Reading Inebriation in Early Colonial Peru 1409443337, 9781409443339

Table of contents :
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction: Colonial Difference and Cultural Encounters
1 Inebriation Imagery in Dictionaries, Poetry, and the Law
2 Docility and Notions of Taverns, Rituals, and Religion
3 Drinking Archives
4 Of Places, Indigenous Women, and Priests: A Criticism of Colonialism
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

READING INEBRIATION IN EARLY COLONIAL PERU

Viewing a variety of narratives through the lens of inebriation imagery, this book explores how such imagery emerges in colonial Peru as articulator of notions of the self and difference, resulting in a new social hierarchy and exploitation. Reading Inebriation evaluates the discursive and geo-political relevance of representations of drinking and drunkenness in the crucial period for the consolidation of colonial power in the Viceroyalty of Peru, and the resisting rhetoric of a Hispanicized native Andean writer interested in changing stereotypes, fighting inequality, and promoting tolerance at imperial level in one of the main centers of Spanish colonial economic activity in the Americas. In recognizing and addressing this imagery, Mónica Morales restores an element of colonial discourse that hitherto has been overlooked in the critical readings dealing with the history of sixteenth and early seventeenth-century Andes. She presents drinking as the metaphorical site where Western culture and the New World collide and define themselves on the grounds of differing drinking rituals and ideas of moderation and excess. Narratives such as dictionaries, legal documents, conversion manuals, historical writings, literary accounts, and chronicles frame her context of analysis.

New Hispanisms: Cultural and Literary Studies Series editor: Anne J. Cruz

“New Hispanisms: Literary and Cultural Studies” presents innovative studies that seek to understand how the cultural production of the Hispanic world is generated, disseminated, and consumed. Ranging from the Spanish Middle Ages to modern Spain and Latin America, this series offers a forum for various critical and disciplinary approaches to cultural texts, including literature and other artifacts of Hispanic culture. Queries and proposals for single author volumes and collections of original essays are welcome. Reading Inebriation in Early Colonial Peru Mónica P. Morales Gendering the Crown in the Spanish Baroque Comedia María Cristina Quintero

Reading Inebriation in Early Colonial Peru

MÓNICA P. MORALES

First published 2012 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © Mónica P. Morales 2012 Mónica P. Morales has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Morales, Mónica P. Reading inebriation in early colonial Peru. – (New hispanisms) 1. Indians of South America – Alcohol use – Peru – Sources. 2. Indians, Treatment of – Peru – Sources. 3. Drinking of alcoholic beverages – Moral and ethical aspects – Peru – Sources. 4. Peru – Colonization – Sources. 5. Drinking of alcoholic beverages in literature. I. Title II. Series 809.9’3352998–dc23 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Morales, Mónica P. Reading inebriation in early colonial Peru / by Mónica P. Morales. p. cm. — (New Hispanisms: cultural and literary studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Indians of South America—Alcohol use—Peru. 2. Incas—Alcohol use. 3. Peru— History—Conquest, 1522–1548. 4. Peru—History—1548–1820—Historiography. 5. Peru— Colonization—Historiography. 6. Spanish language—Figures of speech. 7. Quechua language—Peru. 8. Drinking of alcoholic beverages—Moral and ethical aspects—Peru. 9. Indians, Treatment of—Peru—History. 10. Drinking of alcoholic beverages in literature. I. Title. F3429.3.A45M67 2012

985’.02—dc23 2012010833 9781409443339 (hbk) 9781315603735 (ebk)

This book is dedicated to my mother and father; María Angelica and Aliro; my siblings, Marcela and Aliro; and my dear friends, Amy, Katia, and Michelle.

Contents Acknowledgments Introduction: Colonial Difference and Cultural Encounters 1 Inebriation Imagery in Dictionaries, Poetry, and the Law 2 Docility and Notions of Taverns, Rituals, and Religion 3 Drinking Archives 4 Of Places, Indigenous Women, and Priests: A Criticism of Colonialism Bibliography Index

Acknowledgments Many thanks go to the colleagues and friends who encouraged me in my writing about drinking and inebriation in the context of early colonial Peru. I am grateful for the care with which they reviewed the original chapters of the manuscript. In particular, I would like to thank Anne J. Cruz. I am extraordinarily grateful to her for the chance to contribute to the New Hispanisms series, for being such a wise and professional editor. I benefitted enormously from her criticism and advice. She made completing the manuscript a pleasant task, as have her colleagues at Ashgate, especially Erika Gaffney. Special thanks also go to the Department of Spanish and Portuguese at the University of Arizona for their outstanding support and generosity. Many thanks to the outside readers, whose careful and painstaking reads of the first draft of this book allowed me to correct errors and develop my ideas more fully. Lastly, grateful acknowledgement is given to the Royal Library, mainly to Ivan Boserup, who provided me with the image for the cover of this book from Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala’s El primer nueva corónica y buen gobierno.

Introduction Colonial Difference and Cultural Encounters They [Indians] are rich in gold, they had beautiful glasses made of it, out of which they drank strong wine that deprives drinkers of reason. They are so addicted to drinking that an Indian can in one sitting drink an arroba or more of wine … once they have their bellies full of this beverage, they make themselves vomit and throw up what they want. And many have in one hand the glass from which they are drinking and in the other, the member with which they urinate … drinking is an old vice by way of custom that generally all Indians found in the Indies have.1 —Pedro Cieza de León, La crónica del Perú

Drinking and inebriation have been commonly practiced by nearly all ethnic groups since antiquity. For ancient societies in the Mediterranean, Northern Europe, the Far and Middle East, and the New World, alcoholic drinks were the natural outcome of fermentation of agricultural products such as cereals, fruits, roots, and tree sap (Marshall 1979, 2).2 In the Andean region, the production of corn beer, or chicha, consisted of chewing grains to convert starch to sugar, a custom that Indians incorporated into a fermentation process.3 In societies throughout the world, brewed, fermented, or distilled beverages are highly regulated because of ethanol—their active alcohol ingredient may induce drinkers to consciousness-altering effects (2).4 Depending on the mores of the community, therefore, drinking itself becomes a highly regulated practice. With culturally regulated functions ranging from the sacred to the secular, people transformed alcohol consumption into a social event and integrated it into daily life or rejected it from the community. Integration made alcohol a quintessential component of culture. Patterns of alcohol production, consumption, and exchange, thus offer insight into the cultural mechanisms that build societies and their relations with others. The problems related to alcohol stem from the religious, political, moral, or economic configuration a society creates around its consumption, a construct I explore within the setting of colonial Peru. Anthropologist Mary Douglas explains that drinking is a “piece of social knowledge” that “articulates a diversified social universe” (1987, 10).5 As recounted in Pedro Cieza de León’s epigraph (1518–1560) and explored in this book, the tensions resulting from the encounters among different cultures bring the cultural mechanisms of a group’s social universe into focus, making inebriation the metaphorical site where different worlds collide and define themselves. Cieza was a Spaniard who spent nearly 20 years in Peru as a soldier and chronicler of the first history of Peruvian peoples, from the Spanish arrival through the midsixteenth century. His epigraph articulates differing ideas about when it is appropriate to imbibe alcohol and how much should be drunk (Taylor 1979, 30), forming a symbolic yardstick with which the colonizer measured civilization in the Andean region. From Cieza’s description, we can infer the relationship between colonial Spanish culture and inebriation. William Taylor (1979, 41) states that sixteenth-century Spaniards viewed moderation as applied to drinking as a sign of cultural superiority over their European peers.

Cieza’s comments are clear evidence of this ethnocentric correlation extended to the New World. In modern anthropological terms, Cieza appears to have connected the colonized Other to excess and irrationality, rendering indigenous peoples addicted (viciosos) to drinking. The connection draws our attention to the framework of moral dualism, a historical form of hierarchy embedded in a virtue and vice binary that governs sixteenth-century thought and meaning. In Western culture, moral notions are instrumental in defining the ways social subjects imagine themselves, see others, and conceive of social order; they are inherent to socio-discursive order (Goldberg 1993, 14). The epigraph demonstrates the epistemological implications of moral duality and the significance of drunkenness in the representation of indigenous peoples as inferior. Inebriation functions as a marker of difference and a reading tool for notions of excess.6 Furthermore, it operates as a rhetorical form deeply rooted in the perception of colonial reality. Its persuasive value derives from modes of knowing and thinking grounded in moral binaries that favor difference and hierarchy, the basic elements of colonial discourse and power. In keeping with the mid-sixteenth-century concern by historians to record and explain in detail what future generations would not be able to witness (MacCormack 1991, 85), Cieza’s passage also indicates another set of cultural mechanisms regulating drinking and inebriation.7 The epigraph presents an alternative world view in which the occasion for drinking was considered important, yet the style of consumption was not. He elaborately describes excess and how the inebriated Indians intersected his world in marked contrast to the moderation of the Spaniards. Indigenous behavior, however, points to another universe and belief system,8 and Cieza’s epigraph makes reference to the circulation of fluids and fertility in the Andes.9 Yet, he reinforces the notion of drunkenness as a marker for culture. I apply the culture-signifier of inebriation as a value instrument that allows us to comprehend the forces producing meaning and identities in the colonial accounts of the Andean lands and peoples. The rules a group applies to drinking represent its culture in miniature—that which threatens or favors its notions of the self, well-being, and order. An analysis of inebriation thus decodes a set of images that symbolizes not only the culture of the colonizer, but also the social structures existing in the area before the arrival of the conqueror and their resistance to conquest. The study of Spanish rule and its counter-narrative through the lens of inebriation calls attention to a rhetorical aspect of colonial discourse that has been overlooked in the critical readings of Spanish colonial relations in the Andean region. How does the colonizer interpret inebriation, and how is it depicted? What are its epistemological and political implications in colonial discourse? I explore these questions from the mid-sixteenth to the early seventeenth centuries, a crucial period for the consolidation of colonial power in the Viceroyalty of Peru, one of the richest and most important centers of Spanish economic activity in the Americas. By examining the inebriation imagery that is included in dictionaries, legal documents, conversion manuals, historical narratives, and chronicles, I focus on two essential constituents of colonial discourse: power and resistance. How does the notion of hierarchy run through colonial accounts of inebriation? What are the images and symbols used by colonial writers to justify native subordination to Christianity, Spanish administration, and labor demands? How do native writers reject stereotypes and defy inequality?10 1532, the

year of Pizarro’s arrival in Peru, brings wealth and profit to the Spaniards, but it also sees the proliferation of stereotypes. The representation of inebriation as an indigenous stereotype exposes its utility in the assertion of power and the annexation of lands and peoples overseas.

A Trope of Colonial Difference The notion of inebriation as a rhetorical trope of colonial difference reflects the predominance of literary writings in the formation of colonial authority and the role tropes play in the justification of the subordination of indigenous people. Peter Hulme’s Colonial Encounters is instrumental in comprehending the rhetorical practices that shaped colonial discourse and power. He demonstrates how colonial authority appropriated the terms cannibal and hurricane from Amerindian languages, displacing them from their cultural matrix to utilize them in the deployment of difference. The literary procedure behind it signified what lies outside Europe as barbarian, an imagery that strengthens ideological discourse (1986, 101).11 Hulme provides these examples to illustrate how texts produce ways of seeing that are integral to the formation of authority and the attainment of economic interests. The rhetorical dimension to colonial accounts is persuasive, and nowhere is the relationship between colonialism and tropes more evident than in the Spanish narratives of conquest and colonization. Colonizers familiarized the unknown by producing inebriation imagery laden with meaning. Hayden White illustrates the symbolic correlation engendered by sixteenth-century chronicles about the New World: Understanding is a process of rendering the unfamiliar … familiar; of removing it from the domain of things felt to be “exotic” and unclassified into one or another domain of experience encoded adequately enough to be felt to be humanly useful, nonthreatening, or simply known by association. This process of understanding can only be tropological in nature, for what is involved in the rendering of the unfamiliar into the familiar is a troping that is generally figurative. (1978, 5)

Spanish chroniclers channeled this process of signification into narratives of expansionism in an exercise of self-interest, self-definition, social inequality, and hierarchy. The classification of natives as drunkards and irrational, and the alignment with gold—a commonplace trope in the literature of the New World—played out most noticeably in justifying the appropriation of private property and domination of the colonized.12 Sixteenth-century Spanish accounts of Amerindian reality conceptualized the New World as the battlefield of moderation and excess, virtue and vice, and sin and salvation. These symbols conveyed the pervasive framework of moral dualism and its unquestionable images of the good (Hodge 1990, 89). Consequently, we can understand that colonial writings do not mirror reality, as they are far from being a tropeless discourse (Pratt 1986, 27). Instead, the narratives translated reality into a moral dichotomy that revealed political motives. Hulme recognizes in this emphasis the ideological function of colonial discourse (1986, 5). Walter Mignolo ([1995] 2003, 439–40) addresses the ideological focus in terms of colonial difference, which he contrasts to cultural difference. To him, colonial difference more clearly delineates the forces underlying colonial texts to justify the “coloniality of power”: domination, control, and exploitation of one group over another.13

Inebriation imagery invokes the differential effects of moral discourse, which Spanish officials and ecclesiastics such as Jesuit José de Acosta ascribed to the representation of indigenous people for purposes of control. In Hulme’s terms (1986, 19), the colonizer sought authority by employing classical concepts and imagery. How else to explain, for instance, Acosta’s reference to Bacchus in his descriptions of native drinking activities in Peru? Validation through ancient Greek references indicates how drinking and inebriation imagery were articulated by social context and language. In the complex process of articulation, the trope becomes the point where literature and ideology meet to produce domination, enabling them to function in expansionist texts and politics. The dualisms of vice and virtue, or of moderation and excess, represented by inebriation imagery reinforce the macro-narratives of conquest and conversion. As did the ancient Greeks, Spanish chroniclers, government officials, and religious authorities associated reason and control and those living by these values with the highest level of civility. Conversely, they correlated those linked to the emotions, body, and physical matter with barbarity and the Devil. Virtue confers the greatest moral worth on individuals who accept this mindset and ally themselves with reason and moderation when encountering drinking, just as they would any vice or temptation. According to philosopher John Hodge, “dualism helps create and sustain oppression by enabling it to appear rational” (1990, 89). Both western philosophy and Christianity contribute to equating the dichotomy with an optimal and practical value that transcends subjective feelings. Man justifies subordination by picturing himself “as joining the struggle between the forces of good in the struggle against evil” (98, 89). To the colonizer, moderation translated into the ability to govern oneself and others; the individuals who mastered their passions were deemed morally superior and worthy of the right to guide and rule those who enslaved themselves to drunkenness and excess. This association between drinking and morality demonstrates the way sixteenthcentury colonizers structured social relations around virtue, making it the primary concept underlying perceptions of self, wellbeing, and domination. The type of representation employed by Spanish colonial writers, made apparent by debates over the legitimacy of Spanish possessions over the Americas, is the most concrete example of the moral conceptualization of power and difference. The famous confrontation between Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda, one of King Philip II’s chaplains, and Bartolomé de las Casas at Valladolid in 1550–1551 is a case in point.14 Sepúlveda appealed to the notion of moral superiority to rationalize just war, the right to make war against the Indians before preaching the faith to them, in order to subjugate them and facilitate conversion. Moral discourse endorsed Sepúlveda’s ideas about domination. In his argument, crimes against nature constituted legitimate grounds for depriving indigenous people of all their rights (Adorno 2007, 83, 127).15 To him, civil life and its exercise through social roles that demonstrated virtue secured rights to freedom, property, and sovereignty. Drawing on Aristotelian thought, he promoted belief in native inferiority, which he associated with the absence of virtue and rational capacity. The correlation justified Spanish colonial presence in the Americas and rights to possession (Pagden 1987, 93).16 It should come as no surprise to us that images of inebriation figured into the equation. Inebriation was categorized as a crime against nature because drunkenness prevented natives from exercising moderation and

rational conduct. Concomitant with the images of cannibalism, idolatry, sodomy, human sacrifice, and polygamy, inebriation was an example of excess, a tangible manifestation of inferiority that made slavery natural. Accordingly, Spanish perception of indigenous social life as centered on inebriation was conducive to the idea of drunkenness as the symbolic equivalent of the Indians’ forfeiture of their rights. Las Casas’s Apologética historia sumaria [Apologetic History of the Indies] (1553, 1559), for example, addressed this phenomenon. Along with Dominican Francisco de Vitoria, he insisted that error did not deprive man of full possession of all his natural rights. Las Casas expanded on this view in his Tratado de las doce dudas [Treatise of the Twelve Doubts] (1564) (Pagden 1987, 94), a document that Andean chronicler Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala followed to construct his defense of Indians’ rights to private property and sovereignty (Adorno 2007, 41–6). As a writer grounded in both the colonized and the colonizer’s worlds, Guaman Poma appropriated colonial concepts and imagery to produce divergent depictions of Andean culture, which he projected onto a new world order of colonial relations that resisted power. From a rhetorical stance, the operations of power by means of moral dualism are evident, especially when we consider White’s definition of tropes as “the soul of discourse” (1978, 2). To him, troping is the “mechanism without which discourse cannot do its work or achieve its end” (2). To attain its meaning, inebriation was connected to ethnic difference and deviance, demarcating the barbarian from the civilized. It stressed moderation over excess—lust, gluttony, and violence—and involved questions of education, political treason, religious transgression, and subjectivation.17 Edouard Glissant calls the set of categories, images, and meanings at work in a cultural system a culture’s imaginary, that is, “all the ways a culture has of perceiving and conceiving of the world” (1997, xxii). Identifying them is essential in order to reconstruct the archive and the regional tradition from which the colonizer defined the Indians of the Viceroyalty of Peru as inferior.18 The symbols and images of drunkenness inform the moral Christian historical a priori that, according to Foucault, makes knowledge and power possible, thus converting inebriation imagery into a discursive formation.19

Cultural Encounters Tracking the symbolisms of inebriation imagery in sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century Peru involves addressing the dynamics of the relations of power that shape cultural encounters. Percy Hintzen argues that every encounter between people “is governed by conditions of power, wealth, privilege, influence, coercive deployment, and social and cultural dominance” (2003, 129). Semantics makes this social dynamic evident as well. In Spanish, the word for encounter, encuentro, evokes separation and hostility through its association with the word for conflict, or conflicto. Encuentro implies coming into contact with an adversary who approaches the self from an opposite direction to symbolically collide with him, confronting his challenging ways.20 The resulting idea of combat connotes fighting and coercion. It also highlights resistance to what is not part of the self. This dynamic mirrors the social relations of colonialism. Inebriation serves to demonstrate the “highly asymmetrical relations of domination and subordination” that to Mary Louise Pratt constitute

colonial space and social interactions ([1992] 2008, 4). The encounter between the Andean peoples and the colonizer can be symbolically described in terms of the confrontation between different kinds of imbibing and the opposition that is created between moderation and excess. As I explain in this book, inebriation imagery becomes an example of the “contact zone” (4) wherein both cultures enter into conflict with one another and from which the contrasting definitions and positions of both entities emerge. Encounters create spaces of identity and difference. Bringing drinking habits into contrast plays a key role in the formative economy of identity and abjection with respect to excess. Julia Kristeva explains that the self is constituted through a force of expulsion, thus making the abject “something rejected from which [it] does not part” (1982, 4). Inebriation imagery partakes in this process of abjection, framing the cultural encounter between colonial Spaniards and Andean people. Indigenous drinking practices constituted the border of the Spanish self, for, according to Cieza’s depiction, non-Spanish drinking rituals departed from the “dominationsubmission” paradigm governing Western moral behavior and drinking practices (Foucault 1990b, 70). Moderation and the process of subjectivation were at the heart of the problem. The colonizer, inheritor of classical thought, defined himself through these paradigms, in which reason prevails over the body and its appetites, and moderation is vital to the formation of subjects (Taylor 1979, 39). Moderation has the effect of causing an individual to refer to moral and religious tenets and the social norms that constitute him as a subject. Cieza’s use of the term vice as that which denotes excess reveals how his culture excluded whatever did not suit the logic of moderation. His witnessing and writing about the inebriated Indians of Peru as the epitome of excess defined the moral discourses that positioned him as a subject. Cieza’s reaction against inebriation showed he was being hailed into a subject position (Althusser 1971, 163). The process of interpellation, as defined by Louis Althusser, simultaneously permeates perception and produces hierarchy. Depicting the Indians as inebriated symbolically incorporated them into the unequal relations of power that moral dualism constructs, attaching them to the position of subjects to be conquered and colonized because of their excesses. Drunkenness emerged as a mode of representing interests upon which social stratification and political systems could be built (Mahoney 2010, 2). Its symbolism provided the framework and legitimizing ideology for the implementation of hierarchy through the transplantation of socio-cultural institutions such as religion, used to rationalize difference, labor systems, and political legitimacy.21 Domingo de Santo Tomás’s Lexicon, o vocabulario de la lengua general del Peru [Lexicon of the Common Language of Peru] (1560) offers an excellent example, which I analyze in Chapter 1. Santo Tomás focused on the interpellation of Indians as subjects of empire by means of the act of confession and the teachings of virtue and sin, which he introduced in his preface to the Lexicon. The Christian colonization of mind and spirit through moderation took place by means of these mechanisms, which were enforced by ordinances, catechisms, and sermons designed to transform Andean peoples into Indians, docile subjects, and natural slaves. Conversion was instrumental to the social transformation intended to supply the state with subjects in control of their excesses. To Spanish officials, inebriation interfered with production, as they equated drunkenness with decreases in population, ill health, laziness, and social disorder.

New Images of Native Culture We now turn to the way inebriation imagery opens a space to examine resistance and agency, but from the ambiguous side of transculturated and hybrid subjects, such as native Andean chronicler Guaman Poma de Ayala.22 As such, he positions himself in the culture of the dominant and the dominated groups, absorbing and selecting multiple ideas and discursive strategies from both sides of the colonial divide to reevaluate representation, meaning, and power.23 By understanding the ambivalence at the heart of colonial discourse and the textual strategies and imagery through which colonial discourse created social stratification in the colony, Guaman Poma was able to select inebriation imagery from the set of descriptions the Spanish officials and clergy produced to classify his culture and people as inferior. He decoded their exclusionary properties and political value, and his Primer nueva corónica y buen gobierno [New Chronicle and Good Government] (1615) proposed another reading of indigenous imbibing. It presented drinking as a symbolic ritual of political, economic, and moral order, transforming it into a signifier of civilization the colonizer claimed the Indians lacked. Although the strategy shows the ability of transculturated subjects to create a space for challenging colonial discourse, order, and administration (Liebmann 2008, 5), it also expresses their ambivalent positions, which Guaman Poma projects on to political order. Ambivalence permeated Guaman Poma’s engagement with the issues of power and inequality inherent to his colonial reality and political position. In “Of Mimicry and Man,” Homi Bhabha defines ambivalence as a continual fluctuation between wanting one thing and its opposite.24 This conflicted process is at the heart of colonial representation and operates in terms of mimicry, the “desire for a reformed, recognizable Other, as a subject of a difference that is almost the same, but not quite” (Bhabha [1994] 2004, 122, his emphasis). Ambivalence is a discursive strategy that positions the Other as the object of difference required for domination, but it also suggests a change of perspective and a disturbance of colonial authority (160).25 Guaman Poma identified the symbolism in drunkenness that implied the natives’ endorsed subordination, yet he also used the depiction of inebriation in compliance with colonial authorities. Thus, by showing inebriation as a sign of difference and inferiority, in terms of the colonizer, he sought a compromise within the existing power relations of colonialism. However, by equating the colonized and the colonizer on the basis of civilized life, well-being, and controlled alcohol consumption, Guaman Poma attempted to demand native rights to governance and sovereignty. His conflicted response spoke to the changes wrought by colonial power, the contradictory positions hybrid subjects, dealing with and inflected by, other cultures adopted for matters of survival, and the role rhetorical devices had in documenting social transformation and reform within asymmetrical relations of power. Integration was indicated in one sense, and separation from the colonizer in another, showing disruption and a forcing together of unlike things (Young 1995, 26). Tolerance and the coexistence of cultures within a global political system derive from Guaman Poma’s ambivalent strategy and depictions of inebriation, which I explore in Chapter 3.26 This perspective is an example of what Susan Ramírez terms as legitimacy, which manifests in the ideological basis used by natives to perceive the way their world worked (2005, 7). Guaman Poma’s political plan denotes how Andean thought in the form of complementarity and the

“quadripartite division of space organized around a center” (Adorno 2007, 46) had constructed his blue print of government.27 In this political design headed by the king, Guaman Poma made room for the cultures and traditions of the non-Christian world: Moors, Turks, Jews, and Amerindians. Ambivalence facilitated this inventive response to colonial domination. The plan illustrates partial compromise with colonial power by modifying its monolithic domination. Matters of colonial resistance include Guaman Poma’s focus on the policing of social relations. The chronicler was preoccupied with the reform of a group of colonial subjects and their interactions within specific places in the colony: the priest’s house and kitchen, the colonial inn or tambo, and even the church, symbolically and unceremoniously transformed into a tambo. As Guaman Poma clearly correlated colonialism with excess, he identified the interactions among priests, indigenous women, and innkeepers at these sites as the means to denounce the contradictions fueling the colonial enterprise. By depicting these detrimental influences, Guaman Poma informed Philip III of the relevance of place in the formation of colonial subjects. Tambos and other places ironically represented the sites where the discourses of morality and Christianity, and even native beliefs, ceased to interpellate individuals as their subjects. His description reveals how these places and the social relations through which they came into being microscopically mirrored the irregular and ambivalent dynamics of colonialism. They show the uncontrollable appetite and exchange for goods and bodies, rather than the dissemination of moral values and salvation. The concept of place, so important to issues of economy, conversion, and the formation of docile Indians, as employed by Viceroy Francisco de Toledo in the relocation of indigenous peoples into Spanish-style villages or reducciones, gained a different connotation in Guaman Poma’s narrative. I explore this meaning in Chapter 4. Spanish officials expanded the sixteenth-century symbolism of drunkenness to include negative connotations of excess (laziness, death, non-production, and backwardness) that justified Spanish administration and reflected demands by expansionist interests for servile and docile Indian subjects trained in moderation and Christian values. By contrast, Guaman Poma set himself to modify the representation of Andean peoples as uncivilized, reevaluating the meaning of inebriation produced by the viceroy’s administration. Issues of sovereignty, cultural continuity, and tolerance were central to Guaman Poma’s objective and reform, which he expressed in the discursive tradition of the conqueror and the ambivalent rhetoric of colonial discourse. The chronicler hoped for corrective action, as he presented King Philip III with the idea that conquest and colonization were eroding Indian and Spanish colonial culture via the sinful excesses of greed, lust, and laziness. Unlike other chroniclers, then, Guaman Poma made use of inebriation imagery to emphasize the disintegration of colonial culture and the contradictions at the heart of the colonial project. Reading Inebriation in Early Colonial Peru delineates the ideological apparatus of sixteenth-century Spanish conquest and colonization, and the way this project became appropriated and relocated to accommodate the logic and claims of transculturated subjects. Understanding this historical juncture is central to the way we see and relate to others today, and the unequal relations of power that derive from these perceptions and interactions.

1

“Son riquísimos de oro, porque tenían … dél … muy lindos vasos con que bebían el vino que ellos hacen del maíz, tan recio que bebiendo mucho priva el sentido a los que beben. Son tan viciosos en beber, que se bebe un indio, de una sentada, una arroba y más … Y teniendo el vientre lleno deste brevaje, provocan a vómito y lanzan lo que quieren, y muchos tienen con la una mano la vasija con que están bebiendo y con la otra el miembro con que orinan … y esto del beber es vicio envejecido en costumbre, que generalmente tienen todos los indios que hasta agora se han descubierto en estas Indias” (1962, 85). All translations are mine unless otherwise noted. An arroba was the equivalent of three gallons. 2

Inebriation imagery in Western culture itself first appeared in the dialogues of Plato, Euripides’s Bacchae, Livy’s “The Bacchanalia in Rome and Italy” in the History of Rome (186 BCE); and in Biblical passages such as Noah and his daughters; in Spain, inebriation can be found in the medieval poems by Gonzalo de Berceo and Juan Ruiz, the Archpriest of Hita. 3

Chicha is a unique fermentation in which, traditionally, saliva serves as the source of amylase for conversion of starch to fermentation sugars. Malting (germinating) the corn kernels to produce the amylases needed for starch conversion is an alternate procedure that is widely used today (Steinkraus 1996, 402). 4

The outcome produced alcohol concentration, that is, diastase converts starch into dextrin and then into sugar, producing fermentation. Sournia (1990, x) connects the cultural motive of fermentation to the surplus of perishable produce. Its transformation into alcoholic drink prevented its waste and helped some communities to cope with water insufficiency and sometimes with its unpleasant taste. On the production of chicha, see Cutler (1981, 247–59). For anthropological perspectives on the topic in the Andean region, see Saignes’s Borracheras y memoria. La experiencia de lo sagrado en los Andes (1993) [Drunkenness and Memory. The Experience of the Sacred in the Andes] and Jennings and Bowser’s Drink, Power, and Society in the Andes (2009). Drinking and its effects upon culture have been the objects of study and crosscultural comparison for anthropology, history, and recently for cultural studies. See Intoxicated Identities. Alcohol Power in Mexican History and Culture (2004). Here, Mitchell examines heavy drinking and its cultural meaning in connection with the social system and patriotism. Similarly, in Toasts with the Inca: Andean Abstraction and Colonial Images on Quero Vessels (2002), Cummins’s analyzes the language of artistic images on ritual Inca drinking vessels to inform of the indigenous people’s perspective on the encounter and describe how the commodification of these cups is vital to maintain social relations between the conquered and the conqueror. 5

Mandelbaum defines inebriating beverages as “cultural artifacts” that are part of a “larger cultural configuration” (1979, 15). Drinking preference, age, gender, time, place, quantity, and behavior are all categories of regulating consumption that vary from group to group. Drinks are thus rendered as cultural artifacts symbolic of complex social structures. See also Heath (1987, 16–69). 6

Since the early 1980s, research produced by scholars in the field of colonial Latin American literature has demonstrated that Amerindian representation is mainly constructed through markers of difference, i.e., the lack or presence of specific markers of sixteenth-century civilization. These primarily involve alphabetic writing, religion, dress, cannibalism, and deviant sexual practices. See Todorov ([1982, 1984] 1999), Hulme (1986), Mignolo ([1995] 2003, 34–5; 1992, 312–45), Meléndez (2005, 17–30), and Horswell (2005). The first writers of the New World—among whom Fernández de Oviedo, Las Casas, and Acosta stand out—used these markers to characterize the Amerindian as inferior. See Las Casas ([1553– 1559] 1967). He defined inferiority and explained in what sense Amerindians fit the category of the barbarian, regarding speech and other cultural and religious differences (2: 637–54). His famous phrase “the tyranny of the alphabet,” for instance, illustrates the way in which the absence of alphabetic writing translates into inferiority. It highlights the written word as the key constructive element of history, and something that indigenous societies’ lack. See Mignolo (1989, 51–96; [1995] 2003, 129). Acosta ([1577, 1588] 1952, 43–9) offered a classification of barbarians in which the category of writing functions as synonymous with reason, civilization, and political organization. See also Fernández de Oviedo’s Historia general y natural de las Indias [General and Natural History of the Indies] (1535), which Ginés de Sepúlveda cited to endorse Amerindians’ barbarian condition. 7

MacCormack (1991, 80–138) discusses Cieza’s recording of cultural change and the rescue of tradition. His work reveals the difference between detailed historical accounts and less-descriptive ones by missionaries and administrative officials. 8

This idea of cultural universe relates to Geertz’s notion of “cultural matrix” (1983, 44). He argues that interpretations remove cultural experience and their participants in space and time from the social situations that bring them to life. The emphasis of Cieza’s passage on excess and deviance attests to the process of erasure that interpretation brings to questions of representation and knowledge. See also Ramírez (2005) and Smith (1999). 9

On the cultural meaning of fluids in Andean thought, see Randall (1987, 85; 1993, 69–95), as well as Salazar-Soler (1989, 124). For a different interpretation of the idea of vomiting in the context of inebriation, see Cummins (2002, 224n4).

He explains that Andeans are compared to dogs, a European trope introduced in the region in the sixteenth century for improper drinking behavior. I examine this animal connotation, which appears in the doctrinal material produced by the Third Lima Council, in Chapter 2. Regarding fluids, Classen affirms that “[b]ody fluids, like rivers, must be properly controlled so that they integrate the structure of the body (the land) without disintegrating it” (1993, 15). She also explains the symbolism of water as masculine, considered by the culture as semen that fertilizes the earth (13). Zuidema relates inebriation and the drunken body to fertility, as the body is viewed as a human river that impregnates both the earth and women, and from which fluids—urine and vomit—are released (1990, 253–79). 10

I will mainly focus on native Andean writer Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala’s depictions of drinking and inebriation, in direct relation to contemporary narratives and religious documents. Compared to Inca Garcilaso de la Vega (1539–1616), who recounted the origins and rise of the Inca Empire and those of Peruvian history from the advent of the Spaniards to the end of the sixteenth century praising the Incas and the colonizer’s civilizing efforts, Guaman Poma contested his perspective. He presents a broader context for the analysis of drinking and inebriation as a marker of deviance and difference. Some of their commonalities, though, lie in presenting drinking as a cultural practice, symbolic of complex social structures within the Inca Empire. See Chapter 3. 11

For an account of the social conditions from which the notion of the barbarian emerged in the Greek thought, see Nippel (2002, 278–310) and Hall (1989). 12

Hulme (22–34) illustrates how gold and desire conflate to produce an image of the invaded Amerindian space as a potentially exploitable colonial space. 13

For an account of the coloniality of power as the basis of the unequal relations of power shaping Latin America, see Quijano (2000). See also Mignolo ([1995] 2003, 440–57), who defines it as a logic of domination (2005, 7). 14

For a discussion on the 1550 Valladolid debate between Las Casas and Sepúlveda on the nature of the Amerindian, see Hanke (1959, 1965), Parish (1980), Pagden (1982, 1987), and Adorno (1992b, 2007). An important religious document that advances the notion of the humanity of Indians and their rights is the 1537 bull Sublimis Deus (cited in Adorno 1992b, 51). This decree issued by Paul III was an attempt to settle disputes against colonial institutions such as encomienda and slavery. The consequent devastation of the population through disease and exploitation lead to debates such as the one at Valladolid. 15

See also Pagden (1987, 81, 91).

16

See Sepúlveda ([1545] 1984, 33).

17

Subjectivation implies the relationship between the individual and himself without the mediation of civil or religious authority. It is intended to help him frame his interactions with pleasure and excess. See Foucault (1990b). 18

Glissant’s imaginary can be compared to Foucault’s concept of archive (1972, 126–31) and Mignolo’s concept of regional tradition ([1995] 2003, 17). Both concepts stress representation and the geopolitics of knowledge. 19

See Foucault (1972, 126–31).

20

In Spanish, encuentro refers to combat and clash [combate and choque]. See Diccionario Larousse del Español Moderno, comp. García Pelayo y Gross (New York: Signet, 1983), s.v. encuentro. 21

As a thematic commonality between the colonial discourses of the Spanish and Portuguese Americas, inebriation imagery also appears as a trope of colonial difference in sixteenth-century writings about conversion in Brazil. On Portuguese accounts of colonialism, see McLeod (2007). 22

I draw on Pratt’s version of the term transculturation, rooted in anthropology, describing the manner through which non-hegemonic groups inventively resist domination. Rama ([1984] 1997, 158–9) first took the concept from readings of Cuban experience with race and cultural encounters by Ortiz (1995, 102–3; 1978, 86) to refer to the shortcomings of acculturation and deculturation. Transculturation implied cultural survival, a reactive response to modernization (Moreiras 2001, 185). Moreiras states that Ortiz proposed transculturation as the key concept of an “ideology of social integration” whose target was to provide an imaginary basis for the construction of the post-1929 national-popular state (264). Spitta (1997), Rama (1982, 38), and Kraniauskas (2000) see the process of selectivity and innovation as inherent to cultural plasticity whereby a culture is skillfully able to integrate both the local and the new into one product. They highlight the limitations of the process as well. See also Liebmann, who refers to hybridity as the new, transcultural forms produced through colonization that resist binary oppositions and cannot be classified into a single cultural form (2008, 5). See my Chapter 3. 23

Drawing on Rama’s account of the Other’s inventive response to the violence of acculturation, Pratt (1992, 7) noted that Guaman Poma’s autoethnographic text participated in the transculturation phenomenon. The Andean chronicler’s

writing was infused with local elements to defy the geopolitics of knowledge and power. Coronil acknowledges the political aspect of transculturation, which makes Ortiz’s work significant to postcolonial and ethnic studies. Coronil states that it prefigures concerns regarding agency and resistance that are integral to the politics of representation examined by scholars in these fields (1993, 77). 24

See Young (1995, 161).

25

At the level of discourse in colonial Peru, ambivalence takes the form of double articulation. Bhabha explains that colonial writings function at a concrete level by articulating knowledge for purposes of power. At a second level, he adds, colonial discourse implicates a twofold desire through which the colonizer wishes to include the Other in sameness via civilization, and contradictorily, desires to exclude him because of difference and fear (Bhabha [1994] 2004, 122–4, 130; Young 1995, 161). Bhabha argues that at the center of colonial discourse there is not a single homogenizing perspective but a polarity (Young [1990] 2004, 181). Orientalism is discipline—of encyclopedic learning, and of imperial power—and yet a fantasy of the Other (181). How else to explain, for instance, Toledo’s reconstructions of the pre-Hispanic past, his execution of Tupac Amaru, the last Inca monarch, and Acosta’s representation and production of remedial narratives and pedagogical discourses? See also Gruzinski (2002, 19). 26

In Treatise of the Twelve Doubts, Las Casas termed this political paradigm, to which Guaman Poma referred, as “universal señorío” [universal lordship] (1564, 535), which Adorno describes as “universal hegemony” (2007, 88). As Adorno states, the king “should order that the autochthonous lords be restored to their rule and that Philip serve in a merely symbolic role as ‘universal lord,’ being acknowledged for this universal hegemony with an annual token of payment” (88). 27

Guaman Poma’s plan for the good government of Peru and the position he assigned to the Peruvian colony within the four divisions of the world under Spanish rule provide an example of the relationship between cosmology and legitimacy that Ramírez describes. Adorno explains, however, that the quadripartite division of the world was an honored tradition in medieval European cosmography, as it was in the Andes (2007, 50). Guaman Poma’s ideas about the universal monarchy had origins in Las Casas’s Treatise of the Twelve Doubts (55).

Chapter 1 Inebriation Imagery in Dictionaries, Poetry, and the Law They were to be restrained from … painting themselves, and getting drunk. —“Laws of Burgos”1 [C]ultural definitions attach to the drink even before it reaches the lips. —David Mandelbaum, “Alcohol and Culture”

The relationship between the colonizer and Amerindians is described by the monarchy in terms of prohibitions in the first epigraph, Article 17 of the “Laws of Burgos,” promulgated on December 27, 1512.2 Drunkenness stands out in connection with excess and violence. Its banning is part of a set of 32 regulations intended to counter the Indians’ uncivilized ways and their unhampered exploitation by the colonists. This code informs us of the criticism of the Spanish colonizing methods employed by ethically minded authorities who were assembled by Ferdinand of Aragon when petitioned by the Dominican preacher Domingo Montesinos. Article 17 assigns negative value to their actions by depicting the Indians as drunk, non-docile bodies that dwell outside the world of reason.3 By examining the Laws of Burgos, I reveal the deviance that informs the colonizer’s perception of the drinking habits of the peoples of the New World. My purpose is to identify and describe the symbolic meanings that the colonial Spanish attached to inebriation. Why did they codify indigenous intoxication through damaging and problematic images, making inebriation the object of control and prohibition? How did they articulate those meanings? I argue that inebriation imagery works as a trope for deviance in Spanish colonial writings. The dictionaries, poems, treatises, and decrees of the early colonial period assemble a virtual catalog of images and symbols that resonate with a pre-existing set of social and cultural concepts and representations based on western moral philosophy and Christian thought. As Edward Said would discuss centuries later in relation to western perceptions of the “Orient”: “it is an idea that has a history and a tradition of thought, imagery, and vocabulary that have given it reality and presence” (5). The identification of the signs and the different frames of reference associated with drunkenness sheds light on the ways of thinking and discourses that produce power. This type of analysis investigates what tends to remain unquestioned, as the second epigraph by Mandelbaum suggests. Images of drunkenness have an epistemological value that is reflected in the representation and formation of authority and its subjects in the Andean region. Two key documents bring together the images and concepts at work in the cultural system of expansionist Spain, representing the discourses and institutions that fuel the colonial project: Santo Tomás’s Lexicon o Vocabulario de la lengua general del Peru (1560) produced for the conversion of Peru, and the ordinances from the Recopilación de las leyes de los reinos de las Indias (1680) [Laws of the Indies], a compilation of decrees for the regulation of the New World. These texts provide the means of reconstructing the historical a priori that anticipates the representation of Andean peoples as inebriated, a central point in order to understand the basic notions underlying Western social order and power in colonial

Peru.

Santo Tomás’s Lexicon The grammarian and cleric Domingo de Santo Tomás (1499–1570) produced for conversion purposes an alphabetically arranged list of Quechua words and phrases with their corresponding translations in Spanish. By selecting the general language of the Inca, a Southern Peruvian variety of Quechua, Lexicon bridged the language gap in the process of colonization.4 This variety of Quechua was promoted by the ruling class as the means to social and political cohesion; the Inca state taught the language to sons of local lords in distant lands. In his Comentarios reales, Inca Garcilaso de la Vega cites the chronicler Blas Valera, who explains that the native people who kept the language of Cuzco were more civilized and able to reason than those who did not.5 The conquerors saw the practical benefits of this linguistic trend,6 as Santo Tomás’s dictionary allowed Spaniards to communicate in a standardized form of Quechua with the Andean peoples and expand the Christian faith throughout the newly conquered territories.7 Rolena Adorno describes the linguistic enterprise as “a highly political act, favoring not only the dignity of the Andean language but also its use in the affairs of the colonial church and state” (2007, 334). Nonetheless, through his lexicographical writings, which served to bring Christianity and its social order to overseas possessions, Santo Tomás disseminated the imagery and themes associated with inebriation in the confession piece Lexicon contains as a preface (Martínez 59). In this earliest example of a general confession written in Quechua, which the faithful recited in the Quechua language for the annual sacrament of Penance (Harrison 1994, 138), Santo Tomás presents the reader the politically symbolic statement that inebriation is a sin: Great sinner that I am, I confess all my sins to God, to the Virgin Mary, to Saint Thomas, and to all the saints (God’s helpers), I state my sins. To the priest, I state my sins. Great sins, sins of thought, of word, of speaking in vain, of eating too much, drinking too much, not working hard, being foolish (smiling), making fun of others, just hanging around, having a good time and not working hard. For this reason, my sins weigh on me. I will repent, I say. I will not sin again, Virgin Mary, Mother of God, and all God’s helpers, I worship you all, and to God, I make good all my sins to worship better, and you, Reverend Father, God’s representative on earth, [I ask that] you make my sins be lost forgotten.8

Quechua enabled Santo Tomás to meet his original objective: to inform the Indians of the Christian religion by listing a genealogy of divine authorities and the avenues to relate to them and attain salvation. Yet the Lexicon also presented drunkenness as detrimental to the enterprise. Depicting it as synonymous with excess, he stigmatized the practice by labeling it as sin within the tradition of Christian moral philosophy. An inventory of sinful images was thus transmitted by the dominant group to a cultural other. Sins bring a variety of discursive traditions to the forefront. Cassian’s list of the seven cardinal sins was introduced to Christians by Pope Gregory the Great in the sixth century, and later adjusted by thirteenth-century scholastic theologians to merge with the biblical ten commandments.9 With the moral indoctrination of Christian thought, inebriation reaches the sixteenth-century mentality as a category connected with the sins of thought, gluttony, and

sloth. Such vices are at the core of Santo Tomás’s proselytizing discourse (“I state my sins. Great sins, sins of thought, of word, of speaking in vain, of eating too much, drinking too much, not working hard”). The textual presence of the sins of the flesh in the proposed confession demonstrates that the Christian theological legacy had influenced humanist ideas about language to produce it as, “an instrument of correction, persuasion, and reform” (Zamora 1988, 17). Santo Tomás’s dictionary symbolically stripped Quechua of its barbarian status and turned it into a Christian device for expansionism. Another humanist grammarian, Antonio de Nebrija, reflected on the connection between language and power in fifteenthcentury imperial Spain in his preface to his Spanish-Latin dictionary: “I never stopped thinking about a way to disrupt the uncivilized condition of Spain scattered throughout the length and breadth of the country.”10 Nebrija pursued the linguistic unification of Spain through the teaching of Castilian grammar and orthography. Santo Tomás’s preface to his Lexicon intended to achieve cohesion as well, but from a didactic stance. The confession spelled out sinful behavior and Christian doctrine for the Indians to learn and assimilate. Cardinal sins took center stage in medieval narratives that positioned listeners as subjects of the Christian belief system, including practicing confession and devotion to the Virgin Mary. Reconciliation restored the Christian order of things that inebriation distorted; it reinstated the relation between the subject and ideology when the subject stopped recognizing himself as subject (Kelley 2005, 131). Inebriation imagery emerges in medieval narratives from the play between moderation and excess. The dichotomy is vital to notions of the Western self that go back to Greek society, where acting properly, i.e., in moderation, was conducive to the well-being of citizens and that of the state, denoting civilization. From the thirteenth century on, it acted in conceptual accord with Christian virtues in the prevention of sin or the production of evil (Goldberg 1993, 15). In Spain, these themes were developed in the works of thirteenth-century poet Gonzalo de Berceo and fourteenth-century poet Juan Ruiz, Archpriest of Hita. They codified the tradition that Santo Tomás later disseminated in Lexicon,11 as the cleric’s dictionary fomented the cultural homogenization of Christian virtue and concepts through words, analogies, translations, definitions, and teachings, bringing to mind the colonizer’s moral and religious tenets to those who learned Quechua for conversion, or recited the confession in the local language. Medieval poetry’s didacticism taught by example the hardships experienced in attaining prudence over wine consumption. In “Miracle 20: El clerigo embriagado” [“The Drunken Monk”] and coplas 548 from the masterful poem known as Book of Good Love, Berceo and Juan Ruiz taught their audiences the attitudes and practices that two centuries later and in a different cultural context, Santo Tomás expected Indians to incorporate into their lives. Berceo’s account belongs to the miracle genre that proliferated in Europe by the tenth century to increase Marian devotion (Kelley 1991, 814). In this type of literature, the Virgin Mary gives advice to those who listen to her miracles. As a devotee of the Virgin, the monk had to undergo confession and penance, becoming the object of religious discourse in the same way the Indians were obliged. Miracles were part of the oral tradition and were meant to instruct the pilgrims to the Monastery of San Millán de la Cogolla about the Devil and the importance of confession. Berceo’s miracle contrasts drunkenness with moderation, the same ideal and norm that Santo Tomás would extol for the sacrament of reconciliation. Berceo wanted to

teach his audience that excess leads to the Devil as represented by the Deadly Sins, mainly that of gluttony. In the Christian tradition, inebriation, a form of excess classified under gluttony, separates man from virtue, reason, and God, illustrating the dynamism of sins in Christian culture. They operate as “an opposition, or rebellion against virtue … against God Himself” (Bloomfield 69). The poem sets a precedent for the value of confession as sinners cluster around drunkenness and the Devil: I would like to tell you about another miracle that happened to a monk of a religious order: the Devil wanted to frighten him severely, but the Glorious Mother knew how to impede him. Ever since he was in the order, indeed ever since he was a novice, he had loved the Glorious One, always doing Her service; he guarded against craziness, or speaking of fornication, but he finally fell into vice. He entered the wine cellar by chance one day, he drank a great deal of wine, this was without moderation. The crazy man got drunk; he lost his sanity, until vespers he lay on the hard ground. ................................................. Although he could not stand up on his feet, he went to the church as he was accustomed to do; the Devil tried to trip him up, because, indeed, he thought to conquer him easily. ................................................. Holy Mary came with Her honored garment, which no living soul could fail to esteem, She put herself in between him and the Devil ................................................. The monk who had passed through all this, was not very recovered from the burden of the wine, both the wine and the fear had so punished him that he could not return to his customary bed. The Beautiful Queen of excellent deed took him by the hand, brought him to his bed, ................................................. She made the sign of the cross over him, he was well blessed, “Friend,” She said to him, “rest because you have suffered greatly, ................................................. But this I order you, I tell it to you firmly, tomorrow morning ask for a certain friend of Mine; confess yourself to him and you will be in good with Me, because he is a very good man and will give you good penance. I shall go on my way, to save some other afflicted soul, that is My pleasure, My customary office, you remain blessed, commended to God, but do not forget what I have commanded you. (1997, 93)12

Similarly, Juan Ruiz linked inebriation to sins of thought, irrationality, and evil: “Yet wine is quite well suited for its own peculiar uses, / There’s virtue in the moderate consumption of its juices, / But when a person takes too much, the drink his judgment loses / And all the evils in the world and follies it induces.”13 Here, the poet’s advice focuses on the care of the self,

pinpointing inebriation as that which counters balance and stability, the means to righteous living and God.14 Juan Ruiz’s main concern is virtue, for moderation counters “all the evils.” From this poetic line, we can extract a definition of drunkenness that conflates virtue with Christian thought, one that extends the notions of violation that Berceo labels as sin. Juan Ruiz voices a preoccupation with virtuous deeds that come to fruition only when the individual (with perfect understanding, memory, and will) understands, remembers, and obeys God’s laws (Gimeno 1983, 85). The notions of human good and order that Berceo and Juan Ruiz developed are embedded in the hierarchy born out of the appetites with respect to reason and that of virtue with regard to sin that the symbolism of inebriation represents. The poets’ focus on drunkenness rendered the paradigm natural and essential to transmit Christian values, forming a unity of ethical and religious principles in the individual. Theirs is an example of the manner in which the doctrine of virtue permeated thirteenth-century religious ideas through St Thomas Aquinas’s moral teachings. His tradition reflected the world view of dichotomies and provided moral models by which individuals may live in accordance with it. Santo Tomás’s confession draws on this world view, in which drunkenness is a major exclusionary factor, interfering with salvation within a social structure grounded in the symbolic ability to control individual and others’ appetites by coercing what is not capable of self-direction. The confession seeks the assimilation of the Indians through the monitoring of drinking excesses (“great sins of … drinking too much”). In the same way that Berceo and Juan Ruiz did, Santo Tomás draws on the negative value that Christianity invests in inebriation, a meaning that emphasizes virtue as the factor structuring personal and social relations within a group and imperial subjects. Through their discourse on inebriation, all these writers inform upon the naturalizing role that virtue plays in the social and discursive production of subjects. Santo Tomás reproduces this natural order in the New World by appealing to the indigenous imagination with the miraculous vision of the Virgin Mary, in contrast to the negative portrayals of drunkenness. He invokes these symbols and values as a means to exercise power and control over its practitioners. The fact that these elements claimed currency in his confessional text is significant to the colonial project when we reflect upon Foucault’s views on the formation of subjects: “experience is understood as the correlation between fields of knowledge, types of normativity, and forms of subjectivity in a particular culture” (1990b, 4). To Santo Tomás, confession consolidated the correlation of these elements, for reconciliation intended to interpellate Indians as subjects of virtue, Christianity, and empire: “Virgin Mary, Mother of God, and all God’s helpers, I worship you all, and to God, I make good all my sins to worship better.” Inebriation imagery therefore comes into being as the textual outgrowth of moral and religious discourses. And in a very real sense, so do the Indians, who stand for the symbolic extension of an empire of moderation and virtue in the colonizing enterprise proposed by Santo Tomás. Other contemporary dictionaries spread the medieval symbolism of inebriation that Santo Tomás circulated in the Andean territories. In Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española (1611), for instance, Sebastián de Covarrubias Horozco defines the notion of inebriation along the lines of didactic literature (Dopico and Lezra 2001, xii). He writes: “the benefits of

wine go hand in hand with its detriments; it all consists of moderation in drinking.”15 Pedro de Valencia characterizes Tesoro as “filled with varied teachings” [“lleno de varia y curiosa doctrina”], which the entry conveys through polar opposites (qtd in Jones, 189). We note how the dictionary claims the effects of excess on man with the term harm [daño]. Berceo (“[t]he crazy man got drunk; he lost his sanity”) and Juan Ruiz (“[b]ut when a person takes too much, the drink his judgment loses”) emphasize the meaning by pinpointing the absence of reason that derives from excessive drinking. Covarrubias’s entry on borrachería, or drunkenness, under that of borracho [drunkard], aligns the definition with the connotation of irrationality. With the latter term, the lexicographer introduces descompostura or disorder, reminding his readers of the connections between social disorder and excess. In this sense, Tesoro functions as a repository and transmitter of the cultural expressions and images that the term inebriation and its derivates capture and invoke up to the historical juncture the dictionary represents.16 Along with the Tesoro, Santo Tomás’s Lexicon presents inebriation imagery as a synthesis of Western discourses on deviance, giving shape to the moral and religious discourses and conventions structuring sixteenth-century Spanish identities and culture. In Foucauldian terms, the Lexicon spread the accumulation of a corpus of knowledge, for the notion of inebriation “embrace[d] a plurality of meanings: a plethora of ‘signified’ in relation to a simple ‘signifier’” (Foucault 1972, 118). We may draw further on Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s ideas about the complicity of language with colonial experience to argue that dictionaries such as Santo Tomás’s Lexicon disseminated “the collective memory bank of a people’s experience in history” for cultural and political expansion (1986, 15). Language works as the image-forming agent that provides man with a self-image that mediates social interaction (15).17 It is a process of image exchange, “the universal symbolic activity by which humans convey meanings from the mind of one person to that of another” (Penny 2000, 12). Going beyond a mere exchange of images, Santo Tomás’s confession language allows the unidirectional flow of symbols from the dominant culture to the dominated, mirroring the unequal relations of power shaping colonialism.18 When the Indians recite the confession in Quechua, the phrase “drinking too much” imposes a classification that positions them as the embodiment of sin and excess. The epistemological implications of inebriation imagery become clear at this point, as the representation of Indians in terms of drunkenness serves to incorporate them into a hierarchical paradigm of moral dualism. This pattern is at the core of sixteenth-century thought and the practices that govern knowledge and meaning: Indians are ranked as inferior to the Spaniards, by virtue of their drinking habits and opposing views on moderation. As a result, inebriation rituals are transformed from their initial sacralized origins by the Lexicon into a politicized sign of colonial difference.

The Recopilación The many laws published for regulating the subjects of the New World disclose abundant inebriation imagery. The Recopilación de las leyes de los reinos de las Indias [Laws of the

Indies (1680)] compiles a collection of decrees promulgated by the Spanish Crown from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries for the government of transatlantic territories. Among these rulings are included the prohibitions related to the selling and consumption of wine and to the preparation of pulque—or the fermented juice of the agave—and the ill effects of these beverages on drinkers.19 Similarly to the Laws of Burgos, the decrees involve health issues and excess, reinforcing the perception of the inordinate relationship of Amerindian cultures with alcohol. The sins of the flesh reappear in the decrees on intoxication, recording a supposed lack of moderation. Decree 37 reads: The Indians from New Spain drink a beverage called pulque distilled from maguey plants that are beneficial for different effects. Although this beverage can be tolerated when drunk with moderation because Indians are accustomed to it, some ill effects are worth noting. For its preparation, they add some ingredients harmful to spiritual and temporal health. Under the pretext of preserving the beverage and preventing decay, Indians mix it with certain roots, boiled water, and lime. The beverage is so strong that it forces them to lose consciousness, embracing the core members of the body and making them ill, hindering them and killing them with the greatest ease. More importantly, when they lose reason, they commit idolatry, making ceremonies and sacrifices of the pagans. And as they become furious, they engage in quarrels, and take their own lives, committing carnal, nefarious, and incestuous sins.20

The purpose of the ordinance is to counter intoxication and its effects on the indigenous people’s lives by bringing attention to the preparation of pulque. The text explains that the Indians are used to consuming inebriating drinks and that pulque could be tolerated if moderation is observed. But since they fail to strike a balance, imbibing the drink leads to inebriation, which results in acts considered inappropriate and dangerous. The tone of the ordinance circulates the thought of wine as the sum of all harm, disseminating notions from the medieval poetry and the dictionaries discussed above. As Juan Ruiz explains in his coplas, wine is dangerous because of “all the evils in the world and follies it induces.” The decree’s anxiety over moral disorder and sinful activity fuels the incorporation of the Indians into the colonizer’s conceptual universe. It seems to align itself with the notions of transgression illustrated in Santo Tomás’s confession, yet it provides a larger range of meanings culled from the Spanish imaginary. This fact expands the symbolism associated with inebriation, linking to broader, cultural themes, meanings, and concepts that permeate Andean representation in colonial Spanish writings. The interrelatedness of sins and moral disorder are targeted in Law 37. The concept of interrelatedness implies the productive and unified character of sins, or the thought that they progress from one to another (Brown 1998, 10, 15). Illness, idolatry, violence, lust, evil, and incest thus follow the excesses of drinking.21 Unlike Santo Tomás’s confession, the decree overtly concludes that inebriation is a gateway to far more serious sins. Juan Ruiz’s stanza 540 provides a precedent for the moral concern Law 37 describes. His poem depicts how drinking led a hermit to lose his body and soul: “While looking on he grew inflamed with concupiscent dreams / And since obscenity’s a root which with all vileness teems / He soon was filled with pride and lust and homicidal schemes. / (This, bibbing wine will do to those who push it to extremes)” (Kane 1933, 104).22 In Law 37, we sense similar urgency and anxiety over intoxication, in that its danger channels unwelcome appetites and desires. Even earlier than Juan Ruiz, therefore, Christian philosophers had codified these appetites

as sins. In different sections of Summa Theologiæ, Aquinas alludes to drunkenness in terms of desires and pleasures, stating that they are the “Devil’s closest friends because they are so often with us” (1964, 151).23 Although Biblical narrative had illustrated the topic through the story of Lot, for whom wine afforded an incentive to pleasure (Genesis 19:30–36),24 to Aquinas, the repetitiveness of drunkenness makes it a mortal sin; it “turns reason away from God” (2001, 515). The problem here is that intoxication subjects man to excess, the object of the Devil and desire. Drunkenness interlocks with idolatry, as well as with lust and incest.25 It gives form to deviance through all the discourses and imagery available to Christian thought for the effective and urgent deployment of authority. We learn from Aquinas that “wine is forbidden because of the randiness it causes” (1964, 195). Western theology had thus codified drinking as a behavior determined by frequency and necessity. In Spain, grape wine reached a level of acculturation that symbolized both its civilization and Catholic heritage (Taylor 1979, 41). The purpose of wine that reached America mirrors this two-fold meaning that points to benefits, but that also suggests dangers. Law 37 observes that the Indians’ lack of discernment makes them fall pray to the manifold expressions of excess. The observation alludes to inferiority, yet it also illustrates how this knowledge is symbolized by the animal side of the soul threatening intelligent and reasonable living informed by moderation and God.26 So far we have seen how Christian theological discourse helps us understand the cultural anxieties expressed in Law 37. Because the decree also reflects the politicization of inebriation in the early colonial period, it is necessary to discuss another source of cultural concern that harks to the pagan endorsement of inebriation as politically relevant. Intoxication, as defined by Law 37, initiates the cycle of interrelatedness and desires. The decree took deviance further by including in its context images and themes related to the concept of paganism (“when they lose reason, they commit idolatry, making ceremonies and sacrifices of the pagans”). Law 37 thus seeks authorization, currency in truth, and legitimacy in the “darker potentialities” of wine and intoxication, as Nietzsche was later to describe them (1956, 25), that find their earliest and most concrete example in Bacchus, the god of wine who produced the “effects of intoxication” in people (Roth 2005, 41). In Bacchae, a tragedy from fifth-century Athens, Euripides stages the “Dionysiac barbarian” (Segal 1997, 391) to personify the excesses of the East challenging the rationality of the West (Said [1978] 1994, 57). This characterization opposed the ideals associated with joy, peace, and the good life that the god represented in Greek thought. The Bacchae presented intoxication to Western culture as synonymous with excess, violence, and irrationality, which the bacchantes under the influence of Bacchus personified. By the same token, the Roman historian Livy criticized the Bacchic rites as the “sink of every form of corruption” (1912, 318).27 Both Euripides and Livy denounced the invasion of the state by a foreign religion, condemning its excesses—intoxication, sexual license, violence, and murder (316–17). As I discuss in Chapter 2, the role of the bacchantes was to be imposed on the Indians under the influence of pulque and chicha later mirrored in the Americas. Thus, an additional layer of meaning underlies Law 37: the decree presents an encounter of a different culture

through a particular image of inebriation, bringing attention to the problem of worshipping non-Christian gods and rituals. Just as the Bacchanalia’s critique intends a greater objective, “to trace the moral decline of Rome from its beginnings” (Pagan 2004, 55), the decree maps out the Indians’ moral transgression to depict native culture as decadent and to support Spanish political expansion. Meaning is therefore constructed not merely by means of religious discourse, but through interconnected ways of thinking about religion, politics, and imperial subjects. According to the Bacchanalia in Rome, intoxication hindered the citizen’s ethical behavior, as it compromised the subject’s loyalty to the state by inducing participation in alien rituals. According to the decree, in the Spanish colonies, inebriation prevented Indians from becoming subjects of empire. Law 37 resulted in part from the codification of excess established by classical precedents. The symbolism behind paganism communicated the urgency of political and religious reform and the sense of moral responsibility directing the ruling against indigenous drinking. As I demonstrate in the following chapter, Bacchus became an important prism through which Spanish chroniclers and ecclesiastics, such as Acosta, read their encounters with Andean peoples and their customs. Law 37 thus included a field of antecedents from which new relations were figured and applied to the signification of New World reality. Expansionist interest found in Bacchus a source of symbolic and linguistic truth to impose imperial order, producing the effects that it named (Butler 1993, 2). The decree not only sprang from moral and religious discourse, but it extended the symbolism of inebriation to the political aspect of imperial power.

1

In The Encomienda in New Spain. Forced Native Labor n the Spanish Colonies, 1492–1550, Simpson explains that his version of the 1512 Laws of Burgos is compiled from different sources, since a complete printed text of the Laws is not obtainable. The sources correspond to Las Casas’s Historia de las Indias [History of the Indies], Herrera’s Historia General [General History], and Instrucciones del Cardenal Cisneros to the Jeronymite Fathers [Cardinal Cisneros’s Instructions to the Jeronymite Fathers] (Simpson 1929, 53 note 9). He includes an excerpt of Cisneros’s text in Encomienda (1929, 191– 205). The prohibition on drinking described in article 17 in Simpson’s Encomienda (1929, 52) is missing from his book The Laws of Burgos of 1512–1513 (1960). 2

The Laws of Burgos follow the decrees of December 20, 1503 of Isabel of Castile to have the encomienda labor system transferred to Hispaniola. Their systematic code redefines the encomenderos’ responsibility in their treatment and conversion of the Indians. The Laws function as an interpellation of Spanish conquerors as subjects of empire, creating colonial relationships in specific social roles. The code focuses on Indians’ well-being by regulating their hard labor in gold mining, paying attention to their diet, prohibiting pregnant women from carrying out any kind of heavy labor, offering them religious instruction, providing 13-year-old children of caciques with literacy training, forcing them to give up their concubines and marry, and preventing them from drinking (Simpson 1929, 48–60). These rules act upon the new social space through Christian ways of being and good morals. The colonizer asserts himself as the mover of the weak-minded natives, whose lack of virtue does not allow them to govern themselves. Article 32 exemplifies the idea: “If at any time the Indians give proof of being able to live under their own government, they should be allowed to do so, by paying the ordinary feudal dues of Spain” (53). Simpson notes, the Laws continue to portray Indians as being naturally prone to vice, not to the learning of Christian virtues (50). Their difference, therefore, is corrupted into inequality, expressing the superior way in which the colonizer conceives of himself in relation to the Indians. See also Blackburn ([1997] 2010). 3

Foucault describes the “docile” body as one caught up within a system of subjection that operates as the enabling condition that brings up its productivity (1995, 25–6). Chapter 2 develops the topic. 4

In what follows, I draw on Adelaar, The Languages of the Andes and Mannheim, “The Inka Language in the Colonial World” and The Language of the Inka since the European Invasion. 5

[los indios … (que) retienen hasta ahora la lengua del Cuzco, son más urbanos y de ingenios más capaces, lo cual no tienen los demás] (354). Blas Valera’s comment reveals Spanish culture as the socio-discursive outcome of moral tenets; he linked polis and civilization. 6

See Comentarios, Book 7. Inca Garcilaso describes the importance of linguistic aspects in the dynamism of social relations and power in the Inca Empire ([1609] 2006, 353–61). 7

For Inca Garcilaso’s views on the topic, see Comentarios (351–62).

8

Quoted in Harrison (1994, 138–9). See sixteenth-century Spanish text in Lexicon ([1560] 1951, 18).

9

According to Bloomfield, the medieval history of the seven cardinal sins began with Cassian, a pupil of the fourthcentury desert father, Evagrius, the first one to enunciate the teachings of the cardinal sins. Cassian (d.c. 435) followed Evagrius’s order: gluttony, lust, greed, anger, sadness, sloth, and pride (1952, 59–60, 69). Pope Gregory the Great rearranged the order of the Cassian’s list of sins and made possible the integration of the monastic practice into the general theological and devotional tradition (72). See Bloomfield, Brown (1998), and Lyman (1978). 10

[nunca de(j)e de pen(s)ar alguna manera por dó(n)de pudie(s)e de(s)baratar la barbaria por todas las partes de e(s)paña tan anc(h)a y luenga mente derramada] (Españollatín, 1495) n.p. Nebrija’s philosophy focuses on the reciprocal relation between the rise and fall of language and political power. His celebration of letters and vernacular languages symbolically operates within these questions of geopolitics defining the Iberian Peninsula. See Mignolo ([1995] 2003, 29–67). 11

Both Berceo’s poem and the Libro de buen amor [Book of Good Love] were written in 14-syllable lines known as cuaderna vía versification, which conveyed a strong moral and Christian message characteristic of its use (Kelley 2005, 153–4). 12

[De un otro miraclo / vos querría contar / que cuntió en un monge / de ábito reglar;/quísolo el diablo / durament espantar, / mas la Madre gloriosa / sópogelo velar. / Deque fo enna orden, / bien deque fo novicio, / amó a la Gloriosa / siempre facer servicio; / guardóse de follía, / de fablar en fornicio, / pero ovo en cabo / de caer en un / vicio. / Entró enna bodega / un día por ventura, / bebió mucho del vino, / esto fo sin mesura, / embebdóse el locco, / issió de su cordura, / yogó hasta las viésperas / sobre la tierra dura / … Pero que en sus piedes / non se podié tener, / iva a la iglesia / como solié facer; / quísoli el dïablo / zancajada poner, / ca bien se lo cuidava / rehezmientre vencer. / … Vino Sancta María / con ábito onrrado, / tal que de omne vivo / non serié apreciado, / metióselis en medio / a él e al Pecado, / … El monge que por todo / esto avié pasado, / de la carga del vino / non era bien folgado, / que vino e que miedo / a viénlo tan sobado/que tornar non podió / a su

lecho usado. / La reina preciosa e de precioso fecho / prísolo por la mano, / levólo pora’l lecho, / … sanctiguó˙l con su diestra / e fo bien sanctiguado; / “Amigo—dísso˙l— fuelga, / ca eres muy lazrado, / … Pero esto te mando, / a firmes te lo digo, / cras mannana demanda / a fulán mi amigo; / confiéssate con elli / e serás bien conmigo, / ca es muy buen omne / e dart˙á buen castigo. / … Quiero yo que mi vían / salvar algún cuidato, / esso es mi delicio, / mi officio usado, / tu finca bendicho / a Dios acomendado, / mas non se te oblide / lo que te é mandado”] (XX, 461–85). See Gerli (149–53) under Gonzalo de Berceo in the works cited. 13

[Es el vino muy bueno en su mesma natura, / muchas bondades tiene si s’ toma con mesura; / al que de más lo beve sácalo de cordura: / toda maldat del mundo faz e e toda locura.] See Kane (1933, 105) and also Mignani (1970, 129), who offers another translation for stanza 548. Both are listed under Juan Ruiz in works cited. 14

The “care of the self” is the art of forming oneself as an “ethical subject” with respect to social, civic, and political roles. The ethical subject governs himself through the careful satisfaction of needs and, in the care of the self, finds that which leads him to submit to the rules that make existence meaningful (Foucault 1988, 89, 95). Juan Ruiz’s advice resonates with ideas about the soul subjecting the body and making it productive within the standards of moderation that were integral to Christianity and monastic tradition, but had their origins in Plato’s “Symposium” (1999) and “Drinking Parties” (2004a), which developed the notion of self based on the binary of moderation and excess. To Plato (427–347 BC), self-mastery implied the subject itself as an object on which continuous work must be done in the name of ethics. The experience of wine drinking gave the ancients practice on how to focus on their individuality in order to overcome their being subjects of excess. Moderation operates in terms of what Foucault would describe as a “form of power which subjugates and makes subject to” (1982, 781). See Plato (2004b, 42; 2004a, 29; 1999, 75). On drinking parties, see Wilkins (2006, 166–84). 15

[(L)os provechos del vino y sus daños corren a las parejas, y todo consiste en la moderación de su bebida] (1977).

16

José Sánchez explains that under each entry, Covarrubias’s Tesoro contains proverbs, folklore, legends, and curious etymologies, and is said to be the most scientifically compiled of all Spanish lexicographical works prior to the first dictionary of the Royal Academy [Diccionario de la Real Academia Española] (1944, 134). 17

In his Books of the Brave, Leonard highlighted the importance of dictionaries in the colonial process. He confirmed that they were on the list of essential items the conquerors brought with them to America: “[f]rom 1501, and doubtless before, the clergy brought with them supplies of missals, breviaries, Bibles and other devotional literature, grammars and dictionaries” (1992, 92). 18

The well-known encounter between Atahualpa and Pizarro at Cajamarca in 1532 brought oral versus written language to the forefront. Atahualpa expected the Bible that Valverde handed over to him to literally talk to him. Whether or not communication failed, as the Cajamarca episode implied, either spoken or written language was supposed to mediate social interaction. In this example of miscommunication, one finds in the concept of language that which carries culture and thus hierarchy and difference. See Lamana’s first chapter of Domination without Dominance (2008). 19

See Decrees 36–8 ([1680] 1841, Book VI, Title I). Pulque is a native alcoholic beverage prepared in Mexico. See also Law 16 in Book VI, Title III and Law 14 in Book VII, Title VII. Law 38 prohibits Indians’ alcohol intake through the policing of public dances, which provided opportunities for them to engage in the excesses and dishonesties caused by inebriation. See my Chapter 2. 20

[Usan los indios de la Nueva España de una bebida, llamada, pulque que destilan de los magueyes, plantas de mucho beneficio para diferentes efectos, y aunque bebida con templanza se podria tolerar porque ya estan acostumbrados a ella, se han experimentado notables daños, y prejuicios de la forma con que la confeccionan, introduciéndole algunos ingredientes nocivos á la salud espiritual y temporal, pues con pretexto de conservarla, y que no se corrompa la mezclan con ciertas raices, agua hirviendo y cal, con que toma tanta fuerza, que les obliga a perder el sentido, abrasa los miembros principales del cuerpo, y los enferma, entorpece y mata con grandísima facilidad; y lo que mas es, estando enagenados, cometen idolatrías, hacen ceremonias y sacrificios de la gentilidad, y furiosos traban pendencias, y se quitan la vida, cometiendo muchos vicios carnales, nefandos, é incestuosos] ([1680] 1841, 1: 222). 21

See Lyman (1978, 54) and Bloomfield (1952, 51) for the view that matter and flesh are demonic. It is within this ideological framework that inebriation imagery symbolized subversive behavior in the Andean region. To colonial officials drunkenness maintained cultural beliefs and practices that classified Indians outside Christendom. Bernand and Gruzinski (1992) discuss the intricate relationship between idolatry, memory, and drunkenness and how social order depends on the eradication and control of the practice. The rhetoric of the Devil and religion played a role in the representation of the Other and reforms. See Miles and Brown (2003, 33). 22

Juan Ruiz’s stanza reads: “Fue con él [vino] a cobdicia / raíz de todos males: luxuria ë sobervia; tres pecados mortales; / luegö el omicidio: estos pecados tales / trayë el vino mucho a los descomunales.” For another translation of the stanza, see

Rigo Mignani. 23

Centuries later, Foucault will remind us that food, sex, and drink are emblematic of the dangers taste and touch bring to culture through excess (1990b, 50). 24

Biblical writings advanced a dual depiction of wine consumption. The Old and New Testaments present contrasting views on the subject. Christianity spread the use of wine and empowered it with sacred significance (sacrament of Communion) only when moderation rules the practice. To Catholics, the downside of wine drinking originates in the transgression of self-control, which, if practiced, brings empowerment to its practitioners. I explored the relationship between moderation and power in Chapter 2. 25

See my Chapter 2.

26

The colonizer drew from the thought that excess did not work in native culture as the formative force that enhanced moderation and rational conduct, as it did in Western society. See Nietzsche (1956, 32–4). 27

Livy’s work dealt with foreign policy and military action. He specifically reported on internal struggles and the development of institutions, which humanists later considered his main contribution to the themes of historical writing (Gilbert 1965, 209). His account of “The Bacchanalia in Rome” in his History of Rome sprang from the tradition to “serve to strengthen loyalty to a ruler … or to stimulate feelings of public spirit and civil pride” (219).

Chapter 2 Docility and Notions of Taverns, Rituals, and Religion Spaniards generally valued a Mediterranean ideal of drinking mostly at mealtimes and being able to ‘hold’ their liquor without losing control of their dignified demeanor and ‘natural reason’… Baltasar Gracián, the Spanish arbitrista … expressed Spain’s superiority to her European neighbors in terms of her more civilized attitude toward alcohol. —William Taylor, Drinking, Homicide and Rebellion in Colonial Mexican Villages Drunkenness was the occasion from which slavery resulted. —St Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiæ1

William Taylor’s epigraph above illustrates the complex, difference-making manner in which the Spaniards who arrived in Peru perceived their relationships with alcohol.2 As they reached Cajamarca in 1532, their language carried this ethnocentric character to the region, which in turn encroached upon representations of Andean peoples. Juan de Betanzos, a native of Spain who spent his adult life in Peru and became the most respectable Quechua interpreter and translator of the colony, offers a glimpse of this way of thinking in his Suma y narración de los Incas [Narrative of the Incas] (1551).3 Drunkenness surfaced in his account of the encounter between the Inca King Atahualpa and Pizarro. As Betanzos emphasized the king’s inebriation before and during the meeting, he stripped the Inca of reason and reduced him to one overpowered by the excesses of the passions and appetites: “[w]hile the marquis was in his place, the Inca entered. He was very drunk from what he had imbibed in the baths before leaving as well as what he had taken during the many stops on the road. In each of them, he had drunk well. And even there on his litter he requested a drink.”4 Coupled with the account of Atahualpa’s symbolic throwing away of the breviary Dominican priest Vicente de Valverde used to explain the doctrine to him, Betanzos characterized the people of Tawantinsuyu as deviant and void of civilization. Betanzos endorsed expansionism by making a clear distinction between inebriated and non-inebriated bodies in the new lands.5 His account is an example of how historical discourse transplanted the image of excess from the Old World to the New for purposes of social hierarchy and economy, key factors in the administration of Peru by Toledo, its fifth Viceroy.6 At this historical juncture, inebriation imagery began to appear in colonial texts as an ideological mechanism of a larger process of empire. Its articulation emerged out of a combination of socioeconomic and historical forces contributing to the social and economic invention of the viceroyalty as the most valuable, but morally backward possession of the Spanish Crown.7 The colonizer sought authority by engaging the classical symbolism of inebriation in foundational and corrective narratives of empire. Toledo and his collaborators along with Acosta and his predecessors equated drunkenness with the identity of the barbarian, justifying hierarchy and exploitation. In the following discussion, I demonstrate how the importance of distinguishing between normal and deviant bodies is accentuated by the colonizer’s desire for new territories, resources, and labor. I examine the way economic

desire is expressed through images of inebriation to promote notions of moral and religious deviance, natural slavery, and docility, which were meant to bind the colonizer and Andean peoples in unbalanced relations of power. Spanish colonial discourse takes inebriation imagery in a specific direction: to deprive native peoples of their rights to self-government and resources. Woven into Spanish narratives, we find a preoccupation with conferring a different social value on native identity. This is central to naturalizing superiority and inferiority between the colonizer and natives, to present subordination, hard work, moderation, and conversion as the appropriate paths to civilization and salvation. In the samples examined in this section, native Andean peoples become tightly linked by narratives of denigration. In contrast, colonial authorities cast themselves as moral and legal guardians and signify Andean drunkenness as another one of the unnatural acts—along with cannibalism, human sacrifice, sodomy, polygamy, and idolatry—that qualify Amerindians as inferior. The narratives produced by Spanish officials and clerics indicate how the reconstruction of the colony as the asset that Toledo, his circle, and the king envision requires producing indigenous drinking and inebriation as a symbolic textual site. The colonizer casts native culture as barbarian, demonic, tyrannical, and servile. The textual site from which the colonizer empowers himself and his administration is disguised in the garb of the good fighting the evil and backward. This chapter illustrates how Spanish letrados’ constructions of the Other and the self relate to this correlation that rests upon the negative views they have about excess and Andean peoples’ relationship with drinking. Inherent to this concern with cultural difference that lies at the heart of Spanish discursive production is the transformation of the indigenous body into a disciplined, religious, and productive subject, a docile body in the ways of servitude. While productivity in pre and after discovery literature analyzed in Chapter 1 was relevant in terms of the embodiment of classical and medieval notions of order—productive bodies were those performing moral values and Christian deeds to attain good and salvation—the discovery introduced what Las Casas would call the material (Todorov [1982, 1984] 1999, 170) advantage of productivity. By applying Foucault’s insight that “in every society, the body [is] in the grip of very strict powers, which impos[e] on it constraints, prohibitions or obligations” (1995, 136), we can understand how the discourse on drunkenness and colonial forms of power are bound together. The colonizer managed to acquire indigenous bodies and labor through their appropriation as objects of knowledge. Classified as unruly and drunken, and as the sites of moral and religious defilement, the colonizer could justify conquest and conversion. By making them docile, that is, “subjected, used, transformed and improved,” he could exploit their potentiality (136). The process of racialization that colonial administration undertook by promoting inferiority and domination through images of indigenous inebriation also pointed to the docility and servility of the native body. Colonial discourse aimed at this transformation through social roles (i.e., natural slaves), which Foucault’s perception on the utility of the process pertinently summarizes. He argues that “the body becomes a useful force only if it is both a productive body and a subjected body” (1995, 26). Images of inebriation played a key role in the execution of political and economic objectives in sixteenth-century Peru. They linked together a series of deviant behaviors that the encounter

at Cajamarca symbolically invoked. By articulating the native body in relation to deviance, the colonizer secured its control, transformation, and exploitation. As Bhabha explains regarding the construction of the colonial subject through such discourse: “the body is always simultaneously (if conflictually) inscribed in both the economy of pleasure and desire and the economy of discourse, domination, and power” (1986b, 96). The charged value of inebriation derived from the need to express a sense of difference and superiority. The colonizer found it imperative to position himself as a moral savior and administrative authority by representing natives as drunkards and inferior. He felt compelled to eradicate inebriation and substitute it with moral and religious teachings and a working set of ethics that fit his colonial appetite for territories, resources, and labor.

Drunkenness in the Writings of Toledo and His Circle Images of drunkenness abound in the remedial narratives produced by lawyers, priests, and soldiers that helped Toledo assert the legitimacy of Spanish rule in the region. In Gobierno del Perú [Government of Peru] written in 1567, jurist Juan de Matienzo, one of the members of this lettered group, presented an inaugural “moral and political” treatise on the governing of Andean territories to revitalize Spanish imperialism in the area (Stern 1982, 72). He inserted in the narrative the Spanish sixteenth-century term borrachera [drunkenness] not only to make the new familiar, but also to establish a form of difference that reminded the dominant group of a despised conduct. The operation degraded Andean peoples and incited his audience to remedial action.8 As indicated in Chapter 1, the idea of drunkenness in the sixteenth-century Spanish mentality carried with it a series of significations dealing with the uncultivated features of the Other. It operated as a unit connecting irrationality, excess, and idolatry, all the associated images through which Christian moral philosophy characterized non-docile bodies within European, Spanish, and transatlantic borders. As the quote below depicts, Matienzo drew on the axis to relocate inebriation in the sixteenth-century Andean colony. He specifically situated the figure in the administrative colonial setting to establish social hierarchy, the most productive relation between the colonizer and indigenous peoples. Building upon this signification, Matienzo advanced inebriation imagery as the textual site from which to create the symbolic gulf between his culture and Andean peoples, promoting the latter’s dependence on the colonizer as a natural outcome: They partake in reason to feel but not to have or follow … they are governed by their passions, and this is clear; to them, there is no tomorrow. Instead, they are content with what they have to eat and drink for that week … They are enemies of labor. They are friends with drinking, getting drunk, and idol worship, and when they are drunk, they commit major crimes. Commonly, they are promiscuous. They go on binge drinking day and night. Out of fear, they obey their elders well, so it is mandatory that someone controls them, governs them and rules them in order to have them work, serve, and busy themselves with something. In this way, they will not commit the excesses born out of idleness and drunkenness … finally, they were born to serve.9 [T]he damage and inconvenience that follow from drunkenness are so notorious that there is no need to spend much time saying them, because it is clear that these drunks are to commit adultery and incest … the nefarious sin and kill each others. The Devil easily tricks them; they speak with him and get drunk. Inebriation is also very harmful to their health. Finally, it prevents them from conversion, which is the main thing we have to in this land.10

Matienzo’s portrayal of native inebriation and bad habits speak of the undeniable association between administration, moral discourse, conversion, and empire. Inebriation imagery helped him codify crime, over-indulgence, lust, and idolatry; almost the entire catalog of meanings attached to inebriation and inferiority produced by ancient narratives and circulated by Spanish and Quechua dictionaries and legal documents. In so doing, the Spanish officer disseminated the contemporary reaches of the classical and Christian trope for hierarchical purposes. He called attention to the barbarian status of native peoples and to the excesses and sins that symbolically separated them from the colonizer. By displaying the series of images that magnified the effects of excess on culture, he successfully conveyed the idea of inferiority and cultural dependence as a natural fact. Moreover, Matienzo built upon it to add laziness as another one of the meanings attached to inebriation that originated in the accounts of Spanish officials and religious colonial authority who invented Andean humanity as inferior to justify colonial desire.11 Matienzo’s objective was to warn the king about this deviant behavior, which he framed through inebriation, its non-productive aftermath. The official described in detail how the conflation of drunkenness and laziness hindered the uncontrollable appetite for resources and labor, gains, and territories that the imperial administration wished to have satisfied in the region. Matienzo pictured inebriation as that which paralyzed natives, confined them to nonproductive days and sleepless nights, and locked them into their appetites and bodies. He unpacked the meaning of laziness to represent a culture that lacked the capacity to experiment and engage in the play of moderation and excess. The native culture failed to incorporate this experience into the process of producing docility and social order, in the didactic fashion that Berceo and Santo Tomás exemplified, as discussed in Chapter 1. To Matienzo, inebriation deprived its members of control over their material situation; it reduced them to torpor and indifference. His observation is important in that it started circulating laziness as another result of inebriation. It contributed to the orderly management of natives and the unequal division of labor through the second half of the sixteenth century. By focusing on laziness, this jurist followed a trope for inferiority first used by Spanish authority after 1492, describing the types of relationships and obligations that should bind the Spanish colonizer and the native people of the Caribbean.12 Queen Isabel ordered Governor Nicolás de Ovando to transfer the encomienda to Hispaniola in the decrees of December 20, 1503. Isabel showed concern for the Indians’ natural disposition to sloth and the way it interfered with the social order and the conqueror’s appropriation of them as subjects.13 She stated: “we are now informed that because of the excessive liberty enjoyed by the said Indians they avoid contact and community with Spaniards, to such an extent that they will not work even for wages, but wander about idle and cannot be had by the Christians to convert to our Holy Catholic Faith” (Simpson 1960, 5). Likewise, Friar Fernando Mesa, one of the theologians King Ferdinand commanded to draw up the Laws of Burgos, described idleness as “one of the greatest evils” from which natives suffered. Mesa established that it was the monarch’s duty to help them improve this irregular condition and suggested that some kind of servitude was integral to “curb their vicious inclinations and compel them to industry” (Hanke 1965, 23). Echoing this line of thought, Matienzo attempted to prove how inebriation blocked the interplay between labor and discipline that was thought to liberate

man from backwardness. He offered empirical evidence of how drunkenness functioned as the root of the natives’ lazy and savage condition. What is significant about Matienzo’s tropological operations is that he made drunkenness both the marker for Andean inferiority and the textual site from which to justify Spaniards as the agents to provide remedial action in the form of labor. As a colonial official, the incorporation of new lands, peoples, and labor to Spanish possession were at the core of Matienzo’s discursive endeavor. His construction of natives as drunken, idle, and subject to their appetites transformed all these resources into useful possessions. Olivia Harris indicates that the term “Indians,” used from “Columbus on to refer to the native inhabitants of the Americas,” underwent a transformation in the Andes, where they became a “fiscal category” (1995, 354) defined in terms of the indigenous peoples’ reliable labor and economic obligations to the development of the colony. This is the type of docility that Matienzo proposed to the king in his treatise of good government. Peruvian sociologist Aníbal Quijano explains that the construction of the Indian category is born out of the formation of America as a new global power and that of “colonial capitalism” (1993, 167; 2000, 534). According to Quijano, all social relations and “forms of control and exploitation of labor and production” expressed as slavery, serfdom, reciprocity, and wages revolve around the articulation of Indians as new historical social identities in America (2000, 534– 5). Quijano identifies in these configurations the main axes of the colonial economy. In the quote above, Matienzo makes it clear that the conflation of drunkenness and idleness prevents indigenous peoples from functioning as Indians, that is, as docile, working, and productive subjects. Indian is the only form of selfhood through which Andean natives prove meaningful to the conqueror in general, and Matienzo in particular. He conveyed an idea resembling the Aristotelian notion of state, in which order and well-being are defined by means of the functional role through which each individual contributes to it.14 MacCormack’s insight on Matienzo’s concept of administration sheds light on this correlation. She affirms that this official believed “good government [is] a government able to provide … prosperity” (2007, 19). As the Greek philosopher’s ideas resonate in his governmental plan (via Ginés de Sepúlveda), the notion of Indianness becomes part and parcel of the project. Matienzo referred to this notion through one of the main economic implications of idle drinking: the decimation of laboring subjects. In tune with Aristotle’s Politics, Matienzo let his audience know that drinking interfered with the proliferation of Indians as workers, one of the six social classes required by every state to show signs of civility and well-being (1986, 202). Matienzo’s line makes it apparent: “It is good to induce them and compel them to work.”15 Furthermore, his need to implement new social roles, or to make the Andean natives “Indians” by subordinating them to relationships compatible with production and order, reflected a belief in the defective quality of their minds and institutions. It reinforced their incapability to manage and govern themselves (Stern 1982, 80). Matienzo found in drunkenness the means to construct this colonial difference and produce social hierarchy, that is, the means to promote the coloniality of power. As the ancients and Christians, Matienzo saw in Andean natives the New World version of the “natural slave.” He refracted the drunken and idle indigenous body through the slave prism to racialize Andean peoples and endorse Spain’s perceived right to sovereignty and

property. He aligned inebriation with the slave classification that sixteenth-century men of letters continually claimed to legitimize rights to rule and servitude. For instance, take the case of civilian lawyer Juan López de Palacios Rubios, who first advanced this stance after the Burgos juntas. Also, consider the example of Ginés de Sepúlveda, who revived the slave model at Valladolid in 1550 as he contested las Casas’s defense of the rights of Amerindians to their territories and governance. Matienzo’s efforts in Peru in the late 1560s followed these antecedents. In the name of colonial desire, he forcefully projected Spanish rights to administration through the symbolism of inebriation.16 In the Aristotelian tradition, this Spanish official invented the Andean peoples’ inferior nature and determined the lower status of their intellect and culture. He constructed social hierarchy by describing the natives’ incapability to organize themselves around institutions and practices conducive to moderation. To Aristotle, the natural slave was a type of man ruled by the passions, the inferior and dangerous component of the pair of opposites that Matienzo used to hierarchically organize social relations with others.17 Aristotle conceived of hierarchy as the outcome of reason, the opposite of passion: “[a]mong men … Those differing from others as much as the body does from the soul … are by their nature slaves, and it is better for them to be ruled … for a slave by nature is a man who can … participate in reason to the extent of apprehending it but not possessing it” (1986, 22). Matienzo’s focus on signs of the Indians’ lower rational capacity, base appetites, fear of authority, and natural disposition to obedience facilitated the application of Aristotelian thought to Andean reality. These observations were also key to the cultural incorporation of the dominant system and the creation of difference, for moderation became the marker of an advanced stage of natural and historical evolution. The knowledge and control of the effects of excess—that is, the consequences of inebriation and idleness upon culture—afforded power to the culture in possession of that knowledge. Matienzo’s equating of the Indians with barbarians illustrates the evolutionary gap between Spaniards and indigenous peoples, which he created by placing Indians in the time of excess, a primitive stage with respect to sixteenth-century Spain. Regarding this process, Johannes Fabian indicates: “there is no knowledge of the Other which is not also a temporal, historical, a political act” (1983, 1). The colonizer used the category of moderation to confer power upon its practitioners and control over those who were unable to command their appetites. Control and moderation are conducive to superiority, as Taylor exemplifies in the first epigraph of this chapter. The idea that Matienzo’s discourse harbored such ethnocentric intent becomes more apparent when considering the need to have a morally authorized hold over the lower appetites so as to profit from the laboring forces of the native body. Matienzo saw the indigenous body in terms of uncoordinated potentialities that needed order and longterm administration so natives could perform mechanical tasks, as Indians, the productive subjects the colonizer wished to make out of them: “they were born to serve … and to learn mechanical trades … They make good weavers and painters … tailors, shoemakers … silversmiths, farriers, blacksmiths, and very good farmers.”18 It is here where the discourse of the natural slave opens up a space into which its symbolic meaning unfolds. By engaging inebriation within this context, Matienzo sought to show its effects. Drunken idle bodies are an anomaly and the evidence needed to justify colonial intervention. His description of

Andean inebriation conveyed the urgency of docility, in light of the cultural distance. To place Indians’ appetites in a network of relations defined by labor and moderation enabled authorities to appropriate and manage indigenous labor and the resources of the region. Matienzo’s ideas were integral to the ideological framework behind Viceroy Toledo’s 12 years in office (1569–1581) and Disposiciones Gubernativas (1569–1574, 1575–1580), a code of laws by which Peru was to be governed by future generations and transformed into a replica of Spanish culture through work and religious ethics.19 As an efficient colonial officer who understood the complementary relationship between knowledge and power, Toledo drew on Matienzo’s rhetorical operations to enforce Spanish administration and a colonial program of economic growth. Toledo also collected first-hand information. Dispatched by Philip II in 1568, Toledo arrived in Lima on November 30, 1569. Toledo familiarized himself with the new lands by traveling extensively throughout the highlands from 1570 to 1575. Details from this tour of inspection were used to implement administrative reforms as well as spiritual conversion at local and state levels, as Philip II had recommended in his 1564 decree (Durán 1982, 68–72). Specifically, Toledo used this information to extract resources, labor, and spiritual and political fidelity from the indigenous bodies under his surveillance. In this sense, his tour was metaphorical of the way knowledge sustains power and finds its way into the mechanisms of control that Toledo devised. Regarding such methodology, Foucault asserts, “power and knowledge directly imply one another” (1995, 27). The viceroy’s representation of Andean peoples, cultural practices, and landscape aimed at the symbolic processes of inscription and inspection that his methodology implicated (Duncan 1993, 49– 50). As accounts of inscription, these explorations enabled Toledo to fill in the Andean space with knowledge drawn from the comparison between opposite styles of drinking; he translated this information into temporal distance and difference. The process not only enabled him to open up the Andean region to the Spanish readers’ hierarchical understanding of the new lands and peoples, but also generated data that contributed to its transformation. As accounts of inspection, Toledo’s narrative opened up the area economically for the empire at a time when Europe moved sluggishly out of medievalism into capitalism.20 From 1569 to 1581, Toledo became the key figure in the reorganization of the colonial socioeconomics of Peru. As a true representative of the sixteenth-century state, he was cognizant of the fact that the aggrandizement of Spanish power depended upon wealth, which required the restoration of the mining sector and access to the labor of healthy Indians (Spalding 1984, 213). He sought to reform and build the state by targeting the problems of the silver-mining industry in Potosí: a labor deficit, poor production, and lower grade ores. Peter F. Klarén explains that Potosí “[d]uring its first ten years … produced some 127 million pesos that fueled the Hapsburg war machine and Spanish hegemonic pretensions in Western Europe and the Mediterranean” (2000, 43, 57). Klarén defines the silver mountain as essential to expansionist plans, for “silver began the engine of colonial development” (44). As Toledo revitalized this sector, he also brought political stability to a social space that had been characterized by political unrest and the decimation of its population. By 1560, the “pillaging conquest economy” that had ruled over the Andes since 1532 put the system of encomienda and the colonial state in jeopardy and threatened to end the colonial enterprise (Andrien 1991, 121–48). Chaos, indigenous resistance, armed rebellions, and natives deaths

caused by pestilence and forced labor were of main concern to the Spanish official.21 To refine the system of expropriation of native surplus—the key to economic wealth and his protocapitalist agenda—Toledo focused on a series of measures. He resettled natives into reducciones or larger towns for purposes of management and conversion. Toledo’s “monetization of the tribute” stimulated the circulation of labor between the Indian and the Spanish sector by forcing natives to either pay tribute in cash (silver) or seek wage work. Toledo implemented the mita, a continuing and “rotating draft of Indian labor from the reducciones to work in the silver mines.” And lastly, the viceroy introduced the amalgamation process (1572) that involved the use of mercury to separate the ore (Klarén 2000, 60, 62–3). As Toledo scrutinized the lands and planned corrective action, he viewed drunkenness as a major threat to the viability of the laboring sector and its being rendered docile. As colonial desire gained momentum, he pictured inebriation as a sign of biological sickness and death: One of the most detrimental things to this republic is drunkenness … a damaging vice to health, for many Indians die because of it and it induces them to spend all they have in drinks. As a result, they do not have enough food, from which another drawback results, they do not eat and become weak. Therefore when they get ill, it is difficult to cure their disease. This weakness is also the cause of their licentiousness. Mainly, following the general examinations I have ordered and that I have also done myself during this inspection tour, I stipulate that all the idolatries they do involves heavy drinking and that none is done without any superstition and witchcraft. Therefore, when it comes to conversion and Indians’ physical health, it is necessary to remedy this matter of such importance.22

Although in the passage Toledo reiterates Matienzo’s understanding of indigenous people as passive, craven, and characterized by the passions and their appetites, the viceroy shifts from idleness to images of the deterioration of the human body. These images describe the abnormal condition of the culture, which he uses to justify the urgency of change and the legitimization of his ordinances. Toledo extends the range of meanings associated with drunkenness. The ancient moral connotations of intoxication that Spaniards seized to signify inferiority across the Atlantic no longer sufficed to invoke political and economic meaning. Matienzo perceived inebriation as indicative of idleness, lack of discipline, and managerial abilities that, according to the colonizer, conferred civility, a non-existent condition in the new lands. As the accumulation of capital dominated colonial logic, Toledo recognized sickness and death as more effective categories of signification to render inebriation critical, a situation that cried for reform. The more the indigenous people were perceived as sick, malnourished, and on the verge of death, the more the viceroy signified intoxication as a threat to the economy of empire. This tropological operation became the enabling factor to justify Toledo’s management of indigenous bodies through what Sara Castro-Klarén defines as the “minute regulations of everyday life” (2001, 146). Toledo’s reading of the destructive effects of drunkenness upon Indian health and population was symptomatic of anxiety. He conveyed the vulnerability of the indigenous social body by presenting Andean peoples as subjects of excess, who were likely to give in to temptation and let disease and death harm and annihilate their communities. His ordinances portrayed the inebriated body as emblematic of material loss; the drunken body produced in a microcosm that which harmed the entire colonial structure. Drunkenness interfered with the

gains of conquest: the control and management of indigenous life, labor, and resources. Weak inebriated bodies did not account for prosperity or productivity. While food was to symbolically fuel the revival of Spain’s treasures, inebriation was starving native bodies, depriving them of life, energy, and reason. In this context, inebriation becomes an obstacle to Toledo’s mobilization of labor, and therefore a major cause of distress. Drinking made individual and state plans for upward mobility and national aggrandizement difficult, if not impossible. As Stern reminds us, to sixteenth-century Spaniards, “Peru evoked visions of treasure” (1995, 73). Drunkenness counteracted this dream; it debilitated and annihilated natives, reducing the pool of workers available to work in the fields and mines. Toledo informed the Council of Indies [Consejo de Indias] on this correlation. He argued that the mobilization of workers from the highlands to the lowlands did not contribute to the decimation of the native population, despite the fact that they were being exposed to different climatic conditions. Instead, Toledo asserted that drunkenness was the deadly factor (Lejarza 1941, 230).23 Toledo’s period was characterized by demographic collapse and Indians fleeing their communities to evade exploitation. In the eyes of native peoples it was forced labor (the mita system) that “drain[ed] off able-bodied workers.” To the viceroy it was the lethal effects of drunkenness upon the laboring population that intensified disorder and death (Klarén 2000, 67).24 Toledo’s decrees on inebriation indicated the transformation of colonial desire into a discourse. Drunkenness signified the indigenous body as a site of deviance, and further, as the battlefield where colonial power fought for political control and economic wealth. The ordinances on inebriation addressed these symbolic meanings as death, illness, diet, and profit converged in them. Toledo claimed that securing the colonial treasure implicated controlling these variables. Good management and drinking regulations were central to producing Indians/mitayos/ docile bodies, which he equated with wealth and labor capacity. To protect native health and continuation as a population, appropriate diet and living conditions, humane treatment, and acculturation were imperatives to his Disposiciones. Reminiscent of the Laws of Burgos discussed in Chapter 1, the Disposiciones represent the second document to circulate the idea of changing the inebriation behavior of the indigenous peoples of the New World.25

A Transfer Point of Slavery As Toledo recorded the effects of inebriation on the native body and ruled against drunkenness, he introduced it as a “transfer point” (Foucault 1990a, 103) of power and colonial difference. He was interested in invoking the series of exclusions and discriminations—excess, lack, difference, and inferiority—that sustained colonial power. This operation was central to the economic and social transformation of the colony. He brought to attention a sixteenth-century commonplace: the movement of each material object in the universe must be caused by another that is more powerful than itself (Pagden 1982, 48). Coupled with the Aristotelian ideas of civilized life he borrowed from Matienzo, the notion helped him endorse the moral integrity of the conquest and colonization. By using the term republic as the opposite of chaos in the passage cited previously about drunkenness,

sickness, and death, Toledo referenced the symbolic moving of Andean people to the realm of virtue. Spanish civilization represented this realm and the only means for attaining it. The correlation justified the remedial value of his ordinances. In Cultural Bases of Racism, Hodge explains that this goodness is sometimes called civilization, sometimes Christianity (1975, 21). Hodge identifies in progress the rationale behind this attitude and defines it as “one of the basic motives underlying Western imperialism” (21). It is important to consider that at the heart of Matienzo’s and the viceroy’s agenda was the popular thought of the “liberation of a racially inferior people,” a sentiment held by all colonizers and advanced by Sepúlveda in his Democrates segundus [Demócrates segundo] (Stern 1982, 72).26 The Córdoba humanist derived the notion of progress from the first book of Aristotle’s Politics and introduced it to the Valladolid debate (1550–1551) about the legitimacy of the conquest. Sepúlveda justified domination by bringing to the forefront the inferior nature and capabilities of the native people. His reasoning revolved around one principle: “the empire and dominion of perfection over imperfection, of power over weakness, and of virtue over vice.”27 The quote codifies the type of cultural difference through which the colonizer constructed himself as natural master. He presented himself as the mover of Indians who possessed inferior minds (Pagden 1982, 48). Toledo and Matienzo’s writings inform us of the ethnocentric habit of thinking ingrained in the culture, a habit that Matienzo mastered as he wrote: “it is mandatory that someone controls them, governs them and rules them in order to have them work, serve, and busy themselves with something; in this way, they will not commit the excesses born out of idleness and drunkenness” ([1567] 1967, 17). In the quote, he refers to the Aristotelian tenet of natural slavery as the organizing principle of the social relations between Spaniards and native people. Echoing Sepúlveda, he adds: “they participate in reason to feel it, but not to have it or follow it.”28 It is here that the potency of inebriation imagery as a transfer point of power and colonial difference surfaces. It justifies the Indians’ subjection to slavery and labor. As colonial discourse employed drunkenness to signify Andean reality as a social problem, inebriation imagery provided the colonizer with both the symbolic tools to label the culture and its people troublesome and the basis upon which to ground public intervention and claim reform.29 The classification of drunkenness as a problem reveals how Spaniards symbolically viewed themselves with respect to native people regarding alcohol intake. As the royal jurist at the Burgos juntas, the Aristotelian López de Palacios Rubios observed that the deviant behavior of the Amerindian reflected the quality of his mind and determined his inferior position in the colonial order (cited in Pagden 1982, 54).30 By linking drunkenness to this type of ethnic differentiation in a context dominated by colonial desire—that is, by the uncontrolled appetite for the appropriation of territories, resources, and labor—Matienzo and Toledo corrupted cultural difference into inequality, or colonial difference (Todorov [1982, 1984] 1999, 146). Out of inebriation imagery, a trope of colonial difference was created. The equation consolidated Andean space as the site to implement Aristotle’s ideas about natural slavery. Matienzo’s words cleverly exemplify this approach: “may one refuse the idea that in order to eradicate bad customs from the Indians, it is better for them to be subject to Spanish and ruled by them than by the Incas?”31 From his inquiry, one can infer the racialization of indigenous culture. The colonizer’s perception of control over his own appetites is what

guarantees him superiority over those who fail at the task. He views this realization as justification to subordinate those whom he labels as culturally and evolutionally impaired to perform what he believes is natural. Having established the context in their ordinances and plans, both Matienzo and Toledo proceeded to reorient the unnatural dispositions of natives. According to them, Andean peoples preferred to get drunk, transgress moral principles, be idle, and jeopardize their health, life, and salvation. However, as these officials focused on the negative role drunkenness played in the culture, they simultaneously realized that it was at the heart of all their ways of being. As Toledo worked on his accounts of inspection and inscription and became part of the society he conquered, he realized the centrality corn beer and drunkenness had for the culture (Spalding 1984, 209). During the Inca period (1440–1532), drinking in the form of chicha or corn beer linked together many aspects of imperial life and culture. Alcohol consumption and intoxication mediated all social and vital relations, tying together different groups whose bonds of cooperation, ceremony, and rites of passage required the mediation of the beverage. Corn beer was associated with subsistence and agriculture, reciprocity and the sacred, and by extension with political power.32 The ruling Incas controlled the production and distribution of the drink, confining its mass consumption to state-sponsored festivals, public occasions of religious and ceremonial character (Harvey 1994, 212). As Susan Ramírez would put, “[o]nly the king could drink with the Sun, as its immediate representative on the earth” (2005, 77). On its customary use, Carmen Salazar-Soler highlights its association with the domestic sphere and its rituals: childbirth, marriage, disease, burial, and supernatural relations with ancestors (1993, 35). MacCormack adds that ritual drinking does not only accompany these festive and quotidian occasions, but also the performance of agricultural tasks involving and benefiting the community (1991, 264). Regarding deviance, Carmen Bernand and Serge Gruzinski identify in drunkenness and the sentiment of solidarity it promotes, the main cause of idolatry (1992, 200). It preserves tradition and memory (141–2), which chicha drinking and language carry. Native Andean intellectual Guaman Poma de Ayala, whose writings on the topic I examine in Chapter 3, gives an account of the symbolic meanings associated with the practice in the Andean lands. Sixteenth-century Spanish mentality interpreted drinking behavior in terms of excess, laziness, disease, and moral disorder. The separation of production from religion that the conquest symbolically meant to Andean culture brought another signification of drinking and inebriation to the forefront. Spanish officials saw in the culture’s practices the signs of the defective character of Andean people and Inca rulers. In light of the accounts examined, one can argue that images of drunkenness contributed to undermining the image of the Incas as advanced administrators. This was despite their binding together of spiritual, psychological, and physical forces of different Andean peoples to secure surplus labor, increase production, and complete public works (Storey and Widmer 2006, 98). To colonial officials, they instilled deviance in their subjects by creating cohesion through rituals that exploited the natural disposition of the indigenous people to reverence and celebration. As Pagden puts it, they encouraged Andean’s “long exposure to perverse customs” (1982, 140). They were conducive to the waste of human potential and the loss of imperial gains.33 Castro-Klarén explains that Spanish officials felt comfortable arguing that “if not compelled to work, the

Indians would get lost in their love of festivals, drunken idleness, and devilish worship” (2001, 150). This type of racialized thought revealed itself in another colonial narrative, Historia indica (1572) by Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa. His account played a salient role in the transformation of the viceroyalty of Peru into the profitable Spanish possession that Toledo had in mind. The multi-layered character of drunkenness facilitated Sarmiento’s task. Sarmiento demeaned the leadership of the Incas in a text through which Toledo reimagined and reconstructed Incas’ legacy and ruling as backward, evil, and illegitimate. The viceroy sought to acquire the new lands for Philip II, the rightful sovereign of Peru.34 Sarmiento’s comments on the entry of the Incas into the valley of Cuzco reveal the agenda in mind: On this occasion they [the Incas] indulged in great rejoicing, drinking for many days and at intervals mourning for the loss of their brother Ayar Uchu. It was here that they invented the mourning sound for the dead … Then they performed the dance called Ccapac Raymi, a ceremony of the royal or great lords. It is danced in long purple robes at the ceremonies they call quicochico, which is when girls come to maturity, and the huarachico, when they bore the ears of the Incas, and the rutuchico, when the Inca’s hair is cut the first time, and the ayuscay, which is when a child is born, and they drink continuously for four or five days. ([1572] 1999, 53–4)

Sarmiento pictured the Incas as passing their days in idle rites that revolved around endless drunkenness. Further, his portrayal is instrumental to signifying their ruling as one of subordination to a tyranny of non-productive rituals. The quote illustrates how nonproduction is given form and value at the state level in the ceremony and ideology of the Incas. Although rituals, according to Aristotle, count as the fifth requisite for a state to exist because they display the cultural complexity of those who gather in a society through their practice, Sarmiento’s use of inebriation imagery disproved their symbolic value in native culture (1986, 202). He used drunkenness to denigrate Incas and the sacred practices they used to unite people in the observance of common tradition. His account of celebrations became the historical textual site from which to display their irrationality and tyrannical nature; rites demonstrated the teachings of excess on Inca subjects. By highlighting this aspect, Sarmiento and Toledo created an alternative version of the fifth category of political life, one that opposed the meaning Las Casas assigned to rituals. In his Apologética, Las Casas connected them to rational behavior; they were indicative of the full rational capacity of Aztec and Inca society. They provided evidence of Amerindians’ natural intellectual capacity. In contrast, Sarmiento did not present rituals as positive attributes of Inca leadership, but as a form of excess, corruption, and decadence, which drinking and inebriation reinforced. Las Casas also shared this view. He did not overlook the fact that demonic error lay in ritual when inebriation took place. However, by pinpointing drinking in contexts other than ritual, he reiterated his thought about intellectual capacity. Las Casas extolled the native’s general disposition to moderation in Book 2 of Apologética: “the Indians are naturally clever, they have a good understanding of things, and they are people of good reason because sobriety, moderation in eating and drinking, … helps and enables their interior powers conducive to understanding to work properly.”35 To Las Casas, moderation was the medium through which men learned to develop God-given potentials in nature, and

native peoples’ relationship with moderation facilitated the process. Sarmiento chose this historical episode of ritual and drunkenness to persuade the viceroy’s audience about the truth regarding the Incas. He inserted inebriation imagery in historical discourse to serve a political stance. As a writer immersed in the humanist tradition, Sarmiento (induced by Toledo) favored the general idea of moral discourse rather than that of historical accuracy to meet the end.36 He proved the despotism of the Inca rulers by showing that their rites contributed to the moral decline of the culture. The Incas instilled drunkenness in Andean subjects. The interlocking character of the trope provided Sarmiento with an arsenal of material to defame Inca ideology. Through his account, Toledo encouraged his audience, composed of representatives of 12 Inca ayllus or lineages, to draw political and moral conclusions about the Incas and their rules from the public reading of the Historia. The audience’s acceptance of Sarmiento’s version of the past and the deviant depictions of Inca rulers implicates distance from their authority. Toledo’s strategy was devised to demand political loyalty from Andean natives as subjects of the new colonial order through the rejection of what should not be part of themselves. Following the motto of teaching by example around which humanist narrations are organized, Sarmiento sought to unify his audience by inducing them to react to the following inquiry: What can you learn from them but to drink and be idle? Roberto Levellier, who documents Toledo’s accomplishments, corroborates the idea: “Men and women … would dance, get drunk … as much as, how, and when the Inca allowed it, and that was it.”37 By deploying the reaches of humanism through his rewriting of native historical past, Sarmiento successfully discredited the Incas as governors and supported colonial policies as natural and Toledo as the Andean peoples’ moral savior. Toledo’s depiction tied in with his rhetorical use of the term remedy ([1569–1574] 1986, 1: 196) to discredit native institutions and social organizations. Sarmiento and the viceroy’s portrayals merged to frame the Inca government, regulations, and institutions in opposition to the interests of Spain. The conflation reinforced Toledo’s managerial position as the provider of knowledge to effectively control and protect natives from idle, meaningless existence, and biological extinction. It also speaks to the way he successfully posited himself and the benefits of colonial administration through discourse. Toledo’s careful selection of words and images positioned him as the mover of inferior peoples who cannot take good care of themselves, the agent who could liberate them from the Incas. The viceroy inserted native subjects into the time and space of difference. Toledo’s ideological framing of himself and the Other enabled him to classify the latter according to the unfavorable position the Incas reached on a “historical time-scale” (Pagden 1982, 4). On this scale, the excesses of drunkenness figured as the equivalent of what was unnatural and barbaric. Inebriation proved essential to locate the Incas, their rituals, and those who followed them into territorio enemigo, the realm of the enemy. The transformation of the Andean territory into a colony therefore requires movement: the transfer of indigenous groups from the realm of intoxication or borracheras to the site of reason. Matienzo, Toledo, and Sarmiento defined drunkenness as the space of excess and inactivity, irrationality, and self-destruction, i.e., as territorio enemigo, where the Incas

governed and made their subjects dwell. I borrow this spatial metaphor of difference from Ángel Rama, who explains that early twentieth-century South American men of letters conceptualize indigenous languages in these figurative terms of difference and marginalization (1984, 45–6). To them, indigenous languages were barbarian languages that prevent the domestication of the indigenous population and intensify their separation from the State and its plans for modernity. Spanish language at the dawn of the twentieth century was expected to bring cohesion to Latin American nations.38 Indigenous languages contributed to separation, a problem that perpetuated economic and cultural stagnation in countries whose linguistic heterogeneity annihilates the emergence of nationalism as provided by the exercise of a common language. Given that docility and cultural homogenization were the main goals of Toledo’s administration, it can be argued that indigenous drinking practices work in the fashion that barbarian languages do in his project of socioeconomic transformation. Drunkenness became meaningful as a spatial trope of difference. Sixteenth-century colonial discourse about the Andean region related its symbolism to the space of the enemy that in Toledo’s discourse corresponds to that of the barbarian. Sarmiento and Toledo strategically highlighted drinking bouts and idle rituals to communicate a sense of difference and inferiority. This relegated the Incas and the rites of identification they imposed on their subjects to a barbarian past, empty of ethical values.39 As Toledo toured the country, he encountered inebriation, a pastime on a barbarian level. The classification enabled him to rank the Andean peoples as dwellers of anachronistic space of the non-civilized world (McClintock 1995, 9). Toledo’s rhetoric provides an example of how colonial texts produce ways of seeing that are instrumental to the formation of power. Inebriation imagery strengthens colonial representation; it subordinates what it considers in retrospective relation to the linear European time of progress (McClintock 11). In concomitance with ecclesiastics such as Acosta ([1577, 1588] 1952, 46–7), Toledo and his circle stressed moderation, the virtue that makes progress possible. As indicated, this virtue becomes the category through which Matienzo and the viceroy described Andean peoples as idle and mentally unfit to protect their health and race. To Sarmiento, for instance, the Incas were idle pleasure seekers whose government resulted from the combination of laziness and cruelty. These tropological operations of colonial discourse harbor a specific purpose: they position the Spanish as the bearers of moral values. By virtue of their Western heritage, they become the most appropriate authority to lead the drunk, lazy, and self-destructive Indians to civilization. Toledo heralded from a country where ethical and progressive ideas originated and then spread far and wide. His reorganization of the colony derived from this diffusionist character of colonial power and representation.40 Sarmiento provided another example of representation that targeted Incas for criticism and defamation. By describing ruler Huayna Capac’s great campaign of Quito, which was part of Capac’s imperial visitation from this outermost northern post to the Maule river in central Chile, Sarmiento showed the way drunkenness was central to contribute to the notion of the Incas as corrupt: “The Incas easily conquered these and, thinking that was all, they gave themselves up to idleness and pleasure. One night, when they were engaged in a great rejoicing, eating and drinking freely, without sentries, the Pastos attacked them, and there

was a great slaughter” ([1572] 1999, 161). Here, Sarmiento’s main interest was to underscore the way drunkenness mediated their disposition to despotic rule, vice, and irrational acts that lead to self-destruction. The passage depicts how their behavior foments non-stop drinking and the displacement of bodies from the site of reason. By aligning the depiction with the series of ceremonies—mourning, dancing, and coming of age (53–4)—Sarmiento’s readers could conceptualize the relevance that inebriation has for a culture trapped in the performance of rituals. Drunkenness became another one of the series of rites through which the Incas promoted cohesion. The idea, however, is indicative of a culture in which individuals relate differently to moderation. Sarmiento pointed out a culture in which drunkenness became a ritual through which the Other recognizes himself as a subject of a specific order. The ideology of excess that reflects Incas as impaired and tainted by passion, however, is not only a feature that dehumanizes these leaders, but one that Toledo wished to depict as inherent to the entire Andean culture. Matienzo also exploited the idea. He referred to the Andean peoples, the subjects of the Incas, as “cowards, and timid, … lazy, and stupid,” as the subjects of “borracheras.”41 In Toledo’s plan, this claim was intended to denigrate the totality of the group. He described the culture as completely void of rational agency, a thought useful to divide the colonial population hierarchically into administrators and subordinates. Once this was accomplished, he could let moral docility change the ways Andean peoples related to inebriation. The transformation required the inscription of the Andean body, thought to be inclined to obedience and servitude, with Christian practices of identification. Matienzo provided evidence that justifies the objective: “the third benefit is that the Spanish freed them from two types of slavery: one, the Devil … and the second, from the tyranny of the Incas that neither let them own private property nor exercise their free will.”42 The relevance of Matienzo’s discourse is in its emphasis on the imperfect character of the culture. The symbolic agency attributed to the Spaniards in the process reminds us that difference is inherent to the coloniality of power. Difference is “not neutral; to vary is to be defective” (Wolfe 2002, 52). The colonizer followed this principle to justify their political and moral interventions in the Andes. Hayden White offers insight into the value of the articulation of difference in contexts of unequal relations of power: “as long as men appeared different from one another, their division into higher and lower forms of humanity had to be admitted; … variation … had to be taken as evidence of species corruption” (1978, 155). Toledo and his circle fomented the interplay of difference and corruption, which they cleverly applied through images of inebriation. Matienzo, Toledo, and Sarmiento’s repetitive references to the passions and disorder, and the use of the adjective detrimental, in the case of Toledo’s ordinances, offered concrete examples of such representation. The strategy propounded the viceroy and the Spanish as bearers of reason and movers of impaired peoples to salvation. Put differently, the narratives extolled Toledo as the only one who could rescue the Andean peoples from the territorio enemigo.

The Colonial Tavern

Architecture and the Catholic faith go hand in hand in Matienzo’s treatise, a pairing that Toledo puts into practice with reducciones, Spanish-style villages.43 In keeping with his quote about drunkenness and the physical and moral decline of the population ([1569–1574] 1986, 1: 195–6), Toledo affiliated the colonizer with the notion of a republic, equating the Spanish system with moral and administrative superiority. A republic denotes civilian life within the structure of a city, which since the ancients has been the spatial metaphor of reason and the only milieu wherein virtue can be exercised and the human good achieved (Goldberg 1993, 15). In Western culture, this setting is symbolic of the concept of moderation and progress; by contrast, intoxication took place beyond the boundaries of Thebes and at the site of darkness.44 The concentration and enclosure of Indians in settlements that resembled Spanish towns enabled the colonizer to map the settlements and distribute the Indians in a network where conversion, political loyalty, and labor could produce the docile bodies and subjects of a republic. Matienzo clearly established such an association in his plan of government: “nobody ignores the difficulties that Indians’ isolation brings to questions of civilization and conversion; they neither can be converted nor be men if they are not together in villages.”45 From the perspective of the jurist and viceroy, the reorganization of the population in villages was imperative to producing docile bodies and subjects. Virtue could not be understood as separate from space and the discourses that regulate social interaction and behavior within that space. Therefore, through his planning, Toledo aligned the building of taverns with colonial power. As Foucault asserts, architecture’s purpose is “to transform individuals: to act on those it shelters, to provide a hold on their conduct, to carry the effects of power right to them, to make it possible to know them, to alter them” and prevent debauchery (1995, 172). The reorganization of native communities under more direct control of the colonial state forced Indians to disassociate themselves from their drinking tradition. To the viceroy, ritual intoxication was, as Harvey would put it, “archaic and primitive” (1994, 213); it tied people to the past and prevented them from becoming vassals of the Crown. Here, the question surfaces of the native people’s disposition to worship and inebriation. How would Toledo correct their supposed natural tendency to idolatry and weakness for drink and reorient the natives as servants of the Spaniards’ God and king? The preferred direction of the colonial state was devised by Matienzo in chapter 3 of Government and implemented by Toledo in the reducciones. The viceroy channeled Indian inclinations through what Foucault would describe as spatial partitioning (1995, 195) of the city into taverns. At these colonial sites, Toledo wished to modify the natives’ relationship with drinking practices, recasting them as secular. The viceroy manipulated colonial space and its architecture to exercise control over colonial subjects by letting taverns play their symbolic civilizing role in disciplining the native body. Drinking at the tavern would imply a switch in behavior and patterns of consumption on the part of the native people. In confining their drinking to these spaces, Toledo forced them to adopt a different style that displaces them from the social bonds forged by heavy consumption, celebration, and ritual. In this sense, taverns were organized as instruments of discipline against public borrachera or drunkenness. José de Acosta, who traveled to Peru in 1571 when Toledo was reorganizing the state, classified inebriation as detrimental to acculturation. In How to Provide for the Salvation of the Indians [De procuranda indorum salute] (Lima 1577, Seville 1588), the first

manual for the ministry of the Andean peoples, Acosta wrote: “however much they decided to drink in their own houses, one had to turn a blind eye to that … or not to pay too much attention to it. But when it came to these infamous and solemn drunken orgies in public, then these had to be dealt with and war waged against it, to the death” (McIntosh 153).46 With the building of taverns, Toledo targeted the problem. He sought to affect the overall behavior of native peoples, for inebriation signified all types of colonial deviance, from laziness to idolatry. Toledo’s intention surfaced as he informed colonial inspectors the instructions and regulations they should follow and implement when doing visitations: “Get familiar with any transgressions regarding drunkenness and the consumption of corn beer. Try to implement the construction of taverns and the banning of drunkenness, carrying out the stipulations on how to drink corn beer.”47 Luis Capoche, who retrospectively commented on the viceroy’s initiative in his Relación general de la Villa Imperial de Potosí (1585), corroborated the disciplinary character of the measures as he refers to the construction of the building.48 Capoche wrote: “Francisco de Toledo ordered to have taverns constructed so that corn beer would not be prepared or sold beyond its boundaries and excess would stop.”49 It follows that these observations and decrees illustrate the colonial authorities’ understanding of the role that place has in the control of subjects. Their comments point to a desire to uproot the public ritualistic nature of drunkenness and the need to have a more controlled manipulation of native drinking in the colonial tavern, where authorities could monitor and supervise drinking at every point, correct natives’ excess, and enforce moderation. In this context, taverns became a type of colonial “panopticon” (Foucault, 1995, 199) born out of borracheras and implemented by Toledo to police native behavior. Therefore, by focusing on the transformation of the drinking habits of indigenous peoples at the colonial tavern, Toledo’s plan could articulate the type of docility and subjectivity specified and contained in his ordinance. Moreover, Toledo could gather information on how natives fall into error and the avenues to corrective action. He could produce knowledge on the difficulties of acculturation and create guidelines for the ways to implement it. The cultural detachment of the Indians motivated the spatial partitioning of the city into taverns. It was geared to deactivate the mechanisms of solidarity, memory, and excess that unified the natives, for borracheras accompanied feasts, work practices, religious ceremonies, and accounts of collective memory. The native Andeans identified themselves as subjects of a non-Spanish order through these symbolic actions. Although taverns were designed to remove natives from the realm of drunkenness and ethnic identification, the natural economic opportunity presented by the new taverns defeated their original purpose. The unauthorized proliferation of taverns escalated as various groups sold corn beer to the native population, despite Toledo’s prohibitions. In her study of preHispanic brewing in the Andes, Frances Hayashida suggests that the popularity of the beverage and the “income generated from sales, rental of tavern properties, and taxes precludes its strict control” (2009, 244–5). Cummins corroborates the view as inherent to colonial situations. He explains that the permissiveness and tolerance of inebriation—despite the practices of identification it generated—originated in economic gains. For instance, Toledo assigned mitayos to make chicha to supply the laboring population’s demand for the

drink in Potosí (Cummins 2002, 207). The rationale that predominated was profit from chicha’s commercialization and the need to minimize risks involving labor and silver production. Corn beer was a component of the laborers’ diet, but also one that facilitated socialization practices to counter acculturation. Toledo addressed this conflict of interest in his ordinances: and a few years now, black and mulatto women and other people who understand the business have introduced taverns for the consumption of corn beer; this results in public offense known to God Our Lord and the order of the natives. Similarly, this problem affects blacks and mulattos and many other people. Drawing on this, I order and command that no Spanish, black, or mulatto, or Indian can make corn beer to sell or have his house made into a tavern to sell it, or consent that his black, Indian, or mulatto female servants make it. Failure to observe this decree, if Spanish and a first-time offender, he would have to pay a fee of fifty pesos … as a second-time offender, [he would have to pay] some more and go under exile.50

In this passage, the viceroy notes the way economic desire reterritorializes colonial order.51 Blacks and Spaniards symbolically imitated the partitioning of the city into taverns; they turned their houses into taverns, spaces for excess and disorder. Toledo’s complaint shows the way economic desire took over his surveillance plan. He described how the unofficial proliferation of taverns countered the effects of his architectural plans upon the docile body he originally envisioned through his ordinances ([1585] 1959, 141). The word policía delineates the intertwined relationship between place and identity contained in the decree. It makes reference to the discourses of moderation and control involved in the formations of subjects within a particular space. Acosta reiterated the idea, but he introduced missionaries, the primary allies of colonial power, into the situation: Some quite openly use the drunken fiestas in order to get the Indians to work. Others not only permit it, but they provide the drink and many of them have the means in their own houses for making chicha and they boil it publicly and give the opportunity for people to get drunk there. The stupidity and shame of it all does not bother them one bit. They do not only sell the ordinary drink but the strongest type of sora [corn beer], paying no attention to the law that prohibits it and so giv[ing] people more rope to hang themselves [with]. This is what Spaniards frequently do, even the most noble and religious ones amongst us, making money at the expense of so many souls. What hope is there for the salvation of these unhappy people when we give them poison instead of giving them the cure? (McIntosh 154)52

Acosta described the way greed excluded religious officials and Spaniards from the realm of virtue and moderation, as they favored profit over salvation. In fact, Toledo and Acosta complained about the manner in which greed would overwrite state decrees and invalidate religious and moral imaginations of colonial space. For instance, take the bull of Pope Alexander VI. The Pope had granted Ferdinand and Isabel the right to occupy the Americas in return for sending missionaries there: you should appoint to the aforesaid mainlands and islands worthy, God-fearing, learned, skilled, and experienced men, in order to instruct the aforesaid inhabitants and residents in the Catholic faith and train them in good morals. Furthermore, under penalty of excommunication … we strictly forbid all persons of whatsoever rank, … to go for the purpose of trade or any other reason to the islands or mainlands. (Gibson 1968, 38)53

In contrast to this papal bull, Toledo and Acosta showed how economic desire interfered with the expansion of Christian values, facilitating indigenous peoples’ inclination to maintain old patterns of behavior and their subjection to excess.

Frederick Bowser affirms that Toledo became preoccupied with the proliferation of nonauthorized taverns. Excess and health issues forced the viceroy to close the taverns in 1572. Bowser explains that Toledo “heard complaints concerning taverns operated by free colored women, establishments that specialized in the sale of chicha and that were allegedly contributing to widespread drunkenness among … the Indian … [he] ordered the taverns closed and prohibited the manufacture and sale of it” (1974, 108–9). This decree also went into effect in 1595 as taverns resurfaced again in the city of Lima. Coupled with his concern over social order, Toledo’s closing of the taverns reveals his preoccupation with other racial and social strata in the colonial population, a group who capitalized on producing and distributing the popular indigenous drink. According to Leo Garofalo, the production of corn beer “mattered in the Andes because it conferred [symbolic] power” (2001, 108). Garofalo explains that its different levels of fermentation translate into ritual and political value and its possession proclaims the ability to command resources (maize, land, labor, and skilled brewers) and the mobilization of additional workers and supernatural forces (108). Garofalo’s observation is useful here to point out conflicts of interest and relations of power. By prohibiting sales in the city of Lima, Toledo countered the way non-Indian colonial subjects interfered with the official discourses of social order and power. This act indicates Toledo understood the system had gone renegade. Closing these businesses ended the economic and symbolic power chicha conferred to its entrepreneurial producers. The symbolic power becomes important in that the production of corn beer gives currency to Andean thought within the new colonial space; it fostered non-Spanish ways of being, “group cohesion,” and memory (Saignes 1993a, 45). Hence, those profiting from the production of chicha and its trade made the workings of colonization difficult. Serge Gruzinski’s study of the dynamics of acculturation in the context of New Spain taverns from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries attests to the process of resistance associated with these social spaces. He recognizes in the tavern the site from which indigenous peoples and non-Europeans defy colonization. Gruzinski defines taverns as pulquerías, a name derived from the consumption of pulque. He describes the pulquería as “the anchor to a vast register of deviances.” Such a depiction highlights the fact that they “challeng[e] the spiritual conquest of the Indian people by undertaking a process of acculturation and deculturation over which the Church ha[s] no hold” (1993, 277–9). In a similar way, Bowser focuses on the same negative aspect to characterize the Andean version of the Mexican tavern. He defines it as pulpería, “something of a small, combined grocery store, delicatessen, and tavern,” and refers to its deviant symbolism, presenting it as the site of all evils (1974, 108–9). Acosta provided a concrete example of the problem: “Myself, I saw two half-drunk people come out of a tavern, and because of a quarrel over a few cents, they set upon each other and with the same sword tried to kill each other” (McIntosh 150).54 Colonial authority turned anxious about these taverns. The colonizer’s aims clearly backfired. Implicit to the analysis, there is a double-sidedness to the discourses of place and identity. According to Acosta and Gruzinski, taverns undid the workings of moral and religious discourses upon colonial subjects. As taverns proliferated,

disorder escalated, rendering Toledo’s decree to build taverns a failure. Economic interest and deculturation made taverns noteworthy in the remedial narratives of Toledo and Acosta. These officials depicted taverns as sites where legal and moral discourses struggled to take control over the behavior of those gathered there to drink. Their narratives demonstrate the dual nature of colonial power. Nowhere is this topic more apparent than in Acosta’s chapters on the problems of inebriation. Before examining his representation of the practice, however, I will describe the ethnic component associated with native drinking in order to delineate the political implications that derive from it.

Ethnicity In Crónica del Perú (1553), Cieza de León provided clues to the role drinking practices play in the mechanisms that constitute identity. In the following quote, by explaining the context and rationale in which intoxication occurs, Cieza produced an alternative depiction of drunkenness that is connected to the process of identity preservation. Although he used imagery as a transfer point of colonial difference, precipitating the fashion of Toledo and his circle, Cieza also presented its metaphorical value as a transfer point of ethnicity: “They take great care to make their singing and dancing orderly … recounting in their songs … things past and always drinking to get very drunk.”55 From Cieza’s depiction of native rituals wherein drinking accompanied areito, a music-dance ceremony that involved singing, one can extract the importance of drinking and the Indian’s native language in saving a tradition from oblivion. The topics of these lyrics were native people’s stories, feats, and history, which were recalled and updated at these ceremonies.56 Cieza connected drinking and intoxication with the propagation of native social memory and group cohesion. He provided another example to illustrate this symbolism: When they would go out to their parties in some [village] square, Indians would get together, and two of them would play the drums and one of them would take the lead. And they would start dancing, which all would follow while carrying a vessel of wine in their hands. For drinking, dancing, and singing all take place at the same time. Their songs are about their present and their elders’ past deeds. They have no beliefs. They talk to the Devil.57

In this quote, Cieza showed the way festive drinking mediates the process of oral preservation in which, as Dwight Heath indicates, memory emerges in the form of a “poetic narrative structure” (1993, 177). Interpreted against the violence of the conquest, one can argue that areitos and drinking work as paths to memory and ethnic identification for those resisting the pressures of acculturation. The campaigns of extirpation escalated after the1560s, following the Taqui Onqoy movement, a native revolution that drew upon the reaffirmation of indigenous roots. Regarding the use of native language mentioned by Cieza, Saignes explains, “Inebriation facilitates one to challenge power; in particular, it claims the basis of difference, language.”58 Capoche, who wrote at the turn of the sixteenth century, observed how language and drinking interact, maintaining native culture and common history: “they [Indians] are used to drinking in public in large groups. Thus men and women make great dances using ancient rituals and ceremonies bringing to memory in their songs their elders.”59 Similarly, Alonso Carrió de la

Vandera, a government official appointed to inspect the system of mail and posts between Buenos Aires and Lima in the second half of the eighteenth century, highlighted the connection between language and Andean memory: “through songs and stories, they preserve idolatry and the incredible deeds of their ancestors.”60 Cieza added another set of cultural artifacts to the equation: “And when they celebrate their … dances and songs, in which they do not expend a small amount of wine made of corn … Everyone wears blankets and rich tops, and some kind of ribbons on the head so that they recognize each other.”61 Tradition and memory emerge from the conflation between ritual and drinking. Native language and the symbolic manipulation of cultural artifacts reinsert the native legacy into the colonial arena. These objects reawaken the group members’ beliefs that unite them as a community. By remembering together, the natives reaffirm their traditions and perform a meaningful act that by means of repetition or recounting gains the persuasive and persistent force of social memory (Connerton 1989, 88). In this ritualization of sharing history, cultural identity is affirmed through singing, drinking, and the wearing of typical dress (HughesFreeland 1998, 3).62 Barbara Kirsshenblatt-Gimblett refers to this process in the context of the nation, explaining that “national folkloric ensembles, ballets, symphonies … enact the nation through performing its culture” (1991, 81). The same logic can be applied to the colonial reality depicted by Cieza, Capoche, and Carrió de la Vandera. In their narratives, songs and ritual use of symbolic objects reenact native past and culture. One can argue that resistance finds its way in these repositories of memory and culture, as they provide indigenous people with the means to claim a different history within the colonial space. The past resurfaces and is celebrated in the use of native language. To quote bell hooks, “[t]he oppressed struggle in language to recover [themselves], to reconcile, to reunite, to renew” (1990, 146). Visible expressions of culture—native attire such as blankets, tops, and ribbons—create ethnic differentiation. Douglas points out that this type of ritual—visibility—allows a particular community to reconstruct a non-existent reality, facilitating participants to know their own society ([1966] 2002, 159). Similarly, Cummins explains that cups and textiles, all objects of ritual paraphernalia, conjure up “remembrance of the past [as] their physical existence form[s] a memorial nexus between past and present” (2002, 152). Cieza, Capoche, and Carrió de la Vandera’s examples reveal the symbolic value of these cultural objects and expressions. Ritual use invites the imagining of former cultural ways of identification that are suppressed as the practices of colonialism impose themselves upon the native culture. Bhabha’s observations on the political effects of remembering are pertinent: “[b]eing obliged to forget becomes the basis for remembering the nation, peopling it anew, imagining the possibility of other contending and liberating forms of cultural identification” (1990, 311). Through this lens, it is possible to understand the colonial authorities’ anxiety over native drunkenness. Drinking and inebriation bring to the forefront a different order of things, as Cieza clearly depicted ([1553] 1962, 214). The Taki Onqoy movement, which can be translated as “dancing sickness,” is a good example of what mid sixteenth-century colonial authority viewed as the indigenous peoples’

unwillingness to forget. It was a rebel movement, a sect that grew in popularity throughout the land among the Indians and natives (Ramírez 2005, 107). Spalding describes how during the mid-1560s indigenous people began to be possessed by a type of behavior characterized by uncontrollable singing and dancing. She explains that native deities in a type of spirit possession came to life again and through their mediums ordered the people “to avoid eating European foods and drinking European beverages, to reject European clothing, and to avoid entering Christian churches and taking Christian names” (1984, 246–7). The severity of the order demonstrates the urgency, on the part of the Taquiongos or messengers of the native gods, to have the Andean people evaluate their relationships with huacas (holy places and objects) and Catholic deities.63 The native messengers preached that a pan-Andean alliance of Indian gods would destroy the Christians by unleashing diseases and other calamities against them (Klarén 2000, 57). They would spread the contagion as a form of resistance to Spanish domination within a region that extended north from Huamanga towards Jauja and Lima, east towards Cuzco and Charcas, and from the southern end of Tawantinsuyu to Lima, where huacas would unite to kill the Spaniards (Stern 1982, 51).64 The authorities estimated that out of a total of 150,000 inhabitants in Huamanga, perhaps 8,000 were active participants in the sect (Klarén 2000, 58). The extreme reaction of the native people speaks to the violence and repression of the colonial system, which found during Toledo’s term of office their most concrete example. Under his rule, historical, administrative, and religious discourses converge on the grounds of Spanish vindication, arguing that the colonizer has a mission to protect the Andean people from the excesses of drinking and laziness, demonic and immoral rituals, and the tyranny of the Incas. The Taquiongos implored natives to return to their old traditions and stop cooperating with the Spaniards. They linked the rejection of all things European with a new order, a utopian change expressed in terms of health and prosperity divorced from doubt and disillusionment.65 These prophets interpreted the social chaos brought to the Andean culture by the Spaniards as a metaphor for illness. They ascribed it as to the work of “neglected or angry huacas,” who they claimed: “wandered through the air, thirsty and dying of hunger because the Indians no longer sacrificed to them, [n]or offered chicha” (Stern 1982, 45, 53). Coupled with their order prohibiting the Andeans from defining themselves through objects and practices that constituted the culture of the colonizer (food, drinks, dress, and religious beliefs), their goal to return to Andean roots affirmed the significance of chicha in the preservation of Andean culture. To these messengers, the reclaiming Andean culture was contingent upon their relationship with chicha and the rest of the symbolic objects that made their experience as a group meaningful. In this sense, the Taquiongos’ prohibitions show indigenous anxiety over cultural extinction. When comparing the huacas’ orders and complaints to Cieza’s depictions of ritual and drinking, we can infer how the political reveals itself in religious leaders’ rhetoric. To them, hegemony and control depended upon the symbolic manipulation of these cultural objects within the new system. It was important to promote their quotidian use. What the Taquiongos demanded from the natives was their symbolic loyalty, “a consciousness of shared identity” (Stern 1982, 70) that could be translated into their preferences for what secured cultural continuity. I follow Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of preference to approach the cultural dynamics

behind native loyalty. He explains that systems of domination find expression in preferences for certain kinds of cultural artifacts by fulfilling “a social function of legitimating social differences” (1984, 1, 7). What interests us here is the “economy of cultural goods,” the way colonial power and difference circulate through native people’s preferences regarding garments, faith, and names along with the consumption of non-Andean drinks and food (1). Bourdieu posits that consumption is an act of communication, “an act of deciphering, decoding, which presupposes practical or explicit mastery of a cipher or code” (2). Therefore, cultural goods have meaning and interest only for those who have “the cultural competence, that is, the code, into which it is encoded” (2). Drawing from this, we can interpret the way these religious leaders understood the natives’ symbolic preference for foreign cultural artifacts. To them, this process implicated social transformation, one that exposed native people’s degree of affiliation with the Spaniards, their beliefs, and their culture. As Stern reminds us, the affiliation symbolically began in 1532 when “[t]he powerful Christian deities defeated the major Andean huacas at Cajamarca, and like the native gods, could improve or damage the material well-being of the living” (1982, 46). The Andean people started to recognize that neither huacas nor ancestors (malquis) functioned as the only forces that assured their well-being (57). Faced with issues of necessity and preference, native loyalty split between alien and local deities. Coercion and fear resulted in a shift of perception that manifested in the assimilation of the foreign through the objects and behaviors that embodied the non-Andean. This shift brought with it the Indians’ separation from common references, their subordination to the foreign. The Taquiongos understood how the imposition of garments, names, beliefs, and food facilitated the foreign ideology’s hold over the Andean peoples. The acts of violence and preference allowed the colonizer’s power to flow and constitute them as subjects. In this context, the foreign disrupted the religious through which the political unfolded. The native leaders understood that the Andean culture could live on as long as their people continued to harbor it through daily relationships with their objects and practices. Hence, the suppression of corn beer became a metaphor for their defeat at Cajamarca, since the replacement of one drink by another symbolized Spanish domination. These reactions against colonial power did not go unnoticed by the religious leaders of the messianic movement. Their opposition to the natives’ shifts in preferences was indicative of an objective to reassimilate Andean subjects. By reinstating connections with corn beer and other representative elements of their universe, the natives established spiritual and political boundaries. What moved the leaders of the Taki Onqoy was the realization that their culture was disintegrating, which they experienced as they witnessed the Spaniards’ efforts to limit their community’s relationship with the material and sacred elements of its culture. The Taquiongos worked for a return to a pre-Hispanic world, to be freed from their socioeconomic discontent.

Demonic Pollution In 1567, immediately after the revolutionary movement of the Taki Onqoy, the Second Lima Council called by Archbishop Loaysa promulgated a series of decrees. Their content

demonstrates the knowledge Spaniards gained in addressing the problem of Andean religion. Polo de Ondegardo’s study of the topic (published in 1559, 1566), for instance, provided specific information to those authorities who wanted the extirpation of the Incas’ religious elements. He listed the new geographical locations of huacas and their clandestine ritual places and offerings. His research contributed to the synod’s enterprise of conversion and borders that of ethnography.66 Ondegardo included information on food, beliefs, and drinking practices in the report. These categories informed his readers of Andean culture and the symbolic accommodations and changes that stemmed from the Indians’ conquest and colonization. After reviewing many documents dealing with native religious transgressions, including Ondegardo’s work, ecclesiastics of the Second Council realized the failure of their first attempts to convert the natives. They had been able to maintain their religious practices despite 35 years of Spanish presence and Christian order. Idols and places of worship had been destroyed during the 1540s and 1550s. Ceremonies of conversion, baptism, and marriage supplanted native rituals. And the First Lima Council (1551) ended public sacrifices. Yet the Indians’ ways of being persisted alongside Catholic rituals, institutions, and architectural transformations.67 As Kenneth Mills puts it, “Andean beliefs and practices survived because they changed and were adapted to colonial realities (such as being declared, forbidden, and demonic) by the peoples themselves, and because people assimilated Christian terms, ideas, rituals, and explanations into an expanded religious framework” (1997, 4). The one activity that the Council identified as the main carrier of the old beliefs into the new system was public celebrations. Canon 108 of the Second Lima Council highlighted this point in reference to inebriation and religious dissent: [T]he pestilential habit of drunkenness, which is the root of infidelity and of innumerable evils, [must] be eradicated by all possible means from the nation of these Indians. First, this synod claims that the faith of Jesus Christ will not be firm unless authority restrains Indians from engaging in drinking bouts. Second, the great diligence and skill of priests should contribute to putting an end to public drunkenness, which Indians practice along with the taquies [pre-Hispanic practice of dancing] and ceremonies, signs and signals of infidelity and heresy.68

The quote encodes cultural continuity through idolatry. Spanish culture associates idolatry with inebriation, which the Council framed in terms of fidelity and adultery. The correlation shows how drinking contributed to infidelity, as in the way the Old Testament repeatedly refers to expressions of spiritual disloyalty. William Barclay indicates that “to make a covenant with the gods of a strange land and to sacrifice to them … is to ‘prostitute themselves to the gods’” (1975, 118).69 The Council presented drunkenness in sixteenthcentury terms to warn of its dangers. To Christian authority, ritual celebration and intoxication separated indigenous peoples from the Christian God. These actions enabled natives to reinstate their vows of fidelity and alliance to their former deities. Canon 104 emphasizes this point: “The Council is aware of the fact that almost all celebrations … have religious meaning and function … and it condemns them … for their demonic implications.”70 Equally, Toledo’s ordinances that drew on the canons promulgated by this Council addressed these calculated effects of religious discourse: “all idolatries they practice are drinking bouts.”71 Echoing the synod’s decrees and the viceroy’s tropological perception,

Acosta also stressed inebriation’s deviant functionality in his missionary manual: “But the cause of all ordinary sort of drunkenness is the devil, who through his arts and evildoings persuades these Indians to be drinking for days and nights on end, and to have this as their principal joy, worship and religion” (McIntosh 148).72 While the regulations and comments highlighted idolatry, at the heart of the problem was the instability of the native subject and the vulnerability of the conversion project. Cummins’s critical observation summarizes the problem: “[e]very act of drinking was, at the very least, potentially a religious act, and Spaniards were well aware of this fact” (2002, 197). Colonial religious authority saw celebrations as opportunities for infidelity. The Devil tricked inebriated bodies into their old patterns of behavior. Commenting on this point, Duviols refers to the ethnographic value of Ondegardo’s work. He explains that this lawyer informed his contemporary readers how to trace the behaviors and objects that made the natives’ connections with the Devil visible. Duviols affirms that the increasing demands for corn beer responded to the imperative of adjusting the former practices to the new conditions: “Polo records that there has been some changes concerning offerings. Llamas are rarely used for sacrifices, whereas the guinea pig has become the sacrificial animal par excellence … easy to hide from the Spanish. For the same reason, coca, corn beer, and food are widely used.”73 Duviols states that native people had found a way to access their cultural symbolic order through the excessive consumption of corn beer. He codifies idolatry through the signifier of excess and the overconsumption of chicha. Along with Cieza’s statement on how idolatry stemmed from the intricate connections between ritual and drunkenness (“while carrying a vessel of wine in their hands … They talk to the Devil”), we can apprehend the Church’s anxiety over the natives’ excess and inebriation. Authority saw the Devil operating on native culture through drunkenness. Inebriation implied reverence to local ancestor gods, which Cieza emphasized by making reference to vessels and cups. As Cummins explains, these drinking objects or queros were customarily used in sacrifices that “extended reciprocity relations” into the supernatural realm (2002, 152).74 In light of the correlations between drinking and the sacred, celebration and infidelity, and excess and the Devil, Decree 108 takes on special political importance. Ecclesiastics argued in favor of the eradication of drunkenness, for corn beer interfered with conversion and expansionism. To them, spiritual disloyalty translated into a political offense, a point that Acosta made clear when he said: “Amongst all the infirmities that the Indians have, and in which the governor ought to be vigilant, there is none more widespread, neither more pernicious nor more difficult to cure than that of drunkenness … we cannot go ahead with religious affairs, nor move ahead with any sort of political institution, without extirpating this evil that is so prevalent amongst the Indians” (MacIntosh 147).75 Silverblatt, who discusses the cultural construction of demonology, affirms that the Church “created an ideology in which political opposition could be defined as heresy” (1987, 162). The Council’s view of inebriation can be read as an analogue to such definition. The drink fostered cohesion and tied the Indians to the past and religious beliefs. Given these conditions, it is no coincidence that religious authority demanded a counteraction from the State administration (“this synod claims that the faith of Jesus Christ will not be firm unless authority restrains Indians from engaging in drinking bouts”). Canons 108 and 104 urged the eradication of idolatry, which

required both state and church to take unified action against drunkenness. The Council’s canons officially introduced the classifications of Andean drunkenness and peoples as demonic. According to the literature, infidelity was indicative of their political standing; it showed how religion produced difference and authority. In this sense, the demonic becomes another one of the varying and complex categories (laziness, sickness, excess, lack, enemy’s territory) through which colonial Spaniards create difference. Canons 108 and 104 included the contents of natives’ actions and beliefs in a system that believed loyalty to God’s rival was the ultimate sin.76 Reporting on the synod’s proceedings, Acosta referred to this discursive invention: “the most holy decree of the Provincial Council celebrated in this city [Lima] says that drunken orgies, as promoters of idolatry, ought to be diligently stopped and rooted out” (McIntosh 151).77 Missionaries blamed religious dissent on the New World’s lack of Christian faith, especially the Jesuits, who became famous in the 1560s for propagating demonology and its imagery.78 They framed their encounter with the Andean peoples and their drinking habits as a war fought against the idea of non-Spanish culture as the Devil, a battle that the religious leaders and Acosta expressed in Manichean terms. Drunkenness was equated with spiritual unfaithfulness and political dissent to promote conversion. How else to explain Acosta’s reference to inebriation as a demonic activity? Acosta understood, like Matienzo, Sarmiento, Toledo, and the Councils, that inebriation unraveled the discursive operations involved in the formation of docile subjects; i.e., Christian, productive subjects. A recurrent theme in the three chapters Acosta devoted to the problem of indigenous inebriation is idolatry. In book 3 of De procuranda, the opening words point to its sacrilegious character. Following Aquinas, he stated: “Drunkenness is bad enough in itself, in that it excludes us from the kingdom of God, but the ills that are the outcome of it are worse, and that is why the saints call it the origin and fount of innumerable evils” (McIntosh 149).79 To remind and teach his missionary audience of the way the political comes into being through the religious, Acosta frequently depicted public drinking and inebriation as the Devil’s work: “Drunkenness is the Devil.”80 How important was it for Acosta to insist on the fixation of Andeans to the Devil by way of inebriation? What other forms of difference did the metaphor signify? One could argue that Acosta insisted on the urgency of conversion to simultaneously denounce its failures. This explains why he wrote a manual for missionaries in the first place. Acosta’s focus on the medieval image of the Devil and the classical imagery that accompanied it was essential to matters of social hierarchy. Within Acosta’s writing is where I claim the further dimensions of the trope are located: Drunkenness is to be found infecting almost the whole world, but not to the degree that it affects the world of the Barbarians, where it has more power. They so stir up things that the greatest obscenities and most nefarious crimes committed while in a state of drunkenness are seen by the Indians as an honorable thing. They sing solemnly, and they gather together without any differentiation between ages or sex or family, then they start drinking, bucketfuls at a time. [T]hey start to dance and to move about until Bacchus throws them to the floor. Anything goes for anyone, according to the laws of drunkenness. It is unchaste to mention what an affront [it is] to human nature, but there is no respect for the maidens, nor is there any thought about who are couples, and as the appetite becomes charged to do evil, youths and men cohabit with each other … And the orgies, [B]acchanalian feasts, Cybelline and Lupercalian customs as the ancients called them, … happen here not just once a year, but monthly or to say more precisely, in a continuous fashion. There is not a month that goes by when these sorts of fiestas do not take

place. No meeting is ever started, no market opened, no daughter married, no cow given birth, no ploughing is started and finally, no religious ceremony is celebrated without the “good guide” of drinking. Drink honors all fiestas whether public or private, as the measure of its prestige and its religiosity. What miserable bondage is the situation of these unhappy people, who by nature, being little different from the beasts, try at all costs to be worse tan them! (McIntosh 150–51, his emphasis)81

By linking indigenous peoples to uncontrollable sexual desire and infidelity (Bacchus), Acosta brought foreign concepts of difference and hierarchy together through the same “mode of differentiation” (Bhabha 1986b, 150). Transported to the colony, these signs became the markers of indigenous inferiority, making excess and the sinful visible and recognizable for purposes of reform and domination. Acosta’s rhetoric of inebriation conveyed the urgency of recasting native disposition as Christian devotion. In this context, Bacchus, the signifier for sexual disorder and religious and political dissent, unified the catalog of aberrations against natural order. Acosta identified in drunkenness the point of entry of the Devil in indigenous culture, a finding that is central to questions of difference and social hierarchy. In the description of the devastating effects of drunkenness upon Andeans, Acosta focused on how the natives gave in to unrestrained promiscuity and sexual excess. The Jesuit revealed this demonic influence upon the culture through classical discourse, citing Bacchus. Capitalizing on the name’s symbolism was not a coincidence. Sixteenth-century theologians classified Incas and Aztecs in terms of the ancients, whom they considered pagans due to their polytheism (Duviols 1986, xxvii). Acosta conceived of the Incas as homologous with the Greeks and Romans in certain religious practices. Bacchus claimed capital value in his rhetoric as the signifier of religious practices other than Christian. Fernando Cervantes reiterates this point explaining that “Acosta effectively equated paganism with idolatry. Anything faintly religious in pagan cultures was necessarily the result of Satan’s incorrigible ‘mimetic desire”’ (1994, 29). In teaching missionaries about what he interpreted as the negative forces underlying Andean culture, Acosta discussed the symbolism of Bacchus. He listed sodomy, adultery, incest, and orgy, alongside the native people’s disposition to celebration and intoxication. With this list, Acosta provided his readers with a series of interrelated sins and natural crimes, involving inappropriate sexual behavior and partners. The list showed the Andean people’s lack of recognition of taboos and scruples regarding actions and relations (Pagden 1982, 176). The multi-layered character of drunkenness helped Acosta to express his concern about the absence of moral order afforded by the family institution. He invoked Bacchus to convey the notions of excess, sexual misconduct, and political and religious dissent through which he constructed the Andean culture and its people as degenerate, decadent, and idolatrous. He used the bacchic reference to criticize natives’ attitudes toward leisure, ritual, and production as well. It follows that Acosta’s observations connected Bacchus and inebriation to what impairs the production of docile bodies. In Silverblatt’s words, Acosta’s description provided evidence to demonstrate how “native religion undermined the making of ‘good’ Indians” (1998, 66). These develop by means of the social roles of husband and wife, mother and father, parents and children, and the responsibilities and restrictions that produce order and transfer natural order to the New World. To sixteenth-century Spaniards, the family organization was the enabling condition that

could guarantee civilization. Acosta’s passage showed the opposite. He reduced natives to the flesh of their bodies, making apparent the backward status of their culture through images of excess, the epitome of the Devil and unnatural behavior. He portrayed Andean people as servants of the Devil. From such a depiction, we can derive three important observations. First, Acosta framed the drunken body as the symbolic battleground over which the Devil fights Christian teachings. Second, Christian reform and religious intervention was imperative to the shaping of Andean natives into virtuous colonial subjects. Third, this type of social metamorphosis could only be attained through the intervention of the orderly and regulating force of Spanish culture and its values. Religious and administrative discourses noted how the ongoing subjugation of the Andean body to drunkenness blocked the way to civilization, which Spaniards equated to the concept of moderation in drinking and sexual desire, the practice of family values and Christian virtue, and the notion of work and productive bodies. Altogether, these concepts and practices referred to the advantages of cultural assimilation, on the basis that Andean peoples alone were incapable of solving the problems caused by excess. Acosta’s racialized evaluation of Andean people informed missionaries that the new lands stretching before them were totally devoid of the necessities for sixteenth-century notions of civilized identity. Through Acosta’s description of the forces of excess, we can observe how religious discourse fed into the symbolic notion of absence and difference to establish Christian practices as natural and imperative. With regard to the dynamics of absence in the constructions of the identity of the Other in colonial discourse, Bhabha affirms that “there is a constitutive discourse of lack imbricated in a philosophy of presence, which makes the differential … reading possible” (1986b, 151). We can see Acosta’s perception of Andean culture in terms of the absence of good moral order. His treatment of inebriation, Bacchus, and the Bacchanalia within the unequal relations of power that defined colonial reality rendered these as the organizing tropes of moral absence. In effect, Acosta presented them as the most effective rhetoric to insist on the urgency of remedial, Christian action.

The Doctrina Christiana The affinity between Christianity and colonialism crystallized in the last quarter of the sixteenth century, when a more rigid approach to colonization began to unfold with Toledo’s remedial plans and the teachings of the Council of Trent (1545–1566). In 1564, Philip II issued an order, addressed to officials of the Crown and the Church, to implement the reforms advanced at Trent in Spain and its colonies. The Third Lima Council called in 1583 by the archbishop of Lima, Toribio Alfonso de Morgrovejo, put them into practice in the region. The order mainly pointed to evangelical efforts to separate native peoples from their diabolical huacas, to stop their unnatural acts, and to produce didactic materials for conversion, responsibilities that Toledo and Acosta assumed. The Council of Trent required officials to emphasize respect for the sacred, foment the development of efficient instruments for evangelization, and correct matters of sex and marriage.82 A way of educating and regulating the life of the faithful in Spain, the reform crossed the Atlantic to annex Indians to

empire through the conquest of their spiritual lives and behavior. The construction of the colonial system involved a battle to replace Andean traditions with those of European Catholicism and recognized the State’s arm within the Church, to convert Andean population into a docile body and labor force (Spalding 1984, 240, 216). If the Church was interested in ridding people of folk superstition, ignorance, and all types of behavior that could endanger faith and morals, the king’s order facilitated the use of a language of difference that drew on images of the devil, idolatry, and sexual deviance to carry out these objectives. Acosta’s portrayal of the Roman Bacchanalia in the Andean region stands as a good example. In De procuranda, Acosta set in motion the equation of good morals and family values that gathered force after the Council of Trent. He precipitated some of the ideas that crystallized in Doctrina Christiana y catecismo para instrucción de los indios [Christian Doctrine and Catechism for Indians] (1584), Confesionario para los curas de indios [Confession Manual for the Conversion of the Indians] (1585), and Tercer catecismo y exposición de la doctrina cristiana por sermones [Third Catechism and Exposure of the Christian Doctrine through Sermons] (1585). These were the main documents that emerged from the ideological workings of the Council of Trent and the Third Lima Council. As the leading theologian of one of the teams selected to produce these documents, Acosta played a significant role in the composition of the catechisms, confessionals, and sermons. The material offered Catholic teachings in Spanish, Quechua, and Aymara; it aimed at the intellectual capacity of the native people (Harrison 1994, 137). Along the lines established by the Tridentine catechism and following the question-answer format that accommodated natives’ understanding, the Doctrina and its supplements were the means to cultural and religious homogenization. These were structured around the connection between good customs and the practice of Catholicism (Durán 1982, 201). The process highlighted the dependency of colonialism upon the production of effective instruments for the instruction of Indians in the religious beliefs and practices that would annex them to Spain as subjects. In Doctrina, religious authority codified inebriation through the rules of the fifth commandment. The rules described drunkenness as the most important sin that alienates man from God, “Fifth Commandment: Statement-Prohibitions: homicide, injury, and ill-treatment by word or deed, to threaten the life or health, drunkenness.”83 Here, religious officials framed inebriation as one more transfer point of violence, an irrational behavior that menaced the well-being of man in the social environment. Its prohibition made the backward status of the culture apparent in comparison to that of the Spaniards. It showed the way violence and excess prevented Andean culture from attaining a rational command of its material situation, which translated as the type of maturity conducive to salvation. The rule also implied that social evolution demanded that natives adjust themselves to the rules of the colonial game. Under these circumstances, the Andean people needed to be instructed in this fifth prohibition that the Doctrina included under the rubric of theological truth. Knowledge of it was mandatory for them to undergo the transformation afforded by catechism and confession. Among these truths, theological virtues such as temperance and the capital sins of lust, gluttony, and laziness were emphasized in the section that dealt with inebriation as vice. In this theological scheme, drunkenness figured as a category through which indigenous people could become aware of the transgressions it causes (lust, laziness) and the behaviors and

temptations from which it originated (gluttony). Thus, they could monitor their behavior and gain experience in the exercise of virtue whenever these occasions for sin arose. Once this revealed knowledge was established and impressed on the native mind, priests evaluated natives’ learning and practice of the Doctrina’s lessons through the sacrament of confession. The overall process was indicative of the manner in which inebriation’s symbolic value partook of the larger context of empire. The Andean peoples’ encounters with temptation operated at the personal, or subjectivation level. This first step was important to consolidate imperial subordination. To Acosta, the multilingual Confesionario that formally organized the sacrament’s practice in the Andean colony also worked as a tool to gather ethnographic information (Durán 1982, 326). By inquiring about native people’s beliefs and quotidian activities, priests gained knowledge of Andean thought, which they intended to replace with the Christian.84 The production of knowledge to sustain power was at the core of this process. Harrison describes it in terms of a “cultural exchange” (1992, 5) between the Spanish and the Quechua-speaking natives of the Andes. This exchange facilitated expansionism through spiritual conquest. Acosta’s view of the sacrament of penance was a reflection of the Counter Reformation mentality of the devisers of the document. They saw it as the interplay of knowledge and power, which explains the practice (Foucault 1990a, 70).85 Let’s focus on the questions grouped under Commandments V and VI, “Thou shall not kill” and “Thou shall not fornicate.” The questions read: “Have you eaten or drunk in such a way that it harms your health? Have you drunk enough so that it impairs your reason or have you induced or forced others to get drunk? And finally, have you gotten a woman drunk in order to sin with her?”86 Intoxication gained discursive value in the Confesionario because of its interlocking nature. By inquiring about alcohol abuse, priests induced penitents to confess idolatry, irrational behavior, and sexual misconduct. In these examples, knowledge about inebriation became the means to exercise control over “bad customs,” since, according to Silverblatt, the latter were believed “to be wedded to deviltry” (1998, 67). Drunkenness gave discursive visibility to excess in the lives of the Andean people, for it ruled out spiritual loyalty and the type of docility that ecclesiastics wished to instill in them by means of family values. The third question delved into sexuality outside wedlock. What is relevant here is its assessment through inquiries on drinking behavior. Church officials realized that it is through an examination of drinking habits that changes in sexual mores and well-being in general could be accomplished. Their preoccupation with the normalization of sexual activity through confinement to heterosexuality, monogamy, and marriage also alludes to the way church and colonial authority understood the dynamics of power. To both officials, power depended upon the performance of family values and roles. If we consider Foucault’s observation that “power has a rooting in forms of behavior,” it is easy to understand the way sixteenth-century authority viewed drunken Indians (1980, 201). Counter Reformation society saw the body as the object of control by strict powers, in the grip of rigid family ideology. Constraints over desire were imposed with the goal of achieving docility and utility (Foucault 1995, 136–7). The nuclear family and gender roles functioned as mechanisms of power that permitted the subjection of indigenous bodies. Therefore, the power of the new system flowed through the prohibitions and obligations involved in the performance of these

roles. The nuclear family became the base unit of political and economic control at the reducciones. As long as native people performed these roles and engaged in sexual behavior within the sanctity of the institution of marriage, they demonstrated their loyalty to Church and State. As Harrison states, “the nuclear family can displace the central importance of the ayllu, a network of extended kin. The political and religious role of the ayllu is further curtailed in the sanctions against polygamy; the church advocates instead, the model of one spouse bound in perpetual wedlock” (1992, 18). As a result, Spanish social roles and sexual mores eroded natives’ beliefs and relationships, binding them instead through the ties and practices that constituted Spanish subjectivity. Another example that highlights the political aspects of docility came in the form of a reprimand or exhortation, a brief talk or question that followed the main interrogation. Church officials established the overall process of confession in a number of steps. First, there was a set of questions that preceded the act of penance. Their function was to elicit knowledge of the Christian meaning and value of the penitent’s reconciliation with God. The priest then formulated a second step, the questioning of the penitent. This part of the process was based on knowledge of the Ten Commandments. In the third stage, the reprimand or exhortation came as a persuasive speech, although throughout all steps of the reprimand, the priest urged the penitent to act in the name of virtue to gain salvation (Durán 1982, 415–43). The following lines illustrate how the reprimand worked. The priest focused on drunkenness, which he saw as the tool through which the Devil manipulated the native body and induced it to excess, sexual misconduct, and violence: Why do you get drunk so many times? Is it not enough to eat and drink and enjoy yourself, but you have to become worse than a beast without reason? Do you not see the evils drunkards do, how they hit, injure, and kill each other, and sometimes sleep with their mothers? When your ram and horse drink, they never drink more than they need. And you are worse than a horse, you turn into a beast, and you even damage your health. God says that those who get drunk will go to Hell, and because of drinking will go under raging tribulation forever. Try then child, to quit this vice and do as Priests and good Christians, who do not drink to get drunk, but drink what they need and thank God for it.87

Here, the reprimand reinforced notions of Christian docility. It referenced the theological truth of moderation, framed within the idea of treating drunkenness as vice. The Commandments required absolute reverence to God and the Council of Trent confined sexual relations to conjugal couples. This persuasive talk singled out incest as form of social disorder. The exhortation claimed that good customs could be strengthened by the practice of social roles within the nuclear family. These roles allowed the disciplinary intent behind Philip II’s decree to control indigenous peoples with ethical regulations that foment cultural homogenization and colonization. Along the same lines, Sermon 23 in the supplemental section of the Tercer Catecismo reinforced doctrine and emphasized family roles, yet it also promoted the idea that by paying attention to drunkenness, religious authority could assess and reform sexual deviance. It read: “Against drunkenness: The Indians are taught how drunkenness is a mortal sin in itself, and the damages done to the body cause illness and death, and in this sense, hinder it. And in the soul, it works great sins of incest, murder, and sodomy; and above all, it is the primary means to destroy the faith and support superstitions and idolatries.”88

The Doctrina, Confesionario, and Tercer Catecismo all demonstrate the tension between two worlds represented by variations in drinking behavior and its aftermath. Why was religious control integral to empire, and why did this involve replacing Andean ways of drinking and sexual conduct with Spanish mores and social roles? Consider Sherry Ortner’s thoughts: “honor can be thought of as the ideology of a property holding group which struggles to define, enlarge, and protect is patrimony in a competitive arena” (1996, 45). The relevance of her definition of honor to the colonial context of Peru lies in her references to ideological competition and the thought of ideology as the property of a group that seeks definition across its boundaries. Refracted through this prism, inebriation became the symbolic site on which Spanish and Andean ideologies fought for the control of subjects and political power. Native inebriation and its consequent chain of behaviors reflected on the authority of Christianity and State in the viceroyalty. The conqueror’s ideology needed to be emblematic of this status, and the Spanish victory of social roles was secured through religious discourse, confession, and reprimand. These methods enabled the winner to incorporate new lands, resources, and people into the Spanish empire. The practice and performance of moral tenets and family roles were thought to hold the empire together, facilitating spiritual and political fidelity to the Church and Crown. Spaniards asserted their authority through the unity of their customs and the systematic control that doctrine, confession, catechism, and reprimands afforded them through the trope of inebriation. Colonial and church officials used inebriation as the interlocking trope for crimes against nature. Its charged symbolism enabled them to conjure up all the issues that needed to be addressed in the construction of the region as a productive possession of Spain. Inebriation imagery contributed to the perception of inferiority and the unbalanced relations of power that supported colonialism. To know the effects of drunkenness on culture translates into control, for this symbolic information became the tool that permitted the colonizer to relocate native people within the grip of empire. In this chapter we examined sixteenth-century notions of docility in reference to labor, family values, social roles, and Christian subjectivity. This exploration necessitated a focus on how colonial officials evaluated native peoples’ relationship with alcohol. To the colonizer, these notions, rooted in keeping inebriation under control, held the key to social transformation and economic profit. The integrity of colonization was thus justified by the Spanish. In the present chapter, we explored the role inebriation imagery played in the tropological operations of colonial discourse. In the next one, we will examine the stance of the colonized through the eyes of Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala, a native Andean writer, who perceived the issue of inebriation from a bicultural perspective.

1

By referencing Genesis, Aquinas presented drunkenness as the occasion for hierarchical relations to arise (1964, 150). Ham brought down the curse of eternal servitude on his posterity by disrespecting his father and not keeping to himself the fact that he saw his father drunk and naked. As he told his siblings about it, Noah condemned Ham’s descendants to servitude (Genesis 9:18–29). 2

Saignes (1993b, 12) describes how different patterns of alcohol consumption operate as categories for the production of differences between human groups. 3

Betanzos’s knowledge of the Quechua language and culture is evidenced by the fact that the Crown assigned him to prepare a Spanish-Quechua Doctrina Cristiana [Christian Doctrine] (Lima 1584), which I include (Durán 1982) as one of the samples for analysis in this chapter. The manual for priests contains the essentials of Christian beliefs, two vocabularies, prayers, and confessionals that Father Acosta edited. Betanzos lived for decades in Cusco and married a noble native woman who became the mother of Francisco Pizarro’s two half-Inca sons. This experience translated into first-hand information on Inca traditions in Betanzos’s narrative. For his contribution to historiography and the colonial project, see Martín Rubio’s “Introduction” in Narrative of the Incas and Juan de Betanzos, Suma y narración de los Incas (2004). 4

See Betanzos ([1551] 1996, 263). For Spanish version, see chapter 23 in part 2 of Betanzos’s Suma y narración de los Incas ([1551] 1987, 276). Here, he describes Atahualpa’s immoderate drinking: “estando ya el Marqués en su sitio entró el Ynga bien tomado de la bebida que había bebido ansi en los baños antes que partiese como en el camino en el cual había hecho muchas posas … y en todas ellas había bebido bien y ansi mismo allí en las andas do venía caminando pedía de beber.” 5

As Valverde pretended to explain some of the general doctrines of Christianity to Atahualpa, the Inca asked him where he had learned this information and the Father held out the breviary. Atahualpa puts his ear to the pages of the book and threw it with disdain to the ground as he heard nothing (Betanzos 1996, 263). On the tensions between the oral and the written and the way inequality and hierarchy derived from that, see MacCormack (1988) and Mignolo ([1995] 2003, 69– 122). 6

Colonialism brings with it a model of desire that is projected on new territories as an appetite for gold, and also sex. Young refers to it as “colonial desire” or the “unlimited appetite” for endless growth and self reproduction and defines the colonial project as that of a “desiring machine” (1995, 98). Betanzos’s historical images of inebriation at Cajamarca helped to fuel the appetite for riches and moral reform. He introduced inebriation into the catalog of differences that hierarchically organized the relationships between Spaniards and the Inca rulers. In so doing, he provided one of the first characterizations of the Incas as deviant subjects. For the historical analysis of the events at Cajamarca, see Lockhart (1972) and Lamana (2008). 7

For the concept of invention, see O’Gorman ([1958] 1961) and Hulme (1986). O’Gorman favors the notion of invention over that of discovery. The coming of America into being is the outcome of a Eurocentric process through which the new lands are incorporated into the European mentality in the image of Europe: “[o]n the one hand America is conceived as a physical entity, i.e., something endowed with a fixed, unalterable nature; on the other hand it is conceived as a spiritual entity, i.e., something capable of fulfilling the possibilities with which it is endowed and thus of realizing itself within the sphere of historical being” (1961, 140). Hulme argues that 1492 and the manifold discourses that register the event produce a fourth continent for Europe, in a productive fashion that is intrinsic to colonial discourse (1986, 2). I draw from both perspectives, as each one utilizes invention and production to point to the three-fold scheme of knowledge, power, and discourse that constructs colonial reality. Their positions also relate to the productive character of discourse that Said examines in Orientalism (1978), wherein he explains that the Orient is conceived as reality in discourse and through discourse: “texts can create not only knowledge but also the very reality they appear to describe” ([1978] 1994, 94). Applied to mid sixteenth-century Peru, Toledo’s invention of the new territories and Andean people as inferior, but potentially valuable assets for exploitation must be considered through the critics’ viewpoint. The viceroyalty is an entity produced through key images, myths, and assumptions. Colonial discourse accommodates new realities into old hierarchical ways of thinking that facilitate expansionism. Unlike the colonial critics mentioned above, Fitzpatrick examines the concept of discovery as a form of transformation of what is discovered; a transformation endowed with norms and endorsed by rituals of possession (2002, 25–30). Take for example Toledo’s relocation of the indigenous population into Spanish-style villages [reducciones] and the execution of Tupac Amaru. Both examples operate as displays of authority and power, the means to secure control over native labor, lands, and resources. 8

Matienzo’s depictions of inebriation are part of a genealogy including official chroniclers, historian soldiers, and officers, such as Gómara ([1552] 1979, 342–3), Estete ([1535] 1987, 141), Betanzos ([1551] 61, 72, 99, 235, 237), Cieza de León ([1553] 1962, 85, 88, 136), as described in the introduction to this book, and Ondegardo ([1571] 1916–1917, 30). Matienzo’s ideas also resonate with many documents: the 1571 decree that prohibits drunkenness due to its detrimental

effects on the extraction of silver in Potosí (cited in Bakewell 1984, 58), Capoche’s administrative report ([1585] 1959, 141), and Carrió de la Vandera’s travel log ([1775–1776] 1959, 369–70), among others. Colonial officials concur in seeing the potential of inebriation imagery for the articulations of inferiority. In these writers’ accounts and descriptions, as well as in those of Toledo and Acosta, natives’ inebriation and its moral and religious aftermath justify inequality and the fabricated dependency on foreign moral authority and culture. 9

[Son partícipes de la razón para sentilla, e no para tenella o seguilla … se rigen por sus pasiones, y vése esto claro pues no hay mañana, antes se contentan con lo que han de menester para comer y beber aquella semana … Son enemigos del trabaxo. Son amigos de beber y emborracharse y idolatrar, y borrachos cometen grandes delitos. Comunmente son viciosos de mugeres. Estánse en una borrachera bebiendo un día y una noche … Por temor obedecen muy bien a sus mayores, y ansí es menester quien les mande, rija y gobierne, para que les haga trabaxar e servir e ocuparles en algo, para que no hagan tantos excesos como de la ociosidad y borrachera nacen … finalmente, nacieron para servir] ([1567] 1967, 17–18). 10

[Los daños e inconvenientes que se siguen de las borracheras son tan notorios, que no hay para que gastar mucho tiempo en decirlos, pues se ve claro que estos borrachos vienen a cometer adulterios, e incestos … el pecado nefando, y se matan unos a otros. Fácilmente engáñales el demonio y hablan con él y hacen con él sus borracheras … También es muy dañoso a su salud. Finalmente, impídeles su conversion, que es lo principal que habemos de entender en esta tierra] [1567] 1967 (80). See also Matienzo’s chapters 8 and 23 ([1567] 1967, 25–31, 79–82). 11

Saignes (1993b, 11–21) and Grosfoguel (2003, 1–40) discuss laziness and its stereotypical value in the colonial and other contemporaneous contexts. Grosfoguel provides an account of laziness as a racist stereotype exhibiting the continuities of colonial forms of domination ascribed by the nationalist discourse of Puerto Rico. 12

On the ideas, beliefs, and habits of thinking that enabled the colonizer to conceptualize the inferior-superior and masterslave relationship that defined their interactions with Amerindians, see Gibson (1968). He compiled a set of texts that throw light on the topic of hierarchy. They are essential to understanding the ideological context in which laziness operated. One of these documents is the seminal “1493-bulls of donation” of Alexander VI, a narrative that contains the elements that enabled domination overseas. The bulls state that Ferdinand and Isabel were granted the new lands as well as other lands not yet discovered with full power and jurisdiction (Gibson 1968, 35). Their right to conquer and convert, which Ferdinand also interpreted as the right to “enslave” Indians, derived from explorers’ observations of Indian nakedness, laziness, and worshipping a non-Christian god. The absence of Catholic faith and good morals was key to facilitating the pope to grant jurisdiction over the lands of pagans (Pagden 1982, 29, 37; Gibson 1968, 37). The bulls underwrote subordination, making it natural in the exaltation of Christianity: “well pleasing to the Divine Majesty … that in our times especially the Catholic faith and the Christian religion be … everywhere increased and spread, that the health of souls be cared for and that barbarous nations be overthrown and brought to faith itself” (36). As the Christian void enabled the colonizer to see Amerindians as idolaters, the bulls ideologically pursued America as an abject land. Thus, the early classification of Amerindians as symbolically unclothed and, in need of instruction in faith, morals (37), and working habits helped Spanish jurists and the Church to rationalize hierarchy. Hierarchy emerged out of a firm belief in their right to impose goodness and well-being in the new lands. The contents of these documents are central to understanding how the Indians were attributed inferiority on the basis of cross-cultural comparisons in a context of highly asymmetrical relations of power. On the social construction of identity, see Said ([1978] 1994), Bhabha (1986b), Hall (1996a). 13

The encomienda system established by Columbus in 1499 without royal authorization drew on commendatio, an ancient Roman labor institution whereby peasants would undertake agriculture, mining, and tribute, in exchange for protection against Roman tax collectors and enemies. As the practice evolved into feudalism, the contract bound peasants to the soil, transforming them into its extensions, objects of possession. These practices merged with encomienda. It also played a role in the historical incorporation of Moslems of Granada into the Catholic empire under the contractual principles of labor and conversion. Hanke explains that through its institutionalization on December 20, 1503, Ovando, on behalf of the Spanish Crown, gave or “commended Indians to Spaniards, who became encomenderos, and this grant gave the Spaniards the right to exact labor or tribute from the Indians. In return, the encomenderos were obliged to provide religious instruction for their Indians and to protect them” (1965, 19). For a discussion of the encomienda system in New Spain and the New World, see Simpson (1960; 1929), Hanke (1965), Zavala (1973), Pagden (1982), Yeager (1995), and Poole (2004). 14

See Aristotle (1986, 201–2).

15

[es bien inclinalles y compelelles al trabaxo] ([1567] 1967, 19).

16

Drawing on Aristotle’s Politics, judge and university professor López de Palacios Rubios advanced the category of the “New World” natural slave when convoked at Burgos by King Ferdinand to consider the charges of exploitation raised by Fray Montesinos in 1511. Palacios Rubios was also known as the creator of the Requerimiento or “injunction” addressed to

the Indians. This document warned them about the consequences of rejecting the authority of the Church and the Pope as universal and that of the Spanish monarchs as their representatives by virtue of the papal donations (Pagden 1982, 51; Gibson 1968, 58–60; Todorov [1982, 1984] 1999, 146). At Valladolid, as he confronted las Casas in 1550, Sepúlveda corroborated this conceptualization of indigenous peoples as natural slaves. Sepúlveda revived the arguments of John Mair and Palacios Rubios regarding the idea that Indians had to be measured by the natural law. It became the appropriate yardstick, other than Christianity, against which to measure the cultural level of Indians. Sepúlveda judged their behavior against this fundamental and self-evident rule of nature that said that a man shall truly be a man only if he can discriminate against good and evil in their most elementary forms (Fernández-Santamaría 1975, 437). Drawing on this principle, he was able to pinpoint inferiority and imperfection as the outcomes of the Devil, and it is this transgression of the principles of nature that determined the status of the Indians. Commenting on Sepúlveda’s ideas and the relevance of the natural law to the colonial project, Fernández-Santamaría writes: “Nature itself, then, and not the Spaniards, has determined the manner of governance to which the barbarians must submit their persons and their goods” (437). 17

Hierarchy brings to attention the Manichean nature of colonial relations of power and the role colonial discourse plays in their production. In his study of racial representation in colonial contexts, JanMohamed explains how economy exerts influence on the perception of difference, an influence that manifests itself in a “Manichean” model of representation. The model operates according to a system of binary oppositions, in which the European always relates to superiority and the native to inferiority (1986, 80, 82). See also Fanon (1963). 18

[nacieron para servir … e para aprender oficios mecánicos … Son muy buenos texedores y pintores … sastres, zapateros … plateros, herradores, herreros y muy buenos labradores] ([1567] 1967, 17–18). 19

Toledo’s Disposiciones Gubernativas para el virreynato del Perú is a two-volume work [1569–1574, 1575–1580], which is also known as Ordenanzas. 20

Blaut describes colonialism as an important cause of ethnocentric thought and economic progress: the “[e]nterprise in the Americas was from the start a matter of capital accumulation: of profit … The goal of all European individuals … was to make money, for oneself or one’s country” (1993, 187–8). See also Mahoney (2010). 21

Cook, who describes the decimation of indigenous people in the area, estimates that by 1520 the population of the region stands at nine million, and adds that a hundred years later, only a one-tenth of this number prevailed (1981, 116). 22

[(U)na de las cosas más perjudiciales á esta república, son las borracheras … vicio perjudicial para la salud porque mueren muchos, y gastan cuanto cojen en beber, y les falta después comida al mejor tiempo, de lo cual resulta otro inconveniente, y es que con el vicio no comen, ni se mantienen de manjares de sustancia y están débiles, de suerte que cualquier enfermedad que les da, es dificultosa de curar, y es la ocasión asimismo de ser tan sensuales, mayormente, que está bien tomado por las examinaciones generales que he mandado hacer y he hecho en esta visita, que todas las idolatrías que hacen son borracheras y que ninguna borrachera se hace sin supersticiones y hechicerías, de manera que así por lo que toca á la conversión de estos naturales como a su salud corporal, conviene poner remedio en cosa de tanta importancia … para que no las haya] ([1569–1574] 1986, 1: 195–6). See also Toledo ([1569–1574] 1986, 1: 28, 182, 463–4; [1575–1580] 1989, 2: 169–70, 257, 357, 410–13). 23

Lejarza writes: “Por que la disminución lastimosa … de tan infinito número de indios como había en este Reino … no la causa la mita de Potosí ni Guancabelica, sino el vino y chicha y embriaguez continua” [the cause of the pitiful decline of such an infinite number of Indians is not the mita labor system enforced in Potosí or Guancabelica, but wine, corn beer, and continuous intoxication] (229). See Piga, “La lucha antialcohólica de los españoles en la época colonial.” He also describes the effects of drunkenness upon demographic changes in the indigenous population. 24

Andean peoples understand the inhumane treatment they undergo as mitayos. As such, they are forced to work beyond term, below wages set by law, and under the worst conditions in places like Potosí or the mercury mines at Huancavelica (Klarén 2000, 68). Their performance as colonial subjects is what contributes to their decimation and anxiety. 25

This preoccupation resonates in twentieth-century Bolivian history and hegemonic constructions of modernity, to which Arguedas’s Pueblo enfermo (1909) attests. He depicted lingering backwardness through images of drunkenness. What is relevant about Arguedas’s treatment of drinking and intoxication is that it enabled readers to see how the relations of power and domination that originated in the sixteenth century were still replicated during his time by neo-colonial discourse. See also Bejarano (1950); he discusses how corn beer [chicha] was constructed as a vehicle of social pathology in Bogotá during the 1910s. In the Argentinean context, see Giménez (1933). As a medical doctor, Giménez engaged in fighting the national menace of drunkenness and its moral implications. His work made use of a variety of discourses on the advent of modernity and progress, including advertising to raise social awareness against chicha and alcohol drinking. See Meléndez (2003, 2005).

26

See also Matienzo (1967, 11–5) and Brading (1991, 143).

27

[el imperio y dominio de la perfección sobre la imperfección, de la fortaleza sobre la debilidad, de la virtud excelsa sobre el vicio] ([1545] 1984, 20). See also Adorno (2007, 63). 28

[(p)articipan de la Razón para sentilla y no para tenella ó seguilla.]

29

To visualize a situation under the rubric of a social problem suggests its conceptualization as “pathological, troublesome behavior.” To Gusfield, this condition minimizes the activity as natural and normal and defines it as opposed to public interest, which endorses its eradication by public action (1996, 17). Those who declare a situation as a problem base their judgment on a societal consensus supported by cultural authority, which in the case of the colonizer is informed by Christian moral philosophy. He imposes his views as universal, generating, to some extent, consensus. As a result, the Andean colony becomes a site of public problems (18), a site that generates conditions which cry out for alleviation and Toledo’s reforms. 30

Also see Gibson (1968, 58–60).

31

[¿podrá negarse que, para les quitar estas malas costumbres que tienen, les está mexor ser suxetos a españoles y gobernados por ellos que no por los Ingas?] ([1567] 1967, 18). 32

In the Andes, chicha mediates rituals, cooperative work, and hierarchical relations that support reciprocity. Stern describes the latter as the means through which a community or ayllu—a group made up of dispersed producers linked by kinship—engages in equal exchanges of labor in the name of economic self-sufficiency and well-being (1982, 6–8). It is an economic manifestation of a principle that regulates Andean thought. Reciprocity organizes the perception of the world into dualities that complement each other in relations of mutual obligation. I discuss the principle in Chapter 3 regarding Guaman Poma’s new social order within colonial formation. See also Ramírez. For depictions of chicha drinking in the context of collective production and social/religious order, see also the Inca Garcilaso’s Comentarios reales ([1609] 2006; 312, 315, 319). 33

Drawing on Augustine and Aquinas, Las Casas explains in his Apologética that the awareness of the necessity to worship, that is, the “innate quest for the Godhead,” was a sign of the natural law, which, the Devil manipulated to trick natives into excess in order to channel this natural disposition to wrong conduct and object of worship (Brading 1991, 90, 93). Las Casas invoked the Aristotelian notion of organized religion and lawful government to demonstrate that Amerindians were as civilized as the peoples of Europe during the classical period. Yet he also implied that the natives had reached the limit of their “evolutionary potential as pagans” and that their conversion to Christianity was the next logical step (Pagden 1982, 143). He conceived of all men as natural beings with a place on a historical scale that was the same for all humankind. 34

Sarmiento’s Historia also derived its inspiration from the need to counteract Las Casas’s arguments in Los tesoros del Perú (1563). Here, he referred to Spanish rule as tyranny, called for the need to address kurakas as native lords and the restitution of the Incas, and supported Andean peoples’ right to resist unfair Spanish demands (Brading 1991, 139). I examine these claims in Chapter 3, in relation to the work of Guaman Poma and Las Casas’s Tratado de las doce dudas (1564). For the contemporary motives behind the rewriting of Inca’s history, see Stern (1982, 51–79) and Brading (1991, 128–46). 35

[que los indios son de su natural intellectivos y tienen buenos entendimientos y son gentes de buena razón, por … la sobriedad y templanza del comer y beber … que ayuda y dispone las potencias interiores que sirven al entendimiento para poder bien entender] ([1553, 1559] 1967, 182–4). 36

See Brading (1991, 128–46). He describes how the account fitted the political demands of the colonial project rather than those of historical accuracy. 37

[Hombres y mujeres … bailaban, se emborrachaban … cuánto, cómo y cuando éste (el Inca) lo ordenara, y no más] (1935, 229). 38

Spanish language was also supposed to bring an extra work component to the national economy of Latin American countries such as Bolivia. For example, Guillén Pinto (1919, 140–41), who analyzes the social problems affecting Bolivian modernity, writes: “That and nothing else needs to be done in Bolivia. First, spread Spanish, impose it by all means … and then educate each ethnic group according to their natural tendencies, taking advantage of them in common causes” [Eso y nada más que eso toca hacer en Bolivia. Primero, difundir el castellano, imponerlo por todos los medios … y luego, educar a cada raza según sus tendencias naturales, aprovechándolas en fines útiles]. 39

Blaut describes emptiness in terms of the diffusionist myth. Colonial representation follows a universal perspective that does not consider the relevance of geopolitical location. It assumes that most communities are “uninventive,” an assumption

that makes the former the permanent center of culture change and progress (1993, 14). It also implicates that non-European sectors change for the better by means of the diffusion of new products based on European ideas or the expansion of European people as bearers of new ideas and values (16). The proposition of emptiness: makes a series of claims, each layered upon the others: (i) A non-European region is empty or nearly empty of people (hence settlement by Europeans does not displace any native peoples). (ii) The region is empty of a settled population: the inhabitants are mobile, nomadic, wanderers (hence European settlement violates no political sovereignty, since wanderers make no claim to territory). (iii) The cultures of this region do not possess an understanding of private property—that is, the region is empty of property rights and claims (hence colonial occupiers can freely give land to settlers since no one owns it). The final layer, applied to all of the Outside sector, is an emptiness of intellectual creativity and spiritual values, sometimes described by Europeans … as an absence of rationality (1993, 15). 40

On diffusion, see note 39 in the present chapter.

41

[pusilánimes e tímidos … floxos e necios] ([1567] 1967, 16, 18).

42

[el tercer beneficio es que los españoles los libertaron de dos servidumbres: una, del demonio … y la segunda, de la tiranía de los Ingas que ni les dexaban tener cosa propia ni usar de su libre albedrío] (15). 43

On reducciones, see Chapter 3.

44

See Chapter 1, section on Euripides and intoxication. Bacchae unfurls this contrast throughout the Western world.

45

[naide ignora los incovenientes que se siguen a los indios de estar apartados y escondidos … así para lo tocante a su policía como a su conversión, porque ni pueden ser dotrinados ni ser hombres perpetuamente, no estando juntos en pueblos] ([1567] 1967, 48). 46

For the English translation of Acosta’s work, I draw on McIntosh. See Spanish version in Acosta’s De procuranda [por mucho que bebiesen … en sus casas, o había que disimular … o no había que tomarlo … en serio … pero las borracheras públicas … había que perseguirlas, y hacerles guerra a muerte] (Acosta [1577, 1588] 1952, 309). 47

[os informaréis de la desorden que hubiere entre los indios de las borracheras y beber de la chicha, procurando poner tabernas y dando orden como cesen las dichas borracheras … haciendo guardar la orden que lleváis sobre el beber de la chicha] ([1569–1574] 1986, 1: 28). 48

Capoche, a Spanish owner of mines and mills, dedicated the Relación general de la Villa Imperial de Potosí to Hernando de Torres y Portugal, Count of Villar, the seventh Viceroy of Peru. He presented him with a detailed description of the natural resources of the region and their potentiality. On Capoche’s views on the crisis of silver and mining production, compulsory rotating labor, and the technological changes to be implemented to counter the crisis, see Larson (1998). 49

[ordenó el señor don Francisco de Toledo que se hicieran tabernas … y que fuera de ellas no se pudiera hacer ni vender chicha (para) que no hubiese exceso] ([1585] 1959, 141). 50

[y se han introducido de pocos años a esta parte tabernas de chicha entre negras y mulatas … y otras personas que entienden en la dicha granjería, lo cual todo resulta en ofensa pública y conocida de Dios Nuestro Señor y de la buena policía de los naturales, el cual daño comprende asimismo a los negros y mulatos y a toda la demás gente que nace en la tierra, sobre lo cual proveyendo lo que conviene, ordeno y mando que ningún español, negro ni mulato, ni indio, pueda hacer chicha para vender ni tener taberna de ella en su casa, ni consientan que sus negros o indios o mulatas la hagan, so pena que si fuere español, por la primera vez, pague cincuenta pesos … y por la segunda, otro tanto, y desterrado de esta ciudad] ([1569–1574] 1986, 1: 196). 51

Deleuze and Guattari explain that the social body is a product of desire (1972, 29). By reducing everything to the symbolic value of equivalences, capitalism unleashes the flows of desire and “territorializes the socius” (33). It erases native structures (deterritorialization) and creates new social mappings and identities that accommodate the symbolic forms of organization and production to suit colonial needs (reterritorialization). See also Young (1995, 167–9). Toledo’s administration fits this description of the politics of expansionism. 52

[Unos, permitiendo anchamente las borracheras, se ganan el trabajo de los indios; otros no solo las permiten, sino que ellos mismo proporcionan la bebida; muchos tienen en sus casas fábricas de hacer chicha, y la cuecen públicamente, y dan comodidad en ellas de emborracharse; y no les da vergüenza de un lucro tan torpe e infame; y no venden la bebida común sino la fortísima … pasando por la ley que la prohibe, y alargando voluntariamente la espada al frenético. Y eso hacen nuestros españoles con frecuencia, y procuran esta ganancia con perdición de tantas almas, y eso aun los más nobles religiosos. ¿Qué esperanza puede quedar de la salvación de estos infelices, cuando les proporcionan el veneno los que habían de darles el remedio?] (Acosta [1577, 1588] 1952, 311).

53

Calvo provides the Spanish version of the quote: “debe destinar á las enunciadas tierras firmes é islas varones probos y dotados del temor de Dios, … para que instruyan en la fe católica á los predichos moradores y habitantes, y para que los imbuyan en las buenas costumbres; … Y prohibimos … que se atrevan á acercarse, con objeto de especular ó con otro motivo” (1862, 13). 54

[Yo mismo vi a dos medio borrachos salir de la taberna, y por causa de unos maravedís acometerse y con una misma espada matarse ambos] (Acosta [1577, 1588] 1952, 302). 55

[Tienen gran cuidado de hacer sus areitos o cantares ordenadamente … recontando en sus cantares … las cosas pasadas y siempre bebiendo hasta quedar muy embriagados] ([1553] 1962, 136). 56

Inca Garcilaso ([1609] 2006, 4) writes on the theme of native language as the only vehicle to access Andean people’s past; the accurate writing of history stems from it. See also Zamora (1988, 12–38). Missionaries also drew on the importance of language. They justified the translation of catechisms and confessionals into the Quechua and Aymara languages for evangelization. 57

[Cuando salían a sus fiestas y placeres en alguna plaza, juntábanse todos indios, y dos dellos, con dos atambores, hacían son, donde, tomando otro delantera, comienzan a danzar y bailar; al cual todos siguen, y llevando cada uno la vasija del vino en la mano; porque beber, bailar, cantar, todo lo hacen en un tiempo. Sus cantares son recitar a su uso los trabajos presentes y recontar los sucesos pasados de sus mayores. No tienen creencia ninguna. Hablan con el demonio] ([1553] 1962, 88). 58

[la embriaguez permite una conducta de desafío al poder, en particular permite reivindicar una de las bases de su diferencia, la lengua] (1993b, 17). 59

[Acostumbran estos a beber en público juntándose mucha gente, así hombres y mujeres, los cuales hacen grandes bailes en que usan de ritos y ceremonias antiguas, trayendo a la memoria en sus cantares la gentilidad pasada] ([1585] 1959, 141). 60

[por medio de los cantares y cuentos conservan muchas idolatrías y fantásticas grandezas de sus antepasados] ([1771– 1773] 1959, 372). 61

[Y cuando celebran sus … bailes y areitos, en los cuales no se gastaba poca cantidad de su vino, hecho de maíz … Todos andan vestidos con mantas y camisetas ricas, y traen por señal en la cabeza, para ser conocidos dellos … unos cordones a manera de cinta no muy ancha] ([1553] 1962, 214). 62

See also Ramírez (2005, 160).

63

See Mills’s chapter 2 in Idolatry and Its Enemies. He defines huacas as “manner of gods” (1997, 41).

64

See also Millones (1973, 97).

65

The combined effects of the deterioration of working alliances between Spaniards and the native elite [kurakas], the escalating labor demands for the mines on the part of the colonizer, the decimation of the native population, greed and abuse, and forced geographical relocations figure as the main causes of frustration. See Stern (1982, 40–51). 66

Duviols (1977, 132), who thoroughly documents the early religious encounter between the Spanish and Andean peoples, defines the Second Council of Lima as the first ethnographic congress of the Peruvian church. 67

MacCormack explains that the violence of the conquest manifests itself in many ways: geographical relocation, the imposition of taxation and labor, abuse, the separation from ancestral huacas, and the burden of Christianity. These were altogether superimposed on what survives of pre-conquest religion and economic and social structures (1985, 453). She argues that under these conditions spiritual upheaval and confusion, as well as relapses into the old religion, are frequent, and that consequently the teachings of Christianity in this context do not bear fruit (453, 455). She sees resistance and spiritual impoverishment as the outcome of rapid evangelization and forced conversion to which ecclesiastics adhere on the conviction that Inca and Andean religion are inspired by demons (454). 68

[que el vizio pestilencial de embriaguez, que es raíz de la infidelidad y de inumerables males, se procure por todas las vías posibles desterrar de la nación destos indios: lo primero con la autoridad de los governadores y justicias, a los quales protesta este sígnodo que no abrá firmeza en la fee de jesu(cris)to en esta tierra en tanto que los indios no fueren rrefrenados deste vicio de borracheras; lo segundo con diligencia y buena maña de los sacerdotes … principalmente persiga las borracheras públicas que se hacen con sus taquíes y ceremonias pues son indicios y señales de inphidelidad y heregía] (Vargas Ugarte 1951, 1: 254–5). On the prohibition of taquies, see Dean (1999, 59). 69

Crow (1992) provides an example of the perverse use of scripture to justify expansionism. He explains Devil worship through the lens of fidelity vs. infidelity. He describes how early in the day of the encounter between Atahualpa and Pizarro and the ambush that followed, Spaniards performed a mass and all joined in the chant that said: “This is the corrupt land where Kings have become prostituted and the people drunk with fornication; the Devil stands upon their altars and with his

evil light, hides the true God” (98). See also James 4:4–7, Isaiah 54:5, Jeremiah 3:20, Exodus 34:15–6, Deuteronomy 31:16. 70

[El Concilio ya ha adquirido conciencia de que casi todas las fiestas … tienen significación y función religiosa … las condena … por su implicación demoniaca] (Duviols 1977, 128). 71

[todas las idolatrías que hacen son borracheras] ([1569–1574] 1986, 1: 196).

72

[Mas la causa de tan ordinarias borracheras es el demonio que con sus artes y malicia persuade a estos infelices indios que se estén días y noches seguidas bebiendo, y tengan esto como su mayor felicidad y como su principal culto y religión] (Acosta [1577, 1588] 1952, 299). 73

[Así pues Polo deja constancia de que … han surgido ciertos cambios en las ofrendas. Ya es raro que se utilicen las llamas para los sacrificios, en cambio el cuy se ha transformado en el animal de sacrificio por excelencia … fácil de ocultar a los ojos de los españoles. Por las mismas razones se usa mucho la coca, la chicha, los alimentos] (1977, 117). 74

Stern also provides information on the topic (1982, 51).

75

[Entre todas las enfermedades de los indios, en cuya cura debe vigilar el gobernante cristiano, ninguna hay más extendida ni más perniciosa ni más difícil de sanar que la ebriedad … no se puede adelantar nada en la religión, ni en ninguna institución política, si no se extirpa de los indios este mal] (Acosta [1577, 1588] 1952, 297). 76

Silverblatt describes how colonial Spaniards who confront difference in the New World begin to bridge the old and the new through images of the devil (1987, 170). 77

[decretó el Concilio provincial celebrado en esta ciudad que las borracheras, como fomentadoras de la idolatría, se impidiesen con suma diligencia y se arrancasen de raíz] (Acosta [1577, 1588] 1952, 306). 78

See Trevor-Roper (1970, 131) and Silverblatt’s “Family Values” (1998, 66).

79

[Bien mala es ya de suyo la embriaguez, que excluye del reino de Dios, pero son mucho peores los males que de ella nacen, por lo cual los santos padres la llaman fuente y origen de males innumerables] (Acosta [1577, 1588] 1952, 301). 80

[La ebriedad … es el demonio] (Acosta 303, 305, 306, 310, 314, 597).

81

[Se halla este monstruo (borrachera) e infecta todo el orbe de la tierra; pero en ninguna parte tiene más poder que entre los bárbaros, a los que lleva a tal perturbación de todas las cosas, que las mayores obscenidades y los crímenes más nefandos, puestos por obra durante el furor de la embriaguez, son tenidos entre los indios en mucho honor. Cantan solemnemente, concurren sin ninguna diferencia de todas edades, sexo y parentesco; beben a porfía, cubas enteras se vacían de una vez; se arman bailes y danzas hasta que Baco los tumba por el suelo; todo es lícito contra cualquiera según las leyes de la borrachera. Se ofende el pudor de referir lo que es afrenta de la naturaleza humana; no se respeta la doncella, no se tiene cuenta con la madre, no hay diferencia de cónyuges, se enciende el apetito aun con los varones y hombres con hombres obran la maldad … Y son entre los indios estas bacanales, orgías, cibelinas o lupercales, que con todos estos nombres las llamaron los antiguos, no una vez al año, sino mensuales, o por mejor decir continuas. No hay mes que se pase sin fiesta; no se congrega una reunión; no se comienza una feria, no se casa la hija, no pare el ganado, no se cavan los campos; finalmente, no se celebran cultos religiosos sin que acompañe como buena guía la borrachera. Ella da honor a toda fiesta pública o privada, como argumento de magnificencia y religión. Mísera servidumbre la de estos infelices, que siendo ellos por su nacimiento poco diferentes de las bestias, con todo esfuerzo y diligencia procuran en hacerse peores que ellas] ([Acosta 1577, 1588] 1952, 303–4, 122, 145, 297–311). 82

See Kamen (1985, 201–2) and Villegas (1975, 281).

83

[Quinto mandamiento: Enunciado-Prohibiciones: homicidio, heridas y malos tratos de palabra u obra, atentar contra la propia vida o salud, borracheras] (Durán 1982, 306). 84

See Harrison (1994, 135–50).

85

On this topic, see also Lavrin (1989), Gruzinski (1989, 96–115), and Burkhart (1989).

86

[¿Has comido o bebido de modo que te haga daño notable a tu salud?, ¿Haste privado de tu juicio emborrachándote o sido causa que otros se emborrachen, induciéndoles o forzándoles a ellos?, and finally, ¿Has emborrachado a una mujer para pecar con ella?] (Durán 1982, 431–2). 87

[¿Por qué te emborrachas tantas veces? ¿No te basta comer y beber y holgarte, sino que te has de volver peor que una bestia sin juicio? ¿No ves las maldades que hacen los borrachos, cómo se apuñetean e hieren y matan y a veces se echan con sus madres? Tu carnero y tu caballo cuando beben, nunca beben más de lo que han menester. Y tú eres peor que un caballo, que te tornas bestia, y aún a tu misma salud haces mucho daño. Mira que Dios ha dicho que el que se emborracha irá al infierno, y por que ha bebido pasará tormentos rabiosos para siempre. Procura, pues, hijo, de quitar ese vicio; y haz como los

Padres y como los buenos cristianos que no se emborrachan, mas beben lo que han menester y dan gracias a Dios por ello] (Durán 1982, 442). 88

[Contra las borracheras. En que se enseña cómo la embriaguez de suyo es pecado mortal; y los daños que hace en el cuerpo, causan enfermedades y muertes; y en el sentido, entorpeciéndole; y en el alma, obrando grandes pecados de incestos y homicidios y sodomías; y sobre todo que es el principal medio para destruir la fe y sustentar las supersticiones e idolatrías] (Durán 1982, 350).

Chapter 3 Drinking Archives In the early seventeenth century when native intellectual Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala completed El primer nueva corónica y buen gobierno, a monumental missive to King Philip III, colonial representation underwent a change.1 Guaman Poma engaged in a dialogue with the king and produced an indigenous counter narrative aimed at social reform. His most creative representation of his culture used the charged image of drinking and inebriation to accomplish a two-fold project: the natives’ equality and cultural continuity. The ultimate objective was to negotiate the indigenous community’s participation in the way the relations of power were to be organized in the colony from the early seventeenth century on to the future. By means of writing and drawing, Guaman Poma opened a space to assess the problems inherent to the conquest and colonization of the Americas, conveying a deep reflection upon expansionism, issues of exploitation, separation, and coexistence. Of primary interest to Guaman Poma was the imperative to equate the margins of empire with the center on the grounds of virtue and reason: he produced a set of drawings and narratives that depict drinking as part of a complex social structure. More than a rebellious type of resistance, his effort was ambivalent: he complied with imperial power, but also promoted separation. Questions of ethnic and political continuity are foremost here. Guaman Poma conceptualized them in terms of the right to coexist with the Spanish as the equivalent producer of knowledge, history, and meaning.2 His writing and illustrations provided the king with information from the perspective of an indigenous writer fighting for material and symbolic restitution. The rights to representation were politically meaningful given the minority status his culture accepted in return for civilization, especially when considered within a framework of power and knowledge, as did Guaman Poma. On this underexplored side of his work, I follow Rolena Adorno’s observations (1988, 20) on the study of the Other as the site of authorship, discursive agency, and cultural interaction, as well as Susan Ramirez’s concern (2005, 13) with the effectiveness of Spanish cultural filters through which the native world was seen. My analysis of inebriation imagery sheds light on the exchanges, transformations, and problems produced by colonialism and reproduced in literature by subjects such as Guaman Poma. The native Andean writer’s initiative was equivalent to the symbolic conquest of the filters, images, and discursive strategies through which the colonizer saw and signified New World cultures and peoples. Mary Louise Pratt tells us that Guaman Poma “appropriat[es] the idioms of the conqueror” ([1992] 2008, 9). The process illustrates his desire for selfrepresentation and the need to present his political thought supporting the coexistence of different worlds under the symbolic rule of Spain. An ambivalent mentality underlies this initiative, and this is relevant to the understanding of his plan of government, grounded in the lived experience of the unequal relations of power and the experience of being a subject of difference and more than one culture. Guaman Poma fought the exclusion of his culture from

the political through the multiple positions that this hybrid condition conferred to his persona. His political plan was tied to its rhetorical implication: ambivalence. This aspect of Guaman Poma’s subjectivity is reflected in his writing and political views, which express the idea of separation and coexistence of different worlds within a universal order. Consequently, exploring the meaning of his work must begin with elucidation of the concept of hybridity from different perspectives. As Gruzinski notes, hybridity best characterizes the intercultural mixing that defines colonial space from the sixteenth century onwards (2001, 5). Latin Americanist J. Jorge Klor de Alva explains that “almost everywhere colonialism has included the presence of hybrids: collaborators, mediators, and—on all sides— multiple holders of political, social, cultural, and moral authority” (1995, 248). His insight calls attention to the manifold positions that subjects adopt in the colonial context. It specifically points to the “doubleness” and fluid identities that remain grounded in more than one culture as they assume the role of subjects and agents of coexistence and separation, as did Guaman Poma.3 Robert Young expands on this idea, saying, “[h]ybridity is an example of … a doubleness that both brings together, fuses, but also maintains separation” (1995, 22).4 Gloria Anzaldúa also explores this component in her theory of hybrid subjectivity from the borderlands. When she connects the new mestiza consciousness to a “tolerance for ambiguity” and the moving away from “set patterns … toward a more whole perspective,” she makes apparent how she falls back into division despite her attempts to escape it. Although the mestiza performs multiple positions and transgresses habitual formations, she also maintains them ([1987] 2007, 100–101).5 A commonality of these definitions is the fluidity of identities, and this is the key to explaining the notion of ambivalence as the rhetorical and political implications of hybridity. Identities are always marked by an interactive relation with the Other who coexists within their boundaries, engaging in a mutually constitutive process of identity formation. The process celebrates variation and negotiation, while rejecting boundaries and static definitions. As Glissant puts it, “every identity is extended through a relationship with the Other” (1997, 11, 141). Postcolonial, border, and cultural studies emphasize the same view of relation inherent to Guaman Poma’s rhetoric on inebriation and political paradigm.6 His persona and writing provide concrete examples for Bhabha’s claim, that “to exist is to be called into being in relation to an Otherness, its look or locus” (1986a, xv).7 Subjects position themselves simultaneously in more than one culture, proving that there are no pure cultures but hybridity.8 This thought clearly surfaces in Guaman Poma’s text, which Ralph Bauer defines as “hybrid,” for it is “neither an authentic indigenous form of expression nor merely an ‘adoption’ of European historical discourses but rather a ‘hybrid’ that originates in the colonial contexts of unequal relationships of power” (2001, 278). Bauer’s definition reinforces the concept of the adoption of colonial discourse. Guaman Poma’s work and political views straddle two cultures, reproducing the ambivalence of colonial discourse. His narrative and drawings of drunkenness reflected his hybrid attitude. He deployed separation, but also alliance with the dominant culture, in order to position himself as an advisor to the king and later secure sovereignty. To borrow Manuel G. Castellón’s description, Guaman Poma represented “ladinos as a thinking class.”9 Earning credibility and trust required that he express non-indigenous views of drinking. For Guaman Poma, simultaneously positioning

himself in more than one culture meant he could reproduce the colonial logic of ambivalence (almost the same, but not quite) in order to reform and participate in the production of colonial culture and its political order.

Ambivalence Guaman Poma began his monumental project a few years after the convocation of the Third Lima Council (1582–1583) and finished it at the onset of the seventeenth century. His main objective was to provide the king with an indigenous perspective on the history of the Viceroyalty of Peru and its moral reform from pre-Hispanic times to the Spanish administration in 1615. His writing, like Toledo’s, came into being as the product of his reputation and experience. Margarita Zamora points to the importance of reputation when she says that in the sixteenth century, historical “truth” was endorsed via the “power of tradition” or the “personal prestige of the author” (1987, 337–8). Early in his text, Guaman Poma informs his reader of ascendance and position in colonial society. He presents himself as the son of Guaman Mallqui de Ayala, a prominent figure in the Peruvian province of Yarovilca culture. His mother, Curi Ocllo, is the daughter of Tupac Inka Yupanqui. His half-brother is a priest ([1615] 1980, 1: 11–12). Guaman Poma has gained first-hand knowledge of the Spanish presence in Peru (especially in Huamanga) through travel and his work as an interpreter. His experience was paramount to the role that he figuratively undertook as a public servant of the king in the form of royal advisor. This position enabled him to place his plan for good government within the genre of de regimine principum or “instruction for princes,” which fully authorized him to intervene in the political affairs of the viceroyalty. Rolena Adorno, Mercedes López-Baralt, and Rocio Quispe-Agnoli tell us that a successful government requires a substantial effort by royal advisors to transform the monarch into an exemplary administrator.10 Guaman Poma wrote about drinking and inebriation to this end. As an interpreter, he was “literate in the Castilian language,” which enabled him to mediate domestic issues involving natives’ legal claims to land and to participate in the campaigns of the extirpation of idolatry (Adorno 1978, 123). He moved across cultures via linguistic, legal, and religious knowledge gained from his positions as advisor and interpreter (Adorno 1991, 232–70; Castellón 1992, 112). This knowledge and social positioning transformed Guaman Poma into a symbolic object of the Spanish language, such objectification being the means by which Spain annexed territories and colonized people’s minds and spirits. For Guaman Poma, ideas about relations between language and empire and the cultural processes they imply came to fruition through literacy and ladinidad, defined by Adorno as the professed acculturated status of the native (Adorno 1990, 113).11 Language becomes the tool through which hegemonic forms of knowledge (doctrinal and legal) constitute ladinos, that is, the ideas, values, and imagery that they use to interpret and write about reality constitute them as such.12 Guaman Poma assimilated, accordingly, into the colonizer’s culture. He learned how to read difference and exclusion by observing the use of inebriation imagery in colonial discourse: If the Indians did not get drunk, chew coca leaves, or practice idolatry when celebrating, their celebrations would

be those of Christians. Dances and taquies and haylles [hymns of victory] and cachiuas [singing and dancing in group], harauis [love song] would be good, if they were Christians. But as I have witnessed, I confess that when these men drink they practice idolatry, fornicate with their sisters and mothers, married women. And as for women, when they get drunk, they act irrationally and look for men, regardless of whether they are their fathers and brothers.13

At first glance, Guaman Poma appears to be complying with imperial reason as would any other sixteenth-century Spanish official or religious authority reporting on the native culture’s drinking rituals. The description seems to concur with the characterizations the colonizer has assigned to indigenous people through the exclusionary value of inebriation imagery (“If the Indians did not get drunk … their celebrations would be those of Christians”).14 When he asserts that Indians are similar to the colonizer but not the same, he endorses Spanish remedial action, which positions him as a moral, docile, Christian subject and supporter of the king and his administrators. Guaman Poma constructs himself from the difference that Indians represent through a repertoire of images that facilitate subordination. This emphasis discloses loyalty, promotes credibility, and reveals his experience in the cause of the extirpation of idolatry (Adorno 1991, 237). The chronicler’s prestige and his personal observation of the event establish and assure the king of his credibility.15 But why is ambivalence central to authority and advising? The subtext of the above quote reveals the forms of knowledge that constitute colonialism, and the way they circulate and dominate new social spaces. Through his contact with the colonizer, Guaman Poma learned how to filter Andean experience through the lens of the dominant group, pointing to a hierarchical dualism that bound Amerindians to drunkenness. In Spanish culture, moderation was a sign of progress intertwined with reason and salvation, learned through the exercise of self-control. Guaman Poma’s image of inebriation exemplified this process of signification. As colonial Spaniards strategically relocated the duality of moral discourse across the Atlantic, Christian moral philosophy became the ideological link between Guaman Poma and the king. Anibal Quijano brings to light the connection between the production of knowledge based on difference and the conquest of America. The historical juncture suits its ethnocentric logic and the economic and political enterprise it fuels (1992, 437–47).16 Guaman Poma’s discourse illustrates Quijano’s point: the conjunction of knowledge and power in the service of indigenous subordination. Inebriation represented the image that justified colonization and excess, the image that colonized Guaman Poma’s own perception. Presenting the Indians as almost the same, but not quite enabled him to perform as a good informant and advisor to the king. In this symbolic way, Guaman Poma’s discourse kept opening up the territory for colonization: he seemed to reiterate the idea that the New World was void of moral values. The rhetoric of inebriation invited the colonizer to continue implementing their views and lifestyle in the region. Guaman Poma’s treatment of the imagery resembled the symbolic use given it by administrative and religious officials, that is, to justify expansionist interests. Literacy was key to the process.17 Guaman Poma was an avid reader and consumer of colonial narratives. The above passage on Indians’ rituals and inebriation shows his familiarity with diverse documents: Canon 108 of the Second Lima Council and its description of idolatry as

unfaithfulness (Vargas Ugarte 1951, 1: 254–5); Toledo’s ordinances and prohibitions against drunkenness ([1569–1574] 1986, 1: 195–6); and the Council of Trent’s decrees on sex that Acosta reproduces through the images of Bacchus and the Bacchanalia ([1577, 1588] 1952, 303–4).18 Guaman Poma portrays this pagan substratum linking drunkenness to lust, incest, and chaos. He seems to be following Acosta’s exclusionary rhetoric. Most of the passage echoes the invention of the people of Tawantinsuyu as non-Catholic Spaniards. They did not practice moderation, the virtue that defined sixteenth-century identity as civilized. By attributing this virtue to his representation of reality and of himself (as a virtuous advisor), Guaman Poma favored a production of knowledge that inserted Spain into South America. In a period when the “historical grounding of knowledge” went hand in hand with the “body politics of knowledge,”—or the Spanish “collective biographical grounding of understanding” (Mignolo 2005, 10)—Guaman Poma represented his culture through the collective’s most effective exclusionary tool: ambivalence. Three points derive from his rhetoric. First, the chronicler depicted a unidirectional trajectory of knowledge and power. Second, he showed how the understanding of the new lands could not be divorced from Europe and its tools of signification: “America was no more than a potentiality, which could be realized only receiving and fulfilling the values and ideas of European culture” (O’Gorman 1961, 139). Third, his choice of the Spanish written word, Christian moral thought, and inebriation imagery in his report to the king revealed his awareness of inequality and the way these same choices determine a minority status. Guaman Poma utilized the rhetoric of ambivalence to position himself as a sound advisor. Whether his representation of native culture perpetuated imperial power, he sought to show his virtue and reason to the monarch. The true meaning of his effort lay in his appropriation of the colonizer’s exclusionary images and practices of representation. Bhabha comments on this type of rhetorical power: “The question of the representation of difference is … a problem of authority” ([1994] 2004, 128). By appropriating the channels and codes proper to colonial discourse, Guaman Poma sought to exert influence on the consciousness of his addressee regarding the future of the colony. Scholars have focused on the level of agency involved in the process. Adorno highlights Guaman Poma’s imitation of the available literary models in order to contribute to the public good, as he reevaluated more than 80 years of administration and one-sided accounts of the culture ([1986] 2000, 13–14, 7).19 His selection of inebriation imagery as the symbolic unit around which cluster many sixteenth-century notions of unnatural behavior presented a message that the king could understand. Guaman Poma exploited the common basis imposed on the Andean colony by the decrees of the Council of Trent and three Lima Councils (1551–1552, 1567, 1582–1583).20 Castro-Klarén frames his action in terms of “I conquer therefore I am” (1999, 155).

A Rhetorical Twist Adorno, Mercedes López-Baralt, and Rocío Quispe-Agnoli focus exclusively on identifying the influences of Western tradition on Guaman Poma’s writing and iconography. Mary Louise Pratt, however, furthers the notion that the chronicler engaged in a transcultural

dialogue with metropolitan representations ([1992] 2008, 9). Guaman Poma produced an “autoethnographic” document that shows “how subordinated groups select and invent from materials transmitted to them by a dominant or metropolitan culture” in order to advance their own interests (Pratt [1992] 2008, 7). The action involves “partial collaboration with and appropriation of the idioms of the conqueror” (9). Pratt focuses on the process of selection, and like Adorno, she sees agency in terms of its economy: “[w]hile subjugated communities cannot readily control what emanates from the dominant culture, they do determine to varying extents what they absorb into their own, and what they use it for” (7). Her definition highlights the creative conditions underlying the transcultural effort.21 Guaman Poma lived in the contact zone, a site that is indicative of “ongoing critical and inventive interaction with the dominant culture,” and “across which significations move in many directions” (Pratt 1993, 89). He fed into the colonizer’s ways of thinking and seeing through contact and the multiple positions (interpreter, extirpator of idolatry, legal helper, royal advisor, and native lord) he occupied in colonial culture in order to favor subaltern knowledge and tradition. As Pratt suggests, contact emphasizes the interactive, that is, “how subjects get constituted in and by their relations to each other” ([1992] 2008, 8). It can be argued that he thus becomes an example of subalternity, in the sense that Fernando Coronil gives to the term: “[d]ominance and subalternity are not inherent, but relational characterizations” (1994, 649). The creative depiction of the inebriated Indian in the following quote illustrates the way Guaman Poma interrogates situations of subordination and exclusion: Even the most Christian and literate Indian who knows how to read and write, who wears Spanish attire, who carries a rosary, and looks almost like a saint, speaks to the Devil when he is drunk and engages in mocha, worship of local deities and the sun, pacaricos [ritual celebration], oncoycunamanta uanocmantapas pacaricoc [vigil over sickness death], uarachicoc [breechcloth ceremony], cusmallicoc [shirt ceremony], uacachicoc [grieving rituals] and other kinds of witchcraft.22

Subalternity is contrasted with dominance in this passage. As Guaman Poma points out the elements that reduce his culture to barbarian and demonic status, native tradition comes into focus when bodies get drunk. He projects native cosmology onto the context of colonial discourse, the site from which the colonizer produces culture as the work of one producer and one ideology. By juxtaposing different traditions of moderation, ritual, and linguistic systems in a passage about the violence of colonization, Guaman Poma revealed his political intentions. The description provided the king with a concrete example of the way colonialism excludes non-Western traditions from its scope of influence. It also informed him of the way hybrid writers like Guaman, who were constituted by the knowledge of things both indigenous and Spanish, transcended this limitation. In fact, it showed how hybrid identities are never finished products but continuous formations that transcend polarities by manipulating them. The passage encapsulates Guaman Poma’s creative energy. It symbolically reproduces in textual form the unequal relations of power within the contact zone, showing how different discourses struggle to control the Indian. By defining colonial space in terms of two traditions in conflict, equating literacy, conversion, and Spanish culture with coercion, he asked Philip III to assess the policies of colonization. The inebriated Indian’s talk calls

attention to Spanish oppression. His catalog of Quechua words informs the monarch that another culture and tradition is trying to coexist within colonial culture. Martin Lienhard recognizes Guaman Poma’s use of Quechua as a means of incorporating tradition into contemporary cultural forms in order to subvert dominant modes of communication and understanding: “to infuse the written text with a series of words typical of a language or oral dialect ”23 Guaman Poma’s images of drinking and inebriation function in such a fashion; they subvert by standing for Spanish oppression and exclusion. In that this passage offered a critical assessment of the unequal relations of power of colonialism, it confronted the king with the shortcomings of colonization. The quote seems to make reference to the time of the extirpation of idolatries and the Taki Onkoy movement by mentioning the Indian’s split loyalties to Christianity and the Andean religion (Guaman Poma [1615] 1980, 2: 808). As a writer from the contact zone, Guaman Poma explained that since contact is about cultures mixing, a pure culture or subject is impossible. His comment reveals that the Spanish authority overlooked the fact that the projects of conversion and Taki Onkoy relied on excluding, rather than embracing, different traditions. While contact is about mixing, it is also about the coexistence of different cultures. The inebriated Indian and Guaman Poma himself moved across cultures, embodying them in their daily interactions with others. The violence of colonization, however, makes the process of bicultural existence difficult, if not impossible. Colonization excludes what is non-Spanish, promoting asymmetrical relations of power rather than acceptance of different views and the coexistence of different traditions. Inebriation imagery illustrates the conflicting identities in the contact zone. Guaman Poma joins Spanish historians and chroniclers in their textual appropriation of the Andean lands and people. Writing is an important tool in negotiating the reconfiguration of colonial relations of power; the writer engages in a struggle over the future of his culture organized around and understood in terms of cultural coexistence. Whereas Guaman Poma seemed to comply with colonial discourse, he did so to question exclusion. By depicting Andean identity as deviant, he interrogated the silencing of the Other. He explained in detail how Andean life centered on organized religious rituals, as if this point of comparison with Spanish culture would prevent Andean culture from being absorbed into sameness. Although he professed allegiance to Catholic views and practices, he also showed “sympathy for traditional religion” and Indian life and society (Adorno 1991, 242).24 His active participation in eradicating traditional rituals reflected his desire to provide the monarch with an alternative account of Andean existence, exposing a type of resistance that was essential to his objective. Such an approach situated Guaman Poma at the center of the debates of his time, when the ethical treatment of the Indians began to come into focus. An example of emerging ethical consciousness is the case of the native lords (kurakas) who met at San Pedro de Mama in 1562 to negotiate a price for property rights and restitution to counter the dangers of the perpetuity of the encomienda system (Murra 1980, xviii–xix).25 Their plea to the king through the help of the future bishop of Charcas, Domingo de Santo Tomás Navarrete, and of Las Casas set a precedent for Guaman Poma. They established a “locus of enunciation”

(Mignolo 2003, 21) from which to recover symbolic jurisdiction, and thus project cultural continuity onto the future. Las Casas’s defense of indigenous rights to jurisdiction in Tratado de las doce dudas [Treatise of the Twelve Doubts] (1564) provides another example. Because Guaman Poma had the ability to see and think from both cultural perspectives, he could negotiate Andean peoples’ participation in the reconfiguration of the relations of power that organized their lives. Refracting the political through this ethical prism proved that cultural differences do not justify exclusion. Guaman Poma wondered to what extent a society could continue to exist without a negotiated and rearticulated culture. His description of the inebriated Indian speaking in Quechua questioned the conditions through which those inhabiting the contact zone could belong to a common collective without becoming defined by it.26 He observed the violence in the process that compels Indians to reject the dialectic of totality involved in situations where power is dissimilar. It is a form of violence that, as Glissant explains, “challenges the generalizing universal and necessitates even more stringent demands for specificity … To cut down on the danger of being bogged down, diluted, or ‘arrested’ in undifferentiated conglomerations” (1997, 142). Glissant’s comment on contact addresses the unequal exchanges that framed Guaman Poma’s reality, as well as the strategies of accommodation and resistance through which he tried to transform the dominant group. The Andean element was present and therefore had to be taken into account when shaping the culture and politics of the colony.27 Guaman Poma’s statement identified colonial space as the site where languages and traditions coexisted: “Dances [danzas] and taquies and haylles [hymns of victory and singing]” and cachiuas [singing and dancing in group], and harauis [love songs].” The colonized and the colonizer’s languages and cultural traditions are present in the utterance. In effect, the list worked as an inventory or archive carrying Andean culture into the future by way of its interaction with a different system (Anzaldúa [1987] 2007, 104). Although the list shared similarities with Spanish traditions (celebration, victory, religious beliefs, linguistic codes, love), Guaman Poma constructed a distinct geographical location of subjects of knowledge and experience by virtue of resemblance. This shift in perspective depicted the totality of the colonial scene as hybrid and composite, anchored in other than Spanish tradition. It represented the colony as multicultural, as “an assemblage” (88). Guaman Poma’s redefinition of idolatry was inherent to the dynamic of exclusion and resistance in that it dealt with universal states of human life: birth, sickness, death, and grief. His catalog of human traits pointed to a shared humanity with the colonizer, an effective strategy because it allowed him to reiterate questions of tolerance for alternative narratives of these human experiences. Practices of exclusion and discrimination produced a faulty concept of colonial space and Andean culture, which Guaman Poma aimed to correct by using inebriation imagery as a sign of cultural complexity. He emphasized the importance of this imagery by adding drawings, visual depictions of drinking, to the ritual and work calendar devised by the Incas ([1615] 1980, 1: 220–21, 224–5, 3: 1050); to the section of their regulations and punishments (1: 286, 2: 810); to the part that shows Inca governors (1: 80) and captains (1: 126); and to the passages describing funerary rituals (1: 265, 268).

Drinking Archive Writing at the beginning of the seventeenth century, Guaman Poma showed a deep concern with one of the consequences of colonization: representation. He changed the historical images assigned by official documents and institutions to Andean people and culture. Guaman Poma presented the king with an archive of images of drinking organized around the notion of reason: the practice was instrumental for the purposes of collective definition, political and economic organization, and the sacred. This new symbolism became central to his reevaluation of Andean culture’s relationship with colonial authority and political order. To participate in the reconfiguration of colonial relations of power involved changing the monarch’s perception and classification of Andean culture. Las Casas’s thoughts on natural rights were instrumental in the articulation of Guaman Poma’s argument.28 In principles I, II, III, and IV of the Tratado de las doce dudas, Las Casas reiterated his advocacy for native sovereignty. Taken as a whole, these tenets advanced the mandates of natural and divine law in support of native sovereignty ([1564] 1958, 486–7), autonomy (491), and the rights of Spaniards to spread the gospel (491) while refraining from transgressing Andean rights to jurisdiction and private property (487–92).29 In the Tratado, Las Casas also expressed the ideas that are central to all his work and especially Apologética historia sumaria. Here, he described Indians as Spaniards’ rational, political equals, and yet, almost Christian but not quite, and explained why Amerindian culture differed at times from Spanish tradition. As Adorno notes, the physical presence of the Dominican order in Huamanga facilitated the circulation of Las Casas’s ideas in the region ([1986] 2000, 24), and those ideas permeated Guaman Poma’s writing and pleas for justice and voice. The Andean chronicler agreed with the Dominican order on the question of native natural rights and restitution. These objectives surfaced throughout his text but specifically in his restatement of the principles set forth in the “conzederación,” or consideration, section of Las Casas’s treatise ([1615] 1980, 2: 857–8).30 Guaman Poma’s familiarity with Las Casas’s principle I (indigenous jurisdiction, [1564] 1958, 486–7) and II (Andean people have not usurped Spanish lands nor caused any harm to Spaniards, therefore the colonizers should respect Indians’ authority, 489), which Adorno corroborates ([1986] 2000, 24–7), was integral to his objective. However, principles III and IV were also instrumental in his plan ([1564] 1958, 491–2), supporting his case for turning the Andean region into a parallel epicenter of virtue and meaning. Guaman Poma saw his native world as another site generating reason and knowledge as valid as that of Spain. In presenting this idea to the king, the chronicler made an imperative claim to political authority. Las Casas’s claim for the respect of native jurisdiction brought with it the need for colonial Spaniards to address another form of thought, that is, the practices, knowledge, and beliefs with which a group of people pursue public good and life together. His petition required the conqueror to acknowledge different life experiences that made Amerindians unique and sovereign. These assumptions underlay all four principles of the Tratado in question, in particular principles III and IV. In principles I and II, for instance, Las Casas phrased his thoughts via the term señorío, or lordship ([1564] 1958, 486), signifying that indigenous

peoples show signs of reason in their exercise of power over their territories; the Diccionario de autoridades [Royal Spanish Academy Dictionary] confirms his usage of the term.31 When discussing the second principle and echoing Aristotle in the process, Las Casas emphasized the role political organization and regulations played in the classification of Amerindians as rational and sovereign: “These peoples have their kingdoms, their estates, their kings, and their courts, high and low, their judges and magistrates, in which they can legitimately use their power.”32 In principle III, Las Casas highlighted native peoples’ freedom ([1564] 1958, 491). He insisted on respecting their material possessions and local institutions, clarifying that the Spaniards’ only form of superiority over Amerindians was that they were Christians (491). His position derived from the basic premise: “legitimate secular power exists outside the church.” Las Casas constructed all his arguments in the defense of Amerindians based on this principle (Pennington 1970, 151). In principle number IV, he encouraged proselytizing. Las Casas distinguished it, though, from Spain’s sovereignty over Andean territories. In this way, he furthered tolerance and respect for the Other’s individual integrity (honor) and beliefs: “the unique and final cause of the concession is the preaching of the faith and conversion of these people, this is not sufficient cause to deprive the infidels of their possessions, kingdoms, estates, honors, deities, and domains, preaching the faith can take place without depriving them from their property.”33 Moreover, the Indians belonged in the fourth category of infidels: they did not offend and had not offended Christians by taking their lands nor had they been Christian subjects in the past. Their natural rights were protected by this principle and consequently, so were their rights to property and sovereignty (489). It follows that Las Casas defended Amerindian legal rights on the basis of their natural rights. Las Casas’s writings combine philosophical and Christian thought. In his preface to the Apologética historia, he expresses his objective via Aristotelian concepts of the good life and the state ([1553, 1559] 1967, 4). He develops them extensively throughout the text, but especially in volumes 1 and 2, in chapters 40 to 263. Las Casas makes reference to the Politics and the six factors Aristotle names as elements of the natural social order: food, arts, arms, money, worship, and decision-makers concerned with public interest (Aristotle 1986, 202).34 As discussed in my Chapter 2, these characteristics conferred civilization on the groups that organized their community life around them. They provided the Dominican priest with the necessary grounding to place Amerindian culture on the same level as Spain’s; Amerindians were rationally equal but different and lacked only Christianity. He partly followed Cicero in this ontological ranking: “all nations of the world are men, and for all men and every one of them there is one definition, they are rational.”35 However, in his persistent effort to equate indigenous peoples with the Spaniards, Las Casas presented Indians’ potential for worship as a natural trait that Spaniards needed to formally recast as Christian ([1553, 1559] 1967, 1: 258), saying that: “by the light of the spirit, one recognizes that there is a God, and because of appetite, we look for, want to find, and serve God.”36 Las Casas identified rationality and the seeds of Christianity in the mores of Amerindians. As a result, he defined humanity as based on the “essential sameness of all human minds” (Pagden 1982, 146). He applied this notion of sameness to his understanding of native people’s drinking experience.

The Dominican priest considered Indians’ relationship with inebriating beverages to be exemplary: they outdid the ancients in the context of drinking. He positioned the Indians as virtuous subjects despite their non-Christian status ([1553, 1559] 1967, 2: 286–8). Guaman Poma insisted on this characterization early in his description of the first generations of Indians who behaved almost like Christians ([1615] 1980, 1: 41–3, 46). Las Casas informed his readers that indigenous drinking and inebriation occurred within a prescriptive environment ([1553, 1559] 1967, 2: 540). Although it is unlikely that Guaman Poma read Las Casas’s Apologética historia, his descriptions of the practice reflected the same ideas about Indians’ natural reason and rights to sovereignty and property that Las Casas advanced. It was precisely the Dominican’s message about divine law and natural reason and the legal rights they entail—freedom, respect, rationality, and sovereignty—that Guaman Poma illustrated in his archive of images of drinking and inebriation within Inca empire and Andean culture. The record of drinking practices described below demonstrates that Guaman Poma reevaluated the symbolism of inebriation imagery in his discourse following Las Casas’s thought. Our Andean chronicler produced full-page drawings of the Incan imperial events in which drinking occurred. He placed the public celebrations and the agricultural year in the initial and last sections of his manuscript. The purpose was to present their symbolic value in the life of the indigenous community, connecting drinking with the cycles of monthly customary tasks (Randall 1993, 74). The Inca arranged the activity within a ritual and work calendar, bringing order, unity, productivity, and wellbeing to society. Craig Morris and Adriana Von Hagen explain that “economics, politics and religion were wrapped in an elaborate package of work, ritual and festival” (1993, 170).37 Guaman Poma introduced April as the month of the Incan feast, where drinking, eating, and dancing brought all classes together in the main square in the spirit of celebration ([1615] 1980, 1: 216–17). He also described the events of the month of May in order to relate stories of administration and subsistence. In these stories, Indians took food supplies (potatoes) to the warehouses. Drinking and singing were main components of the activity (1: 218–19).38 The consumption of corn beer was shown to be critical to the organization of labor because drinking and work occurred together, in a cooperative environment that ensured wealth and production. The point of relating these stories was to counter the discourse of barbarian behavior mouthed by Toledo and his advisers, who presented the Andean people and the Incas as lazy and given to excess. In contrast, Guaman Poma depicted indigenous peoples and their leaders organized around reciprocal obligations. Besides defining the role of drinking in social organization and production, he wanted to show Philip III that drinking played a part in maintaining hierarchical and reciprocal relations across culture, nature, and the supernatural (Randall 1993, 75). Guaman Poma cited these same organizing categories as the rationale behind the feasts of June and August. June celebrations included the feast of the Sun, or Ynti Raymi, in which the Inca drank to the god’s honor ([1615] 1980, 1: 220–21). August brought the planting ceremony, highlighting the complementarity of the sexes (3: 1050). Four men worked in unison with their women in tilling the earth and planting the seed in a festive atmosphere. Dress and corn beer conveyed the idea of celebration (Stern 1982, 19). In both illustrations, drinking disposed the Incas

toward worship, labor, order, and union. The Inca invited the Sun to drink; an offer that the divinity reciprocated. This exchange demonstrated that participation in the activity of drinking required that a formal request take place within relations of class. Social position determined the order in which people drank. The Inca initiated the ritual with the Sun to later extend the offer to commoners; their exchange of toasts secured their alliance and social continuity (Salazar-Soler 1993, 25).39 This model of socialization and drinking constituted another example of native peoples’ advanced level of civilization, showing drinking as an integral part of the rituals of production, identification, and social order. A description of the feasts of the month of August served a similar purpose. Abundant harvests and production depended on lifesustaining connections supported by the consumption of corn beer and the cooperation between man and woman. The couple engaged in the irrigation and sowing of fields twice a year. This task was important in itself. In addition, it was emblematic of fertility and the coming together of the masculine and the feminine, two forces that remained separate most of the year. According to Carolyn Dean, the meeting of men and women at the feast of tilling was “a metaphor for sexual intercourse and its creative potential” (2001, 160). In this context, corn beer was symbolic of semen (Randall 1993, 80). The story of the harvest feast illustrated once again that in a society in which ceremony and economic activities ordered community life, drinking was essential to the rituals that extended and strengthened relations with natural and spiritual forces to secure the group’s vitality (Stern 1982, 15). The use of drawings to show the controlled and organized environment in which drinking took place is evidence that Guaman Poma understood the Western value of images as signs of truth and persuasion.40 Despite the fact he disapproved of Incas and classified them as idolaters and tyrants early in his narrative ([1615] 1980, 1: 63), Guaman Poma used this understanding of images to powerfully invest their administration and institutions with order and reason.41 The following quote further exemplifies the presence of a strong code of morality in Inca traditions. Guaman Poma showed Philip a series of punishments applied to drunkenness as evidence. His comparison of inebriation before and after contact is insightful: Although Indians would drink and celebrate, there was no drunkenness during the Inca administration; what is more, it was forbidden for women to get drunk and punishment would follow such trespassing of the laws. Drunkards would be called haplla [violent], uachoc [fornicator], suua [thief], yscaysunco [traitor]. Since there was a strong sense of justice back then, drunkards would be drowned like animals under Inca laws. As a result, there are no Indians in the lowlands, their numbers are decreasing and they kill one another when they get drunk by stabbing themselves. They drink wine and most of all corn beer, vinegar, and distilled liquor. In this way, they die without confession like horses and beasts and they forget their wills.42

Guaman Poma used derogatory terms to describe inebriates: violent, fornicator, thief, traitor, adulterer, and liar. This revealed the moral complexity of the rulers and their laws. The Inca penalized drinking in contexts other than those appropriate to the culture—moments of ritual and celebration (1: 286). By means of this catalog of aberrations, Guaman Poma depicted his culture as morally organized; rulers were fully able to run the empire by means of efficient laws. These regulations were as effective as those regulating the consumption of alcohol.

The chronicler also described how acting virtuously was a fundamental component of the moral self-conception of Andean peoples in general. He extolled the fourth-age generation of Indians to point out their orderly ways regarding drinking: Each ethnic group would have their own dances and song-dances and hayllis [agricultural songs of triumph] and songs harauis [of love], and joy cachiua [song and dance in chorus] without idolatry, without mocha [reverence] the uacas or ceremonies. They would eat and drink and enjoy without being the objects of temptation, they would not either kill anyone or get drunk as people do now in times of Spanish Christians. They are all drunks and murderers and … there is no justice.43

He used both examples to support the message of his drawings. They reinforced his engagement with Las Casas’s beliefs in the Amerindians’ potentia for reason; Francisco de Vitoria, who antecedes Las Casas in defending Amerindian psychological capability, also shared this thought (Pagden 1982, 94). The catalog of moral deviations along with the above quoted passage on the mentality of the first generations of Indians denoted the underpinnings of the natural law in the development of native society. Guaman Poma stressed this idea by contrasting pre-Hispanic times with Spanish Christian times [“el tiempo de español cristiano”], and the introduction of wine and aguardiente, or distilled liquor, into the Andean culture. Foreign drinks and non-Andean ways of drinking introduced disorder in the region (Randall 1993, 74). Guaman Poma explained how some members of the clergy shared alcohol with tributary Indians and called them don [a title before their names] in order to have sexual relations with their daughters or sisters ([1615] 1980, 2: 570–72). His commonplace depiction of the world upside down illustrated chaos.44 To the chronicler, the economy became the primary factor in transforming the Indians’ relationship to drinking. On this point, John Lynch concurs, affirming, wine is “second in importance to silver … as a motor of the Peruvian economy” (1981, 235).45 Guaman Poma’s comment on the boom of viticulture and his use of the topos of the world upside down were overt critiques of colonialism, in contrast to pre-Hispanic culture. He reiterated the moral aspects of native reason, as indigenous culture asserted order through drinking practices. The sanctity of behavior and reason were integral to Andean thought. Simultaneously, his passages exposed the dark side of colonization. The colonizer had brought disorder to the region, subverting native hierarchy and letting Indians die without confession. His citations of the confession documents of the Third Lima Council were intended as a harsh criticism of the system. He recounted in detail how the colonizer let the Indians drink and behave like beasts (horses) in contrast to the images of identification and salvation that the priests propose in doctrinal documents and practices.46 A significant aspect of the punishment of inebriation in Andean and Inca culture was its public character. Lejarza encapsulates the idea in his definition of drunkards as “public poisoners” [“públicos envenenadores”] (1941, 130). It follows that the condemnation of drunkards lies in their violation of social mores, not at the individual level of Christian sinner, but at the public level, affecting social order. Castro-Klarén observes that the Incas punished all transgressions against the community (1995, 128). For Guaman Poma, inebriation was a public crime in that it threatened social order. Thus considered, its punishment can be framed through Foucault’s definition of spectacle. Through this

“theatrical representation,” torture makes the punishment equal or superior to the cruelty and pain of the crime (1995, 9, 14). Guaman Poma’s description of the sentence applied to criminal drunkenness revealed its theatrical nature: Punishment of drunkards: They were called haplla machasca [violent drunkard], suua, uachoc, pallco [liar], yscay sonco. These expressions of sins applied to the drunkard; therefore, he was given the death penalty … All the Indians present were ordered to jump up and down on the drunkard’s belly so that he would vomit the bile and chicha. In sentencing the drunkard, the Inca would say: “astaya—ayzarcoy—sarocuychic tahuantinsuyo— hapllacta llullata yscay sonco machascata” [Unfortunate, drag him away. Stomp on that man from Tahuantinsuyo —two-faced drunkard]. Thus he dies.47

In the passage, punishment is carried out as a public event in order to discourage drunkenness in the community. Indians are called in to perform Inca justice by stepping on the drunken body. This group cruelty functioned as a reminder of authority in the community. The punishment allowed the group to define themselves as subjects in the public rejection of drinking. To emphasize the didactic character of public punishment, Guaman Poma provided the monarch with a list of alternative penalties for the crime of inebriation. The list included body piercing [una orexa le sea horadado], cutting of hair [tresquilado la mitad de la cabeza], dress prohibition [“que en su vida no se ponga sonbrero de cristiano”], and epithets [“Juan Borracho,” “Pedro Borracho,” “Catalina o Lucía Borracha”] ([1615] 1980, 2: 810). These categories stressed the gravity of the offense in a society in which the theatrical representation of punishment was as important as the deployment of labor within a festive atmosphere of drinking. It became a public event at which people recognized themselves as subjects of empire. These forms of punishment secured Inca control in the same manner as did public celebrations. Dan Ben-Amos and Lilianne Weissberg explain that celebrations “reassure the center of the periphery’s submission to hegemonic definitions” (1999, 92). In like manner, the Indians secured the state’s control over subjects by actively exercising justice or by having justice exercised on them. Although such fairness might seem extreme to us, Guaman Poma’s objective was to show drinking as integral to social order via celebration, production, and punishment. The inventory of these activities enabled him to convey the notion of a civilized community. This ambition developed out of his defense for the natural equality of men. His images of identification through drink must be understood from this perspective. They suggest that drinking played a significant role in pre-Hispanic culture’s pursuit of the common good, as opposed to its negative characterization in the official writings of Matienzo, Toledo, and Sarmiento, who favored Sepúlveda’s views on natural slavery. In retrospect, we might argue that his text seems to have performed the same function as the Apologética historia. It countered Sepúlveda’s thoughts about the natural incapacity of the indigenous people. His archive of images of drinking must be understood in the context of persuasion and political action. Our chronicler presented Andean values, people, and the Incas as synonymous with goodness and sought to convince his royal addressee that the Indians were hardworking people and efficient administrators whose rationality revealed itself in the organization of their society. Their rules shared the advanced imperatives of political association, production, and the disposition to reverence. The latter is common to all humans, according to the Apologética historia ([1553, 1559] 1967, 1: 213). Guaman Poma demonstrated that his

people’s application of reason to matters of subsistence and political life established them as repositories of universal values. Put differently, he appropriated Aristotelian tradition via Las Casas to demand equality. This political strategy is central to the formation of new manifestations of culture.

Tolerance and Complementarity Guaman Poma filtered his vision of the political future of the Andean colony through Las Casas’s ideas. He subscribed to the Indians’ rights to negotiation and the coexistence of groups. Guaman Poma thus took up writing and royal advisement as a social activist; the written word became an agent of struggle and defense (Chang-Rodríguez 1983, 23–4). Guaman Poma did not pursue political supremacy but rather the right to coexist culturally and politically. As did Las Casas, Guaman Poma adhered to the sixteenth-century reaffirmation of Thomistic Christian thought on social order. Thomism had its revival at the School of Salamanca in the 1520s with Vitoria, who focused on placing political philosophy in an objective perspective, limiting subjective views and rights by taking Aquinas’s concept of natural law as point of departure. Vitoria claimed that there is “an equal capacity in all men, whether or not they are Christian, to establish their own political societies” (Skinner 1978, 169).48 José Antonio Maravall notes that the reaffirmation of this idea presupposes that natural rights must prevail over cultural, religious, and political differences. Las Casas demonstrated in the Apologética historia and Tratado that his claims for tolerance, the acceptance of societies and their political diversity, and sovereignty drew on this distinction: “the affirmation of the autonomy of the natural world and the result of the plurality that can be found in it is legitimate and must be respected.”49 Guaman Poma’s drawings and writings on drinking affirmed these ideas. They were supposed to induce Philip III to read them as models of diversity, autonomy, and reason. Guaman Poma incorporated neo-Thomist concepts into his work to establish ontological similarity between the indigenous culture and that of the colonizer in order to claim natural rights. Thus rendered, Guaman Poma’s plan was an outcome of what Mignolo describes as “border thinking”: his text rescued native knowledge to strategically use it to subvert colonial order (2000, 45). It carried the message that reason also existed in the Andean region, that the Andean people’s alcohol use equated them socially, economically, and politically with the same rationality the Spanish exercised in the pursuit of well-being. Peruvian well-being depended upon a composite structure. Guaman Poma saw power as a combined enterprise of indigenous and royal administration. He suggested this in another passage about drinking in the chapter on “conzederación,” wherein he nominated his son as prince of the Indies ([1615] 1980, 3: 889). Two elements stand out in his strategy to seek shared governance of the region. First, he symbolically used drinking as a sign of competence to recommend his son as prince of the Indies to the king. In this way, he relocated proper drinking behavior in the native culture so as to use it in a legal context. Second, he used lineage to establish authority and credibility, relating his son to Inca Yupanqui, the tenth of the 12 rulers of the Inca dynasty. According to Guaman Poma, the

ruler was his son’s grandfather and knew how to drink properly: “[t]he majesty of the Inca was always happy. He ate, drank, toasted, and provided drinks to the low ranking people, but showed respect for previous kings. This amounted to the reputation of his city, his kingdom, and his own person.”50 In this quote, Guaman Poma connected Yupanqui’s alcohol consumption to “the continual renovation of the ties of reciprocity” (Rostworowski de Díez Canseco 1999, 46) between the Inca and the natural and the supernatural worlds.51 The passage emphasized the practical, ritualistic, and hierarchical context in which drinking took place. By establishing the correlation between drinking and reason, the sacred and wellbeing, the chronicler presented Yupanqui as a subject of order and virtue. This extended to his attributes for good administration: “the tenth king, the great sage, the one who brought order.”52 Consequently, these qualities made his son a good candidate for public service; they were related. His son became the fusion of Andean and Inca traditions (Toledo sentenced Tupac Amaru, the last Inca, to death in 1571). He presented him as rooted in Andean values and his wife’s Incan descent. Guaman Poma’s interest in conveying this information about proper drinking, administration, and his son’s genealogy expressed his desire to open up colonial order for the coming together of different cultures. Rights to sovereignty and ethnic continuity derived from this strategy. Negotiation did not involve overthrowing Spanish authority, but rather, it implied the articulation of culture in such a way that his could continue to exist. He revealed the politics of colonialism, a system that excluded the Other’s religion, philosophy, and history, and most importantly, excluded native people from participation in the production of culture (Mignolo 2007, 463). By positioning Yupanqui, his son, and himself as subjects of reason, Guaman Poma’s archive of images of drinking served the purpose. Their symbolic value enabled him to incorporate native culture into the relations of power produced by philosophy, Christianity, and legal discourses. His illustrations of drinking complied with Las Casas’s arguments about Indians’ natural rights to sovereignty and political authority, civilized life, and disposition to worship. Native drinking conformed to rules that secured well-being. As Spanish administrators and religious officials before him stripped indigenous people of rational capacity and virtue, Guaman Poma rejected the stereotype applied to them, and infused his depictions with these attributes. Understanding that issues of governance and reason are related, he depicted the Andean region as another epicenter of virtue through new images of drinking. As a result, of establishing the region’s virtues, he displaced the exclusionary practices of colonial discourse and negotiated the coexistence of cultures within colonial relations of power. He furthered the conception of Andean complementarity as a means to accommodate both cultures in colonial space. Andean thought revolved around the principle of dualism recurrent in the culture’s understanding of geography, social relations, fertility, production, and drinking patterns.53 Its dualism drew boundaries dividing categories into oppositional values (sun and moon, male and female, upper and lower), whose reciprocity then brought them together. This dualistic view emphasized the importance of balanced reciprocal relationships in all dimensions of life (Rostworowski de Díez Canseco 1999, 7).54 The Andean concept of reciprocity or ayni, the exchange and equilibrium between these forces and different members of society, secured harmony and bound people in moral, labor, and political relationships of mutual obligation

(Stern 1982, 8–9). Guaman Poma’s descriptions and depictions of the agricultural calendar year illustrated the concept of reciprocity. By showing the king how subsistence brought opposite forces and people together, he showed him how the Incas integrated what they lacked into their state. They incorporate different rural communities to bring goods and labor into their system; the state benefitted from services provided by its subjects and redistributed surpluses (Rostworowski de Díez Canseco 1999, 38). The interaction between opposites created harmony and well-being in the Andes, fostered by drinking occasions. Guaman Poma put this organizing principle into practice as he wrote a plan for the good government of Peru. He had in mind not just an exchange of information in return for reform, but also the concepts of cultures coexisting within colonial relations of power. He imagined the world divided into four kingdoms ruled by four princes obeisant to the king of Spain. While this organization was hierarchical in character, it pointed to individuality. The plan included distributing space into different sections so that individual cultures could develop (Guaman Poma [1615] 1980, 3: 889).55 As a member of the contact zone, Guaman Poma was mindful of the right of a culture to exist within a homogenizing context without losing its specificity (Glissant 1997, 11).56 The persistence of Andean thought in the new distribution of colonial space made this preoccupation evident, as it also presented an alternative locus of history and reason. In Andean tradition, drinking was an element of economic, political, and sacred relationships. Its revised symbolism afforded native culture virtue and rights to jurisdiction within colonial order. In this way, Guaman Poma’s archive proved that reason could exist outside of Spain: it told of a different cosmology and a different culture and history of drinking in the New World. He found in the practice the symbol from which to transform the barbarian images the colonizer had created of his culture. Although concerned with representation, he was most anxious about his community’s exclusion from the articulations of culture that governance involved. He saw culture as a process of negotiation and construction that came into being in relation to Others. Guaman Poma’s legacy lay in devising a plan through which indigenous ways of being could persist in foreign paradigms of order. He advocated political subordination to Spain but simultaneously tried to secure his culture a place to exist and develop within that order. He balanced out the unequal relationships of power between the margins and empire that conquest and colonization had brought to the Andes ambivalently.57 This position revealed that identity was not fixed in stone, but it changed with new cultural conditions and alliances for subsistence. Survival depended upon this fluidity, on the incorporation of difference into relations of cooperation and tolerance. Guaman Poma’s blue print for the government of Peru became a plan of a utopian harmony and reciprocity, in which both cultures coexisted and one accepted, more than the other, the losses of conquest and colonization.

1

Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala was born circa 1535 in the central Southern Peruvian province of Lucanas (Aycacucho) and wrote El primer nueva corónica y buen gobierno between 1587 and 1613, 1615. He recorded the indigenous perspective of pre-Hispanic life, the Spanish arrival in Peru, colonial life, and a set of reforms regarding administration and missionary work. Guaman Poma was not the only indigenous voice that undertook such an ambitious endeavor. Titu Cusi Yupanki (1570), Juan de Santacruz Pachacuti (1613?), and El Inca Garcilaso (1609, 1615) also vindicate their culture through the narration of historical events from the perspective of the vanquished. Guaman Poma’s manuscript consists of 1,200 pages of narrative in Spanish, Quechua, and Aymara and 400 illustrations that represent the social, political, and economic themes in the narrative, and also convey information that goes beyond the narrative (López-Baralt 1979a, 1979b, Adorno 1979b, 1979c). German anthropologist Richard Pietschmann found the chronicle in an archive in Copenhagen in 1908 and worked on its modern edition, which the Institute of Ethnology in Paris published as a facsimile edition by Paul Rivet in 1936. In 1980, John Murra and Adorno published a critical transcription of the manuscript based on the autopsy of the book. The Danish Royal Library published a digital facsimile of the original document on line in 2001 with Adorno as editor. See Adorno ([1986] 2000). 2

On the notion of coexistence, see Morales (2009) and Mignolo (2007).

3

See Pérez-Torres (2006).

4

Lund (2006, 44) refers to this hybridizing potential in terms of what Bakhtin calls “intentional hybridization,” which is not simply resistance, but rather a “theory of simultaneous cultural integration and opposition, of conviviality and contest.” 5

Regarding separation, Kaup (2002, 196) observes that Anzaldúa’s argument “struggles as it keeps slipping back from the grammar of cultural fusion into the grammar of division, even as she keeps trying to transcend it.” See also Williams (1996), Moreiras (2001), and Lund (2006). 6

On cultural identity in constant transformation subject to continuous “play” of history, culture, and power, see also Ashcroft (2001, 1–17). 7

See also Hall (1991, 21).

8

See Jara and Spadaccini (1989, 50).

9

[una clase ladina pensante] (1992, 111). I define the term ladino later in the chapter.

10

For a discussion on this genre, see Adorno (1974), López-Baralt (1988, 293–4), and Quispe-Agnoli (2006, 79).

11

See Adorno also (1991, 232–70). She compares two native Andean writers, Guaman Poma and Juan Satacruz Pachacuti Yampi, on their ladino performance. 12

This process interprets literacy as “the main agency of dialogical thinking” (Mignolo 2000, 265).

13

[Ci los dichos yndios hiciesen cin borrachear las fiestas ni comer coca y cin ydulatrear, fuera fiesta de cristiano. Dansas y taquies y haylles (cantos triunfales) y cachiuas (canción y danza en corro), harauis (canción de amor) como cristiano fuera bien. Pero a ojos y a uista que lo confieso como lo e bisto, estando borracho ydulatran y fornican a sus ermanas y a sus madres, las mugeres casadas. Y las mugeres, estando borrachos, andan salidas; yllas propias buscan a los hombres, no mira ci es (s)u padre ni ermano] ([1615] 1980, 2: 809). 14

See also Guaman Poma ([1615] 1980, 1: 58, 3: 889; 2: 810).

15

On the use of the “I” to give credibility to the text, a trend that leads to the creation of new versions of old genres, see Pagden (1991, 150–51). First-person narratives such as those of Hernán Cortés (“I”) and Bernal Díaz del Castillo (“We”) are good examples of this new genre that relies more on the senses and personal experience than text-dependent authority. Regarding Guaman Poma’s documenting ancient Andean history, though, Adorno (1979a, 168) explains that he neither associates authority with text-dependence nor with the use of “I,” but with his ethnic identity and the information he can obtain from his group; he appropriates external sources. 16

Dussel (1995) also explores the complicity between knowledge and power through the notion of epistemic difference. In this context, we can argue that Guaman Poma learns how to think and produce knowledge from the paradigm of excess; the colonial difference. See also Mignolo (2008, 225–58). 17

Contact sets in motion the process of identification and exclusion whereby the colonizer recognizes himself as such in the operations of control through which he changes natives into virtuous, productive, colonial subjects. Toledo and Acosta’s narratives provide good examples of the process, which Guaman Poma mimics to correct representation and produce accurate images of his culture. 18

See Adorno ([1986] 2000, 1978, 1979a). She discusses Guaman Poma’s rhetoric and ideological background, which my

examples complement from a different tropological perspective. 19

The chronicler’s interest in the public good speaks to his rhetorical roots in de regimine principum. The principle presents the narrative in the form of social protests through the topoi of virtue and vice (López-Baralt 1983, 104). As his discursive strategies are mainly intended to denounce corruption, they also show the manner in which medieval and sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century epistemology permeates indigenous perception and knowledge. 20

The work of the Council of Trent (1545–1563) reorganized the Church, strengthened its values, and fomented the development of catechism and confessionals to educate and regulate the life of the faithful in the old world. Philip II’s order to implement these reforms throughout Spain and its colonies in 1564 facilitated the use of a language of difference that stressed virtue. See my Chapter 2 and Kamen (1985). 21

The process is informed from hybrid thinking. I borrow this concept from Graubart’s study of indigenous identity and colonial censuses (2004). She focuses on how categories of classification or social markers, such as external manifestations of identity (clothing, hairstyles, language, membership in community organizations and institutions), help colonial hybrid identities negotiate their space and relationship with the system, modifying categories of classification for purposes of economic structure. 22

[Que los dichos yndios estando borracho el más cristiano, aunque sepa leer y escriuir, trayendo rrozario y bestido como español, cuello, parese santo en la borrachera habla con los demonios y mocha (reverencia) a las guacas ýdolos y al sol, pacaricos [celebración ritual], oncoycunamanta uanocmantapas pacaricoc (velorio con ocasión de enfermedades o una muerte), uarachicoc (investidura de taparrabos), cusmallicoc (investidura de camisón), uacachicoc (lamentos rituales) y de otras hechesirías ] ([1615] 1980, 2: 809). 23

[salpicar el texto escrito con una serie de vocablos típicos de un idioma o sociolecto oral] (1992, 129, 131).

24

See also Brading (1991, 152).

25

See also Adorno (1992a, 349).

26

I draw on Grossberg’s position on the problem of the existence of a culture as an ethical one (1996, 88). Bhabha also refers to the concept of ethics through the idea of negotiation and conceives it in relation to the past. He explains that it requires retroaction, which implies that the recurrence of the image of the past must be in relation to the future. This mechanism can “reinscribe the past, reactivate it, relocate it, resignify it. More significant, it commits our understanding of the past, and our reinterpretation of the future, to an ethics of ‘survival’ that allows us to work through the present” (1996, 59). 27

Guaman Poma’s project is that of survival, resistance, and cultural continuity. In this sense, it can be understood through Bhabha’s notion of culture, which he sees as “an uneven, incomplete production of meaning and value, often composed of incommensurable demands and practices, produced in the act of social survival” (1992, 438). His insight applies to Guaman Poma’s imperative engagement with the formation of culture. The chronicler fights for a locus of enunciation to participate in the process and effect changes upon social space. Guaman Poma sees himself as an agent “aware of the construction of culture.” Rama perceives the mind-set of the non-dominant group, which Guaman Poma represents, as one of “resistance to being considered the passive or inferior element in the contact between cultures, the one destined to suffer most losses” ([1984] 1997, 158–9). Yúdice also addresses this aspect, which he defines in terms of “a dynamic whereby different cultural matrices impact reciprocally—though not from equal positions—on each other, not to produce a single syncretic culture but rather a heterogeneous ensemble” (1992, 209). 28

Las Casas (1484–1566) is the most outspoken defender of Indian property and natural rights in colonial history. His vast narrative addresses these issues and shows his multidimensional personality as an intellectual. His work includes the Historia de las Indias [History of the Indies] written between 1527 and 1559, the Apologética historia sumaria [Apologetic History of the Indies] composed after 1551, Brevísima relación de la destrucción de las Indias [Brief Account of the Devastation of the Indies] published in 1552, and Treatise of the Twelve Doubts [Tratado de las doce dudas] in 1564, to mention a few. See Arias and Merediz (2008). Their book examines Las Casas’s agency and legacy within the juridical, historical, and ethnographic contexts from comparative perspectives. Jáuregui and Restrepo (106–16), contributors to their volume, encourage revisiting and including key texts such as Apologética to gain a thorough understanding of the debate of Valladolid, an event where some of the main ideas shaping the relationships between the Spanish and Amerindians were discussed and endorsed. Apologética, which is seldom taught in the classroom (107), becomes an important text in the present chapter for the analysis of inebriation imagery. Toledo and his advisers express the practicality of natural slavery, to which Las Casas and later Guaman Poma reacts. Guaman Poma emulates Las Casas by disseminating images of drinking as a cultural practice indicative of civilization in the Andean region.

29

See Adorno ([1986] 2000, 24–7; 1992c, 4) and Maravall (1982, 373–84).

30

Consider Guaman Poma’s description of the exemplary action of Dominican Archbishop of Lima, Jerónimo de Loaysa. The chronicler cites the archbishop’s bequeathal of his estate to the Hospital of Santa Ana in Lima after his death in 1575 ([1615] 1980, 2: 658), and his interest in persuading others to follow his steps in coming to terms with restitution by performing final acts of penitence to illustrate restitution (Adorno 1978, 126); Guaman Poma emphasizes these acts in the section on sentencias ([1615] 1980, 2: 681–8). He celebrates the good deeds of those who adhere to the example of moral rectitude (Adorno 1978, 126). The return of Andean lands to the local people along with the demonstration of native political organization and authority in contexts of drinking (festivity, labor, and punishment) figures prominently in terms of the commonalities between Las Casas and Guaman Poma’s narratives. The elements denoting rationality organize the former’s treatise and the latter’s petition for justice and reform. 31

“Señorío” implies “me[s]ura en … las acciones.” It also refers to “dominio, y libertad en el obrar, con [s]ujecion de las pa[s]iones à la razón.” See Diccionario de autoridades, s.v. “señorío.” 32

[Tienen todas éstas (gentes) sus reinos, sus señoríos, sus reyes, sus jurisdicciones, altas y bajas, sus jueces y magistrados, dentro de los cuales usan legítimamente y pueden libremente usar de su potestad] ([1564] 1958, 489). 33

[ser única y final causa de la dicha concesión la predicación de la fe y conversión de aquellas gentes, pues ésta no es suficiente causa para privar los infieles de sus bienes, reinos, estados, honras, divinidades y señoríos, porque sin privarlos de estos bienes se puede predicar la fe] ([1564] 1958, 492). 34

Las Casas shares his ideas of civil life with those proposed by Saint Augustine, for whom the city was the organizing principle of social order and the good life; Las Casas illustrates his ideas with descriptions of Amerindian life ([1553, 1559] 1967, 1: 239). 35

[todas las naciones del mundo son hombres, y de todos los hombres y de cada uno dellos es una no más la definición, y ésta es que son racionales] (Las Casas [1553, 1559] 1967, lxii; 1: 257). 36

[por la lumbre impresa en el ánimo se congnose que hay Dios, y por el apetito se busca y desea hallar y servir a Dios] (1: 370, chapter 1: 71–3). 37

See also Stern (1982, 18), Hastorf (1993, 117–19), Ramírez (2005, 79, 160, 185, 200, 224–5), and Valdez (2006, 53).

38

This passage describes drinking within the economy based on cooperation and production, under an ideology of reciprocity and redistribution. The Incas controlled both the production and the exchange of goods by assuring that specific products from the highlands (potatoes, maize, and coca) passed through the Inca administrative centers and were not exchanged in local markets. See Murra (1956). 39

Like Guaman Poma, Inca Garcilaso describes drinking within the context of the sacred and hierarchical relations; he focuses on the ceremony of Ynti Raymi ([1609] 2006, 312–21). Unlike Guaman Poma, he believes that the Spaniards brought moderation to the Andes: “After the meal, they [the Incas] would give them [the Indians] to drink in great abundance; drinking was one of the most important vices that these Indians had. Although today by the mercies of God and the good example that the Spaniards in particular have given them, the Indians do not get drunk; if they do, they get reviled by large infamy and abomination” [“Pasada la comida, les (los Incas) traían de beber (a los indios) en grandísima abundancia, que éste era uno de los vicios más notables que estos indios tenían, aunque ya el día de hoy, por la misericordia de Dios y por el buen ejemplo que los españoles en este particular les han dado, no hay indio que se emborrache; sino que lo vituperan y abominan por grande infamia”] (318). 40

Foucault (1994, 3–44) discusses the value of the image within the context of knowledge, truth, and power. See also Adorno ([1986] 2000, 83). 41

Guaman Poma did recognize the significance of the Incas’ observance of the morality and practices of the first Andean peoples. Inca administration preserved the integrity of Andean culture and cohesion (Brading 1991, 152). 42

[Que en tienpo de los Yngas y ací no auía borrachería, aunque ueuían y hacían fiestas y más estaua uedado de que las mugeres que no se enborrachasen, grandes castigos en ellas. Y ací al borracho les llamaua haplla (violento), uachoc (fornicario), suua (ladrón), yscaysunco (traidor). Y ancí al borracho luego les mandaua matar la justicia del Ynga y lo ahogaua como a animales y abía mucha justicia. Y ancí los yndios de los llanos no ay gente, que se acauan y se matan, estando borrachos, a cochillos … bebiendo … uino nuevo … sobre eso mucha chicha y uinagre y toman agua ardiente. Y ancí se mueren cin confición como caballos y bestias y no se acuerdan de sus testamentos] ([1615] 1980, 2: 809). 43

[De cómo uzauan cada … ayllo sus danzas y taquies y hayllis (cantos agrícolas o de triunfo) y canciones harauis (de amor), y rregocijos cachiua (canción y danza en corro) cin ydulatrar, cin hazer mocha (reverenciar) a las uacas ni serimonias.

Comían y beuían y se holgauan cin tentación de los demonios, ni se matauan ni se emborrachaban como en este tiempo de español cristiano. Son todos borrachos y matadores … y no hay justicia] ([1615] 1980, 1: 54). Abercrombie refers to the term taqui (pl. taquies) as song-dances akin to Spanish cantares, epic poems sung while dancing. They narrated the deeds of gods and ancestors and were tied to specific places (1998, 472 note 48). 44

For more on the concept of “the world upside down,” see Maravall (1975, 313–15). He sees the condition as the outcome of anxiety caused by social transformation. See also Adorno ([1986] 2000, 122), Randall (1993, 96–8), and Cummins (2002). 45

The view of economic interest described by Guaman Poma illustrates the conflicting colonial attitudes toward alcohol. Profit connects the Spanish mentality to that of the British, Dutch, and French colonizers in North America where they introduced alcohol to the Indian population through the fur trade. Indian cooperation was essential to securing the frontier, and dependence on alcohol ensured cooperation. Liquor played a similar part in Australia and the Pacific Islands, where plying native people with alcohol to get them drunk was a common strategy to further colonial plans. Dailey (1979) reports on the role of alcohol among North American Indian tribes as described in Jesuit accounts. For a historical background on wine production in mid sixteenth-century Peru, see Rice (1997). See also Cobo (1890) and Cushner (1980). 46

See section on Doctrina in Chapter 2.

47

See Hamilton’s English translation of Felipe Guaman Poma’s First Book of The First New Chronicle and Good Government (2009, 248). [Castigo de borrachos que a éstos les llamauan haplla (violento), machasca (emborrachado), zuua (ladrón), uachoc (adúltero), pallco (mentiroso), yscay songo (traidor): Todo este bocablo y pecado entraua al borracho y ancí luego le mandaua matar … Fue mandado que todos los yndios le pizasen en la barriga para que la hiel y la chicha del borracho rreuentase. Sentenciaua al borracho el Ynga. Dice ací: “Astaya ayzarcoy, sarocuychic Tawantin Suyo hapllacta llullata yscay sonco machascata” (“En hora mala, arrástrenlo violentamente, pisotéenlo a los violentos del Tawantin Suyu, a los mentirosos, traidores y borrachos”) Y ací muere] (Guaman Poma [1615] 1980, 1: 286). 48

See also Pagden (1982, 146).

49

[la afirmación de autonomía del mundo natural y la consecuencia de que la pluralidad que en éste se encuentra es legítima y tiene que ser respetada] (Maravall 1972, 105–6). 50

[la magestad del Ynga cienpre estaua contento. Comía y ueuía y brindaua y auía de brindar a gente uaja, cino a los rreys antepasados le honrraua. Con esto abultaua a su ciudad y rreyno y la magestad era grandícimo] (3: 888). 51

For an account of Yupanqui’s role as administrator and the function that reciprocity plays in his plan of government, see Rostworowski de Díez Canseco (1999, 39–47). 52

[el décimo rrey, gran sauio, el que puso ordenansas] ([1615] 1980, 3: 889).

53

On the concept of dualism in the social life of different groups in South America, see Levi-Strauss (1968). In the Andean region, see Zuidema (1964), Murra (1986), Gelles (1995), and Rostworowski de Díez Canseco (1999). 54

See also Stern (1982, 18).

55

Ossio (1973, 168–70) divides the organization of Andean space into four units and describes how Guaman Poma perceives geography, social relationships, and religious ceremonies through the symbolism of the spatial paradigm. Wachtel (1973, 228) explores the persistence of Inca structures in Guaman Poma’s vision of social order. 56

See also Anzaldúa ([1987] 2007, 101), Mignolo (2007, 463), and Grossberg (1996, 88).

57

Guaman Poma challenges the unidirectionality of colonial power and its assumption that power and discourse are entirely possessed by the colonizer. See JanMohamed (1986, 78).

Chapter 4 Of Places, Indigenous Women, and Priests: A Criticism of Colonialism In his Primer nueva corónica y buen gobierno, Guaman Poma illustrates the power of places to shape culture and social relations, particularly places associated with profit, exploitation, and religious instruction. He directed attention to the colonial inn, the priest’s house and kitchen, and the church. Ironically, Guaman Poma likened the church to the tambo to discuss corruption. Analysis of interpersonal relations between indigenous women, priests, colonial Spaniards, and tamberos around these sites was intended to draw attention to the tensions within and vulnerabilities of colonization. His report on the dynamics of the quotidian relations that characterized these sites was intended to give Philip III specific information about how to promote reform and exercise power over colonial culture and life. Guaman Poma provided the king with what Foucault would call “lines of penetration” into the core problems of the civilizing project (1990, 42). He used tambos to talk about colonization, reevaluating the purpose of the colonial project by means of the symbolic associations he established between the colonial system and the exchanges and social interactions giving form to tambos. The relevance of tambos and other places unfolded through Guaman Poma’s critical focus and recommendations for remedial action, and the fact that he presented them as the living proof of corruption. As discussed in the previous chapter, the Andean chronicler was concerned with the reorganization of social space. He envisioned the world as divided into four kingdoms under the rule of Philip III and viewed order as the outcome of a hierarchical but tolerant relationship between different ethnic and political components. Ambivalence stemmed from this political outlook, which he used to promote cultural identity and diversity within his colonial context. By mapping the everyday relations of colonial subjects at the places above mentioned, Guaman Poma hoped to gain control over the configuration of culture through the policing of its boundaries, which he saw as reflected in notions of the self rooted in virtue. To him, tambos were integral to disclosing the destabilizing energy stemming from interpersonal involvement associated with commercial, coercive, and sexual contact that opened the door to the controversial articulations of subjects and culture. This perspective enabled him to draw the king’s attention to clergymen and indigenous women. He identified in these people and the places where they interacted the margins of the Spanish empire of Christian virtue.1 They represented the unarticulated spaces of moral, religious, and legal discourse, where identities and places reinscribed themselves in a mutually constitutive process, producing conflicting behaviors. Priests and indigenous women disassociated themselves from the order of virtue to re-map their subjectivities according to their appetites. By illuminating the relations between place and behavior, Guaman Poma furthered the instrumentality of place in the making of culture. Doreen Massey affirms that place is connected with the construction of subjects (1994, 8), for their articulation and differentiation

occur within its limits. Defined by the inordinate energy of excess, or greed and desire that derived from commercial relations and interethnic encounters, tambos became focal points of moral transgression with respect to other places of the Viceroyalty of Peru. In Mary Douglas’s words, they would represent the threatened and precarious boundaries of the social body, illustrating the tension that borders and order represent to culture ([1966] 2002, 142). Tambos embody disorder and produce non-docile bodies. Douglas asserts that the creation of a pattern implies order and restriction; disorder, on the contrary, spoils this pattern and is potentially destructive for no “pattern has been realized in it” (117). Drawing on this, we can argue that tambos were charged with the type of energy Douglas assigns to disorder: power and danger. They functioned as the constitutive outside of Christian moral space, which Guaman Poma perceived as the margins overlooked by authority and moral discourse. Consequently, his observations were useful in affording the king the type of knowledge that highlights the operational value of places in the consolidation of power and the homogenization of culture. It is in this sense that Guaman Poma pictured tambos and the colonial subjects who interacted within their limits as metaphors for borders, which in postcolonial criticism are, as Jane Jacobs affirms, “called upon to stand in for all the contested realms of identity” (1996, 3).

Tambos Both the Recopilación de leyes de los reinos de las Indias and the Diccionario de autoridades define tambos as the equivalent of the Spanish inn, otherwise known as mesón or venta.2 Dating from medieval times, ventas originated in the Islamic world.3 In the Near East, their appearance coincided with the extension of the commercial and religious routes in regions where provisions and water were scarce (Elisséff 1978, 1010–11). They provided travelers and merchants, as well as their pack animals, with overnight accommodations and food. From the Islamic culture, inns passed to the Spanish during the Reconquest period. They produced revenue for the Spanish in that innkeepers paid the Crown a share of their income, as they had previously paid it to Muslim authority (Butzer 1997, 3). According to the regulations on services in the Recopilación, Indians forced to serve as mitayos4 at these roadside locations were charged with the same responsibilities venteros [innkeepers] had in Spain: they were caretakers who supplied travelers with a resting place and basic food (bread, wine, meat, corn, and beans) at fair prices ([1680] 1841, Laws IV–V, Title XIII, Book VI).5 Charles V commanded the governors, mayors, and corregidores [colonial magistrates] to make these mesones or ventas available along the roads under their jurisdiction (Law XIII, Title II, Book V; Law I, Title XVII, Book IV). Juan de Solórzano y Pereyra interprets this provision as a product of the monarch’s expansionism ([1648] 1972, 240). Yet tambos were not simply another import of civilized Spain into the Andean region. MacCormack notes that the Incas also incorporated these way stations (1991, 155) into their imperial organization. The tambos were inns, resting places that were said to have “remained from when Cuzco passed through [the] land” (Ramírez 2005, 17). Rostworowski de Diez Canseco describes tambos or tampus as a network of shelters that

varied in importance and service (1999, 63). They existed in pre-Conquest times, along pilgrimage routes to house the faithful traveling from distant places, and were normally located at intervals of 3 to 8 miles (Rowe 1957, 171). Structured ranged from palaces to storehouses along principal and secondary routes in order to provide lodging to the Inca, his followers, and chasqui, or messenger, carrying governmental information (Rostworowski 1999, 63).6 MacCormack notes their strategic value for imperial unification (1991, 155). The Incas united the religious and economic organizations of different regions following a schema devised by Inca Pachacuti (1438–1471) for all conquered provinces. In this plan, the construction of tambos was as important as that of palaces, roads, forts, and agricultural terraces (155). At these places, according to Carlos Araníbar, the Incas stored surplus food, clothing, and arms to meet the demands of emissaries, the army, administration officers, and chasqui (2005, 851). Tambos linked together an empire that extended from Quito to beyond central Chile and to Tucumán, northern Argentina. In his 1571 ordinance on the administration of tambos at the region of Huamanga, Viceroy Toledo described tambos as the vestiges of the larger net of relations of power established by the Inca: “if the Spanish had some benefit from them [tambos] by lease or another legal means, that benefit would be for repair of roads and bridges.”7 Toledo made tambos the subject of legislation, as did Cristóbal Castro de Vaca, who was sent by Charles V to restore order between the Pizarro and Almagro factions and carry out the imperial assimilation of tambos (Araníbar 2005, 851). He recognized them as commodities that needed to be incorporated into the Spanish system and demanded that Indians maintain them as they had under Inca rule. Following Charles V, Toledo encouraged authorities to inspect the conditions of existing buildings and see to their improvement and construction when possible ([1569– 1574] 1986, 1: 156, 249, 263–5).8 He envisioned tambos as part of the colonial network of commerce, exploration, and communication, promoting the conquest and the integration of Indians into another net of production and services (Solórzano [1648] 1972, 240–41). Acosta connects tambos to the economy of docility, reminding us of the Spanish imperative to eradicate laziness from the Indian repertoire of deviant behaviors (natural crimes) and replace it with productivity ([1577, 1588] 1952, 283). Toledo and his advisors developed this point, which is discussed in Chapter 2. The viceroy clarified this economic arrangement, listing the tasks that Indians were required to perform at tambos. His regulations mirrored those of the Recopilación de leyes de los reinos de las Indias: “In every inn there should be a Spanish or Indian chief or an Indian in charge of providing travelers and horses with food and supplies, bread, wine, meat, corn, good, grass, water. Innkeepers should have up to eight Indians for service.”9 By means of the mita system, the Spanish appropriated the Indians’ labor. Under the Incas, mitayos assigned to these way stations “maintain[ed] the road and hostel service along the route followed by the mails, by soldiers and officials, and by private travelers” (Spalding 1984, 165). Toledo adopted the Incas’ policy and structure to absorb “the flow of labor and the products of that labor that had once gone to the Inca state” (108). But the viceroy also showed concern for the well-being of the Indians, insisting on their remuneration and protection, as stipulated by the guidelines in the Recopilación ([1680] 1841, Law V, Title XIII, Book VI). In particular, Toledo opposed forcing the Indians to work before they reached the age of 17 and using them to carry heavy loads ([1569– 1574] 1986,

1: 74).10 He also proposed that they should do less work at tambos.11 At first glance, his intentions may seem to have complied with the spirit of the New Laws (1542) regarding Indians’ well-being under the encomienda; the need to protect the natives from travelers who demanded lodging and food; the debates about indigenous people’s rights voiced by Las Casas; and the stipulations of the Recopilación. But while Toledo’s expressed concern for the mitayos;’ security demonstrated compliance with these standards, Indians continued to serve at tambos. His ambivalence suggests that he shares the expansionist view that defines Indians and their territories as objects of service and exploitation. From the many descriptions of tambos that Guaman Poma includes in his work, the passage below perhaps best exemplifies the paradox of Toledo’s intentions. The more the viceroy legislates on the topic of abuse, the more Guaman Poma demonstrates the opposite. His counter-discourse presents tambos as the sites where Indians experience physical, verbal, and sexual assault ([1615] 1980, 2: 500–505, 517, 610, 673–7): The Spaniards, including priests, who travel on the royal roads and arrive at the inns in a bad humor, become enraged at the Indians in charge of them, and at the local mayor; they slap them in the face. They hit Indians with sticks and demand service and camarico [gifts], corn, potatoes, mutton, chickens, eggs, lard, bacon, hot peppers, salt, cabbage, lettuce, onion, garlic … mint and candle, … chiche [fish], corn beer, blanket chuci, and pots or, pitchers to bring water and rope to tie horses, an Indian for service, another to take care of horses, … others in the stable, another guata cammayo [captor] for service. They ask ten loads of grass, wood, and an Indian woman to cook; all for twelve pesos, including their stay.12

The treatment of Indians described here is emblematic of the exploitation and violence through which colonialism organizes social space. The chronicler captures the inequities of contact, presenting the king with the drama of difference and the problem of ethnic confrontation, which Stern describes as the attitude governing intercultural exchanges at the tambos: “[a] pretentious, arrogant, and abusive social style symbolized authority, political superiority, and expectation of deference” (1982, 104). In tandem with this mind-set, the logic of desire and profit represented by the tambos accommodated that of colonial difference. Guaman Poma pictured this rationale through the racialization of space. As locations promoting contact and offering basic resources and services, tambos illustrated the division of the colonial population into providers of services and labor, and those who benefitted from these actions through coercion and exploitation. Tambos embodied the irregularities of colonial relations of power, thereby helping to define inferior and superior positions. In this sense, the tambos became a miniature contact zone, a site inviting exploitation, violence, and foreign penetration. Explorers and missionaries made colonial inns the sites of asymmetrical exchanges of power that defined space and social relations in the colonial setting. Guaman Poma highlighted this aspect of foreign dominance when he depicted Indians as unresisting victims, as did Las Casas in the Brief Account of the Devastation of the Indies.13 Tambos triggered the Spanish travelers’ and the priests’ insatiable appetite for goods, control, and domination. As sites symbolic of the margins of virtue, tambos represented excess, the darker side of expansionism. The Spanish “eat, steal, and are served for free; they steal in the villages and roads and tambos of this kingdom, taking from the poor Indians their estates, lands, women, and daughters.”14 For Guaman Poma, the behavior he witnessed in the tambos came to symbolize colonial contact

and the conditions under which it destabilized Christian moral values. Geographical location is an important aspect of cultural and social interaction. Along royal roads and minor routes, tambos embodied the opposite of Toledo’s reducciones, which were carefully planned according to the politics of enclosure, separation, and rigid acculturation that characterized his regime (Guaman Poma [1615] 1980, 2: 414). Reducciones were the equivalent of Spanish-like villages representing a bounded system of Spanish culture within Peru. They were designed according to a grid plan “popular in Europe since the Renaissance, with straight streets running from a central plaza on which faced the Church, the priest’s residence, the buildings of the municipality, and the jail—the symbols of the European Catholic conception of society” (Spalding 1984, 214). As Steven Mullaney notes, any city is “a projection of cultural values and beliefs … a casting of ideals and ideologies into concrete form, an inscription of cultural practices” (1991, 19).15 Within the context of the sixteenthcentury colonial city, this notion of space projected the identity and superiority of its Spanish architect.16 Toledo forced the Indians, the declared free subjects of the Spanish crown, to reside in these spaces. Tax collection, conversion, and the elimination of polygamy and social upheaval depended upon this reconfiguration of space and social relations. The transformation of the Andean people into Indians, docile bodies and subjects of virtue and production, was contingent upon the spatial metaphor of control represented by the reducciones. The villages functioned as a bounded system where the political, the economic, and the religious merged in the articulation of subjects of the Spanish king. The reducciones stood for a model of the civilized, i.e., the locus of virtue and discursive production, where the non-indigenous were not permitted because of the risk of subversive assimilation (Guaman Poma [1615] 1980, 2: 413). These villages encapsulated Toledo’s colonial conceptualization of space, a notion closely tied to relations of production. Compared to the reducciones, the tambos represented the margins of these controlled sites. They were open to multiple influences as varied as the groups populating them. They stood as hybrid conflicting spaces. Guaman Poma pictures them as the gathering spot for Spaniards, mestizos, blacks, corregidores, priests, and comenderos ([1615] 1980, 2: 816). He explains how “guagamundos [vagabonds], judíos [Jews], and moros [Moors] wander in the kingdom … refusing themselves to work, bringing firewood, straw, water, or serving other.”17 Guagamundos stopped at the tambos and made their living by committing robberies, gambling, indulging in inebriation and laziness, transgressions attached to their reputation and for which they were forced to leave their indigenous community (3: 903, 2: 674). According to Guaman Poma, Spanish soldiers behaved similarly; in addition to gambling and stealing, they boasted about how they would make a living out of lying about their occupations, pretending to be related to the colonial magistrate in order to avoid paying for expenses at the tambos (2: 674). These examples show how tambos sheltered subversive behavior, fostering values opposite to those through which the Church and the administration sought to interpellate Indians as Spanish subjects within the reducciones. Tambos were the places within which travelers and locals evaded the strict regulations imposed on them by colonial discourses. Guaman Poma pointed out the correlation between inter-ethnicity and deviance so Philip III could focus on the cultural vulnerability of the places that symbolized “the age of plunder economy” (Spalding 1984, 109). Guaman Poma codified tambos as sites

of excess and moral pollution. The driving force of Spanish expansion in the Americas was the search for wealth, which translated into rank in Spain (109). Although the tambos were not a source of precious metals and the means to a better status, they provided a site where colonial officials and priests could satisfy their basic appetites while in transit from one point of the colony to another. To Spalding the conquerors were “pirates: organized gangs of men who … robbed and plundered” (109). This image of colonial Spaniards is shared by Guaman Poma, who saw tambos as no man’s lands where neither legal nor moral rules applied.

Tambos or Churches? On their way to the rural areas and main towns, Spanish priests stopped at tambos. Guaman Poma placed them among the most frequent visitors and characterized them as the epitome of moral aberration: priests symbolically mapped the tambos as the opposite of the reducciones. Guaman Poma’s primary interest was to promote social reform and his descriptions of priests’ deviant behavior were intended to have the crown modify its perceptions of the civilizing mission and protect indigenous rights. The following juxtaposition of tambos and churches helps him to develop a metaphor for this political purpose: The said priests want money and more money … apart from spinning and weaving, the priests force the Indian single women to bake, serve in the kitchen, do laundry or mita… by so doing, the priests want to sleep and eat instead of running their church. In this way, they have transformed the said churches into tambo and stable throughout the mountains, the plains of the South Sea.18

The passage shows how Guaman Poma appropriated the colonizer’s moral ideals to resist the excesses of conquest and colonization. As the chronicler symbolically depicts where and how priests encountered temptation in the New World, he presents a strong criticism of the Church, implying that the Crown had the moral imperative to promote reform. He phrased criticism through depictions of greed and moral transgression, Clergy conceived of the tambos as substitutes for churches in the highlands, plains, and the Southern part of the continent, and of themselves, as tamberos. As the administrators of the tambos, priests craved endless growth, markets, labor, and resources, and committed themselves to a worldly enterprise, a growing commercial network for the exchange of goods rather than the saving of souls. Guaman Poma exposed the shortcomings of the civilizing mission through the priests’ intentions by describing their conversion activities as secondary to their more devious plans. The priests’ actions symbolically showed how expansionism turned the world upside down; priests turned the emblem of the Christian moral order and civilizing mission into a site of commercial activity, corruption, and consumption. Similarly to the biblical story of the cleansing of the temple recounted by Matthew (21:12), Guaman Poma described how the Christian rituals of moral identification found no echo within the boundaries of the church; greed took over the priests’ virtue and spiritual duties. His description reinforces the idea of the vulnerability of the colonial system through the metaphorical deterioration of church buildings: And so the said mountains of this realm, at least those [temples] from Lucanas, Parinaochas, Chorcorbos, Uaytara, San Cristóbal [de Suntuntu?], Yauyo, Lacuas are lost. And the inspectors are bribed. The temples, where they

administer the sacraments, are neglected and all ornament is old and broken, and images … all broken. The latter situation can be seen throughout the kingdom; they [temples] are dirty. The said priests are to blame for the situation.19

The chronicler pointed to the physical filth of the buildings to symbolize how excess corroded the Church’s purity; motivated by greed, priests had made the church dirt. Guaman Poma pointed to another sign of deterioration in religious images, describing the way images, a didactic tool of conversion after the Council of Trent, lost their interpellating value. Since they were neglected and broken, like the temples, they made no demand on the Indians or the priests to observe the Christian tenets for which they stood. Guaman Poma presented the church converted into a tambo as the weakest area of sixteenth-century colonial authority. The metaphor illustrated the disconnect between moral discourses and quotidian life; it showed the “gap between the law and its observance” (Andrien 1991, 124). By way of these examples, the political unfolded: Guaman Poma developed a metaphor for reform. The colonial project no longer served moral purposes but rather the excesses of individual interests that mirrored those of expansionism. The social interactions within the boundaries of tambos were left totally unarticulated by moral and religious principles. As seen, they served as a metaphor for colonial reality, which Guaman Poma conveyed in terms of the “world upside-down,” discussed in Chapter 3. By stressing the loss of sacred relations, he depicted disorder. The chronicler juxtaposed tambos and churches to convey that the Peruvian colony radiates excess in the form of a micronarrative of moral disorder. Colonial authorities are not quite the moral Christian subjects on which expansionism depends to gain territories and resources for Spain. Guaman Poma points out the problem in the quote by depicting the Indians populating the area as being lost because disorder rather than the teachings of virtue and salvation emanated from the church and the colony. His criticism of colonization and expansionism becomes obvious here. Guaman Poma addressed moderation to make his point. The negative energy radiating from tambos harmed the social roles dependent on the practice of this virtue. Priests came to embody excess through their uncontrollable appetite for what guaranteed satisfaction and preservation. Likewise, the clergy capitalized on the satisfaction of basic needs to meet their entrepreneurial objectives, as attested by their recruiting of single indigenous women: “apart from spinning and weaving, the priests force the Indian single women to bake, serve in the kitchen, do laundry or mita… by so doing, the priests want to sleep and eat instead of running their church.” Guaman Poma characterized priests and colonial authority as greedy and lazy, and the colonial system as synonymous with exploitation. As a royal advisor, he showed the state of the colony to persuade the king to take corrective action through the colonizer’s moral rhetoric to effect change. There is another aspect of the tambos that deserves attention: the exchange of services and produce yielded to that of bodies, and specifically the bodies of indigenous women.20 From the Recopilación, and Toledo’s Disposiciones gubernativas and Política Indiana ([1648] 1972, 249–50), we learn that the colonial authority’s preoccupation with sex was important in the logistics of the administration of colonial inns. In 1609, King Philip allowed the

repartimiento of tambos provided that native women did not go alone to these sites.21 The decree read: “We do not allow Indian women to go to these inns by themselves, but in the company of their husbands, fathers or brothers to avoid any wrongs against Our Lord God.”22 Toledo issued Ordinance X forbidding the same: The Indian women who give a bad example should not be admitted into these inns … many Indians tend to have these women at these places. Under the pretence of tribute, they misuse their bodies with travelers and others, who stop at these places. Because the situation is the root of bad example, I order that from now on this practice stops and that the magistrate, the priest, and the mayors of each town punish such sins.23

Guaman Poma concurred, describing how “the said innkeeper has half dozen Indian women prostitutes, giving bad example and … from that great offenses to God derive. They ask for single, widow, or married women. As a result, women get corrupted and become prostitutes.”24 This passage offers evidence that the interactions in these spaces went beyond those stipulated in the Recopilación and the viceroy’s Disposiciones. Guaman Poma defined tambos as sites of sexual encounters for the visitors, tamberos, and mitayas. Social interaction shattered moral, legal, and discursive boundaries, in particular those established by the Lima Councils and Counter Reformation that stressed purity, honor, and family values.25 The chronicler articulated the chaotic social relations that the conquest and colonization of the New World brought to Andean lands. The tambos reproduced in small the forms of excess that characterized colonial interactions and exchanges. Guaman Poma understood colonial reality as the site of contradictions, where virtue was undone by excess and colonial identity underwent constant contestation between moderation and excess. From the analysis of the Recopilación, Toledo’s Disposiciones and Política Indiana, and Guaman Poma’s comments on the legal apparatus defining tambos, we understand how these sites emerged as a discursive problem. The narratives register how economic and sexual desire seemed to overcome the bodies of colonial subjects, erasing the inscriptions of virtue and reinscribing them with disorder and excess.26 Guaman Poma’s discussions of the church as tambo and of the priests as tamberos are the most telling examples of the symbolic reconfiguration of bodies and space in colonial situations. The native writer presented these examples to point out that colonization was about exchanges of bodies and goods, i.e., economic exchanges. In effect, the church converted into a tambo and its priests or tamberos were metaphors for the contradictions at the core of the colonial system. Innkeepers focused on commercial exchanges; they constituted the basis of colonial relations and seemed to prevail over other considerations and priorities. Consequently, colonial space became the competing arena of economic and moral discourses struggling over colonial subjects. Guaman Poma highlighted the tambos to point out the tension at the heart of the colonial project, thereby implying that, if order was to be enforced, the king would have to police and reform colonial life, symbolically expressed through the social relations and exchanges of tamberos, clergy men, and native women in the tambos and other places. As the colonial self was torn in the double bind of two conflicting directions of virtue and excess, indigenous women became part of the equation of power and appetites. They entered tambos not only to engage in transactions of services and produce, but also to participate as objects of sexual exchange (Guaman Poma [1615] 1980, 2: 504, 815–16). Tamberos

incorporated their labor and sexuality into production under the guise of mita. As the quotes illustrate, Toledo explained how these administrators exploited women’s sexual behavior as tribute: “Under the pretence of tribute, they misuse their bodies with travelers and others.” Here, sex becomes another form of labor tribute along with women’s spinning, weaving, and domestic service. The innkeepers and the clergy appropriated women’s sex and labor. Native women also produced goods, especially cloth, destined by the colonial authority for the colonial and European markets (Silverblatt 1980, 167). This type of exploitation did not go unnoticed and raised alarm. The New Laws of 1542 countered the effects of abuse, specifically, by a decree in 1549 that prohibited the practice of locking women in rooms to force them to weave and spin.27 However, the need to amass wealth and generate tribute predominated over legal and moral concern, reflecting the mentality of authorities who ran colonial tambos and the priests who locked indigenous women in their houses and kitchens and transformed churches into tambos. As with the 1549 decree, Guaman Poma demonstrated ([1615] 1980, 2: 500) that Toledo’s ordinance issued to stop prostitution at tambos was also ignored: “I henceforth command that such misuse ceases and that the magistrate, priests, and the majors of each town focus on punishing such sins.”28 Asunción Lavrin describes this legal transgression as “the breaches of the ecclesiastic norms,” asserting that “[t]here was always a gap between religious canons and the actual behavior of the people” (1989, 48). It represented “the reality of daily life for those who failed to practice fully the teachings of the church” (48). She highlights the opposition of interests Guaman Poma found in the process of colonization. The tambos and colonial relations of power positioned indigenous women in unequal relations of production and reproduction, marked by the excesses of individual interests mirroring those of the system.29 Together with the enclosure of native women under the pretence of conversion [con color de la dotrina] there is another correlation between native women and colonialism that has not been addressed in critical readings of Guaman Poma’s work, that is, the way food and sex came together at tambos was also recurrent in his narrative about the priests’ houses and kitchens.30 He explained how native women became edible: “The said priests have very dark houses and corners and vaults … and large windows to the kitchens … and within their room they have a kitchen and unmarried Indian women with whom they cohabitate … Their dining room is dirty and they have transformed it into a kitchen in order to be in touch with the unmarried Indian women; worthy of punishment.”31 With this image of excess, Guaman Poma reinforced the idea that desire gained momentum in the colonial setting. Its violence surfaced in the odd manner in which the clergy rearranged their houses. As with their churches, they changed their bedrooms and living rooms into dirty kitchen areas where women’s worth was measured against the multiple appetites of their captors. The passage speaks of desire erasing convention, legal discourse, and reorganizing space, transposing behaviors from traditional settings to different spaces. Guaman Poma further suggested that desire is the enabling condition for the merging of indigenous institutions with gender ideologies of the Old World. The enclosure of native women in the priests’ kitchens evokes the acllahuasi, a Quechua word used by Spaniards to refer to institutions involving groups of confined women called acllas or mamaconas [the virginal “wives of the Sun”]; their control symbolized the political power of the Inca over a

region.32 Karen Graubart affirms that the native meaning was not lost on Spaniards (2000, 216). Guaman Poma’s passage suggests the manner in which priests seemed to absorb this information and incorporate the Islamic and Spanish ideal of the “cloistered, sheltered woman … protected in the home or the harem” (Socolow 2000, 6).33 The chronicler insisted on the images of gluttony and lust, desires that came together at tambos, churches, and kitchens, underscoring how clergymen intertwined ideologies of Iberian gender and Inca production to satisfy their desires. Native women’s captivity epitomized the priests’ economic control over their labor. While some of the acllas were to remain celibate and involved in ritual tasks, others were to marry the colonial male elite and be trained in women’s tasks in order to contribute their work to the State as spinners and weavers and the providers of corn beer and special food for ceremonial use and gifts (Silverblatt 1987, 82). In this transfer of values, the priests redefined themselves in the social order under the economy of excess and coercion. One of Guaman Poma’s major concerns was the process of the assimilation of indigenous women through sex. As Joane Nagel reminds us, “[s]exual contact is a major means of cultural transmission and … opens the door to assimilation” (2003, 15). He describes this issue, reiterating the equation between colonial authority, be it religious or administrative, and moral aberration. Guaman Poma highlighted the manner in which native women assimilated into the colonizer’s culture through sexual contact and the correlation between women and food: “Since some of them have been cooks for the priest, the encomendero, the magistrate or any other Spanish … who they have fornicated, … they become liars … thieves, prostitutes, lazy innkeepers, fond of food, [and] gifts. They do not serve God, the king, or their parents.”34 As Andean women transitioned from one culture to the other, they blended into the colonizer’s ways, becoming subject to desire, parodying his voracious appetite for food, goods, and sex. In this way, women adopted the behavior of the dominant culture and demonstrated what Butler describes as “subversive repetition” (1990, 32). It is here that Guaman Poma’s concern regarding the connection between places and identities unfolded. The priests’ kitchens were centers of pollution whose description the chronicler uses to call into question the foundations upon which the indigenous and dominant identities were constructed. These sites were reflections and projections of excess, whose social function was, as Guaman Poma illustrated, to disarticulate the bodies it governs from the “regulatory ideals” of either culture (Butler 1993, 1). As native women became the objects of greed, gluttony, and laziness, they acquired the skills of lying, robbery, and prostitution through which they erased the cultural inscriptions to which the chronicler makes reference in the quote, thereby demonstrating that they served neither God, the king, nor their parents. Put differently, they disengaged themselves from the indigenous culture and the foreign one, and existed in an in-between space. Guaman Poma introduced the rhetoric of inebriation to better illustrate the process of alienation. In this context, tambos, and the places organized around the social relations that constitute them, exemplified the preoccupation that drives Guaman Poma’s remedial narrative. He described his own encounter with drunken women in order to document the dangers that inebriation posed to identity and culture in colonial Peru.

Indigenous Women and Inebriation Guaman Poma anatomized the images of inebriation so the king might understand the broader consequences of behavior at the tambos. We have seen that native women did not accept colonization passively (Etienne and Leacock 1980, 21), but rather they took advantage of any available opportunity to achieve secure status and meet the demands of all types of desire through their relationships with the colonizer (21). The Andean chronicler regretted the eroding moral effects of the women’s behavior, which he critiqued via the racialized rhetoric of inebriation imagery: For what reason is there more lust among the Indian women now than there was during the Inca era? First, under the pretence of conversion, the priests force girls to get together under their subordination, disobeying the ordinances produced by the Council that prohibits having young girls under their care, but six-year old boys. Under the pretence of fornication, priests bring them to work, deflower them, and advise them not to marry. In this way, all of them become prostitutes. Third, lust affects more women than men because of drunkenness. When they are drunk, they look for men and one is not enough for them. All drunkards have sex with them. Despite the fact that the Inca commanded women not to get drunk, they look for men and sin. They go into the inns looking for men and sin with them … the Indians witness the situation … and marriages do not take place in the village and women belong to everyone. So it is fair and in the service to God and of His Majesty, and the increase of the Indians of this kingdom that the said unmarried women, young women, and girls are removed from the labor system supervised by the priests and the magistrate, and be taught in their homes like Castilian Spanish women.35

The passage depicts the indigenous women as the objects and subjects of lust. As they engage in the excesses they learned from clergymen, Spanish travelers, and tamberos, they retreated from docility (“lust affects more women than men because of drunkenness. When they are drunk, they look for men and one is not enough for them”). Guaman Poma notes that the women no longer viewed drinking as a restricted behavior and sexuality as confined to the married couple. In the Inca period, drinking was a highly regulated activity of reciprocity and complementarity through which the state organized life, production, and the sacred.36 By drinking on their own, native women redefined its symbolism under the colonial mode of desire, inserting it into the context of sexual transactions and exploitation. They transferred the symbolism of alcohol to an emblem of colonial coercion, prostitution, and excess. As a result, native women, much like priests, separated themselves completely from both native and Spanish social structures. In both traditions, as Guaman Poma shows, marriage was the safeguard of sexuality, subjectivity, and production, because the incorporation of subjects, labor, and order to preserve the culture required the fusion of the masculine and feminine in the family structure. To the Andean peoples and Christian subjects, culture was a composite of social relations across space and at all levels, from the political and global relations of empire to the family. Both authority systems organized community life by placing men and women in the categories of the ayllu and complementarity, reciprocity and marriage, mita and family.37 The state consolidated power through these institutions and the social roles they sustained (Massey 1994, 4). Guaman Poma’s blue-print of the government of Peru depicted the tambos and similar subversive places as the margins at which clergy and the women disrupted and

rearticulated the ideological boundaries that ensured order and cultural continuity. His allusion to the enclosure of native women emphasized the importance of removing women from the priests’ labor system and educating them within the family. Speaking in the language of abjection, Guaman Poma illustrated the relevance of the concept of place to questions of docility and social order. Inebriation and excess were seen to transform drunken women into non-docile subjects. Guaman Poma labeled them as abject, because they did not respect the ethnic, racial, and moral boundaries of either indigenous culture or colonial culture, defined in both traditions by marriage. He expressed regret at witnessing the disappearance of the married couple, an occurrence that symbolized the demise of the social roles by which cultures reproduced themselves. The decline was evident in his description of the Indians’ refusal to marry native women after observing the spectacle of their drunkenness and lust. Cultural and racial continuity are contingent upon order; the labor, sexuality, and loyalty of individuals can be more systematically controlled when they are in couples (Ortner 1996, 53). The importance of re-mapping tambos to imbue clergy and native women with moral values derived from an imperative common to Spanish and native tradition. In Andean thought, the concept of the couple gave form to the system of the ayni, a social organization of parallel and complementary forces that constituted the household, the basic unit of labor and reproduction taxable by the Inca State (Silverblatt 1980, 154, 169).38 The state recognized in the couple the basis for social preservation (1987, 15). The Incas brought together different layers of society in a dialectical relationship to maintain equilibrium, social redistribution, and “sexual/gender parallelism” (1980, 151–2, 157; 1987, 40). Marriage was conceptualized cosmologically within this rationale, via husband and wife. In the colonial Christian culture, marriage was a stabilizing force that facilitated the reproduction of culture (Johnson 1983, 48). As Lavrin puts it, the family is a “locus of moral and political socialization” that preserves customs and order and ensures the continuation of tradition (1989, 1).39 Inebriation actively worked against the mechanisms that bound and reproduced the model of society that Spanish and Andean systems safeguarded through the structure of the couple. In the passages analyzed throughout this chapter, Guaman Poma incorporated the tambos and their symbolic counterparts—the priest’s house, kitchen, and church, as well as their visitors, administrators, and Indian women—into the dynamics of knowledge and power. In his narrative, these places became instruments of knowledge generated by the fear of losing control over his culture’s configuration. He provided Philip III with information on the Inca’s social dynamics so the king could understand the tensions of colonization. To Guaman Poma, the tambos and those institutions that resemble their organization were metonymical of the relations of power shaping the colonial system, which he saw in terms of excess: gluttony, profit, lust, and inebriation. These forces operated on the tambos and the bodies that transitioned through them. Because these sites promoted commercial exchange, encounters between disparate peoples, and the mobility of indigenous women, Guaman Poma warned colonial authority of their dangers. He believed that colonial culture was at risk at those places where women were forced to comply with the mita system, to submit to domestic

exploitation, and to subsist through assimilation or subversion. The relations devised by the tamberos and clergymen symbolically depicted through the type of contact the inns and churches promoted can represent colonial space and order in terms of what Butler calls the “unlivable and uninhabitable zones of social life” (1993, 3). The tambos and their counterparts challenged both the culture of control imposed by Christian Spain and the precontact Incan system based on mutual cooperation and a strict moral code. What stands out in Guaman Poma’s rhetoric describing the tambos and inebriation is their causal power. Colonial subjects deactivated their cultural membership at these margins in order to organize their interactions with others as they pleased. This was an important conclusion for the king to comprehend. It pointed to the autonomy of the subject, the ability to completely disarticulate him or herself from the social norms and relations that bound subjects, authority, and institutions through the discourses of moderation, salvation, chastity, obedience, and complementarity. The dynamics of power, excess, and contact that took place at the tambos was symbolic of the conflicting character of colonization and the way it modified the dominant and the dominated culture. Guaman Poma understood the dialectics of place and culture and the value of place in the formation of culture. The articulation of colonial order required the reincorporation of bodies and their actions into a disciplinary regime focusing on the urgent deployment of desire, which Guaman Poma identified as subversive at the level of colonial life. Cross-cultural contact turned the world upside-down, distorting social roles and signifying colonization as the gateway to excess in the culture. It is evident that the chronicler understood this phenomenon in depth as he reimagined the colonial environment and imparted his views of culture and good government of the colony.

1

I follow Nagel in the effort to disclose the energy of the margins of the colonial social space in the transcultural tambo. She draws attention to the underlying meanings of actions and narratives involving the borders; they mark the edges of ethnic communities (2003, 44). 2

Diccionariode autoridades defines ventas as roadside inns established in a non-populated area for purposes of lodging; the term was also referred to robbery and groups other than Christians. Mesón also classifies as temporary housing and a place to eat, associated with bad food and high prices. For Recopilación, I include some of the regulations involving tambos in this chapter. Carlos Araníbar (2005, 850–51) also discusses colonial inns. He focuses on the etymology of the word, its Spanish counterparts in the Old World, and the imperial rationale behind them. See also Peña Montenegro (1771, Book V, Treaty VI, Section XII), Rowe (1957, 172 note 67). As for New Spain, See Cortés (1963) along with Bernal Días del Castillo (1984). See also Molina (1970). The latter compares and contrasts mesones and ventas with Amerindian institutions. Butzer (1997) provides information about inns in Mexico and the Old World. 3

See Burns (1971, 1975), Butzer (1997), and Elisséff (1978). They provide a historical review of the Eastern culture institutions preceding ventas. 4

Mitayo referred to an Indian forced to serve in mita. This was a forced labor draft system through which the Incas drew upon people for tasks and projects. Colonial Spaniards adapted it to meet the demand for labor in the mining sector. See Burkholder (2008, 414). 5

See also Vaca de Castro (1908).

6

See also Spalding (1984, 84).

7

[que si en algún tiempo pudiere haber provecho de ellos [tambos] por arrendamiento o en otra manera lícita, el tal provecho sea … para reparos de caminos y puentes] ([1569– 1574] 1986, 1: 73). 8

See also Toledo [1575–1580] 1989, 2: 234, 261–2, 421–2.

9

[Que en cada tambo haya un español o cacique u otro indio que tenga en ellos mantenimientos y provisiones necesarias para los caminantes y para las cabalgaduras y de pan, vino, carne, maíz, leña, hierba y agua y que para ayuda del servicio de los dichos tambos … se le han de dar al tambero hasta ocho mitayos] (Toledo [1569–1574] 1986, 1: 74, 363–4). 10

See also (150, 212–14, 470–71, 488; [1575–1580] 1989, 2: 111, 246, 421) and Solórzano ([1648] 1972, 241–50.

11

[de manera que los dichos tambos se sirvan con el menos trabajo que a los indios fuere posible] ([1575–1580] 1989, 2: 421). 12

[Que los dichos españoles pasageros, aunque sean saserdotes que pasan por los caminos rreales y tanbos, como llegan a los dichos tanbos con cólera arreuata a los yndios tanberos y alcaldes hordenarios y le dan de muchos mugicones. Y a los yndios de palos y piden mitayos y mucho camarico (regalo), ací de maýs y papas y carnero y gallinas, y güebos y manteca y tocino, agí, sal, coles, lechugas, sebolla y ajo … hierbabuena y candela de sebo, … chiche (pescaditos) y chicha y frazada chuci, y olla, cántaro para traer agua y soga para atar cauallos un yndio pongo, otro yndio con los cauallos en el pasto, … los demás lo tiene en caballeriza, otro guata cammayo (apresador) que le cirue. Y pide dies cargas de yerua y una carga de leña y pide cocinera, que todo monta la paga doze pesos de cada día y todo ello] ([1615] 1980, 2: 500). 13

On the rhetorical strategies of Las Casas, see Arias and Merediz (2008), Arias (2001), and Martínez-San Miguel (2008, 42–70). 14

[comen y rroban y se ciruen de ualde, saltean y hurtan en los pueblos y caminos y tanbos (mesón) deste rreyno a los yndios pobres, ací sus haziendas como sus tierras y mugeres e hijas] (Guaman Poma [1615] 1980, 2: 504). 15

For a conceptualization of urban space as the site of reason, virtue, and salvation, that is, the loci of sixteenth-century civilization and notions of corporeality, see Goldberg (1993, 14–40), Massey (1994), Grosz (1995), and Arias and Meléndez (2002). Arias and Meléndez’s volume develops the notions of space and place in the colonial context of Spanish America. 16

Barkan (1975, 5) explains how the metaphor of man’s body, the image of God, is integral to Renaissance notions of space and the evaluation of man’s actions. This anthropocentric view ties in with colonialism’s ethnocentricity. Toledo’s reconstruction of native peoples’ past and their relocation into reducciones responds to this notion of space, facilitating the operations of hierarchy, power, and production that make indigenous bodies and Andean landscape the extensions of the geopolitics of knowledge of Spanish culture and expansionism. 17 18

[anda en el rreyno … no quiere auajar su lomo ni traer leña, paxa, agua ni seruir a otro] (2: 502).

[Que los dichos padres quieren todo plata y más plata … Colpa a las dichas solteras fuera del hilar y texer y a amasar pan y serbir en la cocina, lauar u de hacer mita … pidiendo esto, quiere dormir y comer cin acudir a lo de su iglesia. Y ancí

tienen las dichas yglecias como tanbo (mesón) y caballerisa toda la cordellera, de los llanos, de la Mar de Sur] ([1615] 1980, 2: 562). 19

[Y ancí la dicha cordellera deste rreyno, a lo menos de los Lucanas, Parinaochas, Chorcorbos, Uaytara, San Cristóbal (de Suntuntu?), Yauyo, Lacuas están perdidos. Y los uecitadores son acohechados. Están los tenplos de Dios, donde se administran los sacramentos, no tiene cuydado y tienen todo el ornato biejo y rroto y las ymágenes … todo quebrado. Acímismo en todo el rreyno y los tienen sucios. Desto los dichos padres tienen la culpa] ([1615] 1980, 2: 562). 20

Stavig (1995a, 1995b) examines the categories of prostitution, incest, and the formation of heterosexual relationships in Andean society before conquest. 21

According to Spalding (1984, 46–7) repartimiento referred to the largest of the smaller units into which a colonial province was divided. At the time of the conquest, Spaniards divided the lands into encomiendas. Spaniards who received an encomienda, that is, a given kuraka (Andean chieftain) and all those subject to him, had the responsibility to convert them. In return, Spaniards received the privilege of using their labor. In colonial administration, repartimiento consisted of all the people who were originally awarded as a single encomienda. 22

[Permitimos que se puedan continuar con que á los tambos no vayan indias, si no fuere acompañadas de sus maridos, padres ó hermanos, para excusar las ofensas de Dios nuestro Señor] ([1680] 1841, Law III, Title XIII, Book VI). 23

[Que no se consientan en los tambos indias de mal vivir … porque algunos indios suelen tener en los tambos indias de mal ejemplo, usando mal de sus cuerpos con los caminantes y con otros, so color que es para pagar su tasa, y porque esto causa mal ejemplo, mando que de aquí en adelante cese tan mal uso, y el Corregidor y sacerdote y los alcaldes de cada pueblo tengan gran cuenta de castigar las culpas semejantes] ([1575–1580] 1989, 2: 258). 24

[el dicho tanbero tiene media dozena de yndias putas de mal beuir y … y hazen grandes ofenzas del seruicio de Dios y piden mitayas solteras y biudas o cazadas. Y allí se dañan, corronpen y se hazen grandes putas] ([1615] 1980, 2: 500). 25

For information on the discursive work derived from the Third Provincial Lima Council, see Chapter 2.

26

My discussion on the body as metaphor of culture, inscriptions, reinscriptions, and docility draws on Douglas (1970, [1966] 2002), Bourdieu (1977), and Foucault (1995). On the theme of desire and its effects upon the body and social relations, the discussion is informed by Young (1995) and Deleuze and Guattari (1972). See Chapter 2. 27

The payment of tribute in the form of personal service was outlawed in 1549. See Konetzke (1972, 176) and Roel (1970, 135). 28

[mando que de aquí en adelante cese tan mal uso, y el Corregidor y sacerdote y los alcaldes de cada pueblo tengan gran cuenta de castigar las culpas semejantes] ([1575–1580] 1989, 2: 258). 29

The topic has been amply analyzed in the literature on women and the colonial experience, but not from the perspective of the colonial tambo. See Silverblatt (1980, 1987) and Socolow (2000, 32–51). Silverblatt provides information about the situation of women in expansionist regimes across cultures (1980). See Burkett (1978, 101–28) and Mannarelli (2007, 1– 18). They inscribe gender in the complexity of inequality and colonial relations of production. Their works illustrate culture before and after the Spanish arrival and its impact upon indigenous society. 30

Guaman Poma ([1615] 1980, 2: 552, 558, 562, 566, 582, 592, 626, 812; 3: 868–9).

31

[Los dichos padres y curas tienen sus casas muy escuras y rincones y bóbedas … y ventanas grandes hacia las cocinas … Y tienen dentro de su rrecámara cocina con yndias solteras amancebado … Tiene la sala sucio hecho cocina por tener algún concauidad de las solteras; digno de castigo] (2: 546). 32

See Silverblatt (1987, 81–108) and Graubart (2000, 213, 216).

33

See also Brading 1991, 156.

34

[Algunas como an cido coseneras del padre o encomendero o del corregidor o de algún español que … aya fornicado … estas dichas yndias salen embusteras … ladronas … putas, tanberas peresosas, amigas de comer, rregalos y ni cirue a Dios ni a su Magestad … ni a sus padres] ([1615] 1980, 2: 800). 35

[Por qué causa ay entre las yndias tanta luxuria como no las auía en tienpo del Ynga. Porque, el primero, que los sacerdotes … con color de la dotrina le ajunta por fuerza a las dichas muchachas … auiéndolo mandado en el Concilio y ordenanzas ajunte muchacho de sey años de la dotrina que no muchachas. Con color de fornicar y de hazello trabajar le ajunta y lo desvirga y le aconseja que no se casen. Y ancí se hazen grandes putas todas las que furnica los padres y los españoles. El tersero, le causa la luxuria mucho más a las mugeres porque son más borrachas que los hombres. Questando ellas

borrachas, ellas propias buscan a los hombres y no se harta con uno solo. Quantos borrachos ay, le furnica … Y ancí le auía quitado a las yndias que no ueuiese ni fuese borracha. Le dio esta ley el Ynga a la muger. Y ancí buscan y pecan. De esta enseñansa se entran a los tanbos a buscar españoles y pecan con ellas … uen esto todos los mosos y … no ay casarse en el pueblo y se haze comunidad de ellas. Y ancí es muy justo y seruicio de Dios y de su Magestad y multiplico de yndios deste rreyno que se quite de los padres y de corregidores todas las mitayas y de la dotrina a las dichas solteras y muchachas, niñas y que se enseñen en sus casas como las españolas de Castilla] ([1615] 1980, 2: 824). 36

The Incas shared with Andean people an understanding of the universe organized around the principle of parallel descent. Viracocha, an androgynous originator, was the founder of parallel lines of gods and goddesses who engendered men and women as the lowest-ranking descendants (Silverblatt 1987, 43–4). Complementarity derives from this notion. The conceptualization of the married couple as the cosmological ideal of karihuarmi, the union of complementary forces, reflects the cultural perception of the world in gender parallel lines, whose productivity depended upon their symbolic fusion (Classen 1993, 60). The passage shows how assimilation and drinking disintegrate native culture by distorting social relations based upon a heterosexual order characterized by roles, which, in turn, can also be characterized as the places in which identity and difference are constructed. 37

Ayllu is the basic kin unit of Andean social structure. Stern (1982, 6) defines it as a formally, “endogamous lineage,” which claims descent from the same ancestor. However, it is flexible in nature. It allows strategic exogamous marriages that create new ayllus and unite households, creating ethnic boundaries and means to survive through cooperation. 38 39

See also Silverblatt (1987, 8, 14, 147) and Stavig (1995b, 613, 603).

On the Iberian world, Perry (1990) discusses the ideas proposed by Fray Luis de León about marriage and the role of women in la Perfecta casada.

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Index All index entries shown here correspond to the page numbers within the printed edition only. Within this digital format these page numbers allow for cross referencing only. Acosta, José de 3n6, 6, 11n25, 27, 29n3, 31, 33n8, 50, 53, 55–8, 65–72, 82–3, 106 Adorno, Rolena 7–8, 12, 44n27, 77n1, 82n18, 86, 89, 93n40, 95n44 extirpation of idolatry 81 ladinidad 80 linguistic enterprise 17 monarch as exemplary administrator 80 other as “site of authorship” and discursive agency 78, 83–4 Althusser, Louis 9 ambiguity, tolerance for 79 Anzaldúa, Gloria 78, 79n5, 88, 100n56 “mestiza consciousness” 79 Aquinas, Thomas Las Casas drawing on 46n33 drunkenness and slavery 29 drunkenness as mortal sin 26, 67 moral teachings 21 natural law 98 Summa Theologiæ 25, 29 archive 8, 77, 92, 101 of Andean culture 87 drinking 88 of images 88, 97, 99 Arias, Santa 88n28, 108n13, 109n15 Aristotle Las Casas 90–91 Lewis Hanke 7n14, 36 natural slave 38, 45 about Politics 37, 47 Valladolid debate 44 Ayala, Felipe Guaman Poma de ix, 5, 8, 10–13, 45n32, 46–7, 75, 77–101, 103–4, 107–20 Ayllu 45n32, 48, 73, 118

Bacchus 6, 26–7, 67–70, 82 Bauer, Ralph 79 Berceo, Gonzalo de 1n2, 19, 21–2, 35 Betanzos, Juan de 29–30, 33n8 Bhabha ambivalence 11 body 32 ethics 87n26 construction of identity 35 “mode of differentiation” 68, 70 notion of culture 87n27 polarity of colonial discourse 11n25 on relation 79 on remembering 60 representation of difference 83 Bourdieu, Pierre 113n26 notion of preference 62 Bowser, Frederick 2n4, 56–7 Butler, Judith 27, 116, 120 Capoche, Luis 53–4, 59–60 Carrió de la Vandera, Alonso 33n8, 59–60 Castro-Klarén, Sara 42, 46, 84, 96 Chicha 27, 42n23, 53n47, 54–5, 56n52, 57, 61, 65, 94n42, 96, 107n12 corn beer 45 fermentation 1 production of 2n4 rituals 45n32 social pathology 43n25 tradition and memory 46 Cieza de León, Pedro 1–4, 9, 33n8, 58–60, 62, 65 Classen, Constance 4n9, 118n36 colonial discourse 3, 10n21, 11, 11n25, 13, 31, 32, 38n17, 44, 70, 79, 81, 83, 85, 86, 100, 110 Hulme, Peter 5, 6 neo-colonial discourse 43n25 rhetorical aspect 4 trope 5–6, 8, 10n21, 16, 34, 35, 45, 48, 49, 50, 67, 70, 75

confession 10, 17–19, 21–2, 23, 25, 29n3, 58n56, 71–5, 84n20, 94, 96 Connerton, Paul 60 Coronil, Fernando 10n23, 84 Council of Trent 70–71, 74, 82, 83, 84n20, 111 Counter Reformation 72–3, 113 nuclear family 74 social roles 73–5 couple 67, 74, 93, 118–19 ayni 100, 119 marriage 46, 63, 70, 72, 73, 117–19 sexual/gender parallelism 119 cultural encounters ix, 1–13, 8, 10n22 Cummins, Thomas 2n4, 4n9, 54, 60, 65, 95n44 dictionaries ix, 4, 15, 16, 22, 23, 25, 34 Fray Domingo de Santo Tomás’s Lexicon 10, 16, 17–19, 22–3 Sebastián de Covarrubias Horozco’s Tesoro 22, 23n16 docility 29, 31, 32, 35, 36, 39, 49, 51, 54, 72–3, 75, 106, 113n26, 118–19 notion of Christian 74 productive and subjected body 32 Douglas, Mary 2, 60, 104, 113n26 drinking 1, 2, 3, 4n9, 5n10, 6, 9, 11, 15n1, 16, 17, 18, 21n14, 22, 23, 26n24, 27, 30n4, 31, 32, 33, 41, 42, 43, 45, 47, 49, 51, 53, 54, 64, 65, 74, 91 Acosta 67–8 administration 98, 99 Ayala, Guaman Poma 79, 80, 81 celebration 46, 69, 94 cultural signifier 4, 77 decimation of laboring subjects 37 Devil 67 ethnicity 58–60 exhortation 73 foreign drinks 95 Inca work calendar 88, 92–3 indigenous women 118 moderation 29, 48, 69 morality 7, 94

natural and spiritual forces 93 “piece of social knowledge” 2 punishment 96–7 queros 66 reason 88, 88n28, 96, 97, 98, 99 reciprocity 66, 100 regulated activity of reciprocity 118 ritual and excess 47 sexual mores 72, 118 sins 25 social disintegration 118n36 styles of drinking 40 tolerance 98 Taki Onqoy 60, 63 huacas 61–2 taquiongos 61–3 relationship with chicha 61 tradition 85 world upside down, the 95 Yupanqui 99 drunkenness 2, 7, 8, 10, 11, 16, 17, 19, 22, 23, 25, 29, 32, 42n23, 44, 54 Atahualpa 29 barbarian 67, 21, 31, 49 borrachera 2n4, 33, 34n9, 34n10, 41n22, 49, 51, 53, 54, 56n52, 64n68, 65n71, 66n77, 68n81, 71n83, 74n88, 85n22 code of morality 94 crime against nature 7 derogatory terms 94 Devil 19, 26, 34, 65, 68, 73 epistemological value 16 excess 13, 15, 69, 72 hierarchical dualism 82 Incas 47–8, 51 infidelity 64, 66, 67, 71 laziness 35, 36, 41 literacy 82 lust 117–19 marker for culture 4, 58, 60

mortal sin 74 new meanings of 41, 42, 46 pagan substratum 83 representation 3, 9 rights to sovereignty 7 social problem 44–5, 57 “transfer point of power” 43, 75 Encomienda 7n14, 15n1, 15n2, 35, 36n13, 40, 86, 107, 112n21 Eurípides 1, 26, 52 Bacchae 26–7 Bacchanalia 1, 27, 70, 82 Fernández de Oviedo, Gonzalo 3 Foucault 8n3, 9, 16n14, 21, 22, 23, 25n23, 43, 53, 54, 72, 73, 93n40 architecture 52 docility 73 “lines of penetration” 103 power knowledge 40 spectacle 96 subjected body 32 “Framework of moral dualism” 3, 6, 23 Hodge, John L. 6, 43 moderation 3, 10, 13, 20, 21, 23–6, 31, 38–9, 48, 50–52, 54–6, 74, 83, 85, 93n39, 112, 120 and drinking 2, 22, 69 and excess 6, 7, 9, 19, 35, 113 interpellation 9, 10, 15n2 as progress 82 and subjectivation 9 moral dualism 8, 9, 23 Garofalo, Leo 57 “Genesis” 26, 29n1 Gruzinski, Serge 11n25, 25n21, 46, 57, 58, 72n85, 78 Harrison, Regina 17, 71–3 Hayashida, Frances 54

Heath, Dwight 2n5, 59 Horswell, Michael 3n6 hybridity 10n22, 78, 79 imaginary 25 as culture’s imaginary (Glissant) 8, moral Christian historical apriori (Foucault) 8 regional tradition (Mignolo) 8 inebriation abjection 9, 119 “contact zone” 9 empire 30, 72, 82 ethnic difference barbarian vs. civilized marker of difference 3, 5n10 notion of deviance 23, 53 crime 96–7 excess 13 lust 13, 71 idolatry 34, 53, 65, 67 infidelity 64, laziness 13, 35, 53, 71, 109 sickness 41 death 13, 41, 43 ethnicity 58–63 areito 59 imagery 1n2, 4, 6–10, 13, 16, 22, 47, 48, 50, 75, 78, 81, 83, 86, 88, 88n28, 92, 117 and indigenous women 117–19 medieval narratives 18 ordinances 24, 39n19 resistance 10 stereotype 5 superiority, sense of 32, 33 territorio enemigo 49 trope of colonial difference 45 Jennings, Justin 2n4

Klor de Alva, Jorge 78 Lamana, Gonzalo 23n18, 30n6 Las Casas, Bartolomé de 3n6, 7, 8, 12n26, 32, 37, 38n16, 46n33, 86, 88, 92, 95, 97, 99, 107 Apologética 47, 48, 91, 98, 108n13 Brevísima relación de la destruccion de las Indias [Brief Account] 108 Historia de las Indias 15n1 Los tesoros del Perú 47n34 Tratado de las doce dudas 47n34, 89–91 Laws of Burgos 15, 16, 24, 36, 43 León, Cieza de 1–4, 9, 33n8, 58–60, 62, 65 Lima Council First 63, 84, 113 Second 63, 64, 82, 84, 113 Third 4n9, 70, 71, 80, 84, 96, 113n25 Livy 1n2, 27 Bacchic rites 27 Lopez-Baralt, Mercedes 77n1, 80, 83n19, 84 MacCormack, Sabine 3, 30n5, 37, 46, 63n67, 105 Matienzo, Juan de 33–9, 41, 43–5, 49–53, 67, 97 Meléndez, Mariselle 3n6, 109n15 Meléndez, Mónica 43n25 Mignolo, Walter 3n6, 6, 8n18, 18n10, 30n5, 77n2, 81n12, 82n16, 83, 86, 98, 99, 100 “border thinking” 98 “colonial difference” 1, 5, 6, 10n21, 23, 37, 43, 44, 45, 58, 82n16, 108 “coloniality of power” 6, 37, 51 “locus of enunciation” 86, 87n27 Mills, Kenneth 61n63, 63 Mita 41, 42, 105n3, 106, 110, 112, 114, 118, 120 Moreiras, Alberto 10n22, 79n5 Nagel, Joane 103n1, 116 Nebrija, Antonio de 18 Nietzsche, Friedrich 26 O’Gorman, Edmundo 30n7, 83 Ondegardo, Polo de 33n8, 63, 65

Ortiz, Fernando 10n22, 11n23 Ortner, Sherry 74, 119 “ideological competition” 74 Pachacuti, Inca 77n1, 80n11, 105 place 103, 119, 120 identity 55, 58 locus of virtue 109 notion of 12–13, 54, 103–4, 109n15 reducciones 13, 31, 40, 41, 52–3, 73, 108–10 Plato 1n2, 21n14 Pratt, Mary Louise 9, 78 “autoethnographic” document 84 “contact zone” 84 transculturation 10n22 trope 6 Pulque 24–5, 27 pulquería 57 Quechua 16–19, 23, 29, 34, 58, 71–2, 77, 87, 115 catalog of Quechua words 85 Quijano, Aníbal 6n13, 36–7, 82 Quispe-Agnoli, Rocío 80, 84 Rama, Ángel 10n22, 49, 87n27 Ramírez, Susan 4n8, 12, 45n32, 46, 60, 92n37, 105 “cultural filters” 78 Recopilación de las leyes de los reinos de las Indias 16, 24, 104–7, 112–13 Regimine principum, de 80, 83n19 representation 3–8, 10–11, 13, 16, 23, 25, 29, 38, 40, 50, 52, 58, 77–8, 82–4, 88, 96–7, 101 Rostworowski de Diez Canseco, María 99–100, 105 Roth, Marty 26 Ruiz, Juan 1n2, 19, 21–2, 25 Said, Edward 16, 26, 31n7, 35n12 Saignes, Thierry 2n4, 29n2, 34n11, 57, 59 Sarmiento de Gamboa, Pedro 46–52, 67, 97 School of Salamanca 98

Silverblatt, Irene 66, 67n78, 69, 72, 114, 115n29, 116, 118n36, 119 sin 6, 17, 21–4, 26, 34, 66, 69, 71–2, 74, 96, 113, 114, 117 capital 71 cardinal 18 deadly 19 interrelatedness of sins 25 Smith, Linda 4n8 Solórzano y Pereyra, Juan 105, 106, 107n10 Spalding, Karen 40, 45, 60, 70, 105n6, 106, 108, 110, 112n21 tambos 12, 103–20 border 103n1, 104 church 12, 103, 109, 110–16, 119–20 colonial inn 12, 103, 104n2, 108, 112 excess 112, 113, 116, 118–20 meson 104–5, 108, 110 priest’s house and kitchen 12, 103, 114–15, 118, 119 enclosure of women 115, 119 taverns 52–8 Taylor, William 2, 9, 26, 39, 29 styles of drinking Thiong’o, Ngũgĩ wa 23 Todorov, Tzevetan 3n6, 32, 38n16, 45 Toledo, Francisco de 11n25, 13, 30–31, 33, 39–58, 61, 65, 67, 70, 80, 82, 89n28, 92, 97, 99, 106–9, 112–14 tolerance 13, 54, 79, 88, 90, 98, 101 coexistence of cultures 12 complementarity 12, 92, 98, 100, 118, 120 transculturation 10n22 Vega, Garcilaso de 5n10, 17n6, 17n7, 45n32, 58n56, 77n1, 93n39 Viceroyalty of Peru 4, 8, 31n7, 46, 74, 80, 104 as social and economic invention 30 Villegas, Juan 70n82 White, Hayden 5, 8, 51 Williams, Gareth 79n5

Yeager, Timothy 36n13 Young, Robert 11n24, 12, 30n6, 55n51, 78, 113n26 Yúdice, George 87n27 Yupanqui, Tupac Inka 80, 99 Zamora, Margarita 18, 58n56, 80 Zavala, Silvio 36n13