Category: Themes

Chile's relationship to Rapa Nui

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In the article “Issues on Land and Sovereignty: The Uneasy Relationship Between Chile and Rapa Nui”, anthropologist Riet Delsing focuses on the Rapa Nui, also named Easter Island (or Isla de Pascua), and the way it has been administrated by Chile for the past 150 years. Delsing gives a general historical overview of the history common to the island and the mainland, and examines the successive laws that had an impact on the population and the landownership of Rapa Nui. 
Chile gained independence from Spain in 1818, but was still consolidating its territory in the 1880s: the integration of the Mapuche territory in the south and the annexation of former Bolivian and Peruvian territories in the north were the context in which Chile annexed Easter Island in 1888. Policarpo Toro Hurtado signed the Agreement of Wills with the Rapanui leaders. From this date, Rapanui ancestral customs, specifically regarding landownership, were disrupted. After the annexation of the island, and especially because of the civil war of 1891, the Chilean nation-state lost interest in Rapa Nui. Everything changed in 1917, when the Chilean Republic started to consolidate its hold on the island by sending the navy as a colonial agent applying strict military rules on Rapa Nui. 
The history of Rapa Nui is intrinsically linked to landownership. Before Chilean colonization, the kainga as a form of collective landownership was exclusively applied. With the arrival of Chilean settlers and moreover with the passage of the Ley Pascua of 1966, private landownership was introduced. It was reinforced by the Ley Pinochet in 1979. In opposition to those laws, the Ley Indígena of 1993 established norms of protection, promotion, and development of Chile’s indigenous people, and recognized land as the lifeblood of indigenous cultures. Nevertheless, Rapanui people were not spectators in this process of assimilation. They often fought the Chilean government, organizing themselves into a Council of Elders in 1980 and creating a Rapanui Parliament with demands of autonomy. Eventually, in 2007, the island was granted a Special Status, thanks to a constitutional reform. 
Delsing’s article highlights the evolution of the relationship between Chile and its Pacific colony through a detailed examination of landownership on Rapa Nui. It identifies the specificities of Rapa Nui, both its peculiar indigenous social organization and the policy of the Chilean government towards it, as opposed to mainland indigenous territories.
 
Delsing, Riet. “Issues of land and sovereignty: the uneasy relationship between Chile and Rapa Nui (Easter Island)” in Decolonizing Native Histories: Collaboration, Knowledge, and Language in the Americas. Durham: Duke University Press, 2012.
https://muse.jhu.edu/chapter/515052

Native anthropology and Native historiography

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Alongside with political under-representation, denied social rights, and sometimes deprivation from their lands, indigenous in Latin America have often been excluded from the academic sphere. To overcome this lack, some scholars have recently advocated for a Native anthropology and historiography. 
Native anthropology
Native anthropology would develop “a set of theories based on non-Western precepts and assumptions in the same sense that modern anthropology is based on has supported Western beliefs and values” [1]. Indeed, most ethnographic works are written by academics who use a particular frame and a Western conceptualization of indigeneity. Indigenous theorizing then results from a combination of the appropriation of academic anthropology and indigenous patterns of narration. 
On this matter, one issue is translation. Translating the Colombian Constitution of 1991 from Spanish into Nasa Yuwe, the language spoken by the Nasa people in Colombia, is a way to liberate the Spanish version from its original limitations. Nevertheless, it is no more the translation than the process itself that is important here: translating the Constitution needed the collaboration of a team gathering authorities of Mosoco indigenous community, bilingual teachers, indigenous and national linguists, and professionals from the national society. This collaborative work leads to autoethnography, which Rappaport and Ramos define as “[the appropriation of] external concepts within an indigenous political matrix with the aim of introducing new strategies for cultural survival.”[2] The dialogue between indigenous activists and academics takes the form of interculturalism, as opposed to multiculturalism, which promotes a simple tolerance of ethnic minorities, instead of integrating them in the national discourse. 
Native historiography and the example of the Nasa
Joanne Rappaport gives a formidable overview of Nasa history — a community in the Colombian Andes — from the point of view of Nasa historians. Native history has been ignored for many years because it was not considered academic by Western or Western-oriented scholars; Rappaport highlights its legitimacy and offers to read it as a tool to understand political events in a different way. Rather than truth, she emphasizes the presence of a particular point of view when historians write history. In other words, history is a subjective construct.[3]
Conveying the work of three Nasa historians — Don Juan Tama y Calambás, Manuel Quintín Lame, and Julio Niquinás — Rappaport highltights the incorporative character of native histories.[4] Nasa historians’ goals were not to deconstruct the history they were taught, but to incorporate their own stories to it. In other words, creating a new native history meant to create a mix of interpretations, that did not exclude each other. 
Considering the telling of history as a series of choices allows Rappaport to consider history in terms of power. When the Spaniards conquered what is now Colombia, one of the way to take control over the Nasa was to deprive them from their own history.[5] This situation lasted for centuries, before indigenous activists like Juan Tama started to access the academic sphere and began to write indigenous history in their own terms. Nevertheless, rather than a complete rejection of Western historical methods, Tama’s, Lame’s, and Niquiná’s works are a syncretism between Western historiography and Nasa storytelling. This methodology falls into what Rappaport and Ramos call “autoethnography” and allows indigenous historians to talk about the past without separating it from the present. In The Politics of Memory, Rappaport successfully highlights the work of indigenous historians/storytellers, and guarantees them posterity. Citing the work of Juan Tama, Quintín Lame, and Julio Niquinás, she contextualizes the voices of indigenous people that continuously rose up since the Spanish colonization. Rappaport’s work falls into a recent consideration of indigenous perspectives on history, and especially the way indigenous communities conceptualize history. 
Native Americans have been excluded from academic dialogue for years, but their discourse is now brought into it. Native historians, scholars, anthropologists, are now blurring the Western line between past and present, the line between the actual and the mythical.Their work not only acknowledges the interest of Native history and methods, it empowers our own understanding of history by adding — but not replacing — another perspective to it.
[1] Ramos Pacho, Abelardo and Rappaport, Joanne. “Collaboration and Historical Writing: Challenges for the Indigenous-Academic Dialogue”, in Mallon, Florencia, ed. Decolonizing Native Histories: Collaboration, Knowledge, and Language in the Americas. Durham: Duke University Press, 2012, 122.
[2] Ramos Pacho and Rappaport, 126.
[3] Rappaport, Joanne. The Politics of Memory: Native Historical Interpretation in the Colombian Andes. Durham: Duke University Press, 1998, 13.
[4] Rappaport, 168.
[5] Rappaport, 1.
https://muse.jhu.edu/chapter/515055

Indigenous Languages: Access to Language Learning Services

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This is a small list of different language learning tools collected by students of the class. Language is an important aspect of culture, however, many of the indigenous peoples sometimes struggle linguistically. The population who speak indigenous languages is few, so sometimes they are not able to communicate. The dominance of Spanish and the forced learning of it affected communities. We compiled links with access to language learning tools for indigenous languages to increase their visibility.
 
MULTIPLE LANGUAGES AND SERVICES
 
Duolingo: https://www.duolingo.com/
Offers GUARANÍ, NAVAJO, and HAWAI’IAN
 
Native Languages: http://www.native-languages.org/
 
The Live Lingua School: https://www.livelingua.com/
 
The Talking Dictionary Series by Living Tongues:
https://livingtongues.org/talking-dictionaries/
Offers indigenous languages spoken in Peru, Bolivia, Paraguay, Chile, and USA
 
GUARANÍ
 
Language resource by Native Languages: http://www.native-languages.org/guarani.htm
 
MAORI
 
The Complete English-Maori Dictionary: http://www.maorilanguage.info/mao_lang_faq.html
 
MAPUDUNGUN (Mapuche)
 
Mapuche to Spanish dictionary:  https://yazg.wordpress.com/diccionario-mapudungun/
 
A Mapuche language learning site:
http://educagratis.cl/moodle/course/view.php?id=464
 
NAHUATL
 
The Nahuatl Dictionary: https://nahuatl.uoregon.edu/
 
OBJIWE
 
The Objiwe People’s Dictionary: https://ojibwe.lib.umn.edu
 
A Dictionary fo the Objiway Language by Nichols Baraga and John Nichols
 
QUECHUA
 
English-Quechua Dictionary created by the Institute of Education Services: https://eric.ed.gov/?id=ED012031, https://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/ED012031.pdf
 
Quechua-Spanish-English dictionary by Clodoalso Soto: http://www.clacs.illinois.edu/quechua/documents/QuechuaDicc.pdf
 
Live Quechua Lessons by Barry Brian Werger: http://www.ullanta.com/quechua/#livelessons
 
English to Quechua dictionary by Glosbe:  https://glosbe.com/en/qu.
 
WAYUUNAIKI
 
A translating tool based on  Basic Illustrated Dictionary; Wayuunaiki-Spanish; Spanish-Wayuunaiki (Diccionario básico ilustrado; Wayuunaiki-Español; Español-Wayuunaiki):
https://pueblosoriginarios.com/lenguas/wayuu.php
 
A Wayuunaiki to Spanish illustrated dictionary: https://www.academia.edu/9990081/DICCIONARIO_B%C3%81SICO_ILUSTRADO_WAYUUNAIKI-ESPA%C3%91OL_ESPA%C3%91OL-WAYUUNAIKI  
 
YAQUI
 
A web resource by the Native Languages of America:
http://www.native-languages.org/yaqui.htm
 

The Coloniality of Gender

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In the Western world, discussions on the struggles produced by colonialism tend to be myopic. For example, the application of western feminists theories in non-western societies falls shorts of fully demonstrating the complexities of the subjugation of people based on gender within the colonial state. In general, western feminist thought lacks an understanding of how gender became a tool to oppress people. Maria Lugones writes “The Coloniality of Gender” to offer more insight on the confluence of gender and colonialism. She critiques the discussion on the coloniality of power concept by Anibal Quijano with the help of feminist theoretical frameworks by Women of Color feminists. Her essay explores her interest in the intersection of “race, class, gender, and sexuality” within the colonial power structure to highlight the shortsighted discussions of liberation and struggle by men, and in particular, men of color.
The coloniality of power describes the concept of how modernity resulted from the legacies of colonialism through the domination, exploitation, and oppression of people under the Eurocentric capitalism and from racialization in the Americas [1].  Lugones criticized this model for being too narrow because it “veil[s] the ways in which non-’white’ colonized women were subjected and disempowered. She explains that she understands how Quijano sees the subjugation of people through the “axis of the coloniality of power,” and how he sees gender within this restrictive framework. However, his shortcomings demonstrate how women of color are overlooked even in academic discussions. Lugones then lists examples of the coloniality of gender.
Lugones describes the inconsistencies within gender assignation and its relation to understanding biological sex. For example, intersex people are 1 in 4 globally, and depending on which genitalia they were born with, they would be assigned a sex identity. However, even within this assignation, Lugones explains, notions of subordination based on gender are imposed. This ties with what Oyéronké Oyewùmí explains about the implementation of gender in the colonization of the Yoruba people. With colonization, gender subordination and race inferiorization were imposed on the Yoruba thus stripping their social structures. Paula Gunn Allen also explains how many North American indigenous communities were gynocratic and their belief systems revolved around female deities, yet that changed with colonization. Subordination of women came through the “the decimation of populations through starvation, disease, and disruption of all social, spiritual, and economic structures,” Gunn Allen adds that indigenous men were complicit in the restructuring of their social order especially after many were taken to England to learn the “way of the English.” This demonstrates the extent which sex, gender, and sexuality were colonized by the Euro-centric capitalist power. Lugones then describes how the feminist movements of the twentieth century were not designed for the use of women of color. The feminism of white women, bourgeois white women, only focused on their subordination and did not so because they did not see themselves in the “intersection of race, gender and other forceful marks of subjection or domination.” Stereotypes about women and men of color emphasize the importance of seeing this because it manifested how the norm for gender expectations and relations were centered around white men and women, first the bourgeois and later middle class. Likewise, heterosexuality is a construction that arose and marked the appropriate relations between people as they aligned with the colonial/modern gender system.
These examples demonstrate how gender is also a tool for establishing domination over colonized places. Because gender is not always investigated separately, it can be missed in conversations about the struggles of decolonization. In this article, Lugones demonstrated how colonization created a new gender system, and how it affected the social structures that people and made them more susceptible to exploitation from Europeans. Within these examples, Women of Color feminists demonstrated the depth of change necessary to leave societies vulnerable to oppression and how these become overlooked.
These insights are helpful within our Latin American context because we have read on examples of how gender affects Indigenous Peoples. We read on about the Muxe of Oaxaca, and how indigenous women are seen as more indigenous than men, to list some examples. Colonization profoundly transformed people and societies. It is easy however to dismiss the impacts of it when discussions about it are dominated by men, and men of color, who do not perceive gender to be influential topics. Within our class, it was helpful to read about women’s experiences because they launched conversations on the role gender plays in history the indigenous people of Latin America.
 
Lugones, Maria. “The Coloniality of Gender.” Worlds & Knowledges Otherwise 2, no. 2 (2008): 1–17. https://globalstudies.trinity.duke.edu/projects/wko-gender.
[1] Quijano, Anibal, and Michael Ennis. “Coloniality of Power, Eurocentrism, and Latin America.” Nepantla: Views from South 1, no. 3 (November 1, 2000): 533–80. https://muse.jhu.edu/article/23906.

Afro-Indigenous People and Relations

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Afro-indigenous people in Central and South American countries seem to be poorly represented; information about their presence is difficult to find. Although certain sources indicate that indigenous Latin Americans historically intermingled with Africans and people of African descent who were brought to the region as slaves, indigenous people seem to exist in their own category apart from Afro-Latin Americans. Additionally, although the terms mestizo (person of European and indigenous heritage) and mulatto (person of mixed European and African descent) are often used in scholarship and literature, there doesn’t seems to be a common or evident term for people with mixed Afro-indigenous heritage.

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[1]

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As a result, the existence people of this racial makeup is mostly disregarded or ignored. This limitation on the exploration of mixed-race people indicates the control of white people in society, as people are only relevant if they are white in some aspect. Even so, only people who are completely white are valued and treated with respect. This ignorance of the presence of black people in and related to indigenous communities is especially evident in the context of Central and South America. In general, scholarship about any type of relationships that exist between people of African descent and indigenous people explores this concept in North American tribal communities. However, this information can potentially apply to similar interactions in the context of Latin America, revealing more about race dynamics and the presence of minority groups in that region.

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In his article Dangerous Decolonizing: Indians and Blacks in the Legacy of Jim Crow, author Brian Klopotek explores the presence of blackness in Indian communities, specifically in the Choctaw tribe, as well as the general relationships between black people and Native Americans. He discusses how existing indigenous methodologies limit research in certain ways. The author mentions that U.S. indigenous studies only explore interracial relationships as they exist between Indians and whites. This indicates that U.S. society is very white dominated, because the existence of Native Americans (and other minority groups) is only discussed as it relates to white people. The same limitations seem to exist in scholarship about indigenous Latin Americans, most likely because in this context, a lot of history of indigenous people was written by Europeans. As a result, more modern research about indigenous communities and cultures, especially that created by members of these tribes, often ignore relationships they have with any other racial groups, seeking instead to share the story of indigenous people because they have been silenced for so long. Similarly, Klopotek mentions, the commonalities indigenous people share with other racial minorities are often ignored because research tries to set Indians apart from other people of color. However, as members of relatively diverse communities who experience oppression and marginalization, Native Americans and scholarship about them should explore how they fit into greater society.

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“certain Native Americans have ‘at times reproduced systems of oppression from the colonizers within [their] own communities.’”

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Unfortunately, Klopotek’s exploration of the manifestations of racial prejudice within indigenous communities demonstrates negative aspects of the relationships that exist between Native Americans and other minority groups. Because this article examines a tribe that lives in the southeastern part of the United States, aspects of the surrounding areas, specifically antiblack racism, have infiltrated this indigenous community. Interestingly, the author mentions how, when interacting with other minority groups, certain Native Americans have “at times reproduced systems of oppression from the colonizers within [their] own communities.” [2] This represents the dynamic that often occurs among minority groups in that they seek to be the least oppressed rather than work together for a common cause against the primary oppressor: white people. Additionally, the schisms that develop between different minority groups weakens them and allows white people to gain even more control, further solidifying their position as the dominant race in society.

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[1] Nicolás León, Cuadro De Castas Coloniales, 1924, Las Castas Del México Colonial o Nueva España, Museo Nacional Del Virreinato, Tepotzotlán, México.

[2] Brian Klopotek, “Dangerous Decolonizing: Indians and Blacks and the Legacy of Jim Crow,” ed. Florencia E. Mallon, in Decolonizing Native Histories: Collaboration, Knowledge, and Language in the Americas, VII (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2012), 180, accessed May 14, 2019.

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Summary of Now Peru Is Mine

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In Now Peru Is Mine: The Life and Times of a Campesino Activist, Manuel Llamojha Mitma and Jaymie Patricia Heilman present a testimonio of Llamojha’s lifelong activism and struggles against socioeconomic and racial oppression in Peru—and across the globe, to some extent—throughout the 20th century. Now Peru Is Mine illustrates the idea that nonviolent resistance, especially activism involving the written word, can be far more effective than violent means with respect to achieving social progress.
The book begins by outlining the events of Llamojha’s early life that led him on his activist path. Although Llamojha was born to an indigenous peasant family in a community with a severely low literacy rate, his father taught him to read and write at a young age. Llamojha witnessed the abuses of the hacendados firsthand, and these injustices, in conjunction with his literacy, inspired in him a desire to lead and make a difference. He initially intended to become a priest, but was unjustly rejected as a result of his race and class. He then joined the military, planning to use his service as the jumping-off point for a revolution, but was dismissed for these very same revolutionary inclinations. Over time, Llamojha learned more about the systems of oppression operating in Peru, through books, word of mouth, and his personal observations. He became secretary general of a migrant club in his community, challenging the local authorities.
Next, Llamojha and Heilman focus on Llamojha’s activism with the Jhajhamarka hacienda. Llamojha would use his ever-present typewriter, as well as makeshift seals and other “official” devices, to compose complex legal documents. The authorities constantly harassed him, occasionally forging documents to brand him a communist. Llamojha observes that he was in jail so often that it became like home to him. He was even forced to fake his own death at one point in order to evade arrest. This constant turmoil was difficult for his family to handle at times. While Llamojha was in jail, he also continued his activism. Eventually, he was elected personero legal of Concepción, a position to which he continued to be reelected over the years.
Llamojha was later elected secretary general of the Confederación Campesina del Perú, and in the sixties he traveled to various socialist countries, including Cuba, the Soviet Union, and China. Llamojha criticized the brand of communism practiced by the USSR, favoring instead the peasant-oriented communism of Mao’s China. Upon his return, Llamojha was jailed for an entire year. Unfortunately, in the seventies, schisms developed within the CCP in response to the state-enforced agrarian reforms of the Velasco military government. Llamojha and others opposed the regime because they felt the reforms were insufficient, and disempowered the peasant class. During this period, various other disputes also arose within the left.
Next, Llamojha and Heilman recount likely the darkest period in Llamojha’s life: the loss of his son Herbert. Herbert was wrongfully arrested on suspicion of involvement in a terrorist attack perpetrated by the Shining Path. Disturbingly, he was turned in by Llamojha’s own brother, who was apparently sympathetic to the hacendado cause. The Shining Path later attacked the prison in which Herbert was being held, and he escaped, but he was never officially seen again. This tragedy profoundly devastated Llamojha and his family. In this regard, Llamojha and Heilman present a pointed critique of violent revolutionary tactics like those employed by the Shining Path and other militant organizations.  
Now Peru Is Mine addresses issues that are echoed within a plethora of scholarly works, including Waskar Ari-Chachaki’s essay “Between Indian Law and Qullasuyu Nationalism: Gregorio Titiriku and the Making of AMP Indigenous Activists, 1921-1964.” Both works demonstrate the power of literacy in terms of organizing movements and effecting social progress. Like Llamojha, intellectual activist Gregorio Titiriku had a father who taught him to read and write early in his life. Like Llamojha, these abilities inspired and allowed for Titiriku’s career as an activist. Finally, for both Llamojha and Titiriku, the knowledge of and familiarity with the intricacies of their respective governing institutions provided by literacy was instrumental in their success. This connection is important because it demonstrates that the effectiveness of Llamojha’s writing-oriented, nonviolent resistance is not an isolated aberration. These forms of activism work across the globe and across historical time periods, not just in Peru and not just during the period of Llamojha’s work.
Llamojha and Heilman’s message regarding the importance of this kind of resistance can be seen in one passage in the book in particular, which depicts some highly meaningful images. In Chapter Two, “‘I Made the Hacendados Tremble’: Defending Jhajhamarka Campesinos, 1948-1952,” specifically on pages 47 through 52, Llamojha and Heilman describe how Llamojha used his typewriter and makeshift stamps to draw up documents. Llamojha recounts that he used to carry his typewriter wherever he went so that he would always be prepared to draft petitions, formal requests, memos, and the like, if the situation should present itself. He goes on to explain that he would then take these documents directly to the national government himself, bypassing the local authorities. In doing so, Llamojha was time and time again able to win important rights and protections for his people, going so far as to “make the hacendados tremble.” The image of Llamojha carrying his typewriter around wherever he would go is especially striking because it contrasts so strongly with more traditional images of revolutionaries carrying guns and other weapons. Llamojha’s example affirms the adage that the pen (or typewriter, as the case may be), is truly mightier than the sword.
Works Cited
Ari-Chachaki, Waskar. “Between Indian Law and Qullasuyu Nationalism. Gregorio Titiriku and the Making of AMP Indigenous Activists, 1921-1964.” Bolivian Studies Journal/Revista De Estudios Bolivianos, vol. 15, 2011, pp. 91–113., doi:10.5195/bsj.2010.11.
Mitma, Manuel Llamojha, and Jaymie Patricia Heilman. Now Peru Is Mine: the Life and Times of a Campesino Activist. Duke University Press, 2016.

Decolonizing History: Past, Present, Power

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Historiography is the study of history itself. It is a systematic study of what history is, how people have “done” history, and what role history plays in social systems. In other words, historiography is looking at the forces that determine how history has been told, what is told, and who gets to tell it. So, why is it important to think about historiography? How does it relate to decolonizing history? To Indigenous rights?
When we study history itself, we see its relationship to power and politics. History is a dynamic and subjective system by which communities remember the past and relate it to the present; history can serve to either enforce or dismantle systemic inequality. This is because, as scholar Joanne Rappaport writes, “Knowledge of the past is a fundamental component of land disputes, political agreements and arguments over inheritance. It is also central to efforts at strengthening a communal identity’ [1]. Here, Rappaport points out the inherently political aspect of history that is often made invisible. Many people tend to think of history as a fixed and objective account of the past that, because of these qualities, exists outside of socio political structures.
However, material and immaterial concerns are inextricable from history both in its production and its effects. What I mean is that material resources — such as money and access to formal education — impact who gets to be part of history telling processes. Similarly, immaterial concerns — like societal attitudes — play a role in who is included in telling history. This is the production side of things. In terms of history’s effects, materially, how history is told may impact the way that land and resource disputes are settled; immaterially, how we understand the past has an effect on forming identities and ideologies.
What does this all have to do with colonialism and decolonization? When we think of colonialism, we often think specifically of the political rule of one community over another. Colonialism, in this view, is a political and economic structure that terminates with the material “liberation” of the subaltern. However, when we consider the intimate social and ideological legacies of colonialism — how it fundamentally disrupts native conceptions of gender, of ethnicity, of history — we see coloniality as an ongoing problem.
One colonial legacy is the disruption and erasure of native-storytelling in favor of European tellings of history. When history is colonized in this way, it often throws a veil over the systemic violence that Indigenous people have faced. It also deprives Indigenous communities of the power to tell history in a way that accurately reflects their identities, experiences, and values.  
However, history can be transformed from a colonial legacy into a tool of resistance. Knowledge of the past can be “indispensable in the maintenance of autonomy in the face of European domination” [2]. When Indigenous people have the space to tell their own history, it can become an important means of forming and strengthening identities, making claims to land, and unlearning the European histories which often diminish Indigenous experience. What might this look like in practice? How might Indigenous knowledge systems differ from European ones?
For the Nasa (also called the Paez) people in Colombia, history is “difficult to locate […] in time and space” [3]. Nasa storytelling is non-linear, it includes mythic elements, and is episodic. This is not out of an inability to tell history in a European mode — “It is not that indigenous peoples have no sense of the flow of time, nor that they are unable to distinguish fact from fiction, […], but that fictive and fantastic images may help them to reflect more fully upon the real” [4].
This all might demonstrate why historiography and decolonizing history are so important when it comes to indigenous rights. If we do not study how history has been made, we cannot understand how history has been used to perpetuate inequality — or how it can be used to challenge that inequality.
Notes
[1] Rappaport, Joanne, The Politics of Memory: Native Historical Interpretation in the Colombian Andes. (Chapel Hill: Duke University Press, 1998), 11-12.
[2] Rappaport, Joanne. The Politics of Memory, 11-12.
[3] Rappaport, Joanne. The Politics of Memory, 11.
[4] Rappaport, Joanne. The Politics of Memory, 18.
Works Cited
Rappaport, Joanne. The Politics of Memory: Native Historical Interpretation in the Colombian Andes. Chapel Hill: Duke University Press, 1998.
 

Who is Indigenous? A Question of Indigeneity Throughout Latin America

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The term that has been the hardest for me to understand throughout the term is indigenous. At the beginning of this course, I heavily attributed this term to the word native, meaning originating from, as I mostly commonly associate this term to plants and herbs. However, as the term has gone on I have noticed that the meaning of indigenous varies within different countries and peoples, especially in the case studies of Bolivia, Colombia, Peru, and Chile we have focused on.
The piece by Andrew Canessa, “Who Is Indigenous? Self-Identification, Indigeneity, And Claims to Justice in Contemporary Bolivia”, further explores the meaning of indigenous by analyzing the complexity of indigeneity in Bolivia in terms of identification of self and entire communities.  Canessa describes how the term indigenous is heavily associated to the ideas of hunter-gatherers and nomads. Most notably the word indigenous is thought closely to stand for “primitive” in relation to the ancestors of humankind. Although this is the initial thought when discussing the term indigenous, Canessa acknowledges that who is indigenous and what it means to be indigenous throughout Latin America is complex and variable among different individuals and time.
An aspect of indigeneity could include language, specifically the language of Quechua in the case of Bolivia, but many indigenous languages throughout Latin America also contribute to this. Although language is an important factor to indigeneity, it is not a binding requirement since there are many individuals who do not speak Quechua, such as the president Evo Morales, and still identify as indigenous.  Indigeneity can also be identified through jobs worked, such as that of farming and agriculture, that also reflect social class. Plus, geographical setting was a key role to some individuals who identify as indigenous through their ties to land pre- and post-colonialism. However, it is not always the case or required as seen through the cases of migrants who have been forced off their land. One of the biggest challenges that comes with self-identification when it comes to indigeneity is the relevant political issues that rise up, since many take the identity of indigenous as a political position. As Canessa points out in this article, this brings up the question of who gets a say when discussing indigenous needs and rights if those who identify as indigenous do it in varying ways.
Defining this term is also a bit subjective in many cases, as one may wonder if the term indigenous is meant to be an inclusive or vastly exclusive term. In some areas, this word is very exclusionary since it requires the individual to be, look, live, work, and identify a certain way in order to be able to identify or be accepted as indigenous. This may leave those who do not fit these standards exactly, or at all, to be unacknowledged.
The piece “Transnational Settler Colonial Formations and Global Capital: A Consideration of Indigenous Mexican Migrants” by Lourdes Gutiérrez Nájera and Korinta Maldonado attempts to describe and understand the relationship between the migration of indigenous communities into spaces influenced by settler-colonialism. The authors discuss the underlying question of how settler-colonialism influences indigeneity in terms of social order and relations to the land. The article mentions how the migration led to a sort of “Indigenous Resurgence” among the Mixtecs, Zapotecs, and Mixes people from the state of Oaxaca, Mexico into the surrounding area of Los Angeles. Specifically, the Zapotec people have been noted to have left a big impact in the city of LA, in a space that has become known as “Oaxacalifornia”, through the formation of enclaves, restaurants, and stores. Also, they even formed local organizations such as bands, basketball teams, dance groups, and festivals or parades of cultural celebration. This specifically reflects how the indigenous communities of migrants from Oaxaca, Mexico were able to develop their indigeneity even in this transnational space they found themselves in. The article analyzes the question of indigeneity through migrants who are no longer in the land their culture and way of life contributes to. But despite this, the indigenous communities of the Mixtecs, Zapotecs, and Mixes people show how their indigeneity can be lived, practiced, embraced, and supported despite the distance and space they live in today.
Also, this term can serve to be inclusive in other areas, as there is no exact definition of the word, leaving it to be more general including everyone who wishes to identify this way. However, there are even some homologous terms in other countries, such as our current case study of Peru where the people prefer the term campesino, which in a sense implies indigenous descent but more importantly acknowledges a socioeconomic status. Although, there is no straightforward or single definition for the term indigenous, the themes and complexities that its understanding entails is important in order to begin, or continue understanding indigeneity as a whole.

Rosa Isolde Reuque Paillalef's When a Flower is Reborn

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The Latin American testimonial literature genre has been critiqued for subjecting indigenous subjects to generalizations and even, in some testimonies, allowing western academics to overpower indigenous voices when writing about them. When a Flower is Reborn, by contrast, exemplifies a work in the genre that functions as it should. This specific type of collaboration between Mapuche Feminist Rosa Isolde Reuque Paillalef and Florencia Mallon illuminates a potential path filled with hope for the testimony genre. Florencia Mallon, the editor and translator of Reuque’s life as a Mapuche feminist, structures the book in a way that attempts to resolve the issues that pop up in the testimony genre by incorporating dialogue that engages not only Requeue but also her family. This allows for intimacy to come to fruition and creates a sense that the reader is partaking in the conversation alongside Mallon. Mallon’s goal as an academic is to partly demonstrate that the testimony genre is far from becoming obsolete; instead, she argues that the book is not structured to cement herself as an authoritative voice of reason, though at times it may feel that way, and clarifies this potential issue in her introduction. In her short introduction to the book, she relays that although both Mallon and Reuque have different purposes in the creation of the book. Mallon views her ability to translate as providing Reuque’s marginalized positionality a critical platform to articulate her concerns that do not require a westerner claiming that they provide authenticity to such a voice because the voice coming from a Mapuche is “authentic” in and of itself and does not warrant qualification.
Reuque became one of the founding members of the first Mapuche women’s feminist organization in Chile’s history, and what elevates its significance of this event in When a Flower is Reborn is the insight provided, which is that despite communities recovering from Pinochet’s dictatorship, they were also recovering from the fragmentation of political parties produced by  Chile’s transition to democracy following Pinochet’s dictatorship. Overall, this book intimately follows Reuque’s life as she witnesses massive political changes that afflict not only Chilean peasants but also indigenous communities to serve as a testament that Mapuche organizing is not a novelty but rather a long-standing and continual process.
When a Flower is Reborn begins with an introduction, ends with a conclusion and includes four thick chapters that relay both Chilean history and Reuque’s political contributions to the Mapuche movement. In the first chapter, she writes about the self-proclaimed and metaphorical man-woman identity that was forced upon her. She clarifies that her harsh upbringing was filled with laborious and challenging roles traditionally imposed on boys. This in addition to Mapuche culture’s attitude toward womanhood limited her autonomy and perceived credibility. As a response to these limitations, Reuque interweaves a theme, at least partly explored by Mallon in her introduction, of the centrality of motherhood to cementing her authority and credibility in the flower metaphor representing womanhood. In Mapuche society, motherhood was one of the few opportunities through which Mapuche women at the time of Reuque’s birth were allowed to gain autonomy and any sense of power. Significantly, it is understood within Mapuche culture and especially in Reuque’s poetry that flowers symbolically represent women and that womanhood is connected to nature, which cements its resilience, which can also be applied to the Mapuche struggle as a whole, across the gender spectrum.
In addition, Reuque is critical of her own Mapuche culture and admits that early on in her life she did not identify heavily with her Mapuche identity and it was not until later that it began to resonate deeply with her. Reuque comments on the generational conflicts between traditional Mapuche elders and the Chilean society. Throughout her upbringing, Reuque informs the reader about the gender dynamics that were extremely pervasive, which led to the creation of the first Mapuche Women organization in the later part of her life. Reuque’s dedication to the Mapuche movement is highlighted by her decision to quit school and completely devote herself to reviving Mapuche culture while it clashes and resists against assimilation and genocidal violence inflicted upon her communities. In short, Reuque’s navigation of Mapuche culture during transient and dangerous times of transition in Pinochet’s dictatorship and later evolution into a democracy mirrors the broader plight of indigenous communities in Chile and Latin America more broadly at the time.
Additionally, the conversation on gender dynamics continues but within the context of kinship systems. Reuque’s in-law awakened her political consciousness. Their level of support was inspirational and mainly shaped her perspective on the power that community support can have on a broader scale; it invigorated and energized her to continue fighting conflicting identities, in particular, between Chile, Mapuche, and Christian-democratic identities. As Reuque reflects on and converses about the political party fragmentation that the Indigenous Land Law created, which is more heavily discussed in the third chapter, she applies the lessons learned from kinship support toward coalition-building identity politics to combat the political divisions that threatened the party in the early years of Chile’s democratic period.
In addition to the party fragmentations occurring in the earlier parts of her life, she details the creation of the Mapuche Women Organization as stemming out from systemic gender inequities. Here, Reuque synthesizes the aforementioned gender imbalances that prevented women from working within the system and made it so that they had to coalesce and create their own institution in the hope of deconstructing the patriarchal elements of Mapuche culture. Gender inequality was not limited to the Mapuche community. International conferences, NGOs and male world leaders partook in the structural oppression of women and did not give the women department of the Mapuche women organization their own budget; therefore, Reuque pushed for an independent budget for gender and argued that the department should be called “gender” rather than “women,” because, as proven by her experience, when it is called “women,” the department receives little to no funding.
This conversation reminds me of French and Bliss’ Introduction: Gender, Sexuality, and Power in Latin America Since Independence because they argue for the inclusion of a gender category within the discipline of history. This is because, in short, relations between gender and sexuality and their respective binaries permeate historical events and play a much larger role than they are made out to; thus, gender and sexuality must be their own categories of historical thinking, rather than just themes. In the attempt to achieve this, Reuque continues to speak out against the contradictions within masculine approaches to gender in communities and does so through the effective organization of Mapuche women, embodying their resilience when she went on to attend the International Women Beijing conference in 1995. Despite her argument in When a Flower is Reborn evolving into one that champions feminism as a framework to further liberate her fellow Mapuche women, she notes in various chapters that the Mapuche struggle summarized is to be formally recognized in the Chilean Constitution as legitimate. In particular, Reuque hopes that this book will reawaken the fight in indigenous communities to rise up against their opposition even if the opposition is working covertly; thus, she wishes that the community does not need another Pinochet-esque event to reawaken their vigor, their anger, and their culture, however, she also believes that complacency must end for indigenous rights to triumph.
 
Works:
French, William E., and Katherine Elaine Bliss, eds. “Introduction” in Gender, Sexuality, and Power in Latin America since Independence. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2006.
Reuque Paillalef, Rosa Isolde. 2002. When a Flower Is Reborn: The Life and Times of a Mapuche Feminist. Edited by Florencia E. Mallon. Durham: Duke University Press.

Nasa's Historical Consciousness Within Colombia

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Summary: This essay connects ideas of historical memory, historical consciousness and the Nasa people’s production of knowledge in Colombia to feminist and queer Chicanx theoretical frameworks to posit the complications that may arise in observing history that functions differently from standard western thought.
Incorporating the theme of historical memory into our syllabus allows for intimate interactions with the histories of the communities that it records, in this case, the histories of Indigenous Nasa communities that reside in the Colombian Andes. On another note, in one of our class discussions that occurred on April 24th, 2019, a fellow classmate argued that historians who specialize in Native studies must allow for the native subject’s specific-lived experience as a member of that particular society to take central focus in the historian’s writing as opposed to writing in seemingly objective traditional forms of linear observation and recording because if they don’t then they will be removing the native subject’s opportunity to speak on their truth for once. Moreover, the historian should self-reflect and explain the thought process they used to write about the subject. Explaining any type of discrepancy between the native communities and western ways of thinking allows for the westerner to be fully equipped to attempt to understand the specific-lived experience being described. This process of writing highlights one of the most essential aspects of history writing that deserves more attention, which is historical consciousness. Therefore, it is through the necessary modification of this historical-framework that allows indigenous communties to codify their memory into something more palpable, specific and legitimate to their community rather than to academia. For historians, this means essentially that they would avoid the critique of not only anthropologist research but also historian records. In short, historians must stray away from the jargon and elitist-like feeling that comes when discussing histories and introducing the person(s) rather than a conflated and generalized individual because by doing so it provides the flexibility necessary to sensibly engage in dialogue with oppressed communities. In addition, the text’s point on how the history of the Nasa is “not an event history but a feeling for the consequence of the past as they are lived today” is crucial to understanding how important it is to incorporate the theme of historical memory into methods of reading and writing history. [1]
For theoretical framework support, I point to feminism, in particular, pluralist feminism and a concept coined by Jose Estaban Munoz called disidentification. [2] I acknowledge the critiques on feminist works, particularly, the critique on how to apply western thought when discussing non-western societies and to that, I argue that we take these frameworks and dissect and rearrange them in a way that assists in deterring the plight of indigenous communities—or at least helping to understand their plight. The main take away from pluralist feminism’s argument, which focuses on the differences of each individual and as a result should be emphasized instead of being homogenized, is the concept of plurality.
Similarly, disidentifying with bits and pieces with one or more identity that a particular individual may simultaneously carry—paradoxically—provides wholeness to that identity. Through this Queer of Color lens combined with the pluralist feminist standpoint theory, we can begin to historically imagine what decolonization may look like for the indigenous communities of Latin America. For the sake of this assignment’s paragraph constraint I offer to delve further into the concept of how the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house which is basically saying that oppressed minorities—in this case, indigenous communities—can not use the tools of the oppressor that placed them in that position; instead, they must reclaim and redefine those tools so that they can become their own. [3] The tools in question for our syllabus that we would be redefining is the theme of historical memory and more importantly dissecting the term of historical consciousness. Also, when talking about decolonization I offer it as different from the decolonization that Evo Morales touches upon. Decolonization when viewed through a pluralist lens, supplies the movement with the ability to move away from making the struggle a class-based one—as we have learned fails—and instead toward one that considers the specific and different ways that certain oppressed communities in Latin America want their freedom to look like.
The essence of historical consciousness within an indigenous context is defined as “(…) the magical power of history that lies in the contrasts and contradictions between the past as it was experienced and the structure of the present world.” [4] This seeped into our discussions about how the Nasa’s history was atemporal, non-linear, and ahistorical and we kept crashing into this problem of trying to visualize their history since it did not follow western thought frameworks. However, the term historical consciousness in a Nasa context is forged by indigenous caudillos and this in and of itself is a marriage between memory and political leadership. [5] The necessity of historical memory and the historical consciousness framework in Colombia is epitomized by how the communist party failed to rise to success; their failure to work within that framework caused them to fall apart and initiated an era filled with violence. In response to that example then, we must respect and regard these frameworks as vital to building our syllabus.
[1] Joanne Rappaport, The Politics of Memory: Native Historical Interpretation in the Colombian Andes (Northam: Duke University Press, 1998), 156.
[2] José Esteban Muñoz, Disidentifications: Queers of Color and the Performance of Politics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999).
[3] Audre Lorde, The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House (London: Penguin Modern, 2018).
[4] Rappaport, The Politics of Memory, 16.
[5] Rappaport, The Politics of Memory, 153.