I was really happy to be assigned the Taíno group for unit 6, as I had a close relationship with Puerto Rico and its culture growing up. Grey, Emma and Roberto put together an amazing podcast and blog lecture that was super insightful and felt very personal and authentic.
Admittedly, up until now I had passively accepted the narrative that Taínos and their culture became extinct due to the atrocities of colonization. Even while having family living in Puerto Rico for years, and having visited the island on numerous occasions, it never even crossed my mind that these people must have an existing legacy. You hear the name in Calle 13 lyrics, and you know of their widespread presence in the Caribbean, but the image that always comes to mind is that of a mystical tribe in the 1500s that–ostensibly–never saw the light of the day again. This is a clear example of why accurate representation truly matters, and why I’m really happy that Grey included pictures of their family. Now it seems so clear how ridiculous it is to believe that an entire ethnic group–including their bloodlines and cultural traditions–were obliterated without leaving any kind of legacy.
What I loved the most about the post is how it takes commonplace, Puerto Rican elements that are usually categorized as latino (for instance the sancocho), and traces its origins to the Taíno tradition. In a way, the sharing of these stories and connections through our blog is a form of cultural reclamation. After reading the lecture, I can picture Grey’s Taíno ancestors exclaiming “we’re alive and more resilient than ever,” and for that I feel very proud of my classmates.
I’d like to end my last blog post with a quote back from unit 3, as it seems very relevant to this reflection:
“It is during the long journey that we rearrange our burden.”
I hope everyone stays safe through the journey and arrives at their destination with new knowledge about their burdens.
Welcome to the blog post by Shadow, Daniela, Christina and Federico! Today we’ll be discussing the Wiwa peoples of the Sierra Nevada Mountains of Santa Marta in Colombia. The Wiwa community is one of four indigenous communities located in the Sierra Nevada. Living by the guiding principle known as ley de origen or “law of mother”,the Wiwa people have lived harmoniously with nature for thousands of years and serve as a great example and lesson of sustainability. In this lecture post, we’ll be diving in their rituals, foodways, cosmologies and how globalization has affected the community.
We are also excited to have an interview guest, Vicente Villazón. Vicente is a member of the Wiwa community, and former classmate of Daniela’s aunt at the University of Magdalena. He majored in Spanish and is currently a teacher in his community. Vicente’s village is located deep into the rainforest of the Sierra, but he was able to talk to us via Whatsapp video call and give us insight into the Wiwa ways.
HISTORY OF WIWA PEOPLE
As mentioned in the introduction, the Wiwa people are one of four indigenous communities located in the Sierra Nevada of Santa Marta. The three other indigenous groups they share this territory with are the Kaggaba (Kogui), the Iku (Arhuaco) and the Kankuamo, all of which are descendants of the Tayronas and preservers of their ancient tradition. Traditionally, the Wiwa people reside on the eastern slopes of the Sierra and along the river basins of the Cesar, Badillo and Ranchería Rivers. The Wiwa people speak the language Damana which is a variant within the Chibcha linguistic family. ‘Wi’ in Wiwa indicates something warm and also refers to words that symbolize origins or conception. ‘Wa’ is a derivative of some names in which many elements can be found. This is why ‘Wiwa’ means originators of warm lands (Ministerio de cultura).
Tayrona National Natural Park
The Sierra Nevada is a UNESCO Biosphere reserve and is an isolated mountain set apart from the Andes mountain chain that runs through Colombia. It is a highly diverse and unique ecosystem and reaches an altitude of 5775m above sea level and is the world’s highest coastal peak (Rodríguez-Navarro 455). The name of the mountain range, Sierra Nevada, comes from Spanish colonizers who arrived on the Caribbean coastline less than a decade after Columbus’s arrival to the Antilles archipelago. Around the 7th century, and up until the arrival of the Spaniards to the continent, the Sierra Nevada (and the neighboring caribbean Caribbean coastlines) saw the emergence of a series of chiefdoms whose wars and alliances marked the formation of a possible incipient state with notable urban and religious developments (Rocha Vivas 2010). However, the Tayrona were only one of the groups that inhabited the area when the Spanish arrived.
COLONIZATION
Colonizing forces arrived at the coast of Santa Marta in 1501, and the city was officially founded in 1525 (Rocha Vivas 2010). Tayrona communities that resided in the outskirts of Santa Marta and the foothills of the Sierra Nevada underwent battles and formed alliances with the conquistadores for many years until the Tayrona were finally defeated by the colonizers in 1599-1600. A group of surviving indigenous groups were forced to relocate to the higher regions of the mountain, which provided refuge and where they remained unconquered for over a century (Viloria De La Hoz 4).
Once the region was subjugated, the Spaniards implemented a system of encomiendas in the Sierra Nevada—28 tributary towns were established around the main city of Santa Marta (Viloria De La Hoz 5). Nevertheless, the encomenderos faced many difficulties in collecting sufficient tribute through this system, and as a result, the Spanish crown proposed to end the encomiendas and establish missionary towns instead. The most notable religious group that arrived with the intention of evangelizing the indigenous population was the Order of Friars Hermanos Menores Capuchinos, which directly translates to “younger brothers capuchin.” To protest against foreign authority in a nonviolent manner, the indigenous groups of the Sierra adopted the name “elder brothers,” and to this day, they still use this younger-older brother nomenclature to make the distinction between mestizos and indigenous peoples (Viloria De La Hoz 6).
With a significant colonizing presence in the region, the Spanish landholders and priests began changing indigenous toponymy to Christian names and founded numerous towns with Christian churches in and around the Sierra (Viloria De La Hoz 6). Furthermore, the region saw the flourishing of an economy based on production of panela (cane sugar) and products derived from livestock, which were commercialized by the Spaniards (Viloria De La Hoz 7).
Religious missionaries were driven out of the country during the independence period and the indigenous groups attained religious freedom but not land tenure. The government sought to open indigenous territory to the land market, mainly so that foreigners could settle in the area and the police became the new authority, which administered and adjudicated the land (Viloria De La Hoz 8). In the 1800s, the capuchinos returned as requested by the Colombian president, in hopes of transforming the Sierra Nevada into an agricultural colony (Viloria De La Hoz 9). The government’s colonizing plan was to build business networks with foreign, powerful families from the Caribbean as well as European settlers. This was achieved by offering land concessions in the Sierra to build agro-businesses (mostly livestock and coffee) and urbanizing the area (Viloria De La Hoz 9-10). However, their ambition did not come to fruition due to the wild vegetation that was almost impenetrable for land clearing, and the deadly diseases they suffered in the tropical climate (Viloria De La Hoz 17).
By the 19th century, foreign settlers had established the first large scale coffee plantations in the region. The proximity to the Caribbean Sea posed a crucial factor for the export of coffee and the development of an agricultural “boom” centered around coffee production (Viloria De La Hoz 13).
COSMOLOGY AND RITUALS
The Sierra Nevada is the highest coastal mountain range in the world and boasts a unique ecosystem. To the indigenous communities who inhabit the land, it is “the heart of the world” (Viaene 2018). Like most other indigenous worldviews, the Wiwa believe that the mountain is a living entity. In fact, they believe that the snowy peaks of the mountain represent its head; the rivers flow as its veins and the vegetation grows as its hair. Beyond a physical living being, the mountain is also considered a sensory, immaterial or spiritual being (Viaene 2018). The Wiwa people understand that, as a living being, the mountain speaks and expresses its feelings. Although not exactly in humanistic ways, the mountain is well aware of the surrounding events. When it gets angry, or sad, it expresses itself in fire ceremonies, in the form of signs in dreams of the elders, or in making accidents involving specific people (Viaene 2018).
Lost City Ruins
From this deepreverence for their land and, the mountain, comes the Wiwa’s guiding principle, “the law of mother” which is “a complex code of rules that regulates human behaviour in harmony with plants, animal cycles, astral movement, climatic phenomena, and patterns of transhumance in the sacred geometry of the massif”(Rodríguez-Navarro 455). The Mother, the spiritual force that governs all life, is a transmitter of knowledge and from her comes the law of origination. This knowledge encompasses the parameters of all social, natural, linguistic and norms of life, as well as management and measurement of time, and recollections of personal, familiar, and communal successes (Rocha Vivas 508). According to the origin story of the Sierra Nevada, in the beginning there was the Mother. From her come the original fathers and mothers, in the form of threads that depart and return to the Sierra Nevada, which sustains the heart of the world. The mountain, Sierra, is a symbol of a cosmic axis from which life is generated on the planet. The axis is the uterus, egg,and danburro (we will expand on this later on). Everything begins from there and there everything returns. The spiritual thought precedes material manifestation and unfolding (Rocha Vivas 623).
In the Wiwa community, women are believed to have greater contact with nature, especially with the crops and with the birds that sing to the harvest. For this reason, other than the male Mamos (spiritual leaders), women are generally the keepers of the ceremonial stories and songs (Rocha Vivas 508). It is a tradition for the Wiwa to sing and dance to the songs of the animals that sing to the harvest in almost all collective meetings. This ritual that consists of singing to the harvest is captured in the Spanish word Maleba. To the Wiwa people, transmitting, singing, and storytelling have two key functions, these acts: (1) pass down knowledge, traditions, and moral standards; and (2) regulate the energy exchange with the spiritual worlds through acts of balance, protection, and healing (Rocha Vivas 509).
For example, they sing songs during the cultivation of land to pray for good harvesting. Although the text of these songs is not decipherable or translatable, the songs are energetic offerings and direct communication to the spiritual world.
FOODWAYS AND KNOWLEDGE SYSTEMS
Considering the cosmology of Wiwa people, it isn’t too difficult then to imagine their relationship with the land. Since they consider the land as not only a living being but an origin mother, they interact with the land as they would with their mothers—with gratitude and respect. According to the Mamos, the spiritual leaders of the Wiwa people, the relationship between humans and the Sierra Nevada is reciprocal and interdependent, both positively and negatively. In other words, when humans harm non-humans or nature, an energy imbalance is created which implies changes in physical life, and global warming, water scarcity, disease and land infertility will appear (Viaene 2018). The use of chemicals and the fumigation of crops with glyphosate would be an example of creating such imbalance and the superficial consequence is environmental damage, but the core of such imbalance is the reduction in the vital energies of the mountains, lagoons, stones and animals that is reflected in an increase in diseases among humans (Viaene 2018).
A regular day of the Wiwa consists of going to the sea to collect seashells (which, as we discuss below, form an important part of Wiwa foodways), then moving up the mountain towards milder weather where their foods are harvested, and finally arriving at the snowy peaks where medicinal plants are found. Throughout this journey, they pass through three different thermal floors which vary in climate and crops. For instance, in milder weather they harvest beans, maize and sugarcane, and in higher altitudes they harvest garlic and green onion (Luzardo Ocampo2013). This constant wandering and collecting of food is understood as weaving on the land: “each journey a thread woven into a sacred cloak over the Great Mother, each seasonal movement a prayer for the well-being of the people and the entire Earth” (Davis 47).
Staple foods amongst the Wiwa community include maize, yuca, plantain, arracacha (a type of root vegetable) and banana. These products are complemented with meats, fish, and some vegetables that they cultivate. Over the years, their diets have evolved and been modified due to global trade and the introduction of new products in the territories of the Sierra, like, for example canned foods, and sweets (Ministerio de cultura).
Here we emphasize two deeply culturally significant food products: the danburro and the coca plant [note: for copyright reasons we’re unable to display pictures of the first foods on the blog, but if you click this link you should will be redirected to various photos and a video (timestamp 1:08 – 2:12) that provide visual contextualization for this section.] The danburro usually starts off as a small hollowed out pumpkin with crushed seashells in its center. A wooden stick is used to transfer the seashell powder from the danburro into the mouth (Vincent 2018). As we learned in Wiwa’s cosmology, danburro is the axis of the cosmos where everything begins, and therefore holds immense value amongst the community. It is also a sacred object given to men when they turn 18, as a symbol of manhood and maturity. Wiwa men are constantly chewing toasted coca leaves in their mouths because it gives them energy and helps them communicate with the mountain. This process is encompassed in the Spanish verb mambear, which simply means “to chew coca.” It is tradition to have women collect the leaves, which then are toasted and carried around by men as they go through their daily activities. When chewed by itself, not all active ingredients are released. However, with the use of danburro, the highly alkaline seashell powder found inside reacts with the coca leaf in the cheek and as a result, stimulates its active ingredients (Vincente 2018).
Aside from its practical use, the danburro also symbolizes maturity, growth, and self-knowledge because the burnt lime inside the danburro reacts with saliva and the coca leaves, creating a thick layer around the danburro that grows over time. Their personal growth is mirrored in the way the danburro grows denser, in particular as they learn how to respect the Sierra and how to live peacefully in the world (Vincente 2018).
The coca leaf in and of itself is of high ancestral and spiritual value. In fact, the Mamos believe that, in the future, they can survive solely by feeding off of this plant. The coca is believed to embody the “Sé,” which, according to the Indigenous groups of the Sierra, is the vision that unites all indigenous nations in harmony with mother nature. Each of the Indigenous peoples of the Sierra use it during communal meetings as a symbol of sharing the teachings of their origins, celebrating life and expressing gratitude for all natural beings and the services they provide. The Mamos perform gratitude rituals (called pagamentos) in honor of the four elements: water, earth, air and sun. During such, the coca leaf serves as a bridge of communication and interconnection between spiritual and human beings. Additionally, it represents the feminine energy and strength, and it is believed that the leaves sweeten the mind, the heart and the spirit of those who chew it (Luzardo Ocampo 2013).
DRUG TRAFFICKING AND GLOBALIZATION
As a result of globalization, there have been two major economic booms involving marijuana and cocaine trafficking and production that have tarnished the ecosystems and sacred territories of the Sierra Nevada. Hundreds of hectares of indigenous territory that were once devoted to the cultivation of illicit crops have now been recovered after many years of bloodshed and environmental degradation. Agricultural activity has transitioned to the cultivation of cacao, which has become the source of income for 200 indigenous families and improved their quality of life significantly (Efe 2017). In the following sections we will discuss how the introduction of the Sierra Nevada to capitalist systems through globalization has led to its recurring exploitation by way of drug trafficking, destruction of ecosystems and besiegement of territory due to armed conflict.
Marijuana
Close up of flowering cannabis plant
The social and economic phenomenon of the Bonanza Marimbera, was a period of massive marijuana production and illegal commercialization in the 1970s. It was seen to be influenced by the arrival of “Cuerpos de paz,” which was a group of peace Peace Corps volunteers sent by the U.S. government with the purpose of keeping Colombian youth away from communist tendencies and preventing a Cuban-style revolution (Beltrán et al. 13). The intervention was conducted through social programs and support of local agriculture. It was altruistic in theory, until the foreign volunteers came in contact with the marijuana that was grown in the region, brought it over to the U.S., popularized it with their friends and family, and essentially became its first traffickers (Beltrán et al. 21). The appeal of the Colombian marijuana prompted them to further promote its cultivation in the rural areas of Santa Marta and the northern area of the Sierra Nevada, in partnership with the mestizos who managed its distribution. The Americans struck a deal with Colombian farmers by promising greater profitability: they’d bring the seeds and contribute financially to its cultivation, as long as the crops were sold directly to them (Beltrán et al. 26).
Coca and cocaine
As previously discussed, the use of coca is the foundation of a longstanding tradition ingrained in the everyday life of the Wiwa community. Wade Davis, anthropology professor at UBC, noted from his research of indigenous people in the Sierra Nevada that they “consume more coca than any other human group on the planet: a quarter kilo per man every day” (cited in “Sierra Nevada: La Planta Sagrada”). The coca leaves were considered sacred until they began being produced into cocaine, and the plant represented a sacred element of the indigenous tradition until the younger brothers started exploiting it “through a the perverse process that withers the earth and twists the minds and hearts of all those who come into contact with it,” (“Sierra Nevada: La Planta Sagrada ”). With the boom and demand of cocaine in the 1980-90s, the coca plant became the most profitable crop for mestizo farmers of the Sierra Nevada, given that within just a couple of months the plant sprouts the leaves necessary for the production of the drug.
A pile of cocaine hydrochlorideCoca leaves
Indigenous leader Ati Quigua expressed in an interview (Luzardo Ocampo 2013) that the drug trafficking dilemma must be analyzed from a global perspective, taking into account three concrete factors: drug production, distribution and commercialization, and consumption of cocaine, NOT the coca. Quigua called for a major narrative shift in the way that awareness campaigns have portrayed this sacred plant as malignant, instead of targeting the actual misuse of the coca. She expressed that the Colombian population, especially children, must learn the medicinal and nutritional benefits of the diverse botany of the country, in order to prevent the stigmatization of ancestral foods. As a solution to this issue, she advocates for having the coca patented, as has occurred with other sacred plants, such as the chicha.
Environmental degradation
Thousands of people came to the Sierra chasing the wealth of cocaine, and with them arrived a war against the environment. The chief of the Sierra Nevada National Park, Tito Rodríguez, said that “the region was transformed into a disputed territory amongst different armed groups, in large part from the crops they were able to hide in the mountains” (“Sierra Nevada: La Planta Sagrada ”). This commercial production and trafficking of cocaine has led to the deforestation of more than 300,000 hectares of forest within a 13-year time period. Along with the harvest, many farmers had laboratories in their homes to produce cocaine paste that they would then sell to paramilitary groups responsible for further chemical processes and its commercial distribution. The chemicals in these laboratories were then disposed of in the forest, damaging the natural environment and polluting previously crystalline rivers (“Sierra Nevada: La Planta Sagrada ”).
Armed conflict
To contextualize the socio-political landscape, we will outline some key events that are particularly useful for our conversation on drug trafficking and the violation of indigenous rights.
The armed conflict was deeply rooted in the ideological rivalry between the conservative and liberal parties in the early to mid-20th century, which were radically supported by militia groups. The assassination of popular leaders, widespread massacres and other forms of brutality called for a violent revolution in the 1950s, and eventually the two parties agreed to rotate the presidential power for a period of 16 years. During this time, emerging groups held much resentment against the government for its political exclusion, uneven distribution of land and high rates of poverty in rural areas (Historia del conflicto armado en Colombia en 3 minutos). Consequently, the 60s and 80s saw the emergence of two kinds of armed groups: the communist guerillas and the right-wing paramilitaries, respectively. The guerillas started out by kidnapping wealthy landowners and political figures in order to redistribute their wealth in rural areas, but their tactics became alarmingly brutal over time. Seeing that the state was completely ineffective in protecting the civilian population, paramilitary forces—supported by local military officials—began to form in the areas of greatest guerrilla presence (LTG Staff 2016). Furthermore, the outrageous profits obtained from exporting cocaine to the U.S. prompted the increasing emergence of drug cartels who also participated in the conflict, mainly by way of aiding the paramilitaries. The violence that had started it all only intensified.
Now, how do the Wiwa peoples and the Sierra Nevada fit into this saga of terror? The wealth and diversity of the territory has attracted the attention of different actors, some armed, and some who have exercised violent actions in gaining political or economic favors and violating human rights of individuals and collectives, by way of destroying sacred sites, assassinating leaders, rupturing cultural dynamics and forced displacement (Comisión de la verdad 2020). More specifically, the Sierra Nevada comprised a strategic territory for armed groups, as its closeness to the sea facilitated contraband and provisioning of weapons and ammunition. It also provided the right conditions for drug and other trafficking networks, as we have previously discussed. Cocaine production and commercialization became the main revenue of armed groups, allowing them to afford their weapons and sustain their fearsome armies. Thus, with the intention of appropriating the territory for the cultivation of illicit crops, several groups laid siege on the Sierra Nevada: the FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, which was Colombia’s largest rebel group), ELN (guerrillas) and several factions of the AUC (paramilitary group) (Rodríguez and Rodríguez 220).
FARC soldiers marching
The armed conflict harmed not only indigenous territories and communities, but has also permanently affected their culture, identity, autonomy and self-governance (Rodríguez and Rodríguez 229). Indigenous leaders claim that the deadly conflict travelled from the interior of the country and came to hide in their territories, stigmatizing those sectors that were hit by the guerrillas (Comisión de la verdad 2020). Their sacred sites were converted into military camps desecrated by the blood of the ongoing strife. There were intense territorial disputes between paramilitary groups and guerrillas, disrupting indigenous travel across territories. For instance, the Arhuacos, Koguis and Wiwa could no longer travel to the lower parts of the Sierra because they would be accused by the paramilitaries of being guerrillas. Meanwhile, the Kankuamos couldn’t travel up the Sierra out of fear of being similarly accused of being informants to the FARC. Lastly, for the Mamos, it became a deadly risk to travel in order to accomplish their role in blessing and healing the land. (“Sierra Nevada: La Planta Sagrada ”).
To summarize, the entire Colombian population has been victim of merciless human rights violations during the internal armed conflict. Indigenous groups, in particular, had to face not only the terror of massacres and kidnappings, but also the dispossession, appropriation and destruction of their traditional territories, and with it a massive loss of ancestral knowledge. After reaching the peace agreement, the Sierra Nevada started to recover its ecological and cultural balance once again. Unfortunately, indigenous people of the Sierra have faced new struggles, such as increased tourism, infrastructure development, and more recently climate change and the current COVID-19 pandemic.
INTERVIEW WITH VICENTE VILLAZÓN
Lastly, we wanted to highlight some insights from our short interview with Wiwa member, Vicente Villazón. We thank him for taking the time to share part of his culture for our learning purposes. (All interview material has been translated and paraphrased into English for concision)
On the significance of the danburro or poporo for Wiwa men
Vicente: The danburro is a sacred element that men receive as they turn 18, which is generally when they form a relationship or get married. Nowadays some boys get married at 16 if they fall in love.
The danburro symbolizes a space where one’s knowledge is concentrated. Personal and spiritual growth of a Wiwa man is captured within the danburro.
Once the danburro weighs over 3 pounds it can be replaced with a new one, but one must consult with a Mamo first. If you simply dispose of it, it would be as if you’re throwing away your wife.
on the coca leaves
Vicente: The coca leaf is a sacred plant. It also represents the woman. It is used for medicinal and spiritual purposes. We toast it first and chew it. It is the complement to the danburro along with the seashell powder.
on farming practices
Vicente: The territory designated for cultivation must be cleared first. Both men and women are involved in this process (but only women gather the coca leaves). Given that there are microorganisms and other living beings that are burned through this process, the Mamos must heal the land so that the crops grow healthily. A small portion of the first harvest is given to the Mamo so he can purify it as well.
The Maleba includes a dance performed by women, accompanied by the tambora (two headed drum). We (men and women) sing to various kinds of seeds and foods before and after planting them. These dances and songs accompany the harvest. (this is just one example of many rituals/types of dances)
We cultivate malanga (taro), plantain, yuca, banana, maize, rice, yam, ahuyama (crookneck pumpkin), cane sugar and some beans. Some foods are commercialized in smaller quantities, mostly sold to individual families. Many of the foods we consume were introduced during colonization. Originally, we had cacao in the Sierra but coffee was introduced later.
Water is life. It is a medium that gives us life. Water can become weary, thus the Mamos are constantly purifying it, so that we can guarantee its longevity.
Many colonos or civiles (his way of referring to non-indigenous peoples) own private territory/farms in the Sierra, which interrupts our trust in them, our free travelling within the territories, and our well-being. Later on in the future, we wouldn’t want to be close to civilization, and we wouldn’t want our land to be privatized. That’s why our governors and leaders are working towards having an area in the Sierra that’s autonomous, where we can freely organize our communities however we wish.
on armed conflict and globalization
Vicente: Previously, our ancestral wisdom and sacred elements surrounding cultivation had a rich history. These histories have been lost through colonization and land dispossession. Right now, we’re trying to recover and conserve this knowledge. We’re having conversations about what we can do with what we currently have and how to move forward.
Some indigenous peoples who left the Sierra and moved to the cities started feeling like civilians (civiles). Even though they’re indigenous, the knowledge has beencivilized. We’re trying to recover our territory in order to recover the wisdom that the Sierra carries.
CONCLUSION
The indigenous groups of the Colombian coastline have been the guardians of the mountains, the sea and the rivers since the beginning of time. Unfortunately, they have also suffered from the struggles of a country that has cultivated terror and violence in those regions for decades. The sharing of testimoniesduring the Commissions of Truth hearings provides opportunities of change and have presented significant moments of reflection for indigenous people who identified as “elder brothers,” and who speak for the rivers, mountains, lakes, and the sacred places they have defended for thousands of years (Comisión de la verdad 2020).To highlight a particular violation of indigenous rights, Wiwa leader Pedro Manuel Loperena narrated the systemic massacres which were closely related to the construction of a dam by the river that goes through Wiwa territory. In his words, this project was made possible only by destabilizing and dismembering his community. Loperena spoke from the sentiment of all indigenous groups by making a call to “leave the land alone, leave the heart of the world tranquil and to stop the effects of cultural exploitation through deforestation” which permanently scars their source of life (Comisión de la verdad 2020).
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Davis, Wade. Light at the Edge of the World: A Journey through the Realm of Vanishing Cultures. National Geographic Society, 2001.
Giraffe. “Historia del Conflicto armado en Colombia en 3 minutos.” Youtube, uploaded by Giraffe – Marketing y Ventas, 8 April. 2016, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0zmDS18SoWA
Guillermo E. Rodríguez-Navarro. “Indigenous Knowledge as an Innovative Contribution to the Sustainable Development of the Sierra Nevada of Santa Marta, Colombia: The Elder Brothers, Guardians of the ‘Heart of the World.’” Ambio, vol. 29, no. 7, 2000, pp. 455–458.
Gutiérrez D., José A., José A. Gutiérrez D, and Frances Thomson. “Rebels-Turned-Narcos? the FARC-EP’s Political Involvement in Colombia’s Cocaine Economy.” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism, 07/15/2020, pp. 1-26.
Mora Rodríguez, Alexandra and Gloria Amparo Rodríguez. Conflictos y judicialización de la política en la Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. Universidad Del Rosario, 2010.
Rocha Vivas, Miguel. Antes el amanecer: antología de las literaturas indígenas de los Andes y la Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. Vol. 2, Bogotá: Ministerio De Cultura, 2010.
Viloria De La Hoz, Joaquín. “En busca de nuevas tierras y vecinos: Proceso de colonización en la Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, Serranía de Perijá y Zona Bananera del Magdalena (siglos XVII – XIX)” Cuadernos de Historia Económica, no. 49, Dec, 2018.
Vincente, Jessica. “The Culture of the Wiwa, an Indigenous Colombian Tribe in the Sierra Nevada”. Cultural Trip, December 2018, https://theculturetrip.com/south-america/colombia/articles/the-culture-of-the-wiwa-an-indigenous-colombian-tribe-in-the-sierra-nevada/
I found particularly striking the article on barter markets (Argumedo and Pimbert) for its emphasis on a development strategy that doesn’t rely on a neo-liberal, western-centric approach and respects the sacred practice of reciprocity.
I think there is a common misconception that renders indigeneity as an inherently impoverished condition. Particularly in Latin America, indigenous cultures are still widely seen as backwards and/or simply ignorant. The word “Indian” is still thrown around as a synonym of indigenous, with the implication that something is underdeveloped. While it is a fact that indigenous peoples worldwide experience higher levels of poverty in terms of housing, health care, access to sanitation, etc, it is crucial to make the distinction that these conditions are directly caused by colonization and state violence and/or neglect. We must obliterate the narrative that illustrates their ancestral ways as irreconcilably outdated and ignorant.
Even under these dire conditions, indigenous peoples have made tremendous efforts to conserve their sacred knowledge and thrive as a traditional community in the era of globalization. Recalling the post-development theory from unit 3, to consider indigenous nations as underdeveloped and propose development strategies rooted in eurocentric ideas of modernization, is to engage in the same violence that attempts to strip indigenous peoples of their traditional livelihoods and cultures. Taking this into account, the barter markets are the perfect example of an empowering, non-homogenizing approach that provides food security and economic authority for indigenous peoples.
The line that struck me the most from Chef’s Table was when Enrique recalled the best advice he had gotten as “you have a responsibility as a Mexican cook to do Mexican food.” Along the same lines, it was fascinating to see how Enrique transforms Mexican cuisine into fine dining, which generally carries a Eurocentric bias, and portrays staple ingredients in such refined and dignified fashion.
I loved the juxtaposition between the scenes showing the traditional cooking process and the “mechanized” production at Pujol. It shows really well that all of Enrique’s lavish creations carry at heart the ancestral Mexican teachings that unite families and generations continuously. This relationship also applies to other Latin American cultures, as we’ve seen with the Garifuna Ereba making process. In particular I found the scene where Enrique is teaching his kids to make tortillas from scratch really special, as it reminded me of the times I’d make arepas for breakfast with my mom, or when I’d sneak out to my neighbor’s apartment and help her make arepas for her daughters to take to work.
Another thing I found really interesting was how Enrique described the creative process behind concocting a new dish, and the sudden feeling of growing tired of his own creations. I think it can be paralleled to Benson and Fischer’s article in the sense that Enrique is always seeking that “algo más” through cuisine. As consumers, we too expect chefs at his level to innovate regularly and provide new exquisite experiences for our palates. In this sense, the article and the movie can be analyzed together to notice the chains of production and consumption and the roles we play within the system, from simple grocery choices to the logistics behind fine dining.
Being mestizo is generally something that every mestizo takes pride in. We are the unlikely synthesis of exploration, slavery and resistance. Our nations were forged by our African ancestors, on the land stewarded by our Indigenous ancestors. Our history grants us the privilege of an eclectic culture that embodies the surrealism of the mestizo condition.
Growing up in a Caribbean coastline, my upbringing was very much reflective of this privilege. I attended a German school where on one hand, I grew up celebrating caucasian festivities like Oktoberfestand Martinstag. On the other hand, I was part of an extracurricular club where we performed Afro-Colombian dances, which emerged as a by-product of the slave trade and African labor in the region. On the weekends you may find in every neighborhood a loudspeaker on a front patio, blasting Congolese soukous for the whole block to enjoy, although I personally prefer our Caribbean cumbia for the melodious tune of the Indigenous gaita.
The beauty of these juxtapositions is that they are complementary as much as detectable. You can pinpoint their origins but you can’t divide them at their point of intersection. They constitute the genetic code that inextricably binds us to the land and our histories. A downside to this is how often we forget the conditions in which cultural mestizaje sprouted. Listening to the history of the Garinagu and finding unexpected parallels with my own culture reminded me how in Latin America we’re all cut from the same cloth of colonial dispossession and oppression. Thus, any celebration of mestizaje must also render as a celebration of Indigenous and Afro-Latinx resistence.
I think it’s safe to say we all want to experience something authentic. We wander in nature to reconnect with the world and rediscover our essence. In a world saturated with bigotry and tragedy, we seek to be purified from all kinds of afflictions.
More often than not we associate the the idea of purity with ancestral territory; we know that indigenous peoples are the first stewards that have been fighting to protect their land from extractivist governments, climate change, and any influence from the “outside world.” Following this logic, any kind of healing experience must be most effective when experienced within this “aboriginal” environmental.
I don’t believe people interested in these experiences have ill intentions, on the contrary, it’s easy to innocently believe that one is doing a good deed by supporting and acknowledging indigenous traditions (and simultaneously ignoring all the negative implications). But we must remember, as Smith, Tuck and Yang remind us, that indigenous peoples have no obligation to welcome outsiders into their ancestral lands and introduce them to their customs, as if all this time hey have been waiting to be noticed by mainstream culture.
In 2018 I went on a short backpacking trip with my sister to the Sierra Nevada of Santa Marta. We stayed at an eco-lodge called Finca La Semilla, located on a natural reserve neighboring the Kogui village. On the first night of the trip our host invited a few members of the community for dinner, one of which was a female healer. She couldn’t communicate in Spanish, but her daughter kindly encouraged me and my sister to perform a pagamento (a ritual to express gratitude to the mother earth) with them. It was very simple: we were handed each a piece of red thread, and were instructed to speak to it anything we wanted to give thanks for. After that the java (female healer) did all the spiritual work by herself.
I speak about this experience because at the time I felt extremely ashamed that I hadn’t taken the time to research Kogui customs before coming into their territory, yet they welcomed us so warmly without asking for anything in return. The lodge functions in association with the Kogui community in terms of land management and holistic workshops, however, the members aren’t directly profiting from the guests that stay at the privately owned lodge that was constructed on their land.
At the time, of course, I didn’t question any of this. The host seemed to have a genuinely close relationship with the villagers and they were more than happy to engage with us. Reflecting back on the experience, I know it was authentic in the sense that it was out of spontaneity and genuine interest that they volunteered to share their customs with us. Nevertheless, the ayahuasca readings remind us to always consider the hierarchies of profit that impinge on the authenticity of the experience we’re seeking, not to mention the conditions that enabled us to have access to them in the first place.
The Keyword definition that struck me the most is “food sovereignty.” As someone who has been consuming store-bought food their entire life, I’m almost ashamed to say I never contemplated the idea of being in control of the production process and the ingredients that go into my body. Even now as an “adult” who is responsible for their own well being, I mostly go to the most affordable supermarket and pick out the foods that my mom taught me were good to consume, without considering GMOs, environmental impact, or other factors.
As the group mentioned, the lack of food sovereignty has historically manifested in a Latin American context in the way of foreign exploitation of farmers, natural capital and monopolization of trade. The so called “Banana Republics” are thus controlled by imperialist foreign fruit companies that terrorize mistreated farmers and generate rampant violence at a national level.
This weekend as I busted out my old copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude for my Spanish literature class, I was reminded of José Arcadio Segundo’s recount of the massacre that obliterates the population of Macondo and unleashes a long-lasting deluge that leaves the town in ruins. This passage is based on a real massacre that occurred in 1928 in Ciénaga, not too far from my hometown in Colombia.
Workers of the banana plantation owned by United Fruit Company went on strike for weeks demanding dignified working conditions such as: a proper wage (in lieu of payment through coupons), compensation for work accidents, and proper hospital services. After refusing their terms and labelling the movement as communist leaning, the U.S. government threatened to invade the territory if the Colombian government failed to protect their crops. Soon-after, 300 Colombian soldiers were sent to Ciénaga and fired at a crowd of plantain workers, their families and children, as they gathered at the main square after Sunday mass.
In the novel, José Arcadio Segundo regains consciousness after the massacre in a train wagon, his body bruised and bloody, surrounded by hundreds (he later estimates 3.000 in total) of corpses that were on their way to be discarded at sea. The number of victims of the real massacre has yet to be confirmed—various sources have estimated anywhere between 9 to over 1.000 civilians whose lives were taken in the interest of United Fruit Company.
Although I had already been aware of this tragedy (and many more atrocities committed by paramilitary groups endorsed by this company), it definitely hits a different nerve now. Enrolling in this class has made me reflect on being separated from the foods that were part of my childhood, and how if I am able to purchase them here, it’s at a much higher price than farmers in my homeland are paid for their work, not to mention the bloodshed of my ancestors.
My mind keeps coming back to every family road trip we’ve driven by the plantation zones, the abandoned railway and the main square in Ciénaga—the places that have become literal mass graves forgotten in time because “races condemned to one hundred years of solitude [do] not have a second opportunity on earth.” (Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude)
For most of my life I had never questioned my relationship with the food I consume. One time in high school, I tried going vegetarian for a week simply because I wanted to impose a label on myself that would set me aside from others, something that would make me “cool” and “health conscious.” But the rest of the time when I wasn’t taking on a weight loss diet, I unquestioningly consumed the food my mom cooked for me. Food was never a concern because I never had to provide it for myself, or fend for my own health, thus it wasn’t until I moved out for college that I questioned my previous habits and looked for options that aligned with my moral priorities.
I think it’s important to deconstruct western attitudes towards food consumption, especially the “ready-to-go” aspect of pre-packaged foods that favor capitalist values of productivity and quick satisfaction. Belasco highlights how we’re so disconnected from the farm-to-table process that even talking about foodways, in academia or casual conversation, seems almost ridiculous. The author also notes that in the west, we may consume all imported products in one meal, yet we stay oblivious to the journey that they undergo and the hands that cultivated it.
Belasco’s remarks on this human detachment from food reminded me of the novel “Ravensong” by Sto:lo author, Lee Maracle. Particularly, the main character criticizes how white women discard weeds (such as mint, comfrey root, plantain, dandelion and mullein) from their gardens simply for being “unaesthetic,” while on the other hand, these constitute highly valuable sources of food in her community:
“She knew they harvested weeds more or less indiscriminately, using them as crops to be eaten along with whatever store-bought food they could occasionally afford. […] It struck her as pathetically funny that these people should invest so much time in throwing living creatures away when they were still perfectly good.”
I personally found this passage very compelling, as it reminds us to be grateful not just for the catalogue of imported foods that we can access at our local stores, but for the rudimentary and almost sacred foods that our ancestors worked so hard to cultivate.
I’m a fourth year student in the combined literature and language English major and I’m originally from Colombia! I was born and raised in Barranquilla (a semi-small city by the Caribbean coast) and I moved to Vancouver after graduating high school in 2016. I currently live in Burnaby with a friend from El Salvador and I work at COBS Bread~
Since moving to North America, and despite how much I love living in BC, being apart from my culture was really hard on me. During my first years I struggled making sense of my major and my place as an English student, for I always felt something fundamental was missing. Sometime down the road I figured the best way to reconnect with my “latinness” was to keep learning about our cultures in order to make those contemporary connections. I loved taking SPAN 365 with Tamara last term, and I’m even more stoked for this class!
Some fun facts about me:
✩ I wish I could say I have cool hobbies but I’m really a simple gal. I love Disney movies, road trips, painting, drinking beer and reading Alan Watts.
✩ I attended a German school my whole life and even went on exchange to Germany when I was 15, but sadly since I graduated high school and stopped practicing daily, my German has deteriorated drastically and I can’t say that I’m fluent anymore 🙁
✩ My parents’ apartment in Barranquilla is located just down the street from the school Shakira attended
✩ I just came back from Tofino last weekend and tried surfing for the first time and absolutely loooved it! It’s funny that I had never tried it before since I spent half of my childhood at the beach, but I will definitely give it another shot as soon as I get the chance
I’m really excited to get to know everyone and I hope we can make the best of this (strange) semester! 🙂
Enjoy this picture of my favorite spot in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta (Kogui, Arhuaco, Wiwa and Kankuamo territory)