted in Chapter 4 as the ‘Myth of the Markets,’ interviewees seek to reduce their role in the creation and maintenance of racial inequalities in Ecuador, placing the burden entirely on the shoulders of those historically marginalized. When I asked interviewees about their role as citizens in addressing ethnic and racial inequalities within Ecuador, interviewees did not speak about a statewide civic responsibility to address structural inequalities in Ecuador. Such inequalities were understood as strictly ‘ethnic’ problems and, therefore, only of concern to ‘ethnic citizens’ such as Indigenous people—in other words, the ‘ethnic others.’13 There was, however, one important way in which interviewees claimed a role in addressing social inequalities in their city: by highlighting the upper classes’ tradition of charity work. Interviewees from each city claimed their city to be the most charitable, and argued that it was through volunteer work that the upper classes often gave back to society for their privileges.14 As evidence individuals often listed the many activities in which they were involved.15 Several of these activities were linked to the Catholic Church.

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Importantly, however, interviewees’ spoke of their charitable work in terms of help to the ‘poor,’ to the ‘impoverished,’ and to the ‘needy,’ avoiding all ethnic or racial labels. In other words, it appears that interviewees’ conceptualized their responsibility in terms of their obligation to fellow economically deprived citizens, not in terms of their obligation to populations historically oppressed by the state’s ethnic/racial structure, and hence, not in terms of responsibility to other ethnic or racial groups. This implies that individuals whose ethnic identity is emphasized may become more vulnerable, so far as they become less embedded within existing social conceptions of rights and responsibilities.16 In other words, these individuals may come to be increasingly perceived solely as ‘ethnic others’ rather than as fellow citizens. This is problematic given the growing use of ethnicity/race as political capital in Ecuador. It also implies that individuals are required to submit their ethnic identity and its distinctive markers to the hegemonic national narrative of ‘mestizo citizenship’ if they are not to become vulnerable. Whether this is even possible, given the prevalent racialization of ethnic identities, as noted in previous chapters, is questionable. The idea that some sort of ‘complex’ undergirds the inability of certain individuals to overcome their poverty or to renounce racism had an interesting and unexpected collateral. It was used to argue against the integration of these individuals into the private spheres of my interviewees’ lives. Charity work and social relations, it was argued, need to maintain established boundaries to avoid exacerbating the complexes of oppressed populations. For example, when I asked Ana about the maintenance or breaking of barriers through the undertaking of charity work she replied: Look, there is a great misconception here. [The object of charitable work] is to improve the habitat of these people where they live, not take them out of their habitat. Because they would be the first to feel bad if they are taken out of their habitat. To take a child out of his habitat (the San Carlos neighborhood, to give you an example),17 where he lives, where he moves, so that he could be, I don’t know, in a gated community, to put him in the intimate circle of another social, economic, and racial group—the child is the one that feels bad, not the others! I, for instance, do not allow the disabled children we help to be invited to the Christmas dinners of families who want to entertain them, because they feel bad. Because they see gifts, thousands of gifts, and a lovely meal and they don’t have that sort of life (Quito, 2005).

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To illustrate the problems created by attempting to integrate ‘the other’ into one’s private sphere, Cristina told me about her daughter’s friend: We used to live in Guayaquil city centre and my daughter became good friends with a little girl who sold candy outside the building. When my daughter invited this girl to one of her birthday parties I thought ‘What will the other children say?!,’ but what could I do. This little girl was so awake, so vivacious, however, that she was the star of the party.… [Cristina then heard some rumors about the girl which made her nervous and she decided to break-up the children’s friendship] ... but I thought, in any event, by bringing this girl to a status to which she did not belong we were not doing her any good, because surely she ... feels happy with us ... (in my house we always treated her well) ... but when she goes back home her reality must be terrible, and coming here must make it seem worse (Guayaquil: 2005).

Through stories like the ones relayed here, interviewees justified their inaction in regard to ethnic/racial inequalities, or even justified their advocacy for the maintenance of inter-ethnic/racial boundaries by arguing that breaching these boundaries might be detrimental for members of marginalized groups. In other words, while asking ‘others’ to overcome internal and external racist structures, several interviewees excused their guarding of these structures as a benevolent act on behalf of historically oppressed populations. Few represented their actions as actually safeguarding their own interests and psychological comfort. In a rather stark instance of the latter, when I asked Paulina whether she was interested in opposing racism in Ecuador, she replied: Paulina—I am not interested in fighting against it. Because I can’t find myself with people who are not of my same level—I can’t ... I just don’t … fit! So I would not do anything about it. You ask me to be honest! I am telling you, if I run into someone of a lower social status than I am, and they are worth it, I try to digest it, to accept it, and I may accept it, but it hurts! Pablo—What [Paulina] is trying to say is that, it is not that she hates them or anything like that; but—blacks with blacks, Indians with Indians, whites with whites. Paulina—Yes, as my mother used to say: even in heaven there are hierarchies. Everyone has his or her place. I don’t scorn anyone, I don’t want to hurt anyone… Pablo—[Interrupting] Not because anyone is better than others…

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Paulina—Exactly, but let us each stay in our proper place (Quito, 2005).

Two separate reasons might prompt interviewees to guard ethnic/racial boundaries. First, there is the psychological comfort of avoiding identities that do not conform to interviewees’ ethnic identity narratives and that may, therefore, lead to a questioning of ‘doxic’ knowledge, and to the altering interviewees’ habitus. Second, a breach of ethnic/racial boundaries may pose a threat to interviewees’ status, challenging their place in the established ethnic/racial hierarchy, or even questioning the very hierarchy. Through a short vignette, Verónica subtlety explored how she managed possible breaches without letting them challenge her identity narratives or status: One day we were going to a casino ... with a friend ... [when] one of my husband’s employees walked by the bar we were in. He is sort of cholito ... my husband saw him and said ‘Come here Engineer,18 come have a drink with us.’ He asked us what we were doing, so we told him that we were waiting for a show. ‘If you want to, come with us,’ I said ... my friend turned and whispered to me ‘That cholito is coming with us?!’ So I told her, ‘Look, the moment I enter the casino with my husband I don’t think my friends are going to say ‘Who is that cholo that is entering with Verónica?’ and stop being my friends. I don’t think so. I shall not lose but he will gain because he is entering with me. I am not going to lose anything because what I am worth I inherited from my parents. My manners19 no cholito can take away from me. If I go to the casino with an engineer who is not as white as I am, it will not make people think that I am dishonest ... on the contrary, perhaps there are people in there who know him and might say ‘Oh, look at the Engineer, he is with Verónica [surname] ... he has good friends’…. You know what my friend told me? ‘Verónica you have just given me a great lesson’ (Guayaquil: 2005).

Verónica’s representation of her experience does not query the identity of a ‘cholito’ or doubt her place in the ethnic/racial ranking. Rather, her meeting and socializing with a ‘cholito’ is recast to emphasize her magnanimous willingness to offer an individual of a lower ethnic/racial status her company and, therefore, to aid him in acquiring symbolic capital. Through her representation of this event, however, Verónica also inadvertently revealed the threats posed by breaching ethnic/racial boundaries: 1) she could loose social status in front of her friends (social capital); 2) she could compromise the ‘manners’ she received from her parents (social capital, reminding us of

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previous discussions about the ‘cradle’); 3) dishonesty, apparently linked to other ethnic/racial groups, could be ascribed to her. Responsibility and the State

The 2004 survey on racism cited in the previous chapter found that the majority of Ecuadorians saw the state, rather than themselves, as responsible for acting on behalf of those who suffer from discrimination. According to the survey, the government was responsible for racism 55 percent of the time, citizens 37 percent of the time, and 78 percent of respondents believed that the Ecuadorian government has done nothing to address discrimination (Día internacional contra el Racismo 2005). In contrast to these results, several interviewees involved in public policy argued that the government does not have a role to play in confronting the racist attitudes that permeate Ecuador. Such argument is illustrated in Dr. Hurtado’s second statement in this chapter. Even more explicitly, Dr. Borja stated, Some governments have done something [i.e., bilingual education] and others nothing, but ‘Daddy Government’ cannot be expected to supply all things for all people. There is a society that can act without expecting from the government (Borja, Quito: 2003).

While appeals to civil society were made, official policies, such as the education programs noted at the beginning of this chapter, pushed the weight of change away from the dominant sectors of society. Such appeals to civil society contradict what appears to be the logic behind the growing politicization of ethnic groups and the growing polarization of ethnic identities in Ecuador, as discussed in Chapter 5. Indigenous people, afroecuadorians, and montubios, are among the groups that have opted to emphasize their ethnic identity to demand recognition and resources from the institutions of the state. The funding received from state institutions has, perhaps unwittingly, encouraged these actions. Thus, while state representatives place the responsibility for change on civil society, civil society itself increasingly looks to the institutions of the state to acknowledge, address, and even fund Ecuador’s ethnic structures. Thus far the Ecuadorian state does not seem to have fully confronted the topic of ethnic/racial discrimination. Rather, according to sociologist Burbano de Lara, the consequences of ethnic discrimination have been mainly treated within the framework of poverty (Burbano, Quito: 2003). In other words, given that Indigenous people and other

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non-mestizo ethnic groups are among the poorest inhabitants of the country, the state has attempted to diminish poverty in order to affect these populations. The possibility that an underlying cause for poverty is the country’s ethnic hierarchy has thus far remained unconsidered. Since poverty is seen as the primary problem, ethnic discrimination fades to the background and the present inequalities come to be seen mainly as a problem of the state and a responsibility of the state, not as a problem of collective responsibility in which we (civil society) are all involved in one form or another ... we all could do something to change, it is as if our daily customs remain more or less inalterable before these inequalities... (Burbano, Quito: 2003).

The state’s focus on poverty might be a reaction, as we noted in the previous chapter, to the simultaneous and interactive effect of several exclusionary mechanisms on impoverished populations. Unaware of the overlap of these mechanisms, the state may invest their resources in addressing only the most visible or recognized mechanism—in Ecuador’s case economic poverty and lack of education. Yet in Ecuador ethnicity and race are particularly powerful variables in the creation and maintenance of socioeconomic inequalities. Policies that wish to affect poverty without taking into consideration the ethnic/racial narratives that sustains this poverty will, consequently, be marginally efficient at best. Most likely they will be ineffective and may even further solidify the ethnic/racial structures of Ecuadorian society, by creating or sustaining inequalities among different ethnic/racial groups. There are, of course, other important players in the struggle against race/ethnic inequalities in Ecuador that need to be considered. These are NGOs and international development organizations that have supported several different types of ‘ethnodevelopment’ projects. Recent research has noted the interplay between the ethnic and racial ideologies of these institutions, and the ethnic and racial structures of the societies in which they work. In his recent paper on the Americanization of anti-racism, Bonnet notes the World Bank’s mixture of neo-liberalism with antiracism that asserts “the utility of capital racialization proposing that economically marginalized groups can enter the market place through having ‘ethnic’ ownership rights granted to resources such as land and water” and assumes insertion into the free market as the best option for historically oppressed and impoverished ethnic and racial groups (Bonnet 2006: 1094). In a different paper, J. Hooker notes the importance of NGO funding in promoting the consolidation of ethnicbased development groups throughout Latin America (Hooker 2005).

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Finally, Breton argues that in Ecuador the role of NGOs in funding groups with a ‘clear ethnic identity’ has demobilized, neutralized, and domesticated the Indigenous movement as the more politicized indigenous leadership [that was] formed around the struggle for land reform has been replaced by a new cadre of technocratic indigenous leaders who know how to present successful [development grant applications] (De la Torre 2006: 254).

How governments, NGOs, and international funding institutions are shaping the conceptualization and promotion or criticism of ethnic and racial narratives needs to be understood in conjunction with local ethnic and racial narratives. In other words, the ‘racialization of capital’ promoted by the World Bank will be nuanced to different degrees by the local narratives of the places where the Bank hopes to implement programs. In the case of Ecuador, it is not unfeasible to speculate that the promotion of ‘clear ethnic identities’ and the ‘racialization of capital’ by international development organizations, are compatible with the growing politicization and polarization of ethnic identities, shown in Chapter 5, and with the upper classes’ support for programs that emphasize the agency and responsibility of the ‘ethnic other.’ The manner in which many NGOs and development organizations have approached ethnicity and race in Latin America, might, therefore, serve to consolidate the structures that we have noted as problematic throughout this book. The lack of reflection on the ‘western’ and ‘white’ authority implicit in much development work and NGOs might serve to reinforce Ecuador’s ethnic/racial hierarchy, further tying this hierarchy to global North/South ethnic/racial dynamics (Kothari 2006), (Crewe 2006). This is already the case to the extent that the linking of ‘ethnic capital’ only to ‘minorities’ by states and international organizations has prevented research on the ‘ethnic capital’ of large portions of the Ecuadorian population. The use of ‘ethnic capital’ as a tool for development, consequently, remains under-researched (Cheong 2006). An in-depth engagement with the socioeconomic inequalities supported by ethnic narratives in Ecuador requires us to re-conceptualize our very use and understanding of ethnicity in the development process. A more radical agenda is necessary, where the effects of ethnicity/race are understood in terms of their connection with other socioeconomic variables, and the very notions of ethnicity and race are denaturalized, questioned, and examined as socio-political constructs, with their implications carefully considered before they are used as tools for development.

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Learning from Gender Just as development before the 1970s spoke little about gender and yet had clearly gendered outcomes, so the challenge is [now] to trace the implicit character of formally color-blind development discourse and practice (White in Power 2006:29).

To wrap up this discussion it might be profitable to look outside works on ethnicity and race for insights useful to Ecuador’s socioeconomic development process. Throughout this book, I have stressed the need to consider the constant and multiple interactions between social variables such as gender, ethnicity and race in structuring society. In this last section I shall look briefly at how gender has been approached within the field of development to offer some thoughts on the implications of the current use of ‘ethnicity’ in the development of Ecuador and how this might be improved. To readers familiar with gender literature, it might be striking to note the extent to which my interviewees’ representation of ethnicity/race in this thesis parallels the way in which gender was conceptualized under the paradigm of ‘Women In Development’— WID.20 This paradigm, which was developed in the 1970s after the publication of Ester Boserup’s research on women’s role in economic development, was undergirded by a liberal feminist search for legal and administrative changes to end discrimination against women in the productive sphere (Boserup 1974). It was also sustained by a ‘modernizing’ view of development, which broadly equates development with industrialization. WID, then, sought to promote the involvement of women in the development process, stating that women had previously been neglected as ‘economic agents.’ Increasing women’s economic involvement was sought through courses and programs tailored specifically at women, especially micro-credits. WID sought two ends: to improve the situation of women and to aid LDCs by increasing their human capital and the efficient use of their labor force. Several problems, however, were soon identified with the WID paradigm. To start, it was based on an unquestioned view of development as modernization, a view inherently harmful to the livelihoods of certain societies. It, moreover, often lacked feasibility studies, leading to projects that did not take into consideration responsibilities already held by women. Lastly, it did not consider how gender relations affected women’s access to, or use of, resources. The main thrust of the WID paradigm corresponds largely with the way ethnic identities are currently presented and used by Guayaquil and

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Quito’s upper classes. To start with, much as WID held that the involvement of women in the development process would lead to their wellbeing and diminish or even terminate socioeconomic development inequalities between men and women, my interviewees have argued that the involvement of non-mestizo ethnic groups in market-driven development processes would result in their advancement and ameliorate social inequalities. Education was presented as the golden path for the advancement of non-mestizo ethnic groups in the labor force. However, as we have noted in this and the previous chapter, this view discounts the effects of ethnic and racial structures on individuals’ prospects while making members of historically discriminated groups solely responsible for their socioeconomic betterment. The ‘modernization’ narrative that supports this view of development, and therefore prioritizes individuals’ integration into the labor force, has hardly been questioned—how it affects different ethnic narratives and identities in Ecuador remains to be researched.21 We might, consequently, speak of ‘Ethnicities In Development’ (EID) as the paradigm currently guiding ethnicity and development in Ecuador. The increasing politicization of ethnic identities in Ecuador, as noted in Chapter 5, at times promoted by NGOs and government organizations, as noted in this chapter, foments the involvement of ethnic groups in the development process mainly as ‘ethnic actors’; that is, the involvement of these individuals is mediated principally by their ethnic identity: they are involved as ‘Indigenous people,’ as ‘afroecuadorians,’ as ‘montubios,’ et cetera, rather than simply as citizens or human beings. Their ethnic identity, in short, takes precedence over other identities. WID similarly highlighted only women’s gender, ignoring other aspects of their identity and the complex construction of gender. Thus, development projects tailored specifically for ‘ethnic groups’ and based on prevalent ethnic narratives, might help to essentialize the identity of these groups, in fact contributing to the preservation of hierarchical structures and unacknowledged racial barriers. The most significant aspect of the current ‘Ethnic identities In Development’ paradigm, however, is that it does not thoroughly consider the effect of socioeconomic development processes on ethnic/racial narratives and vice-versa. This is, again, similar to what was the case when the WID paradigm prevailed in the area of gender, where the effects of development processes on the creation of gender narratives were left unconsidered. The current paradigm, therefore, does not consider how the aid of predominately white foreign development organizations in the creation of local development programs will affect

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the ethnic narratives being created in societies receiving such aid (Crewe 2006). Simultaneously, this paradigm does not consider how ethnic narratives affect individuals’ involvement in the development process. This might explain why such a high number of interviewees argued that racism was not a significant problem for the advancement of Ecuadorian citizens. Often interviewees waved away discussions of racism to stress what they saw as the ‘real’ problems of Ecuador: corruption, educational failures, and the lack of a national identity. The extent to which ethnic and racial ideologies permeate these other problems and affect the structure of Ecuadorian society, however, was hardly considered. In one respect the struggle to address ethnicity and development in Ecuador has an advantage over previous struggles to address gender and development as we can now apply what we have learned about gender and development to the field of ethnicity. To start with, we might follow the insight of gender by shifting our focus from involving ethnic groups in development to the relation between ‘Ethnic groups And Development’ (EAD)—which would parallel the ‘Women And Development’ (WAD) perspective. This shift would lead us to ask to what extent are our present development paradigms helping to create and maintain the oppression and inequality suffered by different ethnic groups, and to what extent and how does the development process in fact contribute to creation of different ethnic narratives and, even, of racist ideologies? In the area of gender, we have come to understand that women have always been a part of the development process, even prior to attempts to increase their involvement in certain areas of the cash economy through WID initiatives. Similarly, we must understand that ethnic groups, whether involved in the formal, or ‘informal,’ modern or traditional sectors of a nation’s economy, have been an integral part of the state’s development process. In the area of gender we have also learned that women’s involvement in the market structure often did not improve their welfare, adding instead to the demands placed upon them. Following this insight, it is important to pause and investigate whether certain ethnic groups are also being detrimentally affected by their involvement in different economic systems. We must further ask how they might increase their involvement in new areas of the economy without forfeiting, for instance, social and economic networks they had previously established, and whether their involvement aggravates transnational systems of dependency. We must also consider the impossibility of separating the private and public realms of ethnic narratives, much as we have learned that the private and public spheres of women’s life are inextricably linked and

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must, hence, always be jointly taken into account. This has yet to take place in Ecuador. We noted for instance, that the private use of longo and cholo, deeply affects the creation of socioeconomic networks in public spaces. Interviewees, however, often differentiated between their private sphere, where the maintenance of ethnic and racial boundaries was presented as non-problematic, and the public realm, where these acts were decried as racist. The false dichotomy between the private and public use of ethnic and racial narratives must, therefore, also be considered. A truly holistic and sophisticated approach to development calls for an even broader perspective, leading us to understand ethnic identities as contested, multifaceted, complex constructs in relation with the broad socio-historical context of Ecuador, rather than simply as variables to be manipulated for the economic, social, or even cultural advancement of certain groups. Only such a perspective will permit us to acknowledge and address the complex heterogeneity within ethnic labels, such as mestizaje. More explicitly, the very social construction of ethnic identities and race must be considered, addressing the identities of all inhabitants of Ecuador, not simply historically marginalized groups. Focusing solely on Indigenous people and afroecuadorians, as we have noted in this book, not only permits discrimination taking place among individuals labeled as mestizos to continue but, most importantly, leaves unquestioned the very ethnic structure of the society and, in turn, leaves unchallenged the identity of those at the apex of this structure. Thus, as Power notes, “It is necessary to contest the way in which development discourses engage in a social construction of these differences perpetuating them and creating new spaces of exclusion” (Power 2006:28). Such a holistic and sophisticated ‘Ethnicity and Development’ (EAD) perspective, analogous to ‘Gender And Development’ (GAD) stand, where ethnicity is conceptualized as a social construct that affects and is affected by all socioeconomic processes, will permit the creation of socioeconomic policies that empower individuals as agents of transformation, rather than simply as agents of survival, able to overcome detrimental ethnic narratives and reject racial barriers.22 Conclusion

In this chapter I have undertaken an analysis of the different approaches offered by my interviewees to address the ethnic inequalities and tensions that characterize Ecuador. Through this analysis I have highlighted the tacit displacing of responsibility for decreasing socioeconomic disparities between different ethnic groups to the very

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groups who have historically suffered from ethnic and racial discrimination. Education was often presented as a means through which such groups could battle these inequalities. Individuals’ lack of success was then attributed to psychological ‘complexes’ resulting in selfimposed limitations. These explanations dismissed individuals’ unequal access to quality education and discrimination in the labor sphere as epiphenomena. Finally, the argument that ‘complexes’ or ‘traumas’ were a primordial reason for lack of individual success justified interviewees’ support for the maintenance of social boundaries in the private realm as a means to prevent incensing these complexes. I have stressed that my research population conceptualizes its civic responsibility primarily in terms of its obligations to impoverished fellow citizens not ‘ethnic others.’ The groups that choose to emphasize their ethnic identities, therefore, may fall outside hegemonic conceptualizations of civic rights and responsibilities. They could, therefore, become ‘stateless people’ in an Arendtian sense. The obligation of the state and other citizens towards them as ‘ethnic others’ rather than as fellow citizens is nebulous, permitting abuses. In the last part of this chapter I have examined interviewees’ approaches to ethnicity and development in Ecuador by loosely comparing these approaches to different paradigms on gender and development. This analysis begins from the assumption that by comparing ethnicity to gender we might gain useful insights as to the detrimental implications of currently held policy stances, as well as awareness of ways in which these stances might be improved. I have argued that while my interviewees advocate for an integration of individuals from historically marginalized groups into a market-driven development process in a way that, again, often emphasizes their ethnic identities, we must strive for a sophisticated understanding of the complex and symbiotic relationship of ethnicity and development, being willing to challenge established structures and narratives, whether these be socioeconomic, racial, or ethnic. Notes 1 Easterly (2001) has shown that this is a recurrent trope in development rhetoric. Recent research (including this book) supports Easterly’s argument that improvements in education do not necessarily lead to growth or to decreases in socioeconomic inequalities (Figueroa 2005). 2 We should note that this demand has been made: the CONAIE has stipulated that the Spanish-speaking population be required to study an Indigenous language (Selverston 1997:177).

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3 This representation contradicts recent data showing that the majority of Indigenous children dropping out of primary school do so because they cannot afford the costs (Preal 2006: 7). 4 Research on the upper classes of the Philippines has found a similar distancing from responsibility among newer business elites (Clarke 2003). 5 We can note here another instance of education being represented as a solution. 6 Born in a poor household in Quito, Jefferson Perez rose to national prominence as the first, and only, Ecuadorian to earn an Olympic gold medal (1998, speed walking). He then became a Congressman. 7 Since the Spanish’s arrival to the Americas in 1492. 8 In Spanish ‘Morenita’ 9 Verónica added the fact that this ‘dark skinned person’ might have a ‘vulgar style’ as a second thought, hence the awkward grammar of her statement. 10 The foreign credentials attributed to this individual should be highlighted. Links with Europe or, more recently, the United States, grant individuals educational and cultural capital, reminding us of the diplomas displayed by interviewees in Chapter 3. 11 The use of gender in this interviewee’s statement is interesting, hinting at a greater difficulty for women to overcome racial barriers. 12 In Spanish ‘morenito, zambito.’ The latter word might be more accurately, if rudely, translated ‘nappy haired.’ 13 In the 1990s, as the Indigenous movement grew, the phrase ‘The Indian Problem’ became popular in Ecuador. At least two meanings can be read into this phrase: Indigenous people as the problem, and a problem that belongs to the Indigenous people. As other ethnic groups mobilize in Ecuador, this phrase seems to be adapting as needed. Thus, my interviewees statements seem to refer to an ‘Ethnic problem.’ 14 Several of my interviewees were very dismissive of these activities, characterizing them as ‘appellatives for the conscience of the upper classes’ (Milton, Quito: 2005), ‘opportunities for social display’ (Sonia, Quito: 2005), as ‘useless activities, which turn into social events while the usual workers tire themselves’ (Carolina, Quito: 2005), and one noted that ‘until I became president of this organization, the leadership forced all the kids to stand up and sing their praises when they came in… only a red carpet was missing’ (Gloria, Quito:2005). 15 I shall not reproduce these lists as they might help identify my interviewees. 16 Arendt explores this possibly in regard to individuals whose national identity is erased, given the emphasis on their Jewish identity, therefore becoming stateless citizens. Arendt (1968), Bernstein (2005) 17 Poor neighbourhood in Quito 18 It is habitual in Ecuador to use an individual’s academic qualifications as a title. 19 In Spanish ‘mi manera de ser’ 20 My discussion of the paradigms through which gender has been understood over the past 40 years is largely indebted to the work of Nicholas Pialek (2007). My discussion, however, is limited to those areas that bear upon

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my interest on ethnicity. For a fuller discussion of gender paradigms refer to Pialek (2007). 21 There is some research on the effects of modernization on specific Indigenous communities, such as Mary Weismantel’s (1998) study of the Zumbahua community, and David Kyle’s study of migration’s effect on Andean communities (2000), but more needs to be done to understand the effects of socioeconomic changes on Ecuador’s national ethnic narratives. 22 GAD has been increasingly criticized for lacking the voice of non-white women. Learning from this, our agenda could be strengthened by striving to incorporate the voices of different ethnic groups in the creation of ethnic policies (White 2006).

10 Conclusion

The topic of this book, ethnic/racial identities and their implications, is ever more germane to the field of development studies. Inequalities and resentments experienced and understood through ethnic/racial narratives have played a fundamental role in the rise and fall of violent and peaceful movements throughout the world in the last two decades, as evinced by the experiences of Rwanda, Spain, Bolivia, Peru, and Ecuador. In the Ecuadorian case, the growing political mobilization of Indigenous and afroecuadorians and montubios has brought ethnicity/race to the forefront of public debate. Yet until the narratives that sustain these inequalities and resentments are fully comprehended, denaturalized, and politicized, it will be impossible to address fully and effectively the demands of these populations and the underlying problems of disparities and discrimination. A main concern with ethnic/racial inequalities and injustices is that as they are naturalized under hegemonic narratives they may not even appear problematic until their unsustainable tensions are made explicit in violence and instability. A concern with such violence emerging among ‘mixed populations’ has prompted the research behind this book. The study of ethnic identity is, thus, of extreme importance for development studies. Understanding ethnic identities and their construction in specific contexts, will permit the creation of policies that do not maintain or exacerbate inequalities between groups. Such inequalities can result in social, political, and economic instability. Concurrently, understanding ethnic identities will also facilitate the creation of policies that promote communication and interchange between different ethnic groups in order to dissipate prejudices and stereotypes and encourage the birth of new ideas and social networks. Socioeconomic development policies must consider ethnicity, moreover, because a broader conceptualization of what development entails is necessary. If the framework of socioeconomic development does not integrate ethnicity, for one thing, the efficacy of policies might be

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compromised, as GRADE’s research in Peru demonstrates. Furthermore, issues of equity and justice between and among ethnic groups should not fall outside the scope of development. Development processes that do not constantly struggle with the search for justice run the risk of simply becoming tools for the advancement of certain sectors within society. The construction of mestizos’ ethnic identity in Ecuador has had a plethora of social, economic, and cultural implications. This identity has permitted an apparent homogenization of a great part of the population that obfuscates internal disparities. The continual use of racial characteristics to differentiate between mestizos, for example, has been largely hidden by the ‘mestizo narrative.’ Moreover, the portrayal of this ethnicity as the core of the national identity has led to a devaluation of other ethnic identities. The integration of other ethnicities into the mestizo mainstream has been advocated as the way to foster the advancement of the country, yet for many this has meant denying anything that related them to their ancestry. By critically examining one of the least researched sectors of the Ecuadorian population, the upper class mestizos of Guayaquil and Quito, in this work I have deconstructed the Ecuadorian category of mestizaje and questioned the assumptions of hybridity upon which it is based. I have analyzed the various ethnic narratives used by Ecuador’s upper-classes (Chapters 6 and 7) and noted the effects of these narratives for socioeconomic development processes (Chapters 8 and 9), taking into consideration the current political situation of the country and recent trends in national and international approaches to ethnicity and development (Chapters 2, 3, and 9). Through this analysis, I have exposed local nuances in the national mestizo narrative (Chapters 3 and 5) and noted how interviewees negotiate their relations with other ethnic identities through this narrative (Chapters 4, 6 and 7). I have further underscored the need for policies to take into consideration local ethnic narratives if they are to address effectively ethnic inequalities and discrimination in Ecuador (Chapters 3, 6, 7, and 9). I have examined how such discrimination limits individuals’ access to socioeconomic networks through which economic goods in their broadest sense are traded (Chapter 8). I have also noted that this discrimination limits individuals’ returns to investments in education and their advancement in the labor market (Chapters 8 and 9). Most significantly, I have emphasized the need to address the inequalities hidden under the homogenizing label of mestizaje (Chapter 7 and 8). Individuals seen as ‘cholos’ or ‘longos’ can suffer from racial discrimination yet so long as this discrimination is hidden beneath the label of mestizaje, individuals suffering from it are disempowered, unable to represent their struggles

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as caused by racial structures. Partly as a reaction to international ideological currents, partly in response to increasing ethnic mobilizations, and partly due to the ever-increasing power of the mestizo paradigm, the Ecuadorian upper classes have come to embrace the label of mestizaje for themselves. While the media has applauded this as a demonstration of all sectors of society embracing their mixed biological and cultural heritage allowing the country to move forward in unity, I have argued that the acceptance of the mestizo label does not necessarily result in unity and equality. Thus, although they have rhetorically embraced the label of mestizos, the upper classes continue to differentiate themselves from those who are colloquially known as mestizos—the ‘Indigenous mestizos’ or ‘more mestizos’ who throughout my research were labelled longos or cholos. Through the use of the terms ‘longo’ and ‘cholo’ ethnic identity boundaries among mestizos are created and reinforced, keeping individuals branded by these labels in a liminal space between the promises of mestizaje, and the socio-political and economic gains being made by essentialized nonmestizo ethnic identities. Mestizaje’s lack of clarity has permitted it to grow as a hegemonic narrative, as in its ambiguity many ill-defined promises can lay unmet (Chapters 3, 5, 8, and 9). If this narrative and the power dynamics it hides are to be addressed in policy, however, we must disentangle its various local meanings and their implications. Through an analysis of interview data (Chapters 4, 6, 7, and 8) I have argued that mestizaje as a ‘personal identity’ appears far more distant to interviewees from Guayaquil than from Quito. Coastal interviewees (Chapter 6) constructed the mestizo as an immigrant who acclimates to the specifics of their city, shedding markers of other physical cultures. By highlighting the city’s European ancestry, interviewees distanced their city’s mestizaje from Indigenous roots. In the same vein, by representing montubios as original inhabitants of the coast and innately separate and distinct from highland Indigenous people, coastal interviewees could further argue for a distinct mestizaje, one linked to montubios rather than to Indigenous people. Indigenous people were, consequently, displaced to the Highlands and Amazonian regions. In the Highlands (Chapter 7), on the other hand, interviewees spoke about mestizaje as an identity they had learned applied to all Ecuadorians, even though they cannot, in fact, fall under the dominant definition of mestizos as acculturated Indigenous people. In the Highlands, moreover, mestizaje serves to oppose the growing politicization of non-mestizo ethnic groups and mestizaje’s racial content can be called upon to essentialize and oppose the ‘ethnic other.’ In the imaginaries of interviewees in both

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Guayaquil and Quito, afroecuadorians were entirely missing from the narrative of mestizaje. Policies that seek to address socioeconomic inequalities in Ecuador or other nations with ‘mixed’ populations, but which are unaware of the insidious power dynamics maintained by local ethnic narratives, risk unwittingly maintaining the very oppressive structures they hope to undermine. For instance, legislations that seek the advancement of impoverished mestizos in Ecuador, but which are oblivious to how the ‘cholo’ and ‘longo’ narratives support horizontal inequalities among mestizos, may be unsuccessful. The ideologies that sustain a system must be addressed along with that system’s effects if sustainable change is to be achieved (Chapter 9). Policies addressing ethnic/racial inequalities in Ecuador and elsewhere must take into consideration local ethnic narratives, and the diverse socioeconomic sectors involved in creating and maintaining these narratives. At present, though, our knowledge of the ethnic narratives of the upper classes is rather limited. This gap in our knowledge is partly the result of a focus by previous researchers on political and economic structures to the detriment of studying identity narratives, and partly due to the exotization of ‘ethnicity’ in Ecuador and other societies (Goulbourne 2003). Yet, understanding the narratives of the upper classes is necessary if we are to draft policies that can successfully integrate this population as agents of transformation1 and equip us to understand the social and psychological barriers they face when attempting change. Several policy implications can be gleaned from the material presented in this book. First, it is evident that ideas of ethnicity and race are still prevalent and significant in Ecuadorian society. They must, therefore, be addressed, and can be addressed through a plethora of sectors including legislations against discrimination and perhaps supporting affirmative action, textbooks and educational resources denaturalizing ethnicity/race, educational and cultural programs that provide information about local identities and promote interaction between ethnic groups, government contracts that target marginalized populations, and media campaigns to oppose stereotypes, among others. The first step to address the effect of ethnicity/race on socioeconomic inequalities, however, is seeking to understand how these ideas are constructed and used. This, however, will not be achieved simply by gathering disaggregated census data, as now advocated by the World Bank. Such data simply reifies certain national ethnic/racial narratives and tells us little or nothing about the history of these narratives, about their local variations, or about their impact on different sectors of the

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population. Furthermore, great heterogeneity may be hidden beneath broad ethnic labels, such as mestizaje in Ecuador. Statistical data that assumes the validity of these labels might, therefore, aid to hide differences and processes of discrimination. More nuanced and sophisticated research on local ethnic/racial narratives is necessary, as are programs designed to disseminate research findings. It is also important that the role and responsibility of the upper classes in creating and maintaining ethnic structures, as well as the effect of such structures on the upper classes, be considered in the drafting of ethnic policies. Policies must be tailored to affect all socioeconomic strata rather than being designed to place all responsibility for change and adaptation on those populations most oppressed by existing narratives. Educational policies, for instance, could be created to teach the upper classes about their own ethnic narratives, helping to denaturalize and politicize these, as well as teaching historically oppressed ethnic groups about how those historically in control have created and understood the system they presided over. Learning about the ‘other’ must be an experience undertaken by all if detrimental narratives are to be combated. Through this book I have sought to highlight the plight of a particularly vulnerable population within Ecuador: those individuals derisively referred to as ‘cholos’ and ‘longos.’ These individuals are doubly oppressed by ethnic and racial structures. To start with, since these individuals are considered mestizos, they are unable to appeal to the ethnic capital of Indigenous or afroecuadorian groups to further their socioeconomic advancement and, consequently, are unable to access state and international resources made available to minority ethnic groups. Furthermore, as racism in Ecuador has been conceptualized as explicit animosity between officially defined ethnic groups, ‘longos’ and ‘cholos’ cannot resort to anti-racism initiatives when they encounter discrimination because they are held to be part of the ethnic majority and not members of the minorities that have come to be understood as ‘victims of discrimination.’ Inequalities among mestizos are usually understood as vertical inequalities and are therefore treated under the framework of poverty; ignoring the ethnic/racial narratives that maintain these differences. Neoliberal promises of advancement for individuals equipped with an entrepreneurial spirit and access to free markets are likely to be obsolete for individuals enmeshed in unacknowledged ethnic narratives that support inequalities and hamper access to socioeconomic networks. Finally, it is important that we question and reconceptualize the very idea of ethnicity in development. In the case of Ecuador, as noted

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through this book, ethnicity is often conflated with race. This permits the maintenance of racial boundaries even while these are unacknowledged or hidden beneath neo-culturalist discourses. Thus, the broad use of neoculturalist discourses may make it difficult to uncover and confront racism. The use of ethnicity as a type of ‘capital’ for development may also play into these dynamics and inadvertently aid racial separations, limiting traditional ties of civic responsibility between individuals (Chapter 9). The work of development practitioners must be radical in seeking to denaturalize and politicize structures of oppression, especially when these are subtle and hidden. Such work, however, must have a sophisticated understanding of local narratives and the power plays they sustain, if it to avoid unwittingly becoming an instrument of the very oppressive structures it longs to challenge. Notes 1 I must emphasize that all individuals in a society can act as agents of transformation. Ecuador’s upper classes, however, have most often served as conservative forces in regard to Ecuador’s ethnic/racial structures.

Appendix 1 Brief Chronology of Ecuadorian History

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Appendix 1: Brief Chronology

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Appendix 2 Methodological Overview

This book looks at forces that are inherently unquantifiable, changing, and complex. Moreover, it seeks to understand their implications for ‘socioeconomic development,’ another charged and convoluted concept. No one methodology, therefore, could perfectly capture the subject of research, and the researcher must be aware of this limitation from the outset, and attempt to address it through intensive and qualified use of the research tools that are available. It is wise, moreover, to benefit from the instruments made available by different academic disciplines, as an interdisciplinary approach provides a greater array of theoretical resources for research. For example, the ethnographic richness of anthropology can be embraced along with the insights into a society’s structures that sociology provides. As Ecuador is a country marked by deep regionalism, it can be expected that the ethnic narratives used by the inhabitants of the various regions will differ. Little research on regional ethnic narratives actually exists, however, and no previous research has sought to understand how mestizaje is conceptualized in each region. For this reason I have decided to undertake my research in the two main poles of Ecuador’s regional divide: Guayaquil and Quito. Moreover, as these two cities are the economic and political/administrative centers of the Ecuadorian Republic, it is feasible that ethnic narratives used in them will have an impact throughout the state. Ward and Jones remind us that the political context in which research is undertaken must be carefully weighted in order to interpret gathered data correctly (Ward and Jones 1999). Colonel Lucio Gutiérrez was in power while I undertook my research in Ecuador. During my first period of fieldwork, Summer 2003, Gutierrez had just been elected President with the backing of large parts of the Indigenous movement. During my second period of fieldwork, Winter-Spring 2004/05, the Gutiérrez regime was struggling to remain in power, with large marches both in favor and against the government paralyzing Guayaquil and

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Quito for several days. Class and ethnic narratives permeated the public debates that accompanied these marches. It is important to keep these events in mind as one reads and interprets my research findings, as these reflect a specific period in Ecuadorian history, marked by particularly tense inter-ethnic relations. My research population is the upper classes of Guayaquil and Quito. Other researchers have noted that there is no agreed upon sample frame for research on elites (Clarke 2003:217). Part of my research, therefore, was to learn who constitutes these classes, how they are defined and bounded. More specifically, I sought to understand the role ethnicity plays in delimiting these classes. My research population, consequently, was constituted organically through my fieldwork as interviewees and informants guided me to others they considered part of the elites in a ‘snowballing’ technique. Thus, through the very act of setting up interviews I learned much about what are considered the Ecuadorian ‘upper classes.’ A Native Researcher’s Perspective

As this research focuses on the social structures existent in a postcolonial society, one which exists almost directly as a consequence of colonialism, my research has been enriched by the insights and desires of post-colonial theory. This is particularly significant as I attempt to give voice to those oppressed by ethnic hierarchies in Ecuador in a novel way: by changing the power relations within the research process. I am not, as tends to be the case, part of an educated elite interviewing subjects of less education and affluence. Rather, I fall within the very hierarchy I am trying to study, and hope that this research will be useful for the empowerment of others. As a native of Ecuador, one of the cornerstones of my research in Ecuador is my status as a ‘native researcher.’ Being a native or indigenous researcher, however, is far more problematic than might be initially apparent. Chong Soon Kim explores his own experiences as a Korean returning to Korea for fieldwork after training abroad in ‘The Role of Non-Western Anthropologists Reconsidered: Illusion versus Reality’ (Soon Kim 1990). His insights are highly relevant to my experiences in Ecuador. An indigenous researcher, one who is originally from the society that is to be investigated, has several advantages over a researcher coming from abroad. Having been born and lived most of my life in Ecuador I was already very familiar with many aspects of the society before beginning my research. I did not have to encounter and overcome

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culture shock and become acclimatized to an unknown society. This allowed me to quickly situate myself socially and geographically. I am, moreover, fluent in the language and, more importantly, intimately familiar with the idiosyncrasies, colloquialisms, and nuances of the specific Spanish spoken by the different sectors within Ecuador, which allowed me to grasp the double meanings and implications of apparently innocent phrases. This is of supreme importance in the field of ethnic research, where labels may be subtlety and covertly used to create ethnic categories. My native fluency in Spanish and understanding of the culture facilitated the creation of rapport with research subjects. From the moment I landed in Ecuador, moreover, I was embedded in a rich web of familial and friendship networks, which allowed me access to a variety of related socioeconomic networks. The importance of this cannot be overestimated when one seeks to research upper socioeconomic classes, which are generally rather difficult to access without personal connections (Burbano, Quito: 2005). It is important to note, however, that by being part of a society a researcher is not inherently an insider with respect to all aspects of that society. Each society is multi-faceted and constructed by an array of subcultures, many of which might be alien to the native researcher (Soon Kim 1990:198). The links of a researcher should not be assumed without question. For example, as a light skinned ‘mixed’ person, with a foreign surname (from my European grandfather), brought up in the middle-upper class of Quito, I was well informed about this specific sector of the Ecuadorian society but had much to learn about Guayaquil. Furthermore, being an insider also poses important disadvantages. As a native, the researcher is expected to conform to local cultural norms, even if these are contrary to research interests or even to personal beliefs. Soon Kim, for instance, recalls his difficulty in interviewing single females in rural parts of Korea, where the family insisted on being in the same room to safeguard honor and propriety (Ibid. 197). In a similar way, as an Ecuadorian I was not under the all-forgiving mantle of unawareness that foreigners can sometimes wear if they commit a cultural faux pas. I was expected to be well aware of local dynamics and to conform to expectations placed upon young females, of my class and ethnic group. As an insider, I was “frequently judged on insider criteria; [my] family background, status, politics, age, gender, religion, as well as on [my] perceived technical ability” (Smith 1999b:10). This affected the way different interviewees interacted with me.1 Thus I immediately fell within the social structures I was trying to investigate.2 While it would have been more difficult for my interviewees to place me if I had been a foreigner, since I was Ecuadorian they could ask a few questions about

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my background and quickly know where I fell in terms of local hierarchies.3 These judgments were both detrimental and beneficial. For example, I was often reminded of my young age and inexperience when interviewing Ecuadorian ex-Presidents, yet my youth was also part of the reason why I was granted these interviews. On the other hand, as I was interviewing lighter-skinned mestizos of the upper classes on their ethnic views, it was useful to be a lighter skinned mestiza of a middleupper class, rather than an individual perceived as an ‘ethnic other.’ At times, the unpleasant use of these judgments helped me learn about my interviewees’ racial ideas. On one occasion I saw an interviewee deeply blush in discomfort when she described an ‘inferior racial’ group only to realize that I was closer to their physical characteristics than she was– slanted eyes, tanned skin, dark straighter hair, and full cheekbones— leading me to believe that some interviewees might have avoided physical descriptions because of my own physiognomy. At other times interviewees would point to my skin as a frame of reference for what was, or was not, ‘dark.’ Thus, the same characteristics that positioned me within my society even before my research began, also served as data gathering tools. As Soon Kim relates regarding his experience: “... my manners, language use, kinship ties ... allowed me access to the detail customs ... my kinsmen responded to my questions frankly without fear of possible reprisals ... without the assistance of relatives and friends it would have been difficult to gather sensitive information” (Soon Kim 1990:198). Emotional involvement is another important point for native researchers to consider. As one is investigating one’s own culture and people and, as in my case, becomes aware of some of their most negative characteristics, the researcher must consider the emotional strain this might cause, and also how able one will be to maintain any sort of emotional distance. Researching ethnic and racial narratives, encountering appalling cases of racism among those of my own society, and even among those with whom I have personal connections, was much more exhausting and painful than I had anticipated when undertaking this project. This somewhat limited the quantity of research I could undertake, as I was aware of needing time off in order to reestablish my framework of objectivity. Such strong emotional linkages lead to a questioning of how much objectivity an ‘insider researcher’ can attain (Soon Kim 1990:198). This is problematic given that “Most research methodologies assume that the researcher is an outsider able to observe without being implicated in the scene” (Smith 2001:137). Feminist research methodology argues against

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the idea that a researcher is ever able to obtain complete detachment (Smith 2001: 137). I agree and reject the notion that complete objectivity can ever be established, given the ‘theory-dependence of experiment’ inherent in any research method (Charmers 1978:38-9); in other words, as I had already decided to research ethnicity and elites before arriving in Ecuador, and as my research question presupposed that ethnic identities could have an impact on socioeconomic development, I already carried a subjective framework as I chose my research tools and analyzed the data gathered. Nevertheless, it would be problematic if a researcher were entirely unable to remove herself to some degree from those being analyzed. Perhaps a well-prepared native researcher is best positioned in this respect. If she is aware of her charged subjectivity and actively attempts to detach herself from the data being collected, this reflexive process can lead to a richer understanding of the social phenomena. Being an insider of the culture, while simultaneously being a ‘Western’ trained investigator places the researcher in a somewhat awkward marginal position, a strange walk between the ‘etic’ and the ‘emic’ perspective (Soon Kim 1990:197, Silverman 1993:24). While this marginal position implies a certain degree of constant exclusion with its accompanying emotional cost, it also grants a researcher information and insight. It is interesting to note that a native researcher trained in the ‘West’ is expected to skillfully connect these two worlds. Thus, the researcher is expected to present her research and conclusions in a manner accepted by the academic community while being able to relate to her society as an insider. It can be argued that ‘Western’ training can preclude the researcher “from writing or speaking from a ‘real’ and authentic indigenous position” (Smith 2001:14). This, of course, simplifies the indigenous perspective by assuming that there is only one authentic voice. Nevertheless, I am aware of the intellectual baggage I have acquired from my studies in the United States and Europe, and realize that I am conceptualizing an Ecuadorian problem through prisms that were constructed in a different context, and which might not be familiar to those being researched. The importance of contextualizing research is starkly emphasized by this fact. Simultaneously, however, the indigenous researcher might find, as I did, that there is a strong pro-Western bias in her research site. This means that the researcher might lose influence because she is native rather than foreigner. As Smith states: Even when their own communities have access to an Indigenous researcher, they [might] still select or prefer a non-Indigenous

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researcher over an Indigenous researcher ... [because of] a deeply held view that Indigenous people will never be good enough, or that Indigenous researcher may divulge confidences within their own community, or that the researcher may have some hidden agenda” (Smith 2001:10).

Being trained in a ‘Western’ institution could help the researcher utilize this bias. During my research, for example, stating that I was a researcher from the University of Oxford allowed me accesses that I could not have obtained as a graduate student in an Ecuadorian university. Previous research experience in other cultures can also help the researcher understand findings comparatively, thus gaining a richer perspective. Therefore, “the very awareness of subjectivity can be a step toward greater objectivity, and with the reflexivity acquired through ... fieldwork in other cultures [the researcher is] able to minimize possible biases while remaining close to native categories of perceptions” (Soon Kim 1990:198). Finally, native researchers must be deeply aware of their work and its consequences as they (and their family and relations) will have to live with the consequences of it daily (Smith 2001:137). While this might lead some to be wary of undertaking certain research, it should also lead those who chose to research this area to a higher level of accountability and responsibility. I am aware that my research could disturb some of my acquaintances in Ecuador. Nevertheless, I believe its importance, even for their own growth, justifies it. Thus, I am prepared to deal with any personal consequences. Access to My Research Population

The many difficulties and challenges of researching elites have been extensively noted by researchers who have pursued this elusive field (Hertz and Imber 1995), (Marcus 1983), (Mills 1956), (Pina-Cabral and Lima 2000), (Shore and Nugent 2002). As a research population, the upper classes are particularly busy, suspicious, and often unimpressed by academic credentials. Gaining access to this research population is, therefore, not an insignificant hurdle. Interestingly, however, the very means available to gain such access provide a researcher with valuable data (Ostrander 1995:136). Through the process of gaining access one becomes aware of gatekeepers, social etiquettes, existing prejudices, and values. Thus, as I learned what symbols to call upon to pry doors open, for example, my links to a prestigious foreign university, my non-

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Hispanic surname, and the connections of friends and family, I gained an understanding of the boundaries guarding elites. Upon arriving in Ecuador I contacted a variety of ‘first sources,’ 4 people whom I knew to have contacts among the economic, political, social, and cultural elites of Ecuador. Some of these individuals were not part of the upper class but had personal or professional links to them. As Marcus correctly notes, these marginal members are integral to the elite research process, being more accessible and willing to share direct insights into the “elite praxis and culture” (Marcus 1983:20). These individuals were my first informants on what the Ecuadorian upper classes were: they presented their interpretations of local elite categories, labels, characteristics, and histories. I used these first contacts to access my research population through a technique particularly useful to reach informal networks: ‘snowballing’ (May 1997:119). Snowballing consists in asking each informant or interviewee one meets for references to other individuals they considered appropriate for the research, in this case Ecuador’s elites. By noting who my interviewees referred me to, I gathered new insights into who they perceived to be part of the elite. As each ‘snowball’ initiated from a different contact, each veered in its own direction. My research population, therefore, developed organically. I increasingly became aware, however, of areas I wished to cover—for instance, of speaking to certain individuals who were mentioned by several interviewees—and consequently not only used snowballing but also followed several specific leads to obtain interviews. After obtaining access to my research population I confronted a second hurdle: the power relations between my interviewees and myself needed to be navigated. This became particularly clear during an interview in Guayaquil. My interviewee, a member of the social, political and economic upper classes of the country, offered fascinating insights into the construction of the elite in Guayaquil and provided me with an extensive list of contacts, even setting up a couple of interviews for me. He carefully warned me, however, about the information he was providing me with, and how I was going to use it. Casually he mentioned that the men I would be meeting were busy and some were meeting me only as a personal favor to him.5 He added that these men would regret meeting me if the information gathered was used negatively and would be much less receptive to future academic pleas for assistance or collaboration. Something similar happened when I met the president of one of the most prestigious social/charity organizations in the country. After I described my research project he casually spoke about a recently published book that looked at a certain organization in

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his city. He described how the researcher had been assisted in every way, granted access to all sources, only to produce a work that did not fairly reflect the institution. These interviewees also mentioned how such instances could lead to future researchers’ access being curtailed. Power disparities between researchers and their subject are rarely so explicitly formulated. Often these disparities are only hinted at through the process of accessing and meeting the research subject. Having meetings cancelled at the last minute, having an interviewee simply not show up, having to wait for hours for a scheduled appointment, all of these actions create the research atmosphere and impose its dynamics. The researcher must fight to gain control of the situation while struggling to identify and learn from the power plays s/he is experiencing. During my research I noted three specific mechanisms affecting interactions with interviewees. First, I noted that interviews granted through personal relations wrapped me in webs of reciprocity that had to be carefully managed to avoid their influencing research outcomes. Second, Hirsch points to a certain noblesse oblige that may motivate elites to grant access to researchers, a gesture that tilts the power relations within the investigation in favor of the research subject (Hirsch 1995:73). Third, given my interest in social hierarchies and ethnic narratives, my very biographical characteristics (my ‘ethnic identity,’ physical characteristics, age, and gender) placed me within the hierarchy I was trying to study and, as I was investigating the ‘elite’ of this hierarchy, I found myself (at different times and by different standards) ‘beneath’ the people I was studying. To address this I followed Hunter’s view that “As I observe and participate, my status and role cannot help but enter into the field relationship. Rather than seeing this simply as “intrusive measurement error,” one may re-conceptualize it as a “catalytic, quasi-experimental effect that can elucidate subtle aspects of power relationships among participants in a setting” (Hunter 1995:158). Power dynamics in interviews are vastly different from those experienced during participant observation. In both instances power differentials are manifested in a plethora of ways, however, while personal relations build over time in the dynamics of participant observation, interviews are often a limited, one-off, time-constrained experience. I sought to apply to these the insights learned by other scholars who have conducted interviews with ‘elites populations’ (Hertz and Imber 1995), (Marcus 1998).

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Ethical Concerns

All researchers must be thoughtfully aware of the possible implications of their work. Research on elites and ‘ethnicity’ is especially problematic in this regard (Back and Solomos 1995:4). I have often questioned whether my initial purpose—to study the ethnic narratives of Ecuadorian elites– by assuming the existence of elites and making recommendations from that premise, is inherently conservative, helping to support the continuance of ascribed stratifications. Similarly any work on ideas of race and ethnicity runs the risk of reifying these concepts and, therefore, aiding the solidification of racial structures. On the other hand, I wondered whether my desire to see a change in the Ecuadorian ethnic structure will come across as prejudiced, anti-elitists rhetoric from an envious member of a lower socioeconomic class. As Marcus clearly states, “an ambivalence or silence in judgment ... makes the ethnographer’s research … vulnerable to a charge of elitism, or conversely to its use in a polemical condemnation of elites” (Marcus 1983:23). These questions have led me to thoroughly consider the ideological and normative implications of my research, attempting to justly lay out my arguments based on a reflexive analysis of the data collected. My attempt to transparently present how I collected my data is part of my effort to prevent its misinterpretation or misuse. I have also been troubled by the ambiguous emotional position in which this research has placed me as I interacted with informants and interviewees. I have experienced personal sympathies for my research subjects, many of whom I met through close family friends, which conflicted with my views on policies regarding elites, ethnicity, and socioeconomic development. Throughout my research, I was aware that the people I had access to were less guarded towards me than they would have been to an unknown researcher who came to them without any personal recommendations. There was, therefore, a tacit contract of trust—as I was speaking with them thanks to a close friendship, my reproduction of what they said or my comments about them were expected to honor that friendship. I am aware that “[w]orking empathy for one’s subjects can be misconstrued as ideological sympathy” (Marcus 1983:23). Presenting my conclusions as though these subjective elements had not entered into play, however, would be deceitful. Thus, I have been aware throughout of my emotional responses to my research population, and have taken these into consideration when analyzing my data. Furthermore, it is clear that the research process itself creates new knowledge: as interviewees verbalized their views to an audience they

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had not encountered before, and especially as they reacted to my questions and statements, their ideas where sharpened and, perhaps, changed. While this is the nature of research in the social sciences, it must still be considered in deconstructing the data gathered. Giddens’ double hermeneutics and the role of the researcher as a source of change both contradict the idea of flawless objectivity (Giddens 1993), (Alexander 2006: 399). This, however, poses an ethical dilemma, as the researcher will be affecting interviewees in ways for which neither the researcher nor the interviewees can fully prepare. This is particularly the case with ethnicity, power hierarchies, and civic responsibility, as these are sensitive topics, and having to confront these (especially during a politically charged period, such as the period during which I conducted my fieldwork) may affect the wellbeing of interviewees. These possible effects of a research project cannot be avoided, but interviewees should be made fully aware of the purpose and tools of the research project so that they might choose to participate with full, informed, consent. A non-critical atmosphere, where the ‘imputation of deviance is lessened,’ should, moreover, be sought to allow interviewees the freedom to express their views with as little influence from the researcher as possible (Foddy 1993:112-3). With this in mind, throughout my research all questions were phrased to avoid moral judgments and respondents’ answers were received without shock or alarm. At times I was asked for my views at the end of the interview, and having been granted all the answers I sought, thought it just to reciprocate, trying to master a balance between sensitivity, politeness and honesty. My comments were always directed at the large topic in question rather than at the specific remarks made by interviewees. Sometimes my interviewees reacted to my statements either by expanding on their previous thoughts, or by emphatically correcting me. A final ethical concern I encountered during my research was how to address interviewees’ hidden ‘threats’ to other academics if my research did not suit them, and how to honor interviewees’ trust in my research project. I chose to address these concerns not by hiding or tempering my findings, but by using pseudonyms for all my interviewees except for areas where individuals were interviewed in their official capacity or where they refused anonymity. I shall avoid any reference that might reveal interviewees identities or the identity of organizations to which they belong. In short, I have sought to remove any information that might be directly detrimental to individuals or organizations, desiring only to discuss the general narratives of my research population, rather than the intricate details of any one person.

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Research Tools

My research can be subdivided into four parts: bibliographical research, media content analysis, participatory research, and interviews. Bibliographical research refers to my use of academic sources in the United Kingdom, the United States of America, and Ecuador to embed my work within existing literature. The most important aspect of this was my search in Ecuador, as much that has been written in Ecuador is not available outside the country and reading Ecuadorian sources presents specific indigenous’ views. For the media content analysis I looked at two of Ecuador’s main newspapers: one based in the Highlands (‘Diario HOY’) and one in the Littoral (‘El Universo’). There are two main newspapers in the Highlands: Diario HOY and El Comercio. I chose Diario HOY because all of its articles are available electronically. On the other hand, there is only one main coastal newspaper, El Universo, and only a small portion of this paper’s articles are accessible electronically, therefore hard copies were used. I analyzed how these two sources treated topics related to ethnicity and race between January 2000 and December 2004, in order to reveal whether the perspectives taken on these topics, the terminology used, and the frequency with which these topics were treated, varied between Guayaquil and Quito. Five research assistants and I manually reviewed every page of El Universo during the period investigated for all articles linked to ethnic and/or racial identities. For Diario HOY a random sample of a representative number of days was taken and these days were electronically searched for the following code words (and their boolean derivates): Indigena, Indio, longo, cholo, negro, raza, racismo, mestizo, mestizaje, montubio, montuvio, etnicidad, etnico, afro-ecuatoriano. All articles chosen for this study are listed in the bibliography of this book, which in itself presents useful data for other researchers. A third part of my research in Ecuador falls broadly under the terms ‘participatory observation’ and ‘participant objectivation.’ I spent five and half months in Ecuador conducting interviews and participating in social activities with various informants. Participant observation, as described by Bernhard is “about immersing yourself in a culture and learning to remove yourself every day from that immersion so that you can intellectualize what you’ve seen and heard, put it into perspective, and write about it convincingly” (Bernhard 2000:319). It has been noted that in seeking to create researchers intimately familiar with their subject of research, yet able to understand their subject within the framework of intellectual theories, participant observation requires a paradoxical

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simultaneous emotional involvement and objective detachment, a “doubling of consciousness that is arduous to sustain” (Bourdieu 2003:281), (Denzin 2000:465). Participant observation is especially problematic for a native researcher given societal expectations and emotional links. I attempted to address this concern by constantly questioning my findings through a lens of reflexivity. In attempting to make objective the effects and implications of my background, and also of the academic preconceptions that I have acquired, I followed Bourdieu in attempting to the “objectivation of the subject of objectivation…” (Bourdieu 2003:282, italics in the original). I tried to be constantly aware of how my gender, age, perceived ethnic identity, socioeconomic background, and educational credentials, among many other variables, might affect informants, and also of how these same variables affected the way I interacted with and perceived my informants. The core of my research, however, is made up by semi-structured interviews. I interviewed 30 university-age, middle-upper class youth in Quito, eight university-age, upper class youth in Guayaquil, 40 workingage middle-upper and upper socioeconomic class individuals in Quito (25 men, 15 women) and 37 working-age, upper class individuals in Guayaquil (18 men, 19 women). My interviewees included four previous Presidents of Ecuador, several government ministers and previous ambassadors, presidents of the Central Bank, as well as many key figures from prestigious social and civil service organization (Junta de Beneficencia de Guayaquil, Kiwanis Club, Club de la Union, Club de Rotarios, Yatch Club, Club El Condado), and members of traditional elite families. Given the national importance and visibility of ethnic policies in Ecuador, I decided that a fascinating way to understand how the upper classes viewed hybrid ethnicities and what governmental policies have been applied to affect this sector would be to interview former Ecuadorian Presidents. These men are clearly part of the most influential socio-political sector in the society, and they have great knowledge of the policies created and applied during their administrations. I sought to interview all presidents since 1980, since in 1980 Jaime Roldos was elected to office and he was the first Ecuadorian president to deliver part of his acceptance speech in Quichua, an Indigenous language, signalling a more open national conversation on ethnic diversity (Silva 1995:57), but was not able to do so. I interviewed Dr. Oswaldo Hurtado and Dr. Rodrigo Borja, both of whom ran for re-election in 2002 and might do so again, and Arch. Sixto Duran Ballen. Jamil Mahuad and Dr Gustavo Noboa Bejarano are both in exile and I was, therefore unable to contact

Appendix 2: Methodological Overview

249

them during my time in Ecuador. Contacting this gentlemen and other former national leaders to expand this research is a future project. I also conducted interviews with important political contenders and public opinion makers, Dr. Enrique Ayala Mora, who ran for the presidency in 2002 and might do so again, and Dr. Felipe Burbano, part of an international think tank and educational institution, FLACSO. Finally, I also interviewed several academics: Ms. Cecilia Ansaldo Briones, a well known intellectual from Guayaquil, Ms. Jenny Strada, one of the foremost female historians of Ecuador, also from Guayaquil, Dr, Fernando Quiroga, Anthropology Professor, Dean of Academic Affairs, and Director of the Galapagos Academic Institute for the Arts and Sciences at the Universidad San Francisco de Quito (USFQ), Dr. Martin Acosta, Business Professor at the same university, and Robert Burlong, Admissions Director for this University. The USFQ is colloquially known as one of the main universities for the upper classes, given its high costs, and it has also been established longer than other exclusive universities such as Universidad de las Americas (UDLA) and Universidad International. Most interviews were individually conducted. However, there were a few where husband joined their wives at the end, where couples were interviewed together from the beginning, and a few group interviews. I am aware of the possibility that ‘group chemistries’ affected how people responded to questions, however, I do not believe this disqualifies the information gathered, it simply presents “a different perspective” on the same topic (May 1997:114). Group participants and couples reacted to each other’s answers, thus conveying disagreements and using concepts made available by others to explain their own ideas, resulting in rich conversations that can be interpreted at several levels. The meaning of terms and their use were debated during these exchanges questioning, corroborating, or diffusing ‘academic’ notions of their significance and definition. The interviews followed a semi-structured framework. First, in order to establish credibility and reinforce transparency, I introduced myself, my educational credentials, and the research I was conducting. All interviewees were thus made aware that I was interested in understanding who the upper classes were, their ideas on ethnic identities, especially mestizaje, and their views on civic responsibility. I then asked interviewees for a general autobiography. This was intended to encourage interviewees to frame answers in personal, individual terms, which was especially important when the interview took place in an office setting. Twice, however, interviewees refused to share more than the most minimal biographical information, and one interviewee

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would only participate in his role as a businessman, explicitly stating that he would not speak in personal terms. After gaining a biographical background, I asked interviewees about: local ideas of the upper classes, their definition of mestizaje, issues of national identity, issues of ethnic identity, the structures of Quito and Guayaquil, and the idea of civic responsibility. I have attached the guidelines I used for these interviews below. I allowed interviewees to expand on areas where they had extensive opinions and found only a few occasions on which interviewees declined to answer or did not address all of the topics. I asked all interviewees whether I could record the session and was only asked not to do so on three occasions. Interview-length varied, from 30 minutes, to over two hours. All interviews were transcribed. Semi-structured interviews were more adequate than structured interviews given that “[t]he salience of social identities depend upon the context in which they are found which cannot be fully explored in highly-structured interviews” (Devine 1992:229). Some of the questions I posed were deliberately vague, although not unfocused, to allow the respondents to use their own frames of cognition to approach the topic. Using a ‘semi-structured’ framework granted flexibility to the interviews, permitting me to follow interesting leads and to tailor the interview to the evident strengths in an informant’s knowledge. I was then able to ask for clarification or elaboration on points as needed (May 1997:111). I followed four procedures to analyze the data gathered. First, I coded all interviews according to the areas they addressed (Definition of elites; Ecuadorian elites; elites and influence; elites and change; elites and racism; race and ethnicity; race/ethnicity and class; race/ethnicity and social class; pure races/longo/cholo; mestizaje; causes for racism, private sphere, public sphere/employment; citizenship; identity; charity; responsibility; gender; urbanization; education; Gutiérrez government). Second, I used a simplified version of these categories to create a grid of responses, which allows a summary review of the data gathered. Third, throughout all interviews I maintained a journal of questions and answers, interesting nuances, and interviewee’s physical and emotional reactions. These journal entries served to flesh out the data gathered, providing richer insights into the meaning of answers collected. Finally, I undertook a series of comparisons among the responses gathered, in the mode of grounded research. I compared my interviewees’ responses in three ways: against each other, between cities, and between university-aged respondents and working-age respondents.

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Interview Guidelines Interviews

30 Anonymous university students, Quito. 8 Anonymous university students, Guayaquil. 35 Anonymous working-age interviewees, Quito. 34 Anonymous working-age interviewees, Guayaquil. Dr. Martin Acosta. Business Professor, Universidad San Francisco de Quito. September 10, 2003. Quito, Ecuador. Dr. Enrique Ayala Mora. Dean, Universidad Andina Jason Bolivar. September 8, 2003. Quito, Ecuador. Dr. Rodrigo Borja. Former Ecuadorian President, Leader Democratic Left Political Party (Izquierda Democratica) August 26, 2003. Quito, Ecuador. Dr. Felipe Burbano. Academic Coordinator, FLACSO-Ecuador. September 1, 2003 and January 2005. Quito, Ecuador. Mr. Robert Burlong. Admissions Director, Universidad San Francisco de Quito (USFQ). September 10, 2003. Quito, Ecuador. Architect Sixto Duran Ballen. Former Ecuadorian President. August 22, 2003. Quito, Ecuador. Ms. Jenny Estrada. Historian. February 22, 2005. Guayaquil, Ecuador. Dr. Oswaldo Hurtado. Former Ecuadorian President, Director CORDES Research Centre. August 21, 2003. Quito, Ecuador. Dr. Diego Quiroga. Anthropology Professor and Dean of Academic Matters, Universidad San Francisco de Quito (USFQ). September 10, 2003. January 12, 2005. Quito, Ecuador. Ms. Cecilia Ansaldo Briones. Intellectual. February, 2005. Guayaquil, Ecuador. 2005 Interview Guidelines (Quito and Guayaquil) Biographical Info

Name City of birth Schools attended Age (approx), married/single/ children Profession

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Socioeconomic Strata

Self assigned: What does that mean—how are socioeconomic levels measured in Ecuador? How can the elites of Ecuador be identified? Identity

Of what race/ethnicity do you consider yourself? What is the difference between the two? What do you think is the ethnic or racial make up of Ecuador? Where does your social group fit within this structure? What is the linkage between social group and ethnic/racial identity? Is there one? Elite

Who do you consider to be the most influential families in Ecuador? In what areas are they influential? Do you consider yourself part of the elite? Do you consider these families part of the elite? Are political leaders part of the elite? Are military leaders part of the elite? Are cultural leaders part of the elite? How would you define the elite? Are there many connections between the leading people in Ecuador? Could you illustrate? Are the elite predominantly of any ethnicity/race? Social Responsibility

Do the elite have a role to play in the development of Ecuador? Do the elite have a role to play in how races/ethnicities are conceived in Ecuador? What was the response of the elite to the indigenous uprising of 2000? Do you think it should have been different? How has the political mobilization of “minority” groups in Ecuador affected the elite?

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253

2003 Interview Guidelines (Quito) Part A—Biographical

(Questions 3 through 6 attempt to get at the socioeconomic origin of the interviewee. Question 9 will then gather the interviewee’s own perception of his/her socioeconomic situation). 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Name Age City of origin Neighborhood of origin High school attended Parents’ profession University Course of study Self-assigned socioeconomic strata

Part B—Conceptualization of Mestizaje

1. What do you understand by mestizo/a? 2. Do you consider yourself a mestizo/a? Why or why not? 3. Are there differences between mestizos or are all mestizos the same? 4. What are the differences? How are they defined? On Race

5. How do you define race? 6. What is/are the difference between race and ethnicity? 7. What role do you think race plays in how one defines him/herself and others as mestizos? On Other Social Variables

8. Does one’s educational level affect how one is classified as a mestizo? 9. What educational level would you expect a mestizo to have? 10. Does the source of one’s education (the institution, in this case the university) affect how one is defined as a mestizo (i.e., in

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

terms of race?) Or does race affect the choice of educational institution to attend? 11. How does one’s economic level affect how s/he is defined as mestizo/a? Part C—Socioeconomic Effects of Mestizo Conceptualization

1. How are differences between mestizos maintained? 2. Are there certain divisions among mestizos, in terms of who gets along with whom? 3. What are these groups dependant on? 4. Does this happen within the University? 5. Among the different departments? 6. Do you think this affects the flow of information: —about schoolwork? —about work opportunities? —about technological advancements? 7. What effects do you think this has on the labor market—do you think certain mestizos are more capable/correct for certain jobs? 8. Do you have any personal experiences where you have felt excluded from a group due to this mestizo issues? And/or 9. Do you have any personal experiences where you have excluded certain people from a group due to these issues (i.e., they were mestizos of a lower socioeconomic class, more indian, etc), thus were not appropriate for the group...? 2003 Survey

(A Spanish version of this survey was used among university-age interviewees in 2003, along with a semi-structured interview.) 1. 2. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Age City of birth Neighborhood High school attended University Faculty (academic department) Do you consider yourself mestizo? YES/NO Do your think there are differences among (within/between) mestizos? YES/NO

Appendix 2: Methodological Overview

255

10. If there are differences, these are in terms of: (please use the following scale to measure how much the following variables create differences among mestizos) RACE ECONOMIC POWER EDUCATION CLOTHING OTHER

HIGH 1

2

NEUTRAL 3

4

NONE 5

1

2

3

4

5

1 1 1

2 2 2

3 3 3

4 4 4

5 5 5

11. If you are a mestizo it is better to be (i.e., you will be treated better if you are...) WEALTHIER

NEUTRAL (money has no effect)

POORER

WHITER

NEUTRAL (this has no effect)

MORE INDIGENOUS

MORE EDUCATED

NEUTRAL (education has no effect)

LESS EDUCATED

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

12. Do you think most of your friends are: WHITE MESTIZOS a. b. c.

Wealthier than you Whiter than you More educated

Of your same socioeconomic level Of your same race Of your same educational level

Poorer than you More Indigenous Less educated

BLACK INDIAN (INDIGENOUS) ASIAN OTHERS

13. The majority of the people with whom you work are: WHITE MESTIZOS a. b. c. BLACK INDIAN (INDIGENOUS) ASIAN OTHERS

Wealthier than you Whiter than you More educated

Of your same socioeconomic level Of your same race Of your same educational level

Poorer than you More Indigenous Less educated

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257

14. How would you like the majority of the people you work with to be? WHITE MESTIZOS a. b. c.

Wealthier than you Whiter than you More educated

Of your same socioeconomic level Of your same race Of your same educational level

Poorer than you More Indigenous Less educated

BLACK INDIAN (INDIGENOUS) ASIAN OTHERS 15. Please choose whether the following statements are True or False: a. I use terms such as ‘Indian,’ ‘cholo’ when I want to insult someone? TRUE/FALSE b. I feel insulted if someone refers to me as ‘Indian.’ TRUE/FALSE c. Speaking English is clearly better than speaking Quichua. TRUE/FALSE d. Someone with white (gringo) features is more attractive than someone with Indigenous features? TRUE/FALSE e. Someone with white (gringo) characteristics is more attractive than someone with ‘longo’ features? TRUE/FALSE f. You can easily see whether someone is from a good family or not. TRUE/FALSE g. For a job that requires ‘good presence’ it is better that the person hired be whiter. TRUE/FALSE h. For the job you want to realize, whiter people are better. TRUE/FALSE

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

i. It is easier to relate with people who look more like you than more Indigenous. TRUE/FALSE 16. If you have to interview someone for a job that requires ‘good presence’ what do you look for? Notes 1 In terms of gender I was aware of the different responses I received from different sexes. I was professionally received in the homes and offices of gentlemen, but felt that female informants were more suspicious and difficult to access. In a luncheon that had been set up so that I could interview members of several elite families in Guayaquil, I found that while the men were friendly and quite willing to speak to me—my research purposes and the purpose of the lunch had been made clear to all the participants—the women shied away from me, and repeatedly avoided me. More than once female informants failed to keep their appointments with me, which never occurred with male informants. Several hypotheses can be formulated from these experiences. It could, first, be argued that power relations between the interviewees and myself were shown through these interactions. My educational status was higher than that of most women I was interviewing, and I also carried the cultural capital of being attached to the United States, Europe, Oxford, thus it could be the case that women were asserting their hierarchical position, emphasizing their social capital, through these small slights. It was also the case that I interviewed most men at their office while I interviewed most women at their home. Given the nature of my questions—probing into the identity of the research subjects—it can be argued that while men could rely on their business/work identity in this process, women could not and, therefore, were more sensitive. Finally, the legacy of a paternalistic culture might have meant that women were more willing to speak to a young woman than their counterparts. 2 One of the structures into which I fell was the regional divide. While my residence outside Ecuador and my educational credentials placed me in a marginal position throughout Ecuador, my highland origin was still something that marked me as more of an outsider to Guayaquilenians I interviewed. It was necessary therefore to emphasise my lack of regional bias and my father’s coastal birth when conducting these interviews. 3 This was somewhat inhibited by my extensive residence outside Ecuador and my non-Latin surname. 4 This is no different from what every researcher does upon arriving to a new research cite in seeking to establish a set of informants. 5 The gender dynamics of this interaction are particularly interesting.

Appendix 3 Statistical Data

Key to Statistical Tables Appendix 3.1 and 3.2:

Group A Group B Group C Group D Group E Group F Group G Group H Group I Group J Group K Group L

Members of the executive power, directors of public administration and business Professionals, scientists, and intellectuals Technicians and middle level professionals Office workers Service workers and merchants Skilled agricultural and fishing workers Artisans and mechanical workers Machine and installation operators Unskilled workers Armed forces Undeclared New workers

See pages 260 and 261 for statistical tables.

259

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Table Appendix 3.1: Ethnic Makeup of Occupational Groups, Guayaquil Canton (Urban)

Page 1

260 Source: INEC 2001 census.

roit-261.qu 7/8/09 2:50 PM

Table Appendix 3.2: Ethnic Makeup of Occupational Groups, Quito Canton (Urban)

Page 1

261 Source: INEC 2001 census.

roit-262.qu 7/8/09

Table Appendix 3.3: Ethnicity and Education in Guayaquil Canton (Urban)

2:51 PM Page 1

262 Source: INEC 2001 census.

roit-263.qu 7/8/09

Table Appendix 3.4: Ethnicity and Education in Quito Canton (Urban)

2:51 PM Page 1

263 Source: INEC 2001 census.

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Index 181; mestizo narrative, 95, 97; National narrative 21 67; Quito 163, 167, 169, 170, 171, 172 Cholocracia, 91, 92 Cholocracy. See Cholocracia CODEPMOC, 112, 113, 114, 235 CONAIE, 23, 113, 140, 151, 224, 234-235 Cradle and breeding, 84-87, 190191, 217 Crespo, Teodoro, 117-119, 122, 128

Acculturation, 2-4, 11-12; construction of national identity, 20, 36, 94; and Guayaquil, 134-137, 141-142, 150; and montubios, 119; and narrative of mestizaje, 96-98, 101-105, 109, 120, 122, 124, 210; in Quito, 156, 158, 164, 168, 179 Afroecuadorians 3, 5, 11, 12, 17, 32, 35, 37; in census, 44-45, 48-49, 51, 68, 69; discrimination of 184-188, 191, 202-203; in Guayaquil, 127129, 132, 135, 148-150, 152; mestizaje, 95-96, 100-101, 105111, 114, 118, 120, 122, 124; in Quito, 154, 173, 175, 178179, 181; upper classes’ perspective 205- 207, 215, 217, 221, 223, 227, 230, 231 Arguedas, Alcidas, 127

De la Cuadra, Jose 109, 117-120, 128 Diario Hoy, 12, 90, 122, 175, 176, 177, 247 Durán Ballén, Sixto, 22, 38, 94, 104, 188, 208, 234 Economic capital, 65, 75, 78 Education: bilingual, 208, 217; 103, 206, 207, 208, 217; acculturation, 12; discrimination, 184, 186, 191, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 209, 210, 217, 218; Inequalities, 3, 50-52; Guayaquil, 147; methodology, 238, 248, 249, 250mestizo narrative 95, 99, 103, 105, 107, 110; Panacea, 206, 207, 221, 222, 224-225; Quito, 155, 156, 163-167, 171-172, 180; Returns to, 6, 7, 9, 12, 50, 65. 224; Upper classes, 21, 30, 32, 75-77, 81-93 El Chote, 187 El Comercio, 159, 247 Esmeraldas, 108, 110, 111, 181, 187 Ethnic capital, 112, 114, 120-121, 173, 175, 179, 219, 231

Bolivia, 14, 127, 227 Borja Cevallos, Rodrigo, 22, 90, 104, 207, 208, 217, Bourdieu, Pierre, 14, 31, 64, 84, 93, 107, Brazil, 6, 24 Bucaram, Abdala, 21, 23-27, 104 Census 2001: methodology and assumptions, 66-73; results, 41-43, 47-48; questions, 53-54 Chagra, 123-124 Cholo: definition, 120-124, 127, 128; discrimination, 187, 188, 196, 199, 202, 211, 213, 216, 223, 228-9, 231; education, 209, 213, 223, 224; Guayaquil, 142, 144, 146, 152; Gutierrez, 88, 89, 91, 92; horizonal inequalities, 230; Liminal identities, 173, 174, 175, 179,

315

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Race, Ethnicity, and Power in Ecuador

Ethnicity and Development (EAD), 222, 223 Ethnicity in Development (EID), 221 Ethnicity: theory and history 60-66 Ettiquete, 13, 77, 83, 85, 93, 189, 242 Febres Cordero, Leon, 22, 38, 234 Federation of Guayaquilenian Communes (FCG), 121 FENOCIN, 23, 235 Field of power, 65, 95, 107 Football, 108, 148, 167 Foucault, Michael, 31, 99 Gender, 4, 5, 8-9, 12, 14, 36, 55, 69, 71, 122-123, 162, 195, 205; development, 220-226; methodology, 239, 244, 248, 250, 258 Gender and Development (GAD), 223, 226, 165, 170 Graffiti, 1, 54 Gualinga Viteri, Carlos, 175-6 Guayaquil group, 109, 117-118, 128 Gutierrez, Lucio, 6, 10, 14; Guayaquil 135, 151; methodology 237, 250; national ethnic structure 104; populism 21, 24-25, 27, 38; Quito 180; upper classes 87, 88, 90-93, Habitus, 64, 73, 84, 153, 183, 195, 216 Horizontal inequalities, 52, 65, 127, 201, 230 Hurtado, Oswaldo, 38, 104, 206207, 217 Hybridity, 3, 36, 41, 55, 57, 156, 165, 228 Ibarra, Velasco, 19, 21, 234 Indigenismo, 102, 103, 168 Indigenous people: Census, 42-52, 55-56, 67-73; Ecuador’s history, 15, 17-18, 21-27, 32, 34-36, 38, 39, 73; education,

206-210; Guayaquil, 126-127, 129, 132-145, 147-152; longos/cholos, 120-122; mestizo narrative/politics, 8791, 93, 94-111, 114, 126-127; montubios, 113-114, 116, 118119; Quito, 154, 156-163, 165170, 172-173, 175-181; racism, 89-91, 184, 186-188, 190, 197, 199, 201, 202; 205; responsibility, 210-213, 217, 219, 221, 223-227; upper classes, 58, 60, 64, 66, 67-73; Indigenous researcher, 9, 14, 184, 238-9, 241, 242, 248 Kowii, Ariruma, 175-6 Liminal, 56, 57, 96, 98, 105, 120, 124, 127, 128, 173, 175, 229 Longo, 4, 21; census 71; definition/liminal identity, 1224, 128, 173-175, 153; discrimination, 179, 181, 1878, 196-8, 200, 223, 202; Gutierrez 88, 89, 90; methodology, 247, 250; psychology, 212, 223; socioeconomic class, 165, 167170 Macas, Luis, 140 Mahuad, Jamil, 23-4, 38, 88, 94, 104, 234, 235, 248 MDGs, 8, 9 Mestizaje: afroecuadorians 109, 111; discrimination between mestizos, 165173Guayaquilenian upper classes, 146-148; hierarchical, 120; history Ecuador, 99-108; liminal identities, 120-122; montubios, 114, 116-118; montubian mestizaje, 142-146; Quito’s acculturation, 156-158; Quito’s learned mestizaje, 154156; Quito’s political tool, 158165; theoretical discussion 5459 Michelles, Robert, 29

Index

Mills, C. W., 28, 38 Montaño Escobar, Juan, 175 Montubios 11; census, 67, 68; discrimination, 209, 217, 221; Guayaquil, 129, 142-6, 150, 152; History, 112-121, 123124, 126, 128; liminal identities, 172, 173, 175, 179; mestizo narrative 96; Methodology, 247; Quito 161 Montuvios. See Montubios. Mosca, Gaetano, 29, 38 Movimiento Campesino Solidaridad (MCS), 113 Mulattoes, 42, 44-6, 48-9, 51-2, 67, 68, 73, 97, 111, 116 Multiculturalism, 2, 3, 6, 7, 106107 Myth of the markets, 82-3, 213 National Elite Power Network Studies, 28 Native researcher. See Indigenous researcher. Neoindigenism, 102, 103, 168 NGOs, 67, 114, 119, 189, 205, 218-9, 221 Pacari, Nina, 13, 75, 88, 94, 168, 181, 198 Pachakutik, 88, 137, 140, 234, 235 Paredes Ramirez, Willington, 114, 121, 131 Peru, 9, 14, 96, 127, 144, 181, 203, 227-8 PRODEPINE, 109 Psychological complex. See Psychological trauma. Psychological trauma, 12, 169, 211, 212, 224 Race: theory, 59-60

317

Rodriguez Lara, Guillermo, 102, 104, 107, 234 Silva, Erika, 103-4, 248 Social capital, 75, 83, 87, 93, 189, 193, 216, 272 Soft skills, 199 South Africa, 6, 8, 187, 286 Statistical discrimination, 200 Stutzman, Ronald, 71, 103, 106, 152, 155, 156 Tituaña, Auki, 140, 162 Táchilas, 139 United States: discrimination, 6, 107, 187, 188, 190, 199; methodology 241, 247, 258; migration 131, 190, 199; politics 24, 28, 30, 38, 61; upper classes, 81, 225 Upper classes: Ecuador research, 34-36; education and social capital, 83-88; money, 78-83; previous research, 27-33; occupational categories and ethnicity 47-53 UONNE, 111 Vargas, Antonio, 89, 90, 94, 140 Vasconcelos, Jose, 127 Vertical inequalities, 53, 65, 231 Vistazo, 110 White mestizos, 2, 12, 27 Whitening, 4, 166 Women And Development (WAD), 222 Women In Development (WID), 220-2 World Bank, 57, 66, 109, 218, 219 Zapara, 139, 140

About the Book

How do today’s Latin American elites understand and relate to ideas of power, race, ethnicity, and mestizaje? And what impact does that understanding have on the dynamics of socioeconomic development in ethnically mixed societies? Focusing on the case of Ecuador—a country struggling to recast its mestizo identity in the aftermath of dramatic indigenous uprisings—Karem Roitman reveals how the urban upper classes represent their ethnicity in ways that both hide discriminatory practices and impede social and economic mobility for the “other.” Karem Roitman lectures on international relations at Regent’s College, London.

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