Mestizaje, Hibridity, and Cultural Politics in Central America-C. Hale

7/25/2019 Mestizaje, Hibridity, and Cultural Politics in Central America-C. Hale

1/28

mestiz je hybridity and the

cultural politics of difference in

post-revolutionary central

america

i.

M y friend paused and leaned toward me across the dinner table Tenes

razon, cabron, el problema es que no sabemos quienes somos. He had

m isund erstoo d, I started to object. All I m eant to say was that Guatemalan

ladinos

]

are responding in interesting ways to the rise of Maya cultural

activism. Instead just nodded,

str ct

This paper explores the relationship be-

twee n post-revolutionary politics in Cen-

tral Am erica a nd the broader theoretical

claims m ad e

in

the nam e of the new

c u l -

tural politics of diffe rence. At issue are

the cr i t iques of pol i t ical visions that

do wnp lay cultural difference

in

the nam e

of unity, and correspondingly, the wide-

spread politicization of identities that p re-

viously would have been subsumed un-

de r broader po litical categories. Two set-

tings are exam ined : the Miskitu Indians in

post-Sandinista Nicaragua where hybrid-

ity is presently associated with powerless-

ness and fragm en tation, as well as with

the potential for creative renewal. And

Guatemala ,where discourses of hybrid-

ity and

mestizaje

are used by relatively

owerful

ladinos

to advance their own

agendas and delegit imate Maya act iv-

i s m . The varying material consequences

of the ne w pol i t ics a n d the ne w

theory, are raised in the conclusion of

this

paper

and added his remark to a grow-

ing collection of evidence that

shows how charged this issue has

beco me. A young, successful

la-

dino poet from Quetzaltenango

complained that the only creative

and energetic poetry in Guate-

mala these days is by people like

Humberto Ak'abal who draws

artistic inspiration from his na-

tive K'iche-M aya language and

cu ltur e. All the res t, he la-

men ted, is imitation. A

ladino

physician w ho serves mainly in-

digenous patients in Chimal-

tenango claimed that

ladino

identity is disappearing, because

it lacks a historical and spiritual

grounding. He then referred me

to the entry for ladino in the

j o u r n l o f l t in m e r i c n n t h r o p o l o g y 2 1 ) : 3 4 - 6 1 c o p y r i g h t 1 9 9 6 , a m e r ic a n a n t h r o p o l o g ic a l a s s o c i a ti o n

34 journal of latin am erican anthropology


2/28

Charles r. hale

university of texas at austin

Enciclopedia

Universal

' astute, wise, rascal, sly(taimado), fox-like, sul-

len{cazurro),anti-social, perve rse, vice-ridden. In conclusion, he added,

a miserable human being. For this reason, we cannot talk of ladinization,

only of indigen ization... to return to the past, and affirm the valu e of M aya

culture. Though this do ctor's

posi t ion is extreme-perhaps

r e s u m e n

even slightly q uir ky -h is com-

B f e a r | f c u | o Q n a | j z a |Q r e | a d 6 n e n f r e | a s

mentis consistent withthefirst politicas post-revolucionarias en Centr

two,

and all three draw atten-

tion to a palpable anxiety in the

way Guatemalan ladinos are

talking about questions of iden-

tity. Asisthe case with the doc-

tor their thoughts often include

allusions to mestizaje. Listen,

for

example,

to the vice-dean of

a Guatemalan university, re-

flectingonthe quincentenary. I

think it is stupid or absurd to

praise the aborigines and con-

demn the conquistadors.... Gua-

temalans are neither indigenous

nor Spaniard. It should be ob-

vious,

that we all are

mestizos

1

Before beginning

to

unpack

the

complexity behind thesedec-

America, y problemas teoricos mas amplios

desarrollados desde la perspectiva de las

nuevaspoliticas culturalesde diferenciacion

social. Analizo tanto las crfticas de las

perspectives polfticas que, en nom bre d e la

unidad,

minimizan las diferencias cuiiurajes,

como el presente entasis en la politicizacion

de aqueltas identidades

pe

anteriormente

habrian sido subsumidas por categories

politicas mas amplias. Examino dos

contextos. Uno es el caso de los

Miskitus en la Nicaragua post-

sandinista,en el quelas identidades

hibr idas se asocian tanto con

debil idad polit ico y fragmen-tacion

social como con un creativo potencial

renovador. oiroes el casode Guatemala,

dondelos ladinos que detenten elpoderusan

discursos de hibridez y mestizaje para

propo ner sys ag en da s y deleg i t im ar el

activismo politico Maya.Enlas conclusiones

de este articulo discuto las diversas

consecuenc ias materiales de las nuevas

politicas y nuevas teon'as.

mestiz je hybridity and the cultural politics of difference 35


3/28

larations, allow meabrusk change of placeto theAtlantic Coast of Nicara-

gua. In December 1993, the Puerto Cabezas headquarters of the Liberal

Constitutionalist Party (or PLC) was a busy place, adorned with attractive

brightredcampaign posters writtenin theMiskitu Indian language, promis-

ing developm ent for our AtlanticCoast. Now a leading political force in

the region, the PLC is an updated version of Somoza's liberal party, the

same party that forcibly annexedthecoastal region in 1894, embarkedon a

vigorous (though ineffective) campaign of hispanicization, and later gave

Nicaragua

a

45-year dictatorship. Miskitu support for

the PLC in

one sense

is not surprising: Sandinista ideology always portrayed the Somoza era as

unidimensionally oppressive, which did not begin to capture the multiva-

lence of M iskitu experiencesthen,and collective memories afterward. Yet

given their recent history of militant struggle for autonomy, it is remarkable

that Miskitu people w ould

turn

in large numbers to a party whose platform

does not even mention Indian rights,

butrather,

insists

that the

resources of

the Atlantic Coast [where the Miskitu live] belong

to

all Nicaraguans.

It would be foolhardy now to lean very heavily at all on the narratives

that anchored most analyses o f Nicaraguan cultural politics

in the

1980s: of

revolutionary transformation, of standing firm against US imperialism, of

unified indigenous resistance to the Sandinista nation-state. Though these

narratives are always g losses on processes of great complexity,

there was a

time when these narratives were a reasonable place to start. In great con-

trast, politics

in

the mid-1990s have taken on

a

fluid

and

multiple character:

former allies are now at odds and previous arch-enemies find reason for

provisional solidarities. They occasionally draw on those old ideological

anchors, but more often reject

or

thoroughly confound them.

3

From the outset

I want to

dispel hopes for some grand synthetic analysis

of these two settings, by emphasizing the many significant differences be-

tween them. They belong

to

two distinct cultural geographies, two different

conquest traditions,

4

and patterns of interaction with the contemporary

nation-state. Mayas in Guatemala comprise between 50 and 75 percent of

the population, while Miskitu and other lowland Indians are less than five

percent of Nicaraguans. The Maya movement ison therise, afteranunsuc-

cessful revolutionary movementcrushed by a brutalcounter-insurgency cam-

paign; Miskitu ethnic militancy has been on the decline, especially since

1990 when the embattled Sandinista party lostatthe polls.

Despite these and other differences, the rationale for comparison

is that

both settings form

part

of Central Am erica's transition

to a

post-revolution-

ary moment. Post-war might be a preferable term, if

the

purpose were

merely to mark the disjuncture with the early

to

mid-1980s when the region



4/28

was engulfed

in a

political crisis characterized by intense military conflict.

I

opt instead for post-revolutionary because

it has

greater resonance, refer-

ring to

a specific mode of political thought

and

action, which was pervasive

during the 1980s and is no longer so. This transition has two prominent

features. The first is a proliferation of the subjects of political action: that

is,

groups o f people

who

develop affinities based

on

common experiences of

inequity, oppression, or rights

denied;

who have organized to pursue com -

mon

defensive or affirmative goals;

and

who prefer autonomous mobiliza-

tion (or at most provisional coalitions with others) over grand projects of

popular unity and social transformation. The second feature is a rising

acknowledgment that these subjects themselves are multiply constituted-

cross-cut by internal divisions

and

inequities,

held

together

by

discourses of

collective identitythat aremanifestly partial, constructed,andcontingent.

Both features-the proliferation of subjects

and the

multiple constitution

of these subjects-seem to coincide

with the

global shift toward what Cornell

West (1990)and othershavecalled the newcultural politics o f difference.

5

The keywordsarem ultiplicity, hybridity,andm estizaje,and thecentral im-

age is of individuals and groups composed of irreducibly plural parts, of

many registers that change according to context, of identities that are al-

ways

in

the making, o f internal contradictions that

are

not the exception, but

the rule. From a distance these keywords resonate, simply because the

politicization of culture is so evident in Central Am erica today, and in par-

ticular, because indigenous movements have come so clearly into the lime-

light. Yet on closer inspection, one finds elements that complicate the fit

between progressive-sounding theoryandon-the-ground politics.

6

InGuate-

mala, I associate these keywords not with the Maya movement

itself,

but

with

ladino

responses to it. Maya intellectuals and leaders are at most very

selectively interested

in

the insights of hybridity theory, receptive w hen the

object of analysis is dominant discourses

and

institutions, dism issive when

the lens is turned back on their own identities, movements, and vision s for

the future.

Ladino

intellectuals,

in

contrast,

are

finding notions o f hybridity,

mestizajeand

m ultiplicity increasingly useful to think through their current

predicament. Regarding the Miskitu, these keywords fit less well with the

near-unanimous discourse of indigenous identity and rights that guided

Miskitu mobilization during the Sandinista era, yet seem aptly to

characterize the present moment of multivalent, factionalized consciousness

and

political sensibilities.

These unexpected associations

mean

that

the

ostensible fit between theory

and

observed practice ends

up

raising many more questions

than

it answers.

Are the

existing theoretical accounts of these new politics broad and flex-

mestiz je

hybridity and the cultural politics of difference 37


5/28

ible enough to encompass contexts with consequences thatareambiguous,

or even hostile, in relationtoone's own list of preferred subaltern subjects?

How, in any case, do we rigorouslymapthese consequences,andthen make

this empirical complexity speak effectivelyto thetheoryat hand? For along

period, effortsto addressanalogous questions elsewherehavecomeinsharply

polarized cam ps,and tosome extentthispolarization remains. To simplify

somewhat, on one side are those who argue that new cultural politics of

difference have ushered in a great potential for critique of non-class in-

equalities, generating exciting alternatives to exhausted models of social

change. A second group of theorists seeks to reinscribe the shift within the

logic of capitalism, emphasizing convergences with evolving interests of the

bourgeoisie , portraying the abandonment of historical materialism as both

an ideological product of the momentand aserious analytical impediment.

7

More recently, a number of writers have argued that this polar, either-or

fram ing of the debateism isleadingandsterile, have called for critical eclec-

ticism as a means to move beyond the material/discursive, class/culture,

essential/constructed binaries.

8

Icertainlyammost sympatheticwith this thirdposition, affirmingmany

ofthecritical insights that the new politics have ushered in, while vigor-

ously questioning the sanguine, at times even celebratory, prognoses for

their impact and consequences. My analysis therefore tacks back and forth

between two lines o f critical inquiry: one that joinsthemoveto abandon the

premise of

a

unified subject, which has dulled culture theory, suppressed

diversity and accentuated inequities within resistance movements;andan-

other that specifies the ideological facets of this very move,itstendency to

sever the link between culture and material inequities, to cement the post

in place, making what used to be called revolutionary change in Central

Am erica all but impossible to imagine.

Yet w hile this dual critique is a crucial first step, I am discontent with

the theoretical indeterminacy that it tends to yield , a problem that also re-

flects the broader political predicament of Central Americainthe 1990s. To

some extent, of course, indeterminacy signalsavaluable movetowardgreater

com plexity. The forms of oppositional politics thatIaddress below , for ex-

ample, are not amenable to the reductive binaries that have driven much

analysis of such topics, and in this sense I endorse recent calls for a fun-

damental rethinking ofourapproaches to the study of consciousness and

resistance.

9

But to leave it there will not do. If we legitimately recoil from

both polesthe search for a unified insurrectionary subject and the de-

scent into anything goes postm odernism -we must alsobetroubledby the

increasingly common stance that remains situatedinthe highly ambiguous,



6/28

ill-defined space that lies

in

between.

10

In

hopes of moving beyond

this

inde-

terminacy,Icall for sharpened empirical attention to the specific local con-

texts and consequences ofthenew cultural politics. If we can rigorously

documentandaccount for the wide range of these material c on sequ en ces-

from empowerment and renewal, to entrapment in neworpersisting forms

of oppressionthis may at least help us to specifythetheoretical tasks that

remain incomplete, thereby hasteningthemove

from

critique toconstructive

alternative.

Emblematic of the post-revolutionary momentinCentral Americaisthe

assertion that new social subjects areat theforefront of political change.

This,

in turn, entails a two-fold critique. The first, and more straight-for-

ward, is the insistence that subjects remain in the plural, which means

abandoning hopes for forging a grand subject-in-the-singular. The second

goes further, to explore how each of these subjectsareconstituted, question-

ing the premise of internal coherence that has been foundational to most

thinking about consciousness

and

action at every level, from individuals to

communities, social classes and racial or ethnic groups, to nations. In an-

thropological guise this latter critique focuses on inherited understandings

of cultures and identities as bounded units of analysis. Gupta and Ferguson

(1992), for exam ple, challenge the unproblematic link between identity and

place ; Handler (198 5) makes a plea for deconstruction of the discourse

of leaders who have a stake in making their cultures appear unified; Abu-

Lughod (199 2) finds herself writing against culture. All these arguments

draw inspiration from alternative approachestorepresentation and identity

politics developed outside anthropology:infeministand literary

theory,

phi-

losophy and cultural studies.

A number of Chicana scholars have reformulated

the term

mestizaje,as

a means to fuse both lines of argument into

one.M estizaje

clearly evokes the

plurality of subjects, because it refers to an encounter o f two or more dis-

tinct cultural/racial groups. At the same time, to bem estizoin this revised

sense istoclaimaconsciousness shapedbymultiple influences, reducible to

none. The deeply embedded dominant culture meanings ofm estizajede-

facement arising

from

biological mixture,awoman's betrayal of her race as

original sin, an assimilationist ideo logy of cultural hom ogenization-m ake

this reformulation risky, but also charged and powerful.

mestiz je

hybridity and the cultural politics of difference


7/28

Gloria Anzaldua (1987:22) writes:

...fDJon'tgive me your tenets and your laws. Don 't give m e

yourlukewarmgods. W hat I wantis an accounting withallthree

cultureswhite,

M exican, Indian. I want the freedom to carve

and chisel myownface... to fashion my own gods out ofmy

entrails. And if going home is denied me then I will have to

stand and claim my space, making a new culture-una cultura

mestiza with my own lum ber, my ow n bricks and mortar and

my ow n feminist architecture.

Norma Alarcon (1990) has placed Anzaldua's treatise in the broader

theoretical register of multiply-constructed

or decentered

subjects, who

believe that knowledge of one's subjectivity cannot

be

arrived

at through a

sing le discursive theme, who conduct politics through provisional soli-

darities. Chela Sandoval (1991:15) offers

a

fuller account of these politics,

depicting

an

oppositional consciousness that depends upon ...the ability

to read the current situation of power and... self-consciously choosing and

adopting the ideological form best suited

to

push against its configurations,

a survival skill well known to oppressed peoples. The new

mestiza

is

emblem atic of creative renewalas an expression of identity and a call to

militancywhich affirms plurality and avoids the traps of the unified sub-

ject.

Both lines of argumentthat subjects are plural and multiply consti-

tutedare prominent in Central Am erica today. At som e level the first has

been acknowledged for some time, typically in reference to the structural

heterogeneity of Central American soc ieties . Theorists

and

activists previ-

ously sought

to

reconcile this daunting heterogeneity with the unitary goals

of revolutionary change, by drawing on formulations parallel to Ernesto

Laclau's (19 77 ) influential essay on populism. Laclau argued that popu-

list rhetoric was

the

essential glue

that

could meld

the

demands

and

precepts

of each constituent

group

into

a

single, socialist collective will.

12

In

the con-

text of the Nicaraguan revolution, for exam ple, this m eant that barrio resi-

dents, semi-proletarians, artisans, petty merchants, women, youth, ethnic

groups, intellectuals, petty bourgeoisiethe list kept growing longer

as

lead-

ers developed

a

deeper

grasp

of the project's complexityall had

their

place

in

the revolutionary process.

13

At some

point,

however, each

group was

expected to relinquish autonomy

and difference

in

return for power gained by forging

a

national-popular

sub-

jec t in the singular. This obligatory allegiance to a single revolutionary



8/28

subject is now the focus of intense criticism. It required people to g ive up

too much of their particular identities, interests and demands; and it rested

on a premature call to unity, which privileged the voices of some, before

allowing everyone

a

chance

to

speak.

Gathering Rage

is Margaret Randall's

(1992) memorable title o f

a

recent book

that

analyzes the Sandinistas' fail-

ure to confront sexism and to develop a feminist agenda.

14

Substitute any

groupinthat list of constituent groups for

women,

and the parallel argu-

mentcaneasily be found. Indigenous peoples,in thissense, were prescient:

they advanced the critique well before

the era had

ended.

l5

An awareness of the fractured subject is equally palpable in post-

revolutionary Central America, though less explicitly theorized as such. At

every

turn

one hears, for example, that participants

in an

indigenous move-

ment

cannot agree

on the

meaning of being Indian,

that

politicized gender

or

ethnic divides have made class unity more difficult to sustain, that work

toward

wom en's rights does not adequately address cultural difference, that

indigenous organizations neglect wom en's rights,

and

that nearly everyone

is skeptical about the nation as a basis for shared identity. These political

experiences have a growing complement of theoretical formulations: one

thinks of Nestor Garcia Canclini's

Culturas Hibridas

(1989), Rowe and

Schelling'sM emory and Modernity(1991) and at least two recent antholo-

gies (Beverley and Oviedo 1995; Chanady 1994), all of which link hybrid

identities in Latin America to promising new forms o f oppositional poli-

tics.

16

While broadly affirming this fit between the empirical conditions in

Central America and the new theories of identity politics, I also want the

empirical settings to confront

the

theories with challenges that clarify. The

first challenge arises where dominant actors appropriate the discourse of

multiplicity, but then smuggle

the

unified subject back

in.

Indigenous intel-

lectuals

in

Latin Am erica, for example, have long associatedm estizajewith

the assimilationist orind igenistapolicies of the nation-statewith M exico

as the

prime exampleand condemn

it as

an indirect form of ethnocide. As

used by Spaniards, by white ruling cliques and by social scientists, writes

Native Am erican ethno-historian Jack Forbes, the

m estizo

concept can be

an

anti-Indian, psycho logica lly paralyzing tool o f colonialism.

17

It would

be

misleading, how ever, to settle

the

matter by pointing

to a

radical disjunc-

rure betweenm estizajeas nation-state ideology in Latin America, and as

oppositional banner of oppressed peoples in the North. Both usages can be

found in both p laces; moreover, there are usages of the

term

that fall some-

where between neo-colonial oppression

and

creative renewal,

or

whose con-

tent fluctuates between the

two.

By considering this range of meanings and

mestiz ie

hybridity and the cultural politics of difference 41


9/28

their consequences, I contend, we can best gauge the com plexities of any

effort

to

subvert

the

colonial legacy

oim estizaje,and

realize

its

emancipatory

potential.

A second challenge focuseson thecomplicity of hybrid political sensi-

bilities with dominant sectors' efforts to deflect, defeat

or

delegitimate sub-

altern resistance. This outcome,Iwill argue, is dramatically evident among

the M iskitu o f Nicaragua today. If there is indeed a subversive potential in

the firm refusal to be pinned down, there is an equally great potential for

atrophy, factionalism and disarray whentheadjective provisional comes

paired with every political move. If theories of ethnic mobilization do indeed

buckle under the critique of the bounded subject, there is something trou-

bling and unpersuasive about the weightlessness that hybridity often con-

notes.

M iskitu politics highlight the need to focus attention on this gap be-

tween the sanguine claims for hybridity as an alternative to the flaws of

essentialist reasoning,andthe material consequences of the discursive shift

away from indigenous militancy; that is, to distinguish between creative

renewal and the desperate, desultory anti-politics of survival.

Inthe following two sectionsI make theethnographic caseforthese two

sets of hesitations, which together focus our attention on the slippage be-

tween hybridityandhegemony.Ithenstepbackagain tooffer some prelimi-

nary conclusions.

Chimaltenango was hard hit by the violence, as the eerily anesthe-

tized phrase goes ,and theubiquity of this phrase is one o f many indications

that the real political impact of the violence persists.

18

Itbegan in earnest

around 1978. Indian mayors won biginthe municipal elections ofthatyear,

and by 1981 most of these local officials had been killedor driveninto exile.

The same occurred with cooperatives, unions, health programs, and pro-

gressive religious workers. Guerrilla activity accelerated, and the armyre-

spondedwith acounter-insurgencycampaignof unfathomable brutality. When

Guatemala formally returned to democratic rule in 1985, the armyhadwon

the war in all but a few jungle areas far from Chimaltenango; and Maya

civilians had borne the brunt of the army's victory.

Even veteran analysts of Guatemalan Indian politics have been hard

pressedtoexplain howamovement of Maya cultural activism could emerge

in such a short time, with such great vibrancy, from the ashes of this state-

4 2 journal of latin am erican anthropology


10/28

sponsored reign of terror.

19

The term

movement must not be taken to im-

ply

homogeneity. Activism revolves around

a

decentralized network of liter-

ally dozens of Maya-controlled NGOs, each with separate internal charac-

ters, objectives, and sources of funding, which are in varying degrees of

communication with one another. They have important areas of common

ground, and multiple lines of division, which, combined with

a

volatile na-

tional political scene, make for constantly shifting terrains of alliance and

tension.

20

Internal complexities notwithstanding,

the Maya

movement sends

a

pow-

erful message to

ladinos,

beginning with a searing critique of

ladino

iden-

tity

itself.

In one sense such criticism is not new. Euro-Guatemalan elites

have long been deprecatory

towardladinos,

condemning

them

for the indel-

ible

stain of Indian ancestry.

21

Ladinosociologist

Carlos

Guzman-Bockler

reinforced this condemnationfrom

a

different perspective

in the

early 1970s,

coining the term ningunidad'( nobody-ness )to disparage ladino and

Guatemalan national identities

in

contrast

to

his Indianist-revolutionary al-

ternative.

22

But only

with the

rise of

a more

vocal and powerful Maya move-

ment since 1985

has

the critique really

begun to

sting.

It

decouples the a sso-

ciation of

' ladino

with Guatemalan, reinscribes

ladinos

as one people

among many, and contrasts self-assured Maya identity w ith theningunidad

of beingladino.Further, it insists that Maya culture deserves respect

in

the

form of specific laws and state policies , and makes the still-pervasive overt

practices ofladino racism fair game for constant, militantand often at

least partially successfulcontestation. Rigoberta Menchu's Nobel Peace

prize awarded in 1992 became emblematic of

this

new-found indigenous

affirmation, which gave rise to anxiety-ridden public debate. The cover of

Cronica

(Guatemala's

TimeM agazine)

for October 16 ,19 92 inadvertently

reveals this anxiety, announcing the lead story with

the

jolting bold letter

title: Indianpower. The accompanying photo of Menchu is

framed

within

an undersized space that seems hardly able to contain the political energy

that her

expression conveys. The subtitle asks,

What do

they want? With-

out intending to imply a simple causal relationship, I want to suggest that

one important facetof ladinos'response to this multi-faceted challenge is

the increasingly prominent discourse of

mestizajeP

Once an identity category throughout Central America, the term la-

dino

has given way to mestizo in El Salvador, Nicaragua, and most of

Honduras.

In

Guatemala, by contrast, use

of ladino

is still standard,

a

testi-

mony

to the

degree of polarization

and

perceived rigidity of the ethnic bound-

ary.

24

Because use of the identity term

m estizo

in Guatemala is recent and

incipient, let me begin with an anecdote that helps to specify and illustrate

mestiz je hybridity and the cultural politics of difference 4 3


11/28

this

transition.

Marriage

data

for

the

municipio(administrative unit roughly

equivalent to a U.S. county) of Chimaltenango between 1986 and 1990 are

perplexing. For the m iddle three years, about 80% of

the

marriages each

year are reported to be between two Indian spouses, in keeping with the

reported percentage of Indians in the population. But in 1986 the vast ma-

jority involved people of

unknown

identity

and

in 1990 fully half

the

mar-

riages were between two

ladinos.

Since these fluctuations in the first and

last years could not possibly correspond to actual demographic shifts, the

only conclusion

to

draw

is that the

civil registry w as having trouble figuring

out who is who.

In

hopes of resolving

this

puzzle,

I

visited

the

civil registry

in Chimaltenango. The young woman who records this data barely looked

up from her desk as she responded to my question. We don't keep that

information any more. We don't even try to determine who is

ladino, m es-

tizo

and Indian. We just send the forms back with the questions left blank.

I also visited the National Statistics Institute (INE) in Guatemala City, to

find out how

the

Chimaltenango experience fit

with

national trends,

and

was

directed to the desk of

a

light-skinnedladinajefa. She did all the talking,

while her assistant sat silently at her side. It's a big problem, thejefa

explained:

People don't want to admit they are indios.Many would now

take it as aninsult.Inmy city [M azatenango] the youngwomen

who [wear traditional dress] are leaving it behind andmaking

like they'renot Indians... [Th en,ina spontaneous expression of

colonial nostalgia,

25

she added]... the next thing you know

they w on't work for you

either.

It's hard to find good dom estic

help these days.

She

paused.

But even if

they

don't

dress intraje,

we still

know.

She laughed

out loud wh ile explaining w hy: porque tienen cara de indioTHer assis-

tant,

with black

hair and

considerably

darker

skin, smiled

andnodded,

though

I was sure

I

sensed a hint of discomfort.

This national-\QVQ\jefasummarized succinctly, if quite unconsciously,

the once-predominant ideology o f ethnic relations

in

Guatemala. Deeply

in-

fluenced by the precepts of Euro-Guatemalan e lites,

ladinos

tended to un-

derstand and portray identity categories as starkly dichotom ous,

and

vigor-

ously

to

enforce

the

divide between themselves

and

Indians. Now these once-

rigid boundaries have grown more porous and increasingly difficult to po-

lice, as the experience of the Chimaltenango civil registry suggests. There is

no mono-causal explanation for this transition: a number o f factors quite



12/28

independent o f the Maya m ovement surely play

an

important role, from the

upward mobility o f

a

small but constantly grow ing M aya middle c lass , to

the deep and violent intrusion of

the

state in Maya community life, that

came about as part o f the counter-insurgency campaign o f the early 1980s.

Similarly, the

ladino

embrace of

m estizaje

in response

to

this emergent state

of affairs has no single, stable political meaning.

The most comm only deployedladinodiscourse ofmestizajeentails what

I call appropriation from above:

a

tactical shift by the relatively powerful,

that

may ameliorate but ultimately serves to reproduce existing racism and

power inequity. This is the classic formula for mestizo nation-building,

whereby

an

inert Indian past provides

the

raw material for

a

resolutelymes-

tizo

future.

It

becomes especially charged when promoted

as a

counter-point

to the

challenge of Maya activism,

a

rationale that some proponents exp lic-

itly

endorse.

Listen, for example, to Mario Roberto M orales,

a

sharp-witted

and

out-spoken Guatemalan

ladino

columnist:

It is obvious, then, that the cultura l policies of a multicultural

country,

and especially a culturally hybrid

country,

should have

as their central theme, not cultural purisms but

rather,

mestizaje.A t the same time, these policies should provide the

impulse for a deepening of this mestizaje, such that in this

country's future there w ill be no Indians nor ladinos,but only

Guatemalans.

26

Statements of this sortwhich generally ignore or down play unequal

relations betweenladinosand Mayaplace M orales squarely in the com -

pany of the Guatemalan power elite. It could just as w ell have been uttered

by

a

spokesperson of the Guatemalan Army, which regularly appropriates

Maya

cultural sym bols-m ost notably

the

Maya

hero

Tecun Umanand puts

them

to the service o f counter-insurgency.

Yet there

are

other facets of this same discourse

that

have a less noxious

political valence. In the case of Morales, one signal of this com plexity is

that his eulogies tomestizaje have come paired with the suggestion that

Garcia Canclini's

CulturasHibridasa

text directly associated with pro-

gressive cultural polit ics-be required reading for all Guatemalans. An-

other rendering of M orales' line of argument is that it portraysm estizajeas

a means to acknow ledge the constant cross-over

and

increasing mutual en-

tanglement of Indians andladinos,which helps to dismantle Guatemala's

colonial legacy of rigid, dichotomous identity categories. This anti-essen-

tialist critique cuts both ways: against the exclusionary pretensions of the



13/28

Guatemalan power elite,

and

against rigidity

and

exclusion em anating from

Maya cultural activists them selves. Shorn of theoretical baggage, the same

message is echoed by middle class

ladinosin

Chimaltenango. The director

of a local community development organization, for example, became exas-

perated with me for what he view ed

as the

typical North American intellec-

tuals'

tendency to exaggerate inter-ethnic antagonisms.

It

depends

on

the

specific

conditions,

he insisted, citing many exam ples o f inter-ethnic

coop-

eration, and of deep c lass d ivisions that cross-cut ethnicity. This brought to

mind the

Mayas

only stance

of som e Maya organizations

in

Chimaltenango,

which he characterized

as racist

and added heatedly,

I

have Indian blood

too.

I have spent much time in Indian communities. It

is

just that now my

culture has become more

m estizo. In a

workshop

on

autonomy attended

by

mainly

ladino

activists, one participant offered

a

poignant account of a long

encounter with a group of Maya priests. I arrived at the conclusion that

I

am not

ladino.

A

ladino

is an exploiter, a

capatdz,

the one who wields the

whip.

The term

mestizo,

he argued, would help convey a commitment to

distance h imself from this oppressive past meaning of

ladino.

Finally, there is yet another set of responses which simply affirm the

space of m ultiplicity, without drawing conclusions that

are

so clearly posi-

tioned. Aladinateacher and activist puzzled over my question as to the

identity of

a

com mon acquaintance,

and

then

responded:

Demetrio Cojti [a

leading Maya intellectual] tells

us that

it is racist to determine people's iden-

tity simply by looking

at

them. These days, she continued, we just don't

know who

is

who.

That

statement,

in

turn,

brings to mind the

Chimaltenango

marriage data. Significant sectors of people of

Maya

descent are moving

into a realm of multiple identity, an implicit affirmation of hybridity or

mestizaje

because

it

entails

the

absence of strong affinity with either Indian

orladino.No one can quantify this change because census data comes in

dichotom ous categories. But evidence of the multiplicity is everywhere

to be

found

in

Chimaltenango,

and

especially persuasive when confirmed by Maya

cultural activists, who find

it

deeply

troubling.

When asked about the ethnic

composition of

the

city of Chimaltenango, for example, the director of

a

Maya organization

responded: the great

majority is indigenous, but

in terms

of identity, it is minimal, perhaps five percent. Such leaders point to a

series of factorsproximity to the capital, rapid economic change, persist-

ing institutionalized racismand they worry especia lly about the youth. A

young man of about 18 who works as an assistant in his father's construc-

tion business, exem plifies precisely these concerns. In

a

matter-of-fact tone

he told me that Indian identity meant something to his parents, who had

migrated from a rural community, but not to him. With the conquest the



14/28

Spanish culture was imposed, and now that's pretty much what we know.

The indigenous is disappearing. A medical history of an older man, taken

at the Clinica Berhorst in Chimaltenango, yielded this exchange when the

doctor tried to check

a

box next to the form's first question:

P: iComo se identifica Ud, como ladino o indigena?

R:Bueno, unpoco de los dos. Soy ladino... y

tambien

indigena.

Pues, soy m estizo.

P: Pero no existe esa categoria, solo ladino e indigena.

R:Entonces mejor ponga indigena iporque lo voy a negar?

r

This last exam ple brings

us

to the edge of

a

quagmire

that

cannot not be

treated exhaustively here, but at least demands preliminary attention: the

relationship betweenmestizajeandidentity shift from Indiantoladino,what

used to

be called

ladinoization.

According

to

periodic census docum ents,

since 1893 Chimaltenango's departmental population

has

increased

ten

fold,

while

the

percentage of Indians

and

ladinos

has

remained remarkably stable

at 80-20. This appearance of stability, however, is an illusion. The criteria

that census takers use to create these categories have changed over time;

from one historical moment to the next there has been variation in what it

means to be indigenous or

ladino;

and most important, the dichotomous

ladino-lndianmodel preemptively (and at times arbitrarily) places peop le

intoone categoryor the

other,

whenthey fitinneither. Astoundingas itmay

seem given the abundance of anthropological research on ethnicity in Gua-

temala, the last person to systematically confront this problem of culture

change and identity shift with original field data was Richard N . Adam s in

the 1950s. He created a typology of ladinoization that provoked an ava-

lanche of criticism, some of which continues to this day.

28

It

is high time

to

m ove beyond

the

intellectual paralysis

that has

resulted

from this controversy, whereby

the

demonization of

adamscismo

has made

it difficult to address basic empirical issues. To move the discussion for-

ward, we much first clearly specify the flawed premises of Adams' typol-

ogy, which have been invalidated byacombination of historical change and

theoretical

critique,

including

a good

measure of

his own

self-criticism. These

were,

inbrief:

1) uni-directionality: culture and identity change, but only in

one direction, from Indian toladino;2) irreversibility: once Indians have

shifted towardladinoculture and identity, there is no turning back; and 3 )

reification: the premise

that

identity-or

degree

of identity-could

be

deduced

from outwardly observable cultural traits (footwear, clothing, etc.).

29

A c-

knowledgment of these flaws,

inturn,

should clear the way for affirming one



15/28

crucial and near indisputably valid element

in

Adams' original framework.

He placed culture change

in

the context of broader political-econom ic con-

ditions, and drew attention

to the

fact that,

in

response

to

structural inequity

and institutionalized racism, one survival tactic that Indians have followed

was to act like, and in some cases to becom e,

ladinos.

The parallel analytical problem that I have posed for Chimaltenango

today is to document

the

current relations of power inequality between Indi-

ans and

ladinos,

to situate the

ladino

discourse of

m estizaje

within these

relations, and to assess the consequences of this discourse for all those af-

fected. One crucial difference between this process now and its analogue

forty years ago is the vibrant and growing m ovement o f M aya cultural ac-

tivism, which offers

a

well-elaborated

and

increasingly viable alternative to

assim ilation. Emblematic of this change is the man's final resting place in

the m edical history cited above. In the absence of M aya cultural activism,

he might well have persisted in naming himself

ladino.

Maya movement

leaders privilege cultural struggle

in

the Gramscian sense, making cultural

rights the center-piece of efforts

to

forge

a

loosely unified oppositional bloc,

which gradually can be expected to shift

the

balance of political-economic

power in their favor. The movement focuses on educational and language

policy, radio and mass communication, the revalorization

and

promotion of

Maya religion , the imbuing of old practices with new contestatory cultural

meanings. As one leader

put

it, our process of social change here advances

to the beat of the marimba.

The consequences of these efforts, however, reach

beyond those

intended

or

anticipated by movement leaders. Considerable achievements

in the areas

of cultural rights have opened new space for many people, allowing

them

to

deepen their identity

and

pride

as

Maya, often by applying their professional

skills to the benefit of the movem ent. Yet these same achievements also

have broadened the space of multiple identity making

it more

acceptable for

people o f Maya descent

to

follow paths of upward mobility in what

used

to

be exclusively ladinow orlds, and less likely that they w ould confront an

obligatory public choice between

the two

dichotomous identity categories of

identity.

Here lies

the

real complexity of any effort

to

assess the consequences of

ladinodiscoursesof mestizaje.When they clearly involve a case o f appro-

priation from above, conclusionsareeasy enough to reach. When the intent

is to engage in an anti-colonial critique of the inherited category ladino

the consequencesaremore complexbut atleast arguably salutary.Butwhen

the termm estizois applied specificallytoMaya identity and politicseven

shorn of assimilationist intentthe consequences become deeply am bigu-



16/28

ous. They entail both an important constructive critique of M aya essen tial-

ism,

and a thinly veiled threat o f delegitimation. The unintended con sequence s

of Ma ya cultural activism add to this ambiguity. In com parison to a deca de

ago, M aya pe ople, especially when they acquire money and education, m ov e

with much greater ease b etwe en the Indian and

ladino

wor lds. The discourse

ofmestizaje, by reinforcing this broadened space of ethnic indeterm inacy,

threatens to blur the m essa ge of M aya cultural activism , and to underm ine

the m ov em en t's a bility to forge a unified front of support.

V

Before drawing conclusion s about these varying m eanings and con se-

quences of mestizaje in Guatemala, let m e consider a related set of que s-

tions regarding the M iskitu of Nicaragua. If in Guatemala today w e find a

unifying d iscourse o f indigen ous identity juxtap osed toathreatening ladino

discourse o f mu ltiplicity, in Nicarag ua it is the reverse. Since the m om en -

tous electio ns o f 199 0, wh en the Sandinista party ceded po wer to a center-

right electoral coalition, the state has down played cultural difference, at-

tempted to undermine or simply ignore Miskitu pe op le's new ly achiev ed

rights to autonomy, and revived well-worn hom ogen izing political formulae

that invoke the interests o f all Nicara gua ns. The div isive ne ss of the past

decade alon g both class and ethnic lines , the ne w leaders argue, w as largely

a result o f Sandinista political mac hinations. In the contex t of this do m inant

discourse and practice, Miskitu politics are awash in multiplicity.

To find the M iskitu analogue to the present m ove m ent o f M aya cultural

activism in Guatemala, w e wo uld hav e to go back in time, to the Nicar agu a

of the early 19 80s . Beca use this history has been written man y tim es ov er,

suffice it to say that the discourse o f ethnic m ilitanc y w as the prism through

which nearly all Miskitu people understood the revolution. It did not

seam lessly represent peo ple 's con sciou sness: from the outset, rival M iskitu

leaders fought w ith one another over m on ey , pow er, and matters o f political

principle; leaders and followers understood the mobilization in divergent

ways .

30

Desp ite these and other com plex ities , when asked what they w ere

fighting for, the vast majority of Miskitu people-between say 1981 and

1985would have given a remarkably similar answer: for freedom from

Sandinista state repression; for our rights to territory, natural resources,

political control, and cultural ascendancy.

In late 1984, San dinista leaders announced they wou ld respond to M iskitu

mestiz je

hybridity and the cultural politics of difference 4 9


17/28

(and other Coa st peop le's) dem ands by recog nizing their rights to au tonom y.

A ltho ug h so m e leaders held out for continued armed struggle, most p eople

in the com m un ities where I w or ke d- an d throughout the regionopted for

dia log ue . Th ey fashioned a pragma tic, dual response to the Sandinista pro-

posa l: see kin g to take from the govern men t what they could get, wh ile re-

ser vin g their de ep loya lties for leaders in the bush w h o carried on the

struggle and represented the ideals of ethnic m ilitancy . Through the elec-

tion s of 19 90 , this dual response w as remarkably effectiv e. M iskitu people

ach ieve d legal r ecogn ition of their rights to autonom y from the Sandinista-

controlledAsemblea Nacional

in

1987 , and then delivered a ma ssive ly anti-

San dinista vo te in 199 0, bringing their ow n representatives to power in the

newly constituted autonomous government.

31

After 1990, by contrast, it has become increasingly difficult to see be-

yo nd the sob ering first imp ression of political atrophy and disarray. Don't

ev en talk to m e about auton om y, is no w a co m m on refrain, we're hungry.

W e wan t work. Un em ploy m ent in the coastal region has reached 70% and

prices o f consu m er go od s are absurdly high compared with local wag e rates.

The only gl immers of economic vital ity come from the booming drug

economy, and from shady venture capitalists there to make quick profits

through the export o f seafood. In the recently held autonom y elec tions M iskitu

pe op le took a bewilde ring array o f political p osition s, including as alluded

to at the outset strong support for the PL C, despite that party's ideological

roots antithetical to auton om y (see T able 1).

Table 1

Results of 1994Elect ions inP redom inant ly Misk itu P rec inc ts

FSLN P L C Y AT AM A

C i r c u n s c r i p c i o n

R io G r a n d e ( c u e n c a )

R io C O C O Ar r iba

R io

C O C O

A b a j o

R io C O C O L lano

Yu lu

Li tora l Norte-Sur

161

994

538

1001

918

347

56

3185

1690

2109

362

469

648

480

864

415

683

2488

TOT ALS 3 9 5 9 (2 3 % ) 7 8 4 4 (4 5 % ) 5 5 7 8 (38 % )



18/28

What

happened

to the

once pervasive discourse of indigenous militancy?

For

many it has simply dissolved, pushed aside by more pressing concerns,

or

dulled beyond recognition

by the

disbelief that

it

could ever come to any-

thing. The settings where the discourse persists

are

even more telling.

In

the

empty shell of an office of theConsejo de Ancianos,

a

Miskitu sociologist

and I held a long conversation with an angry group of five elderly men.

During the

previous era thisConsejoepitomized

the

discourse of indigenous

militancy at its most powerful:C onsejomembers were the font of cultural

knowledge passed downfromtime immemorial; they gave

the

Miskitu com -

batants advice, spiritual guidance,

and

moralsupport;they knew the history

of Miskitu people's rights, which provided the rationale for the more able-

bodied men and women to carry on the struggle.

In

three hours of animated

exchange, we heardafull rendition ofthisemotionally charged history. Then

the register changed abruptlyasthey detailed the unscrupulous actions and

bad decisions their own leaders had taken since 1990. But what really had

them angrywassomething even more basic:noone paid attention any more.

Forweeks they had been trying in vain to meet the new ly appointed gover-

nor of the autonom ous regiona formercomandantein the M iskitu resis-

tanceto give him some of their once so highly valued counsel. He had not

evenlet theminside the door.

In great contrast to the 1980s, M iskitu politics today have no center o f

gravity, no unified discourse of identity and common values that orients

collective action. People fashion m ultiple responses to desperate economic

hardship and a shifting field of meageropportunities;they use, discard and

partly use again discourses previously imbued with grave, essential mean-

ings.

Miskitu politics in the post-revolutionary period are most certainly

not ethnic

in

the conventional sense: they

are

quintessential^ hybrid.

It does not necessarily follow that these hybrid sensibilities are mere

reflections of the dominant neo-liberal ideology of atomization; nor do they

necessarily signal inexorable descent into

a

politics of desperation. Miskitu

people, after

all,are

preeminent survivors. By g iving

a

positive reception to

parties like the PLC, they hedge their bets, feign loyalty, and make use of

resources that flow from the alliance. Further, it is plausible that this new

stance contains e lements of resistance, or at least critique o f the hierarchy,

authoritarianism, and ineptitude that plagued the previous experience of

mobilization. The

C onsejo de An cianos,

after all, does epitom ize the patri-

archal values and practices that movements of indigenous militancy (like

other types o f nationalist m ovem ents) often reinforce; perhaps

the

ancianos'

relegation to irrelevance now is the precursor to a new moment in M iskitu

politics, characterized by

a

more explicit commitment to gender equality.



19/28

M iskitu pe op le's strategic essentialism in a prior m om ent, one might

argue, has shifted n ow toa strategic mu ltiplicity. Th is wo uld take som e of

the sting out o f what appears to be a time o f great disillusionm ent and de-

moralization; and it would certainly place the Miskitu in good theoretical

com pa ny , am ong those w ho have m ade hybridity and mu ltiplicity their ral-

lying cries. More concr etely, a decided ly m ultiple political subjectivity could

ev en help to open a path toward resolv ing a uton om y's greatest problem: to

forge a multi-ethnic consciousness, which unifies members of six distinct

ethnic groups behind the goals of regional self-government, and creates a

spac e for the egalitarian participation o f each in the resulting ben efits. H ow-

eve r effectiv e as a ve hic le of mo bilization, Miskitu ethnic militancy never

did com pletely overcom e the baggage o f accompan ying chauvinism, which

m argina lized the tw o smaller and less powerful indigen ous peo ples (the Sumu

and Rama), and down played African Nicaraguan (Creole) and Garifuna

rights altogether. Strategic multiplicity could encourage a fluidity o f bound-

aries, thereby a cting a s a deterrent to ethnic chau vinism.

Yet this line of argument stretches only so far. Hybrid consciousness

and practice also h as left M iskitu peo ple d ivided , and ill-equipp ed to carry

on the strugg le to defend their rights to autono m y, wh ich are in serious dan-

ger o f be ing denied by an intransigent central govern men t. I certainlyamnot

su gg est ing that som ethin g w e might want to call M iskitu culture and iden-

tity has disappeared. I do wan t to em ph asize the sharp distinction between

tw o ph ases o f M iskitu political sen sibilities, and to note the material conse-

qu en ces that follo w from each . Strategic essentialism o f the early 1980 s was

associated with exuberant mobilization, great hopefulness about the future,

and the ach ievem ent of an auton om y law w hich , for all its l im itations, will

be o f lasting h istorical im portance. A s for strategic multiplicity, though it is

too soo n to draw firm con clusio ns, the material con seq ue nc es appear to be

exceedingly bleak.

v.

It does not follow from this critique of the sanguine claims for hybrid

cultural po litics that renew ed c alls for mob ilization around a unified subject

are a viable or appropriate response. Such calls remain ridden with prob-

lem s, wh ether the subject in question is national-popular or ethnic, mes-

tizo

or Indian, wh ether dep loye d to defend an established order, or to rally

support behind a mov em ent of revolutionary ch ange. It isatestimo ny to the



20/28

tenacity of the precepts underlying this political alternative that people so

often begin with critiques of essentialism,

and

end

up

smuggling

the

unified

subject back

in.

To cite one example

in

the realm of indigenous po litics, the

late Bonfil Batalla o f M exico, in his recent work

Pensar Nuestra Cu ltura

(1991) pursues the decolonization

of mestizo

identity by reinforcing the In-

dian-mestizodichotomy, assigning value

to a

pure, resistant, creative Indian

matriz,while homogenizinganddevaluingtheother side.

YetIam also discontent with the theoretical indeterminacy that results

when we reiterate the dual critiqueof

both

essential and hybrid identity

politicswithout an effort

to

specify the theory and practice that lies in be-

tween (or better yet, beyond). The best way to move beyond this indetermi-

nacy, I argue here, is with experience rooted analysis that comes from

engaged ethnographic research.

32

My analysis here has demonstrated that,

far

froma

homogeneous category, discourses that invoke

m estizaje,

hybrid-

ity and difference have a great diversity of political motivations, contents

andconsequences.It thenbecom es crucial to exam ine the varying material

contexts of these new political interventions,andrelate them systematically

to the

varying consequences that follow.

In Guatemala, I argued that the rising

ladino

discourse

ofm estizaje

is

often deployed as a familiar act of appropriation from above, but at times

can express a critique of the colonial legacy in

M aya-ladino

relations, and

at still other times can contain some combination o f these two. This com -

bined effect is especially evident in relation to the (rapidly growing) cat-

egory of people whose identities are neither clearlyladinonorIndian. That

people occupy

this

space of m ultiplicity

is,

to some extent,

an

expression of

empowerment,

a

reflection of real achievem ents

in

Maya civil and political

rights; yet

at

the same time

it

threatens to undermine the M aya movem ent's

ability

to

mobilize a loyal constituency, to gain the power necessary

to

con-

tinue its impressive record of cultural political change. This,

in

turn, implies

a complex political-analytical balancing act. On the one hand, it implies a

critique of potentially authoritarian tendencies w ithin the Maya m ovem ent

(indeed any such m ovement o f ethnic militancy), especially in relation to

people w ho for some reason do not fit prevailing public representations of

what it means to be Maya. On the other hand, it affirms that the space of

multiplicity

is,

to some extent,

an

expression of neo-colonial power inequi-

ties,

and consequently,

that to

reject such multiplicity

can

be

an

affirmation

of pride, an act of decolonization. If theory is to be helpful in this case, it

must guide self-reflective, critical and informed analysis that affirms the

range of (at times contradictory) political consequences, and makes some

effort

to

distinguish among them.



21/28

In regard to the Miskitu, I argued that a self-destructive underside of

hybrid iden tity politic s has com e to the fore. Th is M iskitu turn to mu ltiplic-

ity is contra dictory as w ell , with certain strategic facets that m ay serve

more p ositive en ds, such as contesting previously under-exam ined forms of

inequity (e spe cial ly along gender l ines), and perhaps even sugge sting new

m od els o f political co ns cio us ne ss better adapted to the mu lti-ethnic realities

of the Atlantic Coast. Yet these facets do not begin to outweigh the most

prom inent feature o f the present scene : dissipation o f

a

once impressively

center ed d iscou rse o f collec tive history, identity and rights; insufficient po-

litical unity or powe r to defend the auton om ous go vernm ent for wh ich they

fou gh t so hard. W hen decentered sub jects and provisional solidarities

can be directly linked to the failure of struggles to contest or gain power,

such failures must serve as the point of departure for the conclusions we

draw.

Systematic consideration of these varying consequences also has the

adva ntage o f kee ping our attention fo cused on the critical underlying ques-

tions that the new cultural politics have ushered in: How to talk or write

about m ultiply constituted subjects, without allow ing the crushing weigh t of

op pre ssion and structural inequity to fade from vie w ? H ow to create pow-

erful, persuasiveeven revolutionarycollective voices, while resolutely

ke ep ing the subjects o f political cha ng e in the plural? Rece nt work on the

cultural politics of difference has made it abundantly clear that previous

an sw ers to these que stions w ill no longer do , presenting a critique that activ-

ists and intellectua ls alike w ill ignore at great peril. Yet

I

have also ob served

that the move from valuable critique to practical alternative has too often

been absent, and especially for US-based intellectuals, that the resulting

indeterm inacy has beco m e to o comfortable a resting place . By contrast, the

Central Americans who confront these conditions, out of sheer necessity,

are hard at work in search o f less equ ivoca l a nsw ers. If U S-b ase d theorists

are to learn from these efforts, it is only fair that we have something more

than theoretical indeterminacy to offer in return. At stake is whether the

culture theory we produce would be of any use, if they asked us to lend a

hand.



22/28

notes

Acknowledgments. A previous version of this paper was given to seminars at the Anthro pology

Department at the University of

Texas,

Austin, and at the Jackson School of International Studies, U niver-

sity of W ashington.Ireceived helpful comments in both places. It was also presentedto thesession, Mes-

tizoIdentity and Processes ofMestizaje of the XVIII International Congress of the Latin Am erican Stud-

iesAssociation, March 10-14 ,1994, organized by Marc Edelman.Iam also grateful for critical read ings

from Don Moore, Joanne Rappaport, Orin Starn, Carol A. Smith, and Richard

N.

Adams and two anony-

mous readers for JLAA .

1. In contemporary G uatema la the termladinorefers, most broadly,topeople of mixed Indian and

European descent

who,

at leastsince the19th century, have em phasizedtheHispanicrootsof their iden tity,

insisting on a rigid, absolute divide between themselves and indigenous peop les. The com plete history of

theladinocategory

is,

however, considerably more complex. Used in medieval SpaintorefertoMoors and

Jews whoconvertedtoCatholicism and Spanish culture, this meaning

first

prevailed in colonial Am erica.

Ladinoscould be either of either indigenous or African heritage, but had in common having adopted (or

having been forced to adopt) the Spanish language and culture (Stephens 1989:138-9). The transition

between this colonial meaning, and the one developed later during the liberal period rem ains (at leasttomy

knowledge) uncharted analytical

terrain.

For a start towardthisanalysis in Guatemala,seeTaracena (1982).

2. Cr6nica (4/10/92).

3.

Take, for examp le, Lumberto Cam pbell, the highest-ranking San dinista leader from the Coast

who told me in a matter of fact way in late 1993 that Steadman Fagoth is the only M iskitu leader who

really understands autonomy. Inearly 1981 Fagoth turned anti-Sandinista zealot, w ent on the payroll of

theCIA, espoused an anti-Comm unism so vehement that it sometimes made Indian rights appear as an

afterthought. Nowhe isatleast accordingtothis sou rce -the Sandinistas' closest ally.

4.

The term conquest traditions comes

from

Richard

N.

Adams (1989). His analysis refers, among

other

things,

to the contrast between subjugation of MesoA merican indigenous peoples for tribute and

labor, and the more indirectly oppressive colonial relations am ongtheCentral American lowland peoples

of Chibchan origins.

5.

Thisisthe title to his chapter, which appearsinthe edited collection,Out There: Marginalization

and Contemporary C ultures,

Cam bridge: MIT Press (1990). One indication o f the importance of this

perspectiveis the newtextCulturalPolitics(Jordan and W eedon 1995),clearly intendedtobeasuccessor

to

existing introductory anthropology textbooks.

6. This strained fit goes unnoticed in much scholarship, especially literary criticism, that reads Cen-

tral American politics at arms leng th, through the lens ofafew supposedly indicativetexts.A prime ex-

ample is de laCa m pa( 19 95 ). He offersa closereading of Eduardo Galeano (who last visited Gua temala

in the 1960s) on Guatemala, Joan D ideon (who visited El Salvador for a couple of weeks and wrote a

book and Julio Cortazar, which brings him to the conclusionthat: ...when viewed fromacultural rather

than a purely political perspective, the multilayered text of Central American revolution becomes espe-

cially pertinent to postmodern configurations....[This]cultural history has leftalegacy rich in aesthetics as

much as politics, in oral tradition, in ethnic and religious transcu lturation, as well as in elite and popu lar

cultural hybrid ization (1995 :131). I'm not sure I would consider such attemp ts to make the Central

American revolutionary experience grist forthe postmodern theory mill to be wrong; but they do run the

serious risk of being irrelevant, outside the narrow confines of academic self-referentiality.

7. A good gauge of this debate at its most vitriolic can be found in the exchange between Aijaz

Ahmad and his criticsinPublic ulture(1993). The original text thatgaverise to the exchange is Ahmad

(1992). Dirlik (19 94), following closely the logic of Jameson (1 984), levels a blistering critique of the

class bases of post-colonia l theory, which in turn has general affinities w ith the more celebratory stance

toward hybrid sensibilities. Ano ther illustrative debate is between O Hanlon and Washbrook (1992) on

the one hand, and Prakash (19 92) on the other. Specifically in relation to Latin Am erica, work s more

associated withthe creative

renewal

position include Escobar and Alvarez (1992), and Row e and Schelling

(1991). The Latin Am erican literature, in my view , lacks a sophisticated political economic critique of the

turn to cultural politics, parallel to, for exam ple, Harvey 's (1993) essay on the U nited States.

8. From different perspectives, Mallon (1994), M cRobbie (1991 ), and Starn (1995) all articulate a



23/28

position of this kind.

9. See Lila Abu-Lughod (1990) for a recent call along these lines.

10.These two term s are borrowed from Orin Starn (1995) and Paul Gilroy (19 90), respec tively.

AlthoughIgreatly admire Gilroy's analytical acuityon this

topic,

hisproposed resting point, encapsulated

with the term anti-anti-essentialism, seems symptomatic of the ill-definition. See also Gilroy (1993).

11.

W hether or not one could trace a direct intellectual influence of Laclauisa separate question,on

which I lack the basis to com ment.

12.

The re is no socialism without populism, he concludes, and the highest form of populism can

only be soc ialist. See Laclau (1977:196). He wrote this before his definitive break with the Gramscian

fram ew ork , as articulated in a later work on new social subjects, co-authored with Chantal Mouffe (1985).

13. The classic statement of this position by aNicaraguan theoristisOrlando Nuflez Soto (1981).

14.

Even more eloquentarethe retrospective testimonies of leading Sandinista women, collected as

a series of interviews by Margaret Randall (1994). See also, Criquill6n (1995).

15.

For details on the indigenous critique arising from deep inadequacies of the Guatemalan Left's

analys is of cultural politics, see C.A. Smith (1990, especially the conclusion). For an analysis of Miskitu

people 's conflict with the Nicaraguan state, see C.R. H ale (1994a).

16.

How ever, the slippage between claims being made for thesetwodistinctive facets of multiplicity

is considerab le and cries ou t formoresystematic analytical attention.

17.

Jack Forbes

1

TheMestizoConcept: A Basis for Identity oraProduct of Colonialism? (n.d.p.

25).

For a critique ofindigenismo,see also the docu ments com piled in Bonfil Batalla (1981).

18.

This section is based on research conducted over roughly six months in 1993 and 1994inthe

departm ent of Chim altenango. Unfortunately,in thisessayIcould not incorporate the results of interviews

and participant observation after 1994.

19.

Principal US-based sources on the Maya mov ement in Gua temala include Warren (1992),

Wantanabe (1994), Smith (1991), and Nelson (1995). Guatemalan sources include Bastos and Camus

(1992),

Cojtf (1 991) and COCA DI (1989).

20.

Formoreon this question of internal dynamics of M aya politics, see Bastos and Camus (1992).

21. For recently published material that dramatically confirms this Euro-Guatemalan deprecationof

ladinos,

see Casau s Arzii (1992).

22.

See Guzm an-Bockler and Jean-Loup Hebert (1970), and Guzm an-Bockler (1975).

23. I have identified four inter-connected facets of these responses:1 adiscourse of equality com-

bined with a critique of classic (biological) racism; 2) an assertion that Mayas are (or soon will be) initiat-

ing conflict withladinos,3 arecognition that Guatemalan national identityisbankrupt andthesearch for

a nuevoproyecto de naciori and a reformulation ofladinoidentity often in the guise ofm estizaje.Only

the fourth receives systematic attention here.Amore complete analysis will relate each facettoaseriesof

factorsclass position, gender, generation, location

in

the regional system, political ideology, among oth-

ers-that further differentiateladinoChimaltecos.

24. For the pioneering historical research that has deepened our und erstanding of this process in

Nicarag ua, see the work of Jeffrey Gould (e.g., in this collection and 1993). Significantly, the only other

place in M esoAmerica where ethnic relations are still predominantly represented in the polarized Indian-

ladinodichotom y is in southern states of Mexico, especially Chiapas.

25.

Ihave borrowed this term, inaslightly different form but with a similar meaning,

from

Rosaldo

(1991).

26.

Prensa Libre (1992). My translation.

27 .

I am grateful to

Dr.

M elissaC.Smith for providing m e with this information.

28. See R.N. Adam s (1959). Humberto Flores Alvarado leveled an early blistering critique, coining

the phrase adamscismo and associating it withanantropologiade ocupacion.For a recent restatement

of this position, see e.g., Zelaya Azurd ia( 1989). Guzman-Bock ler (1975) puts forth a somewhat different

critique, which has been echoed more recently by some M aya intellectuals.

29.

See, e.g., R.N. Adam s (1994) for an explicitly self-critical statement on the ladinoization

typology. Adams himself contends thatthetypology was intendedtofocus exclusively on culture, and that

he was agnostic on the question of its implications for identity change (personal co mm unication). This

complicates the m atter considerably, since the w idespread perceptionisotherwise. A more sustained and

systema tic study of this whole set of issues would be important

to

undertake , given its weighty legacy in



24/28

contemporary G uatemalan cultural politics.

30 . I've ma de these arguments at length elsewhe re in general (1994 a), and specifically in relation to

questions o f land rights (199 4b).

31 . The tactic did have serious unintended con sequ ences, w ith detrimental repercussions in the post-

Sandinista era. The m ost important of these was an abdication o f internal struggle over the content of

autonomy, yielding a law with seriously deficient wording on m any key issue s. The Chamorro gov ernm ent

has put these deficien cies to good use in their subsequent opposition to autonomy. For details, see H ale

(1994a, es p. Chapter 6).

32 . This phrase com es from L avie and Swedenburg (1 99 6), wh o use it inacogent critical assessm ent

of the relationship betw een anthropo logy and cultural studies.

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