Kojan & Angelo 2005 Dominant narratives

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Dominant narratives, social violence and thepractice of Bolivian archaeology

DAVID KOJAN

Department of Anthropology, San Francisco State University, USA

DANTE ANGELODepartment of Cultural and Social Anthropology,Stanford University, USA

ABSTRACT

Recent social violence in Bolivia is examined in the context of thatcountrys dominant historical narratives. The practice of archaeology inBolivia is intimately tied to the development of nationalism and ahistory of colonialism. While the history of Bolivian archaeology hasseen multiple interpretations of the past, the dominant voices haveconsistently emphasized understandings of the past that legitimize andbolster Bolivian nationalism and contemporary social politics. Inparticular, theAltiplanosite ofTiwanakuhasbeen formulated as a locusof Bolivian national patrimony, while other regions have been margin-alized as peripheries or frontiers. This understanding of history is notsimply a matter of debate for archaeologists, but has very real con-sequences in present-day geopolitics and the lives of individuals.

KEYWORDShistorical narratives nationalism politics of archaeology SouthAmerican archaeology Tiwanaku

Journal of Social Archaeology A R T I C L E

Copyright 2005 SAGE Publications (www.sagepublications.com)

ISSN 1469-6053 Vol 5(3): 383408 DOI: 10.1177/1469605305057585


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384 Journal of Social Archaeology 5(3)

INTRODUCTION

In October 2003, protesters marched in the streets in La Paz and elsewhere

in Bolivia, eventually leading to the forced resignation of the countryspresident. Nearly 100 protesters were killed, and many more injured by theBolivian police and military. The immediate cause of the protests was thegovernments plan to export natural gas to the USA, but such conflicts,often violent ones, are common occurrences in Bolivia. Perhaps the mostremarkable aspect of these recent demonstrations, in contrast to other suchevents in Bolivia, was that they made headlines in the USA and the rest ofthe world, forcing the resignation of the president.

At the time, the American press made much of the fact that the protest-

ers who brought the government to its knees were mostly Indians, many ofthem poor miners and coca-farmers who traveled from rural areas ofBolivia to make their voices heard.1 Now, 2 years later, the story of Boliviassocial violence has dropped out of any mention in mainstream internationalpress, though it is still very much part of daily life in the country.

In Bolivia, 75 percent of the population is Indian, though the politicaland economic power of the country rests squarely in the hands of theminority white and mestizo urban elites. But despite this fundamentaldemographic reality of Bolivian society, there seemed to be a sense ofsurprise on the part of the news media, the multinational corporationsinvolved in the gas conflict and even the Bolivian government officials, thatthese Indians, whose voices are not commonly heard in the affairs ofnational and international politics, could effect such dramatic change. It wasas if these protesters were emerging out the depths of history, directly ontothe streets of La Paz.

Since the early days of colonialism in western South America, when asmall number of Spanish conquistadores were able to subdue and latercontrol the lives of the majority Indian population, racial politics in this partof the world have been of central concern. And as with other parts of the

world, one of the central strategies of colonial control has been the creation,manipulation and dissemination of historical narratives. Archaeology, as animportant interlocutor of Bolivian history, has played a central role in nego-tiating this fundamental, and in many ways defining, aspect of Bolivianhistory and society.

Discourses of colonialism, indigenousness, violence, race and culturalevolutionism are all brought to bear in these conflicts. When we are able toobserve, as in the recent events in Bolivia, narratives of history playing outin the lives and deaths in the contemporary world, it becomes evident that

archaeological interpretations are far from esoteric academic debates aboutthe deep past, but are rather very present politically and emotionallycharged issues. In this sense, we argue that understandings of the past needto be seen as part of the wider political, social and economic context inwhich archaeological discourses and research are produced.


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385Kojan and Angelo The practice of Bolivian archaeology

This article explores the recent violence and social upheaval in Boliviain relation to the historical narratives that are employed by archaeologistsand that, in many ways, define Bolivia as a nation. In particular, we examine

the archaeological site of Tiwanaku, which has become the symbolic andliteral focal point of the dominant narrative of Bolivian history. We will lookat the role Tiwanaku has played in the overlapping narratives of colonial-ism, nationalism and archaeological research. We will also present a readingof alternative historical evidence that can help us better understand theongoing violence in Bolivian society, and which points to the importance ofrecognizing and creating space for multiple understandings of the past toemerge.

THE NATIONALIST NAR RATIVE O F TIWANAKU

By any measure, Tiwanaku is an important archaeological site. Located onthe Bolivian Altiplano at an elevation of almost 13,000 feet above sea level,it is physically impressive both in the large area that it covers and in thescale of the structures that comprise it (Figure 1). It is argued from arti-factual evidence that the site was part of a large sphere of influence thatranged from the Pacific coast of southern Peru to the southern Altiplanoof Bolivia (Albarracn-Jordn, 1996a, 1996b; Janusek, 2002b; Kolata, 1993,1996; Vranich, 1999). The early date of its fluorescence approximately 500AD, or nearly 1000 years before the rise of the Inca Empire and the arrivalof the Spanish conquistadores further marks the sites importance.

The archaeological site of Tiwanaku is primarily composed of a varietyof monumental structures, including a large constructed pyramid known asthe Akapana, a large raised platform adjacent to a sunken temple, andanother massive raised structure called Pumapunku. The central part of thesite and the section most photographed and visited by tourists is actually a

reconstruction of dubious fidelity that was undertaken by the Boliviangovernment in the 1960s under the direction of Carlos Ponce Sangins. Thismonumental portion of the site was surrounded by many smaller structuresthat may have housed the thousands of permanent or transient residentswho once occupied the site (Kolata, 1996). The archaeological site ofTiwanaku is located next to the modern town of Tiwanaku and othermodern villages scattered throughout the valley.

At least since the arrival of the Inca into the southern Titicaca Basin inthe fifteenth century, the decaying site of Tiwanaku has been of interest to

students of the past. The Inca rulers appropriated the symbol of Tiwanaku,along with other large sites, as a primordial birthplace of their own creatordeity, Viracocha (Urton, 1999). By the early twentieth century, Tiwanakuhad become a focus of the young field of archaeology. Adolf Bandelier(1911), Arthur Posnansky and Shearer (1945) and Wendell Bennett (1934,


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1936) conducted work at the site and became the early authors of thearchaeological narrative of Bolivia.

As with archaeological narratives around the world, the early studies ofTiwanaku were closely linked with the history of European colonialism.The cultural evolutionist theories that framed early archaeological narra-tives were in large part created as explanations and legitimizations of the

control of people and resources in the European colonies (Lyons andPapadopoulos, 2002; Mamani, 1996; Pratt, 1992). Monumental sites likeTiwanaku came to be seen as physical evidence of the progress of history,as increasingly complex and hierarchical civilizations replaced their moreprimitive antecedents the implication being that European colonialpowers were the inheritors of this lineage of progress and domination thatderives from the natural flow of history (Posnanksy, 1957). This viewbecame further cemented with the publication of Julian Stewards (1948)Handbook of South American Indians (Bennett, 1946), a magnum opus of

neo-evolutionary anthropology that squarely places Tiwanaku as a keymilestone in the development and advancement of Andean civilization.In many ways, however, Stewards overarching work merely formalized

Figure 1 Gateway at cemetery rear view (from Squier, 1867)


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a narrative that had been under development since the early days ofSpanish colonialism. As a kind of microcosm of the colonial world, the earlymissionaries, mercenaries and administrators mapped a political geography

onto the South American landscape in which the central Andes and PacificCoast were seen as a region of rapid cultural advancement associated withmonumentality and social stratification, at the expense of other regions thatwere seen as culturally primitive, historically stagnated, and closely tied tothe natural world (Kojan, 2002; Pagden, 1982). In spite of other interpre-tive frameworks, as the culture historical approach used by Ibarra Grasso(1953), Stig Ryden (1947) and others, such narratives of domination persistright up into the present scholarship, only strengthened by the consolida-tion of positivist and evolutionary frameworks. Current archaeologicaldebates about the cultural history of the Amazonian lowlands, for example,continue to focus on the ability (or inability) of people to form complexsocieties in the tropical forest (Heckenberger et al., 2001; Meggers 1971,2001). Stanish (2001: 41) succinctly captures the conventional wisdom aboutthe central Andes in his description of this as a culturally precociousregion, making a clear reference to an evolutionary model of culture.

The contemporary upshot of these longstanding historical narratives isthat Andean archaeology has become synonymous with the study of thedevelopment and dynamics of the state. In Bolivia, this focus on the statehas become almost exclusively targeted at the site of Tiwanaku, especially

in the wake of nationalist ideology following the social revolution of 1952.Most of the major archaeological research projects conducted in Bolivia arecontextualized in relation to Tiwanaku they are investigating the site itself,looking at the development of the Tiwanaku state in the Titicaca Basin,or the impact of Tiwanaku across other parts of the Andes. Until quiterecently, very few archaeological projects were conducted in Bolivia thatwere notexplicitly directed at understanding some aspect of the Tiwanakustate.

Aymara historian Carlos Mamani (1996) insightfully argues that the

mestizo elites of Bolivia realized quite early on in their nation-buildingefforts that Tiwanaku provided a local symbol to reinforce the notion of anational patrimony. Tiwanaku, with its proximity to the capital city of LaPaz, its monumental scale, its antiquity, and its remarkable assemblage oflarge statuary and decorative artifacts make the site seem eerily pre-ordained to serve the role of a national symbol. Although today the mostprominent parts of Tiwanaku are recent (and not very faithful) construc-tions designed by archaeologists, the site now provides an ideal embodi-ment of Bolivias narrative of indigenous heritage.

We recognize that this focus on the Tiwanaku state has,without question,produced some important archaeological research. From this work, weknow a great deal about, for example, the socioeconomic formation and


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political integration of the Tiwanaku state (Albarracn-Jordn, 1996a,1996b; Janusek,1994,2002b; Kolata,1993,1996), the dynamics of populationand community growth and intensification (Albarracn-Jordn, 1996a;

Bandy, 2001; Hastorf, 1999; Hastorf et al., 2001), agricultural production(Erickson, 1993, 2000; Hastorf, 1999; Kolata, 1989, 1993, 1996), monumen-tality (Protzen and Nair,2000; Vranich, 1999), as well as many other subjectsof importance. Following Ponces work at Tiwanaku, many scholars havecontributed to our understanding of the social,political and economic struc-ture of the site (Albarracn-Jordn, 1996a, 1996b; Erickson, 2000; Kolataet al., 2000; Stanish, 2001). While some archaeologists have argued thatTiwanaku should be seen as a politically hierarchical state, other researchpoints to a more complex and less centralized form of social, political,economic and ideological organization (Albarracn-Jordn, 1996a; Janusek,2004). Despite much recent discussion of multiculturalism and diversity inrelation to the development of Tiwanaku, most of these interpretive modelsrevolve around an explicitly cultural evolutionary reading of history thatprioritizes state development.

We would argue that the position that Tiwanaku occupies in both thesearchaeological narratives as well as in the national consciousness of Boliviagoes far beyond its architectural or artifactual importance. Tiwanaku hascome to symbolize and embody the evolutionary rise of complex societiesthat are seen as emerging out of the primordial depths of Andean history,

and has ultimately come to play a key role in the creation of Boliviasnational patrimony.2

The symbolic imagery of Tiwanaku as the primordial embodiment of theBolivian state is ubiquitous both within archaeological narratives, as wellas in public life. The image of the Gateway of the Sun, with its distinctivecentral figure, can be seen on the 200 Boliviano note, on the front of govern-ment offices and banks, as well as on less official public spaces of cornerstores, tailors, internet cafes and butchers. Many of the largest and best-preserved statuary from Tiwanaku were transported the 60 km to the

capital of La Paz and placed in one of the most prominent squares ofthe city directly across from that other potent symbol of national pride,the football stadium.

The construction of this sense of nationalist history is closely tied to theconcept of the indigenous a presence which is hard to ignore givenBolivias 75 percent majority Indian population. As with other LatinAmerican countries with sizable Indian populations, Bolivian nationalismhas incorporated and appropriated the concept of the indigenous for itsown aims (Almaraz, 1967, 1969; Rivera, 1987). In the nationalist rhetoric of

the country, particularly following the 1952 land reform, Bolivia was formedas a modern, multicultural, multiracial union that embraces the diversity ofits past and present. In this formulation, the history of one segment of itspopulation can be proudly shared by all Bolivian citizens. Thus, the


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pre-Hispanic history of the country is seen not as the heritage of themajority Indian population, but as the national patrimony of the country asa whole.

This project of homogeneity essentially places the majority Indian popu-lation of Bolivia as a kind of historical remnant from a remote past that isno longer theirs (Mamani, 1996). In this national narrative, there is littleroom for the cultural persistence and the independent voice demonstrated,for example, by the October uprisings. The presence of poor, rural Indians,among others, educated about the international politics and economics ofthe policies of globalization, and demanding that their voices be heard andaccounted for in the twenty-first century, is simply incompatible with thishomogenizing narrative. The image preferred by the supporters of Boliviasnationalist narrative is that of the winter solstice celebration at Tiwanakuin which Indians, mestizos and tourists perform an invented ancientAymara ceremony complete with royal processions, public oration andother rituals more rooted in Bolivian nationalist practice than in the poorlyunderstood ritual life of Tiwanaku 1000 years ago.

These rituals are carried out within the imaginative reconstructions ofTiwanaku implemented in the 1950s and 1960s by Carlos Ponce Sangins,an avowed nationalist who views archaeology as an important tool indeveloping a sense of national pride for Bolivia.

The fact cannot be ignored by anybody that the indigenous farmers ofBolivia, Peru and Mexico are connected to the high pre-Hispanic cultures. Inspite of the changes that have occurred since the conquest, manycharacteristics have persisted. Despite the intense introduction of foreignpatterns, a pre-Columbian cultural nucleus remains solid as a traditionalcontinuity. For that reason, the archaeologist of the countries of nativeancestry must decipher to the deepest roots of the nation and the foundationfor nationhood. (Ponce Sangins, 1978: 56)

Tiwanaku is now seen largely as a symbol of Bolivias monumental and

primordial roots, rather than a place where long ago people (Indians, to bespecific) lived out their lives, and continue to do so. In this sense, thephysical site of Tiwanaku is constantly being naturalized, reproduced andreaffirmed in contemporary Bolivia.

ALTERNATIVE NARRATIVES

One of the implications of the narrow focus on the site of Tiwanaku is thatother parts of the country are somehow devoid of the same rich archaeo-logical heritage. From a casual, or even a careful examination of Bolivianarchaeology, one might reasonably be left with the understanding that its


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deep history is synonymous with the history of Tiwanaku (indeed, we willultimately argue that this is a specifically constructed understanding). Butsuch a perspective ignores the existence of significant archaeological

evidence not directly associated with Tiwanaku (Angelo, 1999; Brocking-ton et al., 1995; Erickson, 1995, 1997; Kojan, 2002; Lecoq, 2001; Mamani,1996; Nielsen, 2001, 2002; Rivera et al., 1993).

It is only when we begin to look beyond the dominant, Tiwanaku-centered narrative that archaeological research becomes relevant to ourunderstanding of the contemporary social upheaval and violence, such asthat seen last year in Bolivia. We see these alternative narratives not asreplacements for the focus on Tiwanaku, but as additions to it. These narra-tives provide a more complex, even a more contradictory reading ofBolivias past rather than a more parsimonious one.

The archaeology of other regions of Bolivia has been all but ignored byBolivian and foreign archaeologists alike. Readings of a more diverse (andcomplex) past such as those provided by scholars working in other regionssuch as the eastern and southern valleys (Byrne, 1981; Ibarra Grasso, 1953,1960) were treated with contempt or assimilated into the dominant under-standing of the past. Such histories have been relegated to the status ofperipheral or frontier zones as compared with the Tiwanaku center. Forexample, since the early days of Bolivian archaeology (Bennett, 1936), ithas been clear that other regions, such as the eastern and southern Andes

and the western Amazonian uplands, contain significant evidence of pre-Hispanic occupation, and this evidence has only been strengthened in theintervening years (Brockington et al., 1995; Erickson, 1995, 1997; Kojan,2002; Ponce Sangins, 1957).3 Recent research indicates that the easternAndes was occupied from at least the early Formative period (approxi-mately 2000 BC) (Brockington et al., 1995) right up to the arrival of theInca (Janusek, 2002a) and later the Spanish (Klein, 1993; Larson, 1988).Evidence from paleoethnobotanical studies indicates that many of theearliest cultigens grown in the Andes and the Pacific coast, such as two

species of bean (Phaseolus vulgaris and P. luantus), chile peppers(Capsicum spp.), sweet potato (Ipomoea batatas), manioc (Manihot escu-lenta) and Canna edulis were likely domesticated in the eastern Andeanfoothills and western Amazon (Pickersgill, 1969; Pearsall, 1992: 177). Thereis good ethnohistoric documentation (Assadourian, 1995; Oberem, 1974)and iconographic evidence from other parts of the Andes (Lathrap, 1973)that suggests there was a long-term pattern of trade and exchange betweenthe Andes and the Amazonian lowlands, which by geographic necessitywould have made the eastern and southern Andes an important trade route

(Angelo and Capriles, 2000). Yet, the story of this regions past remains welloutside the canon of Bolivian history.When we begin to interrogate this peripheral position further, we see that

this understanding of regions such as the eastern and southern Andes was


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quite deliberately manufactured. While the former is the main cocoa-growing region of the Andes, and the latter has been a main source ofmineral resources, both regions have been conceptualized as empty frontier

zones.

4

In order to gain control of these regions the Spanish Crown, follow-ing on the heels of population displacements and social realignment enactedby the Inca (DAltroy, 2001), implemented a program of forceful relocationof the original occupants of this region many of whom were sent to workin the infamous silver mines of Potos and brought in foreign laborers fromother parts of the Andes and the Amazonian lowlands (Klein, 1993; Larson,1988; and see Werlich, 1968 for a Peruvian study).5 In this sense the colonialpowers were recreating, through discursive practice, some of the conceptualmodels with which they had come to understand Andean societies, andwhich continue to be used by scholars, as part of an essentialist constructionof the Andino (Van Buren, 1996).

Of all of the encomiendas, the large estates granted to the Spanishconquistadores, those of the coca-producing eastern Andes were by far themost profitable (Klein, 1993). By forcibly removing the local inhabitantsand thereby detaching the workers of the coca plantations from a sense ofownership, the colonial elites were able to very efficiently skim the profitsfrom the eastern Andes for their own benefit. This pattern of resourceexploitation in the eastern Andes is an ongoing one, and has been one ofthe chief complaints of the recent anti-globalization protests in Bolivia.

We can see in this colonial history of regions like the eastern andsouthern Andes the deliberate construction of a marginal or empty space much as the American West was constructed as an empty space to becolonized and exploited by the expanding dominant American society(Klein, 1997). In this sense, the archaeological narratives that inform ourcurrent understandings of Bolivia have been significantly derived from, andactively created by, the colonial powers beginning in the sixteenth century.Different parts of the country that do not fall within the focus of theBolivian nation-state, or its ruling elites, have been displaced to a marginal

status and brought into a historical system derived from an evolutionaryparadigm with its center at Tiwanaku (Angelo, 1999).

Archaeological and ethnohistoric investigations away from the Tiwanakucore have without doubt contributed to our understanding of the historiesof other regions, not only in Bolivia (Julien, 1978; Murra, 1975; Tarrag,1977). However, many of these works reproduce the historical constructionthat defines peripheries and marginal regions through archaeologicaldiscourse, presenting these places and their inhabitants as the outcome ofthe evolutionary process of the rise and decline of the Tiwanaku state

(Bandy, 2001; Kolata, 1993; Ponce Sangins, 1978). As seen in the recentprotests in Bolivia, this conceptualization ultimately supports the represen-tation of these regions as sources of extractable resources in whose landsthe Inca state, the colonial regimes, the republican governments, and most


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recently, the proponents of globilization became interested a narrativefashioned in a strict evolutionary perspective, and the economic practice ofextraction and maximization of resources (DAltroy et al., 2000; DeMarrais

et al., 1996).Archaeology has founded much of its authority on the construction ofsystems of classifications and explanations derived from questions aboutwhether or not South American Indians were civilized. A genealogy forthese hegemonic systems and discourses is traced by Castaeda (1996: 138),who argues that the sixteenth-century ideology of the conquest was definedin terms of civilization and the capacity to transform and dominate nature.The invention of the Other was driven by questions about the presence orabsence of the classic markers of advancement: systems of urban andsocioeconomic organization, political hierarchy, agriculture and technology,writing and religious moral values (Pagden, 1982); needless to say, thesemarkers were usually categorized and measured in Western terms.

The view of the Altiplano as the core of Bolivian civilization, while otherparts of Bolivia are seen as peripheral frontiers, is a form of orientalism, inthe sense that it is an ontological distinction that defines and reinforcespower relations (Said, 1978). The dominant Tiwanaku-centered narrativesimultaneously positions the urban elites of Bolivia at the axis of Boliviansociety and history, and paves the way for the efficient and continued extrac-tion of labor and resources from other regions of the country.

Despite the vast wealth extracted from the southern and eastern Andes,these regions continue to be seen as remote hinterlands. Since the disman-tling of the encomienda system in 1952, coca has been produced mainly bypoor small-scale farmers, some of whom marched and died in the Octoberprotests, and whose crops mainly benefit those further down the line in boththe legal and illegal coca trade. In a similar vein, the infamous miningregions of Potos and Oruro became depopulated after the fall of the miningeconomy in the international markets, causing extreme economic recessionfor its former inhabitants and forcing them to leave for other parts of the

country. Most of Bolivias electricity, which powers the cities of La Paz,Cochabamba, Sucre and others, is produced in the massive hydroelectricplants of the eastern Andes, yet many of the local communities there havepoor electrical infrastructure, or none at all. The natural gas project thatwas the catalyst for the October demonstrations was designed to exploitgas reserves in the eastern Andes and western Amazon with little benefitto the communities of those regions, and in some cases causing devastatingenvironmental problems. This pattern of the simultaneous creation andexploitation of the hinterland is one that has been underway since the

early days of European colonialism.


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THE PRES ENCE OF THE PAST

We argue that this case study illustrates one of the principle sources of

power that dominant narratives, such as that of Tiwanaku, wield in theworld. The real power of the Bolivian national narrative derives from itsselective manipulation and exclusion of other histories, particularly thosethat point to contemporary issues of social and political discordance, suchas the history of the eastern Andes or southern Bolivia. The histories ofthese areas have not simply been forgotten, or displaced in favor of themore compelling Tiwanaku-centered history. They have, for 400 years, beenactively manufactured as narratives of emptiness (Kojan, 2002).

One of the most fascinating aspects of the national historical narrative

of Bolivia is that in many ways it defies reason it does not take muchconsideration to realize that the white/mestizo elites claim to authority isnot reasonably validated by an appeal to prehistory. In fact, we might saythat one of the only features of Bolivian history that everyone can agreeon is that the Spanish colonialists did not arrive in South America until1524. The idea that Tiwanaku represents the cultural heritage of allBolivians may in some ways be a pleasant idea of national unity, but it isempirically problematic to say the least. Yet, in the absence of publicly legit-imate alternative histories, this Tiwanaku narrative flourishes.

This process of primordialism can be found at work in many other waysand in other parts of the world (Kohl, 1998; Kohl and Fawcett, 1995). Aneven more far-flung appeal to a national primordial past are the referencesto the standard core of Western primordial history of Egypt, Greece andRome on the part of other New World nations. We would argue that theGreek revival architecture of Washington DC national monuments (Reps,1991), the pseudo-Egyptian motifs on US currency and the proliferation ofRoman symbols in modern Brazil (Funari, 2003) are all part of the samepattern. Seen in this context, the romanticized fixation on Tiwanaku seemsalmost reasonable, that is, were it not for the impact this narrative has onthe lives of people today.

In his critique of Bolivian archaeology and its paradoxical exclusion ofindigenous identity, Mamani writes of the advocates of the nationalisthistory:

All the nationalist denunciations of outside domination, all their stress oninternal development, have only led to the development of a sort of MonroeDoctrine: they take possession of what is not theirs in order to lay thefoundations of their nation in a past which does not belong to them andwhose legitimate descendants they continue to oppress. (Mamani, 1996: 634)

Although Mamanis binary Us vs. Them, Indigenous vs. Mestizo formu-lation is problematic in its own homogeneity, the focus of his critique is righton target. The nationalist historical narrative of Bolivia, with its roots in the


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ideology of colonialism, is fundamentally a tool of social control. It is a legit-imization of the status quo in that it lends authoritative historical supportto the idea that the contemporary elites of Bolivia are the beneficiaries of

a long and inevitable history of progress and ever-increasing social stratifi-cation.The dominance of official narratives that legitimize the Bolivian nation

state can be understood as part of a much wider global pattern of nationformation that has recently been well documented (Bernbeck and Pollock,1996; Blakey, 1990; El-Haj, 2002; Fawcett, 1995; Gathercole and Lowenthal,1990; Hobsbawm and Ranger, 1983; Klein, 1997; Kohl, 1998; Patterson,1995; Schmidt and Patterson, 1995; Trigger, 1984, 1995; Trouillot, 1995;Wylie, 1995). As many of these works identify, the construction of narra-tives is as much about exclusion of other histories as it is about arguing forone particular story. In order for Bolivia (or any other nation for thatmatter) to create a common sense of national identity where none previ-ously existed, a narrative of the nations history must be written, while allothers are excluded. Nation-states that are seeking to subvert older, moreestablished forms of identity often work to actively suppress those otherhistories. The founders of the Bolivian nation, for their part, faced the chal-lenge of creating a unified national identity while maintaining the mestizo-dominated colonial power structure in a country with a vast Indian majority.

The protests of October 2003 were ostensibly about the exportation of

natural gas, and more generally about the economic and political policiesof globalization. But at a deeper level, it could be argued, these protestswere about history and identity. It is no coincidence that the main instiga-tors of the demonstrations, and consistently the most vociferous oppositionto the actions of the government and large corporate interests, are the coca-farmers and miners from the eastern Andes and southern Bolivia, two ofthe groups that have been erased from the standard historical narrativesof the country (Almaraz, 1967; Barrios, 1993; Platt, 1982). These are groupsof people who have been disenfranchised at the very deepest level it is

not simply that their voices are not given the full consideration that theyshould in the affairs of the country, but rather that every attempt has beenmade to erase their voices out of existence.

In the last three decades Bolivia has experienced some of the worstviolence and social upheaval in its already tumultuous history (Rivera andBarrios, 1993). Following the de facto military regimes of the 1980s, and theelection of a former military dictator, Hugo Banzer, as president in the1990s, the turn of the twenty-first century found Bolivia at the epicenter ofstruggles related to the political and economic trends of globalization

(Finnegan, 2002). In April 2000, in the War of the Water, protesters tookto the streets of La Paz and Cochabamba to object to the privatization ofthe latter citys water supply, which had been essentially given over to asubsidiary of the Bechtel Corporation. Bechtel instituted hefty price


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increases for farmers to use water, which in some cases came from theirown wells (Finnegan, 2002). The Bolivian military, in defense of thesecorporate interests, clashed with and killed many of the protesters. Bechtel

was eventually forced to relinquish its position in Bolivia and laterattempted to sue the country for breach of contract.In October 2003, protesters again clashed with the Bolivian military and

made headlines in the USA and around the world in the so-called War ofthe Gas. In both cases, the context of much of the media coverage, and thewider discourse surrounding these events was as an indigenous rebellionagainst the forces of modernization. This movement was generally charac-terized by national as well as international media as a clear indicator of theindigenous vs. white division of the country.6 This dual essentialism openedthe door for other dualistic narratives to come into play. In the discoursesof both Bolivian nationalism and globalization, the recent social and politi-cal conflicts are portrayed as a clash between the forces of modernity andprogress on one hand,and those of an irrational traditionalism on the other.In this sense, the conceptualization of Bolivias indigenous population asrepresenting a stagnated and more primitive social order both sustains andechoes wider discourses of colonialism and globalization, in which poorcountries like Bolivia are viewed as detrimentally resisting the movementof progress.

As with many other post-colonial nations, the social inequality and

poverty in Bolivia has commonly been carefully disguised and reworkedinto a failure on the part of the indigenous communities to recognize andcomply with the progress of modernity (Abercrombie, 1998; Thomas, 1991).These conceptualizations then become part of the legitimization for thecontinued exploitation of Bolivian people and land,although such ideas areusually translated and euphemized into more progressive notions of stew-ardship and the utilization of natural resources. At present, despite almost2 years of ongoing protest and a recently approved law on agrarian reformthat recognizes the communal rights of indigenous peoples to control their

land and its resources, claims by workers groups and indigenous com-munities are still disregarded. The Guarani people, for example, have beentrying to gain a measure of determination over the oil drilling that is takingplace against their wishes, on their land. Despite the legal recognition ofthis land by law (INRA, 2000) as part of the Ancestral Communities Lands(Territorios Comunitarios de Origen or TCOs), the oil companies thatsigned contracts with the national government continue to drill with devas-tating social and environmental consequences. These and other protestsreceive very little attention in the international, or even Bolivian media,but

the coverage that is presented often nostalgically presents these conflicts aspart of an emergent and redemptive expression of cultural resistance.7

Such highly reified readings of the recent violence in Bolivia derive froma similar misrepresentation of the uprisings. In these cases, the conflicts


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have been portrayed as ones between the forces of progress and modernityon one side and an antiquated traditionalism on the other. And both ofthese readings result in the same outcome for the people of Bolivia by

providing the basic elements for the dominant discourse to reconstitute itspower. The dominant narrative of Bolivian nationalism, as well as theunderlying ideology of oppression and exploitation, relies on homogeneousand essentialized understandings of the indigenous Other. Whether theoppressed group is seen as playing the role of the ignorant primitive or theheroic aborigine matters very little in this regard. In Bolivia, as with manyother parts of the world (El-Haj, 1998; Schmidt and Patterson, 1995),archaeology has been complicit in the creation and reaffirmation of thisformulation of the indigenous as a subaltern category (Mamani, 1996).

The distillation of a diverse, complex, contradictory and fragmentarymaterial record into a strikingly homogeneous and linear narrative ofmonumentality and progress, as embodied by the site of Tiwanaku, hasplayed a key role in marginalizing contesting voices in contemporaryBolivia. Given an extensive and growing body of scholarship on the politi-cal motivations for, and applications of, archaeological research (Hodder,1991; Politis, 2003; Shanks and Tilley, 1992[1987]; Trigger, 1984, 1989; Wylie,1995), it should come as no surprise that archaeology in Bolivia is closelylinked to its wider social and political context.

The question then becomes how to understand the seeming uniformity

in the conceptualization of Bolivian history, and how to create space foralternative voices to emerge into this conversation. Here the concept ofmultivocality and its implications for archaeology assert themselves quitestrongly. Archaeologists find themselves in a delicate position in relation tothe proposition of multivocality. If we hold firm to our role as the officialinterpreters of the past, empowered by the authority of science andeconomic privilege to write our narratives of history, then we will continueto reinforce the power dynamics derived from the movements of colonial-ism and nationalism. However, if we as archaeologists position ourselves as

a kind of clearinghouse for multiple understandings of the past, we riskeither abdicating our responsibility about our own understandings aboutthe past and thus implicitly denying or evading accountability or worse,we risk transforming the proposition of multivocality into yet anotherstratum of authority whereby the archaeological narratives can be seen asemerging victorious from among the dozens of alternative interpretations.Either way, we have not removed the issues of authority, power, or privi-lege from the equation.

This is precisely the point we wish to emphasize here. We can never

remove ourselves from the social, political or economic context in whichour work is conducted, nor would it be at all desirable to do so. Quite tothe contrary, we would argue that part of the lesson of multivocality is thatwe must strive to identify, expose, critique and generally immerse ourselves


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and our work in the contemporary social context in which we find ourselves.An understanding of archaeology, and the historical narratives that itproduces, as inexorably embedded in a contemporary context of social and

political actors, has fairly dramatic implications for the concepts of multi-vocality. Rather than being a largely sterile debate about the objectivity orsubjectivity of archaeological interpretations, the potential emergence ofalternative narratives of the past is of very real importance in the lives ofpeople today. As Joyce, in her discussion of Bahktin, makes clear:

. . . the requirement to evaluate words (and actions) is a moral imperativewhich cannot be evaded. In his [Bahktins] view, communication matters, ithas serious consequences, it shapes ongoing social reality. These aspects ofhis arguments resonate with recent claims that archaeological discourse must

be taken seriously because of its social consequences. (Joyce, 2002: 31)

Or, we might ask, from a slightly different perspective, if our work did nothave social consequences then why should we practice archaeology to beginwith?

If we agree with the proposition that there are multiple legitimate narra-tives of the past, then our efforts are best spent in trying to make space forthese narratives to emerge. Because historical narratives are so closelylinked to ideas about identity, nationalism, race, citizenship and other highlycharged and powerfully influential arenas of human existence, simply

acknowledging the plurality of understandings of the past, while surely animportant undertaking, is not enough. We might say that asking for anotherpartys understanding of the past is necessary, but not sufficient. This isparticularly important where there are descendant communities thatidentify a connection to the archaeological materials under study. Unlessthese efforts are matched with an actual interest in living communities, suchan approach becomes merely a professional nicety at best. To ask theAymara, for example, for their story of Tiwanaku as an exercise in multi-vocality, while ignoring the wider social, political and economic environ-

ment in which archaeological research takes place, is ultimately an emptyand cynical gesture.

Multivocality should not be seen as a theoretical perspective to beadopted or discarded according to ones theoretical proclivities, but is closerto a truism of historiography. There are always multiple perspectives of thepast because there are always multiple observers and interpreters of itsevidence,each of them similarly embedded in his or her own social environ-ment. Of course, how such different voices are heard or accepted in thewider world is a very different matter. Although the concept of multi-

vocality, as a theoretical tool of the humanities and social sciences, has mostrecently been articulated within the context of the academy, anthropolo-gists and academics in general have in many ways been dragged kicking andscreaming to an acknowledgment of pluralism and multivocality.


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The necessity of acknowledging multivocality and pluralism has beenlargely advocated by those who have been historically estranged from main-stream academia, for instance from feminist and post-colonial scholars

(Joyce, 2002; Spivak, 1988; Visweswaran, 1997). Within American archaeol-ogy in particular, the positioning of Western positivism as the authoritativemeans of understanding history rests specifically on the rejection ofmultiple voices and multiple truths (Gnecco, 1999; Watkins, 2000, 2003). Inmany ways multivocality is antithetical to the aims of traditional Anglo-American archaeology, and we think it would be fair to say that manyarchaeologists in this tradition view the proposal of multivocality with agood deal of skepticism.

At a more local level, an openness to multiple narratives of the past iscritical in understanding the fragmentary and often contradictory archaeo-logical evidence of Bolivian history. The history of Bolivia is not synony-mous with the evolution of the Tiwanaku state, and only the considerationof alternative stories will elucidate that history. But more importantly, suchhistorical narratives play a very tangible role in contemporary Boliviancommunities.

The recent events in the streets of Bolivia also raise an ethical concerninvolved with the destabilization of a sense of national identity, even onebased on a problematic understanding of the past as we have tried to outlinehere. We must remind ourselves that there is no simple, two-dimensional

indigenous vs. mestizo power structure at work here. Poor countries,particularly poor Latin American countries such as Bolivia, are underimmense political and economic pressure to capitulate to the desires ofpowerful American and European corporations such as Bechtel and others.As problematic as Bolivias official, Tiwanaku-centered patrimony may be,it has served a role in bolstering a sense of national identity, often in oppo-sition to colonialist ambitions, of both the eighteenth century Spanishvariety, as well as the twenty-first century American one. With the argumentthat we should strive to contextualize archaeological research and histori-

cal narratives in their present social context comes a responsibility for theimpact that these narratives have in the world. We must ask ourselves if, incritiquing the historical and ideological legitimacy of Bolivian nationalismas based on highly problematic and exclusionary narratives, we risk makingthe people of Bolivia further vulnerable to the forces of neo-colonialismand globalization.

The application of multivocality without a keen awareness of the socialand political context and consequences of our archaeological narrativesalso has another potentially dangerous pitfall. Currently, the advocacy of

multivocality and the critiques of modernity and empiricism within archae-ology are largely being used to argue for a more democratic understandingof the past (Hodder, 1989; Joyce, 2002; Shanks and Hodder, 1995).However, we should not lose track of the fact that some alternative


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narratives of the past can also be used to argue for more reactionary claims(Arnold, 1990). In this regard, multivocality in archaeology cannot besimply understood as a diversity of voices, but rather needs to be under-

taken as part of a larger project of interrogating and discussing the contem-porary uses of the past and, primarily, acknowledging accountability with apast that is inextricably tied to a present. It is impossible to take responsi-bility for every unforeseen implication that our work may have even thebest-intentioned research can be used and applied in ways that we may notsupport. This is precisely the point. There is apparently no limit to the waysthat the past can be used, manipulated, ignored and elucidated in thecontemporary world. But through the historical narratives that we write,we can try to make space for multiple understandings of the past (eventhose that question our own academic authority) to be heard and moreflexible and equitable concepts of citizenship to emerge.

Such a proposition raises some challenging ethical questions for archae-ologists and the work that they do. For example, is it ethically viable forarchaeologists to continue to explore and reinforce narratives that are oftenspecifically utilized to substantiate structures of dominance and socialoppression? In the case of Bolivia, we have argued that the dominant statenarrative of Tiwanaku and the exclusion of other historical narratives havebeen used as tools of disenfranchisement and arguments for the continuedexploitation of Bolivian resources and communities. The widely-employed

archaeological tropes of state development or the rise of complexsocieties are inherent value judgments tightly linked to discourses ofcolonialism and, more recently, globalization. The continued recreation andreinforcement of the Tiwanaku narrative is also a reinforcement of officialBolivian state ideology. Although we do not believe this represents theintentions of many research archaeologists, the narratives that are producedby this work nevertheless have concrete impacts on the lives of people.

Nadia Abu El-Haj (1998), in her analysis of the practice of archaeologyin Jerusalem, makes a keen observation that in addition to studying material

culture, archaeology also produces its own material culture. The structuresand features that archaeologists uncover, and the historical narratives thatarchaeologists help create, are used in very tangible ways in the real world.El-Haj argues that the architecture and monuments of Jerusalem tell a storyof the primordial roots of the dominant state identity, while the physicalmanifestations of alternative stories of the city are left as silent ruins. Thesestone and concrete markers have effects on the lives of people today. Theyprovide persistent cues to the citizens and visitors of Jerusalem about whobelongs there and who does not. Simply the act of walking through the

streets of the city, admiring the architecture, or stopping to read about arecent archaeological discovery serve as a reminder and reaffirmation ofpresent-day social hierarchies and dominance.

The persistent emphasis on the rise of the Tiwanaku state and the erasure


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of alternative or even contesting narratives of history similarly has impactin the world. The miners and coca-farmers, who regularly protest andoccasionally die on the streets of Bolivia are conspicuously absent in histori-

cal narratives of their own country. Narratives that complicate the dominantstory of the rise of the Tiwanaku state, or more specifically, narratives thatshed light on present-day issues of racism, oppression and exploitationremain historical silences (Trouillot, 1995).

A further question that arises from this case study is: what responsibilitydo archaeologists have to respond to the contemporary social and politicalunrest that they encounter? In the months of increasing political tensionsand social violence leading up to the October 2003 ousting of the president,many archaeological research projects encountered significant obstacles.Strikes prevented archaeological teams from buying food and supplies, roadblocks halted transportation to field sites, government closures interferedwith work permits, not to mention the more visible signs of physicalviolence, yet it seems that few if any of these research projects took suchevents into account in their research. The focus on conducting empirical,unbiased research, the pressures of granting agencies and professionaldevelopment, as well as the personal and intellectual attachment to particu-lar archaeological research questions no doubt all conspired to distancethese research projects from the surrounding social upheaval. But in thewords of Orin Starn, this is quite literally missing the revolution (Starn,

1991). In his study of Peruvian ethnography, Starn writes that despite yearsof careful fieldwork across the Peruvian countryside, anthropologists failedto foresee the rise of the Sendero Luminoso and other revolutionary groupsbecause of a myopic focus on questions of ecological complementarity,cultural symbolism and other important but politically detached anthropo-logical themes. In a similar vain, many Andean archaeologists purport tobe interested in the development of Andean culture, but the explicit detach-ment from contemporary social and political concerns leads to an abstractand fundamentally ahistorical form of knowledge production. If as archae-

ologists we are not interested in the contemporary social reality of theregion we are studying, then exactly what social phenomena are we tryingto understand?

As authoritative agents in the contemporary world, archaeologists areby necessity invested in and responding to political, social and economicconditions of reality, whether we do so in an intentionally critical manneror as an acceptance of inherited narratives. We would argue that an uncriti-cal acceptance of dominant voices and an aversion to the social movementsgoing on around us is in itself a tacit reinforcement of existing power

dynamics.


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Acknowledgements

The authors would like to thank Junko Habu, Clare Fawcett and John Matsunagafor inviting us to participate in their 2004 SAA panel. They would also like Ian

Hodder and Orin Starn for their feedback on early drafts of this article.

Notes

1 In this way, the media coverage echoed the stories of the Zapatista revolution inMexico in the mid-1990s and the violent revolutionary movements of theSendero Luminoso and other groups in Peru in the 1980s (Patterson, 1995).

2 It is interesting to draw a comparison between the role played by Tiwanaku inBolivia, and that played by the monumental Incan sites, such as Saqsaywamanand Macchu Picchu in neighboring Peru. In many ways, what the Incan sites are

to Peru,Tiwanaku is to Bolivia. However, unlike the Peruvian case, in whichheritage and identity heavily relies on the temporal proximity to Incan history,from which primordial links are drawn and incorporated into notions ofnational pride, the case of Tiwanaku renders a different situation. The nationalnarrative of Tiwanaku emphasizes the antiquity of the site as opposed to a senseof uninterrupted continuity. As a monumental site,Tiwanaku provided thecornerstone to nationalistic claims that, because of its remoteness in time, arerooted in a much stronger way to a primordial past (Mamani, 1996).

3 Even by the materialist and evolutionary standards often used to argue for thesupreme importance of state societies like Tiwanaku, the eastern Andes, with its

evidence of dense occupation, heavily constructed agricultural terracing,monumental structures, and extensive networks of roads and irrigation canals,should be viewed as an important part of Bolivias past.

4 Coca is an integral part of the daily and ritual lives of every adult in the Andes,and no wedding, funeral or birth would be complete without the distributionand consumption of copious amounts of coca. The most desirable coca growsonly on the steep, semi-tropical slopes of the eastern foothills of the Andes, andthe Spanish, like the Inca before them, did not waste any time in seizing controlof this valuable resource. The most desirable species of coca, Erythroxylum cocacoca, can be grown only along the eastern escarpment of the Andes between

1700 and 500 meters above sea level (Plowman, 1984). Coca is also the mainingredient in cocaine, but requires significant refining for its production. Theraw coca leaf, usually mixed with an alkali material to release the alkaloids, is amild stimulant that serves to suppress hunger and counteract the physiologicaleffects of high altitude.

5 The Spanish hacienda owners also imported African slaves to work in the cocaplantations. Today many of the main coca-producing villages of the Bolivianeastern Andes are populated by black Indians the descendants of these slaves.

6 The reductionist image of two polarized repblicas, that is the repblica deindios and the repblica de blancos (the Indians and whites republics), was

used as a means of making diversity a tool of power and domination. After thedeclaration of independence, the colonial administrative power over land andthe inhabitants of the newly created country was relinquished to the newwhite/mestizo elites who were, by then, in charge of creating a new legal and


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economic system. Bolivian democracy and its institutions were based onarguments of the Enlightenment and modernity of the nineteenth century and,later, the notion of the nation-state. Gradually, and usually violently, indigenouspeoples were compartmentalized and institutionalized as social minorities by

the nation-state apparatus.7 The October 2003 protests and social unrest were contradictorily presented in

the mainstream media; while most of the conservative media tried toemphasize, almost histrionically, the protests negative effects on the economy,the alternative media presented leading titles such as El alzamiento popular deOctubre que estremeci a Bolivia culmin con la destruccin del modelo

econmico neoliberal[The popular uprising of October thrilled Bolivia andended with the destruction of the neoliberal economic model](http://bolivia.indymedia.org/es/2003/12/4829.shtml).

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DAVID KOJAN is an adjunct professor of Anthropology at San Fran-

cisco State University. He received a BA and PhD in anthropology from

UC, Berkeley. His main research interests are the creation of historical

narratives and the politics and ethics of archaeology, with a geographi-

cal focus on western South America and California.

[email: [email protected]]

DANTE ANGELO s work focuses on the socio-politics involved in theuses and conceptions of the past, and the relationship between archae-

ology and society, and how past and present history is produced from

and around things. His interests also include the economics of cultural

heritage and the past at large,especially that framed within post-colonial

and nationalistic discourses.He is currently conducting a research project

in the Quebrada de Humahuaca, northwestern Argentina, towards his

PhD dissertation. He has published La importancia del uso de plantas

psicotrpicas para la economa de intercambio y las relaciones de inter-

accin en el altiplano sur andino, Complutus 11: 27584, co-authoredwith J. Capriles.

[email: [email protected]]

Kojan & Angelo 2005 Dominant narratives

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