CULTURALES 2006 VOL II 3 ENERO JUNIO

La “gente del desierto” en el norte de Sonora Hernán Javier Salas Quintanal Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México

Resumen. La construcción de la frontera política administrativa, a mediados del siglo diecinueve, entre Arizona (Estados Unidos) y Sonora (México) provocó una dispersión entre los pápagos que quedaron al lado mexicano y los que se ubicaron al norte de la línea fronteriza. Durante años esta división generó un alejamiento en los estilos de vida y en la forma de habitar un ambiente desértico; en la actualidad, la frontera política se expresa en las esferas de la vida social, económica y cultural. En este artículo se hace referencia a la situación de los pápagos, la “gente del desierto” que habita el desierto de Altar, al norte de Sonora, quienes actualizan sus referentes comunes para identificarse como etnia y como grupo.

Palabras clave: 1. desierto, 2. frontera, 3. pápagos, 4. identidad.

Abstract. The construction of the administrative political border, in the middle of the 19th century, among Arizona (United States) and Sonora (Mexico), caused a dispersion among the pápagos that remained at Mexican side and those that were located to the north of the frontier line. During years, this division generated a removal in the ways of life and in the form to inhabit in a desert environment. Currently, the political border itself, expresses in the spheres of the cultural, economic, and social life. This is how to refer to the situation of the Papago, the “desert people” that inhabits the desert of Altar, to the north of Sonora, who update their referring common ones to be identified as ethnic group.

Keywords: 1. desert, 2. borderline, 3. Papago, 4. identity.

culturales VOL. II, NÚM. 3, ENERO-JUNIO DE 2006

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Introducción Desde hace cientos de años, diferentes sociedades han habitado los desiertos y hecho de estos particulares ecosistemas un espacio de habitabilidad para el ser humano. Como memoria materializada de la humanidad, los desiertos custodian fósiles de individuos, plantas y animales, artefactos y materiales que las sociedades antiguas utilizaron para perpetuarse en el tiempo. De esta manera, han sido un testigo privilegiado del desarrollo cultural de la humanidad en territorios que, pese a las ideas generalizadas que se han elaborado sobre ellos, siguen albergando importantes sociedades humanas y grupos de diversas especies. Este artículo comienza con una referencia histórica de la ocupación del desierto del norte de México, desde la conformación de un entorno ecológico hasta su ámbito social, tanto en las delimitaciones territoriales como en la manera en que las fronteras geográficas se fueron convirtiendo también en fronteras culturales; finalmente, se contextualiza espacial e históricamente la cultura pápago, la “gente del desierto” que continúa vinculada a los diferentes procesos que se experimentan en el entorno árido.

La vida en el desierto Etimológicamente, la palabra “desierto”, que proviene del latín desertus, significa “abandonado”.1 Como adjetivo significa “despoblado”, “inhabitado”, “solo”. Entendido como sustantivo, se trata de un terreno despoblado, sin cultivos, gente ni edificios. En cuanto a su definición geográfica, es una “gran extensión de terreno donde la vegetación es escasa y las condiciones climatológicas de una extrema dureza, cualidades que dificultan en gran medida la vida ordinaria” (Fernández de Rota, 2004:22).

Ante todo, la aridez es escasez de agua, causada tanto por falta de lluvia como por las condiciones de humedad del suelo; 1

Diccionario de la Real Academia Española.

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La “gente del desierto” en el norte de Sonora

la permeabilidad, evaporación y transpiración de las plantas; la intensidad y duración de la luz solar, el calor, la humedad atmosférica y el viento. De tal manera, los desiertos son regiones del planeta que se caracterizan por factores que limitan el establecimiento de grandes poblaciones de organismos. A pesar de ello y quizás por las presiones del medio, los seres humanos asentados en este hábitat han desarrollado una cultura cuyas estrategias están orientadas a hacer frente a las constricciones ambientales.

En estas condiciones, el ambiente árido marca límites precisos. Sin embargo, cuando los seres humanos se apropian del espacio definen sus propias fronteras alterando muchas veces las naturales, modificando las condiciones naturales de existencia para transformarlas en recursos culturales. Cuando un grupo enfrenta un medio hostil, lo hace con todo su repertorio cultural, con sus valores y formas de comportamiento, con su organización y su tecnología.

La vida del ser humano en el desierto y su significativo nomadismo es una expresión de cómo se especializó en el proceso de integración a la naturaleza que le permitió expanderse por los ámbitos más secos de la tierra. Los hombres avanzaron, penetraron y se asentaron allí y resolvieron el problemático aprovisionamiento de alimentos y agua. Pronto esos hombres aprendieron a excavar y extraer agua del subsuelo, a canalizarla y aprovechar el agua de los ríos y de la lluvia, hasta edificar obras hidráulicas al servicio de inmensas zonas de regadío y poblaciones.

La falta de agua, entonces, no fue un impedimento para el crecimiento y desarrollo de las sociedades humanas en los desiertos, las que fueron transformando el hábitat, trasladando pautas de comportamiento y recursos de otras formas de habitar, como plantas y animales, y desarrollando conocimientos para enfrentar las constricciones ambientales, en un llamado proceso de adaptación que en realidad ha significado una transformación profunda. Así, el ambiente, vínculo complejo entre los procesos de orden físico, biológico, termodinámico, económico, político y cultural, emerge como un nuevo potencial productivo que resulta de las relaciones sistémicas y sinergéticas 11

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que genera la articulación de la productividad ecológica, tecnológica y cultural. Esta concepción, parafraseando a Enrique Leff (1998), resignifica el sentido del hábitat como soporte ecológico y el habitar como forma de incorporación de la cultura al espacio geográfico.

De esta manera, mientras más han sido las limitaciones impuestas por las condiciones de aridez, el hombre ha experimentado el desarrollo de mayores capacidades para transformar el medio ambiente, cuya expresión más significativa se ve reflejada en los procesos de artificialización, acompañados de una alta mecanización y tecnologización de las actividades agrícolas, pecuarias, de caza y recolección, que emplean tecnologías cada vez más sofisticadas. El uso desmesurado de tecnología vigoriza a la frontera en los procesos culturales y naturales, proceso que ha sido interpretado como un divorcio entre el sujeto y su entorno; sin embargo, el sujeto va modelando su comportamiento a través de significados socialmente construidos acerca del desierto, como un elemento más del entorno y de la naturaleza de la relación entre el hombre y el desierto.

En este manejo, el proceso más importante ha sido extender el control sobre aguas de superficie y freáticas, creando un vulnerable equilibrio entre el incremento desmesurado de la demanda y el costo por su apropiación. El incierto límite impuesto por las condiciones ambientales deriva en un problemático y complicado proceso económico en el uso, explotación, administración, propiedad y conocimiento de los recursos hídricos. Dada la desmesurada utilización de equipos y tecnología especializada, la interacción social que se establece entre las actividades productivas y los recursos naturales, especialmente el agua, ha definido los comportamientos y las interacciones entre los seres humanos, caracterizados tanto por la armonía como por la conflictividad social. La percepción, la administración y la organización social en torno al agua constituyen una cultura capaz de sortear el rigor del medio ambiente, la que, sin embargo, no se ha desarrollado con suficiente vigor como para mermar los enfrentamientos en el uso industrial, agropecuario y doméstico del líquido.

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La “gente del desierto” en el norte de Sonora

Antecedentes en la ocupación del desierto Desde una perspectiva de larga duración, a partir del conocimiento arqueológico de la distribución de los sitios de habitación y de trabajo, el tipo de material cultural que contienen y las asociaciones entre los artefactos, se puede interpretar que los diferentes grupos humanos que han habitado el desierto del norte de México a lo largo de prácticamente diez mil años enfocaron su atención en el desarrollo de formas de apropiación y manejo de los recursos del medio ambiente, base fundamental de sus estrategias de sobrevivencia, sin dejar de preocuparse por las tareas de defensa y las actividades ceremoniales.

Por ejemplo, de acuerdo con el trabajo arqueológico de Leticia González (2004:368), el tipo de organización social se ha identificado teniendo como base las actividades llevadas a cabo por los cazadores recolectores del desierto, que dieron como resultado una tecnología manifiesta en la industria textil, de la madera, de la piedra tallada y de las transformaciones de productos naturales en alimentos por medio del horneado y la molienda.

Para la reproducción de sus condiciones socioeconómicas, los grupos que aquí habitaban necesitaron integrar una serie de relaciones sociales y políticas para acceder a territorios que sirvieran como reserva para las épocas de sequía y escasez, así como para compartir su territorio con principios basados en complejas relaciones de parentesco y asociatividad.

De la misma manera, esos grupos dejaron evidencia de su vida espiritual, ceremonial y social en edificaciones, piedras labradas y culto a diferentes elementos presentes en la naturaleza. Como todas las sociedades, las del desierto construyeron universos conceptuales que rebasaban los fenómenos naturales para explicar y complementar los diferentes factores y elementos de la cotidianidad. De acuerdo con la evidencia arqueológica, en algunas sociedades del desierto se practicaban al menos cuatro cultos: a los muertos, al venado, al peyote y a los astros (González Arratia, 2004:368).

Es precisamente la interrelación entre los aspectos materiales de la subsistencia y las manifestaciones de índole simbólica en 13

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un escenario como el desierto, organizado en torno a la formación social de cazadores, recolectores y pescadores que viven de los productos que ofrece el medio ambiente, lo que se ha denominado “cultura del desierto”.2 Habitada durante varios milenios por grupos nómadas que cazaban animales y recolectaban diversos frutos para sobrevivir, la economía regional utilizaba estacional y cíclicamente los distintos ecosistemas, conformados por lagunas, ríos, arroyos y el litoral marítimo (Villalpando, 2001). Los territorios más extensos, con menos recursos de agua, permitían la trashumancia en un área mayor. Los territorios que poseían corrientes de agua permanentes o frecuentes permitieron la agricultura de riego, además de la de temporal. Valles estrechos, situados especialmente en la junta de los ríos, aseguraron agua permanente para los poblados y las labores agrícolas desarrolladas, principalmente en la caja de los ríos (Montané, 2004:308).

En un orden de aspectos más cotidianos que en rituales asociados a las creencias, la organización social de los grupos que se asentaron en el desierto se caracterizaba por la gestión comunal de los recursos, normada por instituciones que regulaban el carácter redistributivo, otorgaban el derecho a elegir autoridades y recurrían a relaciones de reciprocidad con sus vecinos. Ambas colectividades se encontraban en el interior de fronteras físico-ambientales definidas por restricciones climáticas y escasez de recursos productivos, en una situación concebida, no por solidaridad mecánica, sino como una estrategia de sobrevivencia. El orden interno estaba garantizado por principios culturales y de territorialidad que se entretejían con 2 A pesar de las discusiones arqueológicas acerca del espacio ocupado por la cultura del desierto en la subárea norte de México, se concuerda en su temporalidad, desde el año 9000 a.C., y en una serie de elementos de la cultura material presentes en diversos momentos, descritos por Braniff (2004:185): habitación en cuevas y sitios abiertos, recolección, cacería en diferentes proporciones, diversos tipos de lítica, cestería, pieles para vestir, sandalias, taladro para hacer fuego, arco y flecha, cordelería, redes, petates, artefactos de madera, uso de la concha para confeccionar objetos, hornos subterráneos, aljaba y honda, instrumentos para tatuajes, uso del peyote, escalpe, collares y orejeras.

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estructuras concretas de apropiación de realidades tangibles e intangibles. Hay que destacar, en todo caso, que la referencia a comunidad debe entenderse más bien como gestión y organización comunal de recursos, antes que como un concepto normativo y restrictivo (Castro, 2004:101).

En efecto y aludiendo a la actualidad, las comunidades de las sociedades del desierto no sólo hacen referencia a una lengua, un territorio y una cultura, como ha sido observado en sociedades constituidas en otros ecosistemas. Los pueblos indígenas han conservado parte de lo que fue su milenaria territorialidad, gracias a las constricciones que impone el medio desértico, y de cara a las sucesivas transformaciones de la gran propiedad asignada a los europeos en los siglos dieciséis y diecisiete. Con grandes diferencias culturales, comparten, sin embargo, estilos de organización comunal que básicamente vinculan un conjunto de unidades productivas y facilitan la circulación de los medios de producción en un territorio delimitado. La apropiación de recursos reviste, a la vez, formas individuales y comunales tuteladas por un sistema normativo que establece el acceso, control, uso y transferencias de factores productivos (Castro, 2004:101).

La idea de comunidad, como veremos, contrasta con la experiencia actual de los grupos que habitan el norte de México, especialmente con aquellos que viven alrededor de la frontera internacional. Para comprender este proceso, presentaré la relación entre el desierto y la frontera norte.

Frontera y desierto en el norte mexicano La vida social y cultural en el desierto del norte de México se vio fuertemente transformada y, en cierta medida, interrumpida con el establecimiento fronterizo. Con el desplazamiento de la frontera México-Estados Unidos hacia el sur en 1848 comienza la fragmentación territorial, no sólo de los grupos indígenas asentados en la zona, sino también de familias y bandas que fueron divididas entre dos nacionalidades. La férrea resistencia de los pueblos que habitaban la región a la llegada del conquistador 15

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español logró establecer un cierto equilibrio social y socioeconómico, un manejo de los recursos y una particular sedentarización, que combinaba caza, pesca y recolección con una problemática agricultura. Los grupos, especialmente los indígenas, construían sus identidades derivadas de su forma de habitar y apropiarse del espacio.

Quienes se dieron a la tarea de “conquistar” territorios en la denominada “tierra adentro” estaban obligados a delimitar el territorio conquistable: en primera instancia, definir al “otro”, acotándolo en un espacio culturalmente homogéneo, para definirse a sí mismos y a los “otros” en el sentido de “vecinos fronterizos”. Lo mismo ocurrió posteriormente entre misioneros y militares, promotores de políticas concretas de control del espacio y sujeción de sus habitantes, de las que emergieron infinidad de clasificaciones que hicieron explícito el reconocimiento de la heterogeneidad nativa: diversas lenguas, múltiples formas de organización política, diversas maneras de apropiación del espacio, variedad en las armas y atuendos, grupos en conflicto y aliados (Sheridan, 2004:449-450).

Para el conquistador esta región del desierto también era concebida como una frontera, una tierra de nadie, conquistable, llamada la Gran Chichimeca, tierra de indios rebeldes y agresivos. El usufructo de un territorio delimitado por los indios no fue reconocido por los españoles, pues se trataba de un territorio por conquistar y, en consecuencia, no estaban dispuestos a asumir lo que para los aborígenes era una certeza: su territorialidad. La territorialidad definía el espacio en el cual la tribu podía utilizar los recursos naturales. Los españoles, entonces, lograron modificar su relación con ésta al limitarlos a vivir en aldeas fijadas por ellos, los conquistadores, quebrantando sus ciclos alimentarios (Montané, 2004:306 y 310).

La resistencia de los grupos que habitaban la región a las políticas coloniales condujo a que ambos países fortalecieran sus regiones fronterizas, y así, tales grupos aceptaron, con aparente conformidad, su sedentarización. Las formas que adoptó este proceso en ambos lados, ya fuera en “reservaciones” o en comunidades indígenas y ejidos utilizados como medios de pacificación, no diferían mayormente.

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De tal manera, la formación de las fronteras nacionales fue obra de dos países que luchaban por imponer sus proyectos de Estado-nación. En ambos casos se trataba de aislar a la población nativa del resto de la sociedad para convertirla en icono de raíces históricas de la nación, de que adoptaran una lengua común (inglés y español, respectivamente) para facilitar los procesos de educación institucional a través de un régimen escolar único, formas específicas de acceso a la tierra en un sistema agrícola determinado y un gobierno central que fuera capaz de someter las diversas figuras de autoridad. Como ha señalado Everardo Garduño (2002), los grupos indígenas del norte de México cesaron la resistencia activa en forma de rebeliones armadas, pero con base en su binacionalidad y movilidad ancestral, que luego se hace transfronteriza, han empezado a elaborar estrategias de resistencia para que pervivan sus identidades. En este sentido, la constitución fronteriza representa un fenómeno dinámico por excelencia.

La noción de frontera ha sido analizada como un espacio per se, inamovible y ahistórico, que separa arbitrariamente dos supuestas realidades socioculturales: civilización y barbarie. Es una noción que surge de un imaginario imperialista que no sólo explica sino que justifica su propia idea de la realidad, a la que confronta y que reconoce como distante, pero que, a la vez, hace propia como un desafío: conquistar el espacio y sus habitantes (Sheridan, 2004:449).

En este espacio del norte de México, dadas las condiciones de desierto, la frontera era concebida como tierra de nadie, región abandonada, donde no había nada y donde todo estaba por hacerse, concepto etnocéntrico marcado por Frederick Jackson Turner desde finales del siglo diecinueve (Torres, 2004). Las culturas nómadas del desierto formaban parte de este vacío; así lo consideraron los primeros colonizadores que llegaron a Sonora y así lo establecieron los estadunidenses cuando posteriormente se lanzaron a la conquista del Southwest, concebido como la nación naciente.

La frontera americana es la parte más lejana de los asentamientos-pioneros, el límite frente a la tierra libre, un cinturón flexible que señalan con detalle los censos; la frontera es 17

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una perspectiva que incluye a todo el “margen exterior” de los asentamientos americanos y en el cual se encuentran los territorios indígenas. La zona fronteriza es la naturaleza salvaje que conquista el colonizador. La frontera es una región capaz de restituir al hombre su pureza; es una región de violencia y de regeneración, creadora de un hombre nuevo y de una nueva nación específicamente americana (Torres, 2004:424).

La ideología nativista estadunidense se filtró en el aparato gubernamental y permitió delinear las políticas migratorias más trascendentes de aquel país. Tanto en Europa con en Estados Unidos, definió por primera vez a la “raza blanca” como un grupo social con un papel de privilegio en la historia mundial.

Como producto de estas ideas se desarrolló el nacionalismo blanco, que creció durante todo el siglo diecinueve con un acuerdo tácito entre las élites políticas y económicas de origen norteeuropeo y los cuadros académicos que desde instituciones de educación superior y la prensa generaban el discurso narrativo que daba “sustento” a dicha superioridad anglosajona (González Herrera, 2004:430-431).

Este nativismo radical, conformado en torno al límite cultural de la frontera, tomó la forma de un anglosajonismo o nacionalismo blanco que gradualmente empezó a centrar sus “dudas” en los numerosos inmigrantes que llegaban del sur y del este europeo. Éstos fueron considerados no solamente distintos culturalmente sino inferiores en el sentido racial. Durante el siglo diecinueve, las élites económicas, religiosas y políticas vieron en la población indígena de Estados Unidos (que sólo interesaba por sus tierras), en las oleadas de inmigrantes, un reto a la integridad y pureza racial y cultural del grupo angloprotestante que desde entonces gobernó a esa nación (González Herrera, 2004:430-431).

Debido a la complejidad de aquello que distancia la frontera, casi siempre adopta una forma material, en un territorio fronterizo. Es ante todo una construcción cultural cuya existencia genera hechos y acontecimientos presentes en la vida cotidiana, donde interactúan y se articulan sociedades particulares.

Cruzar la frontera se vuelve entonces un reto para quienes buscan esperanzados una vida más conveniente, aunque esta me18

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joría en algunos planos signifique vivir a la sombra de la xenofobia. Son la paradoja de la frontera y las paradojas de su trasgresión, que no pueden reducirse solamente a una materialidad. En las sociedades contemporáneas, y con el advenimiento de la automoción, las telecomunicaciones, la transmisión instantánea y simultánea de datos e información, aumentan y se aceleran los motivos de la gente para movilizarse, y en este sentido se vuelve obsoleta la idea de unidad geográfica como elemental para entender la cultura y la sociedad (Ortiz, 1996).

Tanto para México como para Estados Unidos la frontera se ha convertido, metafóricamente, en un umbral en el que la corporalidad y la somatización del peligro son intensas: para el imaginario estadunidense el mexicano representa el peligro de la delincuencia, corrupción, enfermedad y contaminación; para el imaginario mexicano es un punto donde se juega la vida (González Herrera, 2004:444). Para los habitantes de la región significa también un nuevo recurso cultural y económico de supervivencia y sobrevivencia. El contexto fronterizo obliga a un complejo proceso de relaciones y alianzas que en muchas ocasiones permite cuestionar el peso de los límites identitarios en el sentido de pertenencia cultural, que se desdibujan frente a complejas urdimbres de relaciones sociales que se tejen en torno a políticas y economías diversas (Sheridan, 2004:454).

La territorialidad se fragmenta, el sentido del territorio se traslada con los nómadas contemporáneos, se reimagina, adquiere cada vez más una plasticidad particular. Como una membrana, la frontera ofrece una permeabilidad asimétrica de seres humanos, información, conocimientos, prácticas y mercancías, elementos que inciden en la pluralización de las identidades (Salas, 2004:332).

Los habitantes actuales del desierto han construido fronteras y reconstruido otras con la finalidad, por una parte, de sobrevivir como personas en lo referente a sus actividades económicas cotidianas y, por otra, de lograr la supervivencia del grupo como etnia. Para ello hacen una reelaboración, en un contexto transnacional, de un nomadismo originario y una elaboración de una identidad colectiva multidimensional. La idea de la frontera vinculada a la identidad piensa a los grupos humanos se19

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parados unos de otros –o unos en contra de los otros–, ocupando cada uno su territorio, de tal manera que la dinámica migratoria es la menos considerada en los programas de desarrollo. En un contexto transnacional, esos grupos reelaboran una movilidad originaria y conciben una identidad colectiva de múltiples dimensiones que rebasa las identificaciones parroquiales de grupo étnico, tribu, banda o linaje. En este sentido, las culturas del norte de México son pioneras en la transposición de las fronteras étnico-territoriales, nacionales y étnico-culturales y en elaborar estrategias de resistencia con base en su movilidad transfronteriza y en la alteración constante de su identidad (Garduño, 2002) –que resulta incluyente, en función de principios de pertenencia a comunidades imaginadas cultural, política y socialmente–.

Durante un largo periodo, la frontera evoca una organización construida como un regimiento al modo fronterizo y como un proyecto de modernización. La frontera simultáneamente es una ideología que producen y difunden los medios y un proyecto económico, pero sobre todo es un modo de distinguirse de los que están del otro lado de la línea, muchas veces zona de refugio de maleantes y de indios renegados (Torres, 2004:426).

Así como el desierto no puede considerarse vacío, la “frontera norte” no puede ser tratada como entidad geográfico-social inalterable a lo largo de la historia. Por el contrario, se trata de una amplitud en que la diversidad cultural es expresión de una complejidad sociohistórica tal que no puede reducirse a generalizaciones ni a explicaciones simplistas orientadas a homogenizar la abstracción “norte” en tiempo y espacio (Sheridan, 2004:451).

En la globalización nos enfrentamos a la paradoja de la homogeneización, el sueño dorado de la modernidad, que suponía que todo elemento polifónico y discordante estaba destinado a ser incorporado, mediante la convergencia cultural, como parte del proyecto político y social de los grupos dominantes.

Lejos de generar uniformidad, la fluidez global de símbolos, mensajes y mercancías ha despertado reacciones de contestación y resistencia por las que los significados se elaboran y recrean en contextos locales específicos.

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Las fronteras políticas generan divisiones territoriales y grupales que han devenido en múltiples conflictos y formas de violencia, las fronteras socioeconómicas originan una modificación permanente en las estrategias de supervivencia y las fronteras culturales marcan una discontinuidad y diversos procesos de desarrollo e identidad que ponen en cuestión el vigor de la frontera.

Estos procesos evidencian el deterioro de las formas de hacer la vida y la dispersión cultural de las poblaciones ubicadas en esta particular región, de modo que es vivida por sujetos con identidades y estrategias que en la vida cotidiana combinan el conflicto, la violencia, el deterioro ambiental y social con la convivencia entre culturas muy diversas.

La “gente del desierto” En su extremo noroeste, Sonora limita por el norte con Estados Unidos de América y por el oeste con el Golfo de California o Mar de Cortés. Es un área del estado que se caracteriza por un medio ambiente extremadamente árido. El Gran Desierto de Altar emerge majestuoso entre cerros y montañas, entre arroyos escasos de agua. A pesar de la hostilidad del entorno, esta región ha sido habitada por el ser humano y otras especies desde hace miles de años, y en la actualidad se ha establecido allí una red de asentamientos urbanos tanto de Sonora como de Arizona, en Estados Unidos. En esta región coexisten con una gran variedad de grupos los pápagos, descendientes de los primeros humanos que poblaron el lugar: los tohono o’odham3 o pápagos.

Los pápagos habitan el noroeste de Sonora y el sur de Arizona.

Forman parte del conjunto de indios pimas –grupo pimano–, radicados tanto en México como en Estados Unidos y extendidos antiguamente de forma irregular desde el noroeste de Sonora hasta el río Gila, hacia el norte. Los pimas altos y bajos se hacen llamar “o’odham”, que significa “gente”, y se diferen3

“Tohono o’odham”, que significa “gente del desierto”, es la designación oficial de este grupo en Estados Unidos; sin embargo, en México es más común la denominación “pápago”.

21

Culturales

cian entre sí porque unos grupos se asientan en los ríos, los llamados pimas, y otros se catalogan como “gente del desierto”, los pápagos (mapa 1).

Mapa 1. Ocupación geográfica de poblaciones de pápagos.

Sonora República Mexicana

Pápagos Fuente: modificado con base en www.siem.gob.mx, www.e-local.mx.

Las primeras poblaciones humanas que habitaron la región establecieron una forma de vida vinculada con la recolección de vegetales, la caza de animales y la pesca de especies marinas del Golfo de California, movilizándose a través de los campos agrestes de El Pinacate hasta la costa.

Su estilo de vida nómada sufre una fuerte interrupción con la llegada a la región de los colonizadores europeos, a pesar de lo cual casi nunca se ajustaron a la política de reducción de las misiones que establecieron los jesuitas desde el siglo diecisiete.

Una expresión de ello está registrada en documentos que dan cuenta de las sucesivas rebeliones indígenas (Pérez-Taylor, 2001) ante la sedentarización forzada, el proceso de adaptación a nuevas condiciones de sobrevivencia, el entorno físico del desierto y la interacción con diversos grupos venidos de fuera. Con la fiebre amarilla de los años 1850 y 1851 disminuyeron 22

La “gente del desierto” en el norte de Sonora

drásticamente en número y los que sobrevivieron se trasladaron a Arizona, a las orillas del río Gila, pero continuaron visitando los territorios sonorenses, especialmente los que poseían un carácter ceremonial, como la sierra de El Pinacate y Quitovac.

El territorio o’odham quedó dividido formalmente entre Estados Unidos y México a mediados del siglo diecinueve. Esta fragmentación territorial y nacional ha marcado también una división entre los miembros de ese pueblo. Desde entonces se han evidenciado constantes migraciones de pápagos de México hacia Arizona, pero sobre todo, esta fronterización significó que los grupos situados en ambos lados fueran perdiendo el contacto. La distancia entre ambos grupos y la desarticulación de su vida como sociedad generó un vacío en la memoria colectiva y en las propias costumbres históricas durante gran parte del siglo veinte. Existen pocos recuerdos, relatos y registros de ese tiempo.

En la actualidad, la identidad de los pápagos de Sonora –el ser pápago– es una cuestión compleja y no puede reducirse solamente a quienes hablan la lengua vernácula. Los de Arizona, establecidos en reservaciones desde 1973 y articulados en comunidades, han logrado mantener sus costumbres históricas, practicar las relaciones comunitarias, hablar su lengua y ser reconocidos por el resto de la sociedad como una nación. Sus actividades económicas, entre las que se cuenta principalmente la administración de casinos y hoteles, les brindan los recursos para mantener buenas condiciones de vida y adecuar sus tradiciones con la vida social actual. Los pápagos de Sonora, en cambio, están desarticulados socialmente, y en vez de habitar sus comunidades se confunden con los habitantes urbanos y con los provenientes de toda la República cuya finalidad es establecerse en la región fronteriza o migrar a Estados Unidos.

Sea por Sonoyta, Caborca, Altar o Tubutama, los pápagos mexicanos transitan por todo el norte del estado en busca de su supervivencia. Cruzar la frontera internacional y el permanente transitar ocupando diferentes hábitat y oficios –reproduciendo formas de nomadismo guardadas en la herencia cultural de un grupo originariamente cazador y recolector– se han convertido en una actividad de sobrevivencia.

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En la actualidad, pareciera que hay algunos aspectos que separan a los pápagos de uno y otro lado de la frontera y otros que los unen. Sin embargo, existen vínculos que recuperan el contacto entre grupos que alguna vez fueron unidad. La articulación de éstos confiere una dimensión política, mediada por el contexto transfronterizo, a las relaciones entre los diferentes grupos que coexisten en la etnia.

Un elemento fundamental se relaciona con la identidad. La creación formal de las reservaciones o’odham en Arizona generó un escenario en el que la identidad, el territorio y los lugares históricos son resemantizados y el “ser pápago” adquirió diversos sentidos.

En los mismos pápagos ha ocurrido un proceso de diferenciación social y económica que se vincula con la línea fronteriza internacional, que imprimió dos nacionalidades en las que se acomodaron las diferencias. Hoy existe un estilo de vida de los pápagos de Sonora que difiere mucho del que observan los de Arizona, y ello está marcado por condiciones de sobrevivencia radicalmente distintas. Los últimos administran las ganancias de sus empresas y los de Sonora realizan múltiples actividades en ramos como el comercio formal e informal, los servicios, el transporte, etcétera.

Otra frontera, y a la vez un elemento de contacto del propio grupo, se refiere a la percepción y uso de los sitios sagrados. Se trata de un ámbito de gran importancia en la vida de los pápagos que pareciera no haber sido afectado de manera contundente por la frontera internacional. Independientemente de las nacionalidades que posean de acuerdo con las leyes de los Estados que los cubren, los pápagos reconocen tres tipos de lugares sagrados: los entierros, los cerros y montañas y los sitios que conservan manifestaciones rupestres, como pinturas, petrograbados y geoglifos. El rasgo común es que en estos lugares pueden establecerse vínculos con los antepasados.

Uno de los más importantes es la Sierra de El Pinacate,4 en el 4

En la historia de los o’odham se reconoce a Schuk Toak (Montaña Pinacate) como un lugar santo y sagrado porque es la morada del creador I’itoi, el Hermano Mayor, y por lo tanto, es el lugar de origen de todos los o’odham (Sistema de Aguas Naturales Protegidas del Estado de Sonora, 1994).

24

La “gente del desierto” en el norte de Sonora

Gran Desierto de Altar, un sitio sagrado en el que se encuentran vinculados los intereses étnicos con los económicos y ecológicos de la nación mexicana, dado que se trata de un área natural protegida.

La Sierra de El Pinacate, junto al Gran Desierto de Altar, fue declarada área natural protegida y reserva de la biosfera desde 1993 por mediación de la Secretaría del Medio Ambiente y Recursos Naturales del gobierno mexicano (mapa 2).

Mapa 2. Región de El Pinacate, Sonora.

República Mexicana

Fuente: Modificado con base en www.siem.gob.mx, http://serpiente.dgsca. unam.mx.

Para el gobierno es una región que contiene una gran diversidad biológica en cuanto a especies vegetales y faunísticas, y una riqueza histórica, prehistórica y geológica que se pretende conservar. Para los indígenas es, además, un espacio sagrado donde habita su ser creador, que contiene el origen de la existencia humana y cultural, y donde han llevado a cabo sus ceremonias. En la actualidad, el lugar místico, espiritual y ceremo25

Culturales

nial más importante es Quitovac, ubicado unos pocos kilómetros al sur de la frontera, muy cerca de las ciudades de Caborca y Sonoyta (cfr. Galinier, 1997).

Localizada en el extremo noroeste de Sonora, la región de El Pinacate es principalmente volcánica, cubierta de rocas color negro o café muy oscuro que adoptan formas diferentes que hacen difícil distinguir lo que quedó con la explosión de los volcanes y lo que el hombre ha construido con el paso del tiempo. En algunas partes la lava formó burbujas de gran tamaño, paredes y rocas de múltiples formas. En medio de cerros, sierras, dunas, ríos petrificados y conos de volcanes, se encuentran manifestaciones culturales como petrograbados, enterramientos, montículos, laberintos de piedras o geoglifos.

Durante muchos años la región de El Pinacate ha sido importante para los pápagos. Por allí pasaba el sendero que seguían antiguamente para la recolección de la sal y el acopio de conchas; era la ruta natural entre sus territorios y la región que ahora ocupa Puerto Peñasco, en la costa norte del golfo californiano. De acuerdo con la evidencia arqueológica, los grupos que se trasladaban a la costa pasaban por las cuevas que dejaron las explosiones volcánicas, donde existen petrograbados con el diseño de conchas que señalan la ruta hasta el mar (Hayden, citado por Villalpando, 2001:72). En una temporada de campo, en febrero de 2002, visitamos ese lugar con el pápago encargado de cuidar el sitio sagrado, quien nos enseñó las “marcas en las piedras”.

El camino hasta la costa era largo, por lo que seguramente en su trayecto a través de El Pinacate los pápagos hacían del viaje un evento ritual del cual iban dejando rastros. Elaboraban sobre el pavimento del desierto figuras humanas y de animales delineadas con piedras, al igual que “calles” que realizaban despejando espacios de dos metros de ancho por más de 150 de largo, presuntamente utilizadas para danzas o procesiones.

Los actuales pápagos reconocen estos hechos arqueológicos e históricos y la importancia que tenían los trayectos hacia el mar en busca de sal para la sobrevivencia del grupo y de sus costumbres. Este hecho pasado es vuelto a interpretar por los pápagos en el presente con la finalidad de reorganizar sus es26

La “gente del desierto” en el norte de Sonora

pacios místicos y de identidad. En este sentido, las “tradiciones” son recreadas como un conjunto de prácticas gobernadas por reglas aceptadas tácitamente. Tal recreación tiene el objetivo de inculcar ciertos valores y normas de comportamiento, lo que naturalmente crea una continuidad con el pasado; así elaboran una vinculación con un pasado histórico apropiado y una proyección de la imagen que poseen del futuro.

El Pinacate es, entonces, un lugar reconocido por los pápagos, y en esa medida representa un espacio simbólico de relación con los antepasados; un espacio, por ello, de identidad colectiva. Dado que se trata de un grupo que por mucho tiempo y, en cierta medida, hasta ahora sigue siendo nómada, su relación con el espacio se ha organizado a través de estos sitios, a diferencia de otras comunidades que organizan su espacio en ocupaciones permanentes dedicadas a las actividades productivas cotidianas.

Esta movilidad originaria ha sido el proceso cotidiano por el cual toman contacto los grupos situados a ambos lados de la frontera. Los viajes constantes, los cambios de residencia, de oficio y de actividad, la migración, la dispersión de las familias, hacen de los pápagos de Sonora un grupo que organiza su espacio de manera particular, sin contar con un territorio físico demarcado.

Reflexión final Tomando como ejemplo uno de los grupos que no sólo ha habitado el desierto sino también el contexto transfronterizo, se puede señalar que ambos espacios, construidos social y culturalmente, no pueden estudiarse por separado. De varias maneras, con el devenir histórico la frontera se ha convertido en un recurso del que los grupos echan mano al elaborar sus estrategias de sobrevivencia. En esta forma, la resignificación de aspectos materiales y manifestaciones de índole simbólica en un escenario como el desierto, que es habitado por la que he llamado “cultura del desierto”, se dinamiza al incorporar a la frontera como elemento material y simbólico de la misma.

27

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Este desarrollo cultural de ninguna manera intenta soterrar las discontinuidades culturales, el deterioro de la calidad de vida y ambiental, ni el conflicto y violencia explícita y latente que encierra el contexto transfronterizo, visto desde el punto de vista social, económico y político. De la misma manera, no se puede desconocer que, a pesar de las constricciones ambientales que imponen la falta de agua y la aridez, éstas han sido enfrentadas y resueltas por los habitantes en el tiempo y en el espacio, arrojando resultados diversos que son de gran importancia para su aprovechamiento.

Considerando la preocupación por el tema del desierto y sus culturas, es fundamental constatar, por un lado, que el desierto no es una región abandonada, que contiene tanta biodiversidad como otros ambientes y que ésta se refiere de manera especial a una amplia diversidad de expresiones humanas. Sin duda, el desierto es un entorno que es y ha sido uno de los escenarios centrales en la constitución del país y para definirlo como nación.

Por otro lado, es importante señalar enfáticamente que la biodiversidad del desierto debe ser un tema central de investigaciones tanto en el campo de las ciencias sociales como en el de las naturales y exactas, pues su importancia radica en que guarda información de una larga ocupación humana, información acerca de las transformaciones que el ser humano ha realizado para asentarse en un ambiente hostil. Esto convierte al desierto en una fuente diversa de conocimiento.

Sobre los límites naturales del desierto se han sobrepuesto límites culturales y un desarrollo de diversas sociedades y grupos que lo habitan, de manera que desde el punto de vista del desarrollo social representa un gran desafío. El desierto es una gran franja que no sólo aparta ambientes, sino que muy particularmente separa estilos de vida, en tanto que la frontera permite la recreación de experiencias humanas que ponen de manifiesto asuntos de orden demográfico, político, de mercado y social, creando de esta manera un ámbito de relaciones enriquecidas con interacciones culturales que aún no estudiamos completamente.

Caracterizado de esta manera el entorno del desierto, sus culturas nos hablan de grupos humanos que han construido e idea28

La “gente del desierto” en el norte de Sonora

do formas particulares para resignificar el sentido del hábitat como soporte ecológico y el habitar como forma de incorporación de la cultura al paisaje geográfico hasta convertirlo en un ambiente habitable.

Bibliografía consultada BRANIFF, BEATRIZ , “Lingüística yutonahua y arqueología”, en Hernán Salas y Rafael Pérez (eds.), Desierto y fronteras. El norte de México y otros contextos culturales. V Coloquio Paul Kirchhoff, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas-UNAM/ Plaza y Valdés, México, 2004, pp. 179-202.

CASTRO, MILKA, “Comunidades campesinas: fronteras móviles en el desierto del norte de Chile”, en Hernán Salas y Rafael Pérez (eds.), Desierto y fronteras. El norte de México y otros contextos culturales. V Coloquio Paul Kirchhoff, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas-UNAM/Plaza y Valdés, México, 2004, pp. 102-122.

FERNÁNDEZ DE ROTA y MONTER, JOSÉ ANTONIO, “Los paisajes del desierto”, en Hernán Salas Quintanal y Rafael Pérez (eds.), Desierto y fronteras. El norte de México y otros contextos culturales. V Coloquio Paul Kirchhoff, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas-UNAM/Plaza y Valdés, México, 2004, pp. 2135.

GALINIER, JACQUES, “De Montezuma a San Francisco: el ritual Wi:gita en la religión de los pápagos (Tohono O’odham)”, en Xavier Noguez y Alfredo López Austin (coords.), De hombres y dioses, El Colegio de Michoacán y El Colegio Mexiquense A.C., México, 1997.

GARDUÑO, EVERARDO, “Los indígenas del norte de México: icono de una era transnacional”, ponencia presentada en el Tercer Congreso Europeo de Latinoamericanistas, celebrado en Amsterdam en julio de 2002.

GONZÁLEZ ARRATIA, LETICIA, “La cultura del desierto y una de sus tradiciones simbólicas: el ritual mortuorio”, en Hernán Salas y Rafael Pérez (eds.), Desierto y fronteras. El norte de México y otros contextos culturales. V Coloquio Paul Kirchhoff, 29

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Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas-UNAM/Plaza y Valdés, México, 2004, pp. 367-386.

GONZÁLEZ HERRERA, CARLOS, “Purificando la frontera: eugenesia y política en la región”, en Hernán Salas y Rafael Pérez (eds.), Desierto y fronteras. El norte de México y otros contextos culturales. V Coloquio Paul Kirchhoff, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas-UNAM/Plaza y Valdés, México, 2004, pp. 429-446.

LEFF, ENRIQUE, “Hábitat/habitar”, en Gabriela Toledo y Marina Leal (eds.), Destrucción del hábitat, UNAM/PUMA, México, 1998, pp. 31-44.

MONTANÉ, JULIO CÉSAR, “Las fronteras sonorenses”, en Hernán Salas y Rafael Pérez (eds.), Desierto y fronteras. El norte de México y otros contextos culturales. V Coloquio Paul Kirchhoff, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas-UNAM/ Plaza y Valdés, México, 2004, pp. 305-314.

ORTIZ, RENATO, “Otro territorio”, en Revista Antropología, Madrid, 1996.

PÉREZ-TAYLOR, RAFAEL, “Fronteras étnicas, políticas y mentales”, Ángel Espina (dir.), Antropología en Castilla y León e Iberoamérica, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas de Castilla y León, Salamanca, 2001, pp. 25-33.

SALAS, HERNÁN, “Frontera sociocultural de los pápagos del norte de Sonora”, en Hernán Salas y Rafael Pérez (eds.), Desierto y fronteras. El norte de México y otros contextos culturales.

V Coloquio Paul Kirchhoff, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas-UNAM/Plaza y Valdés, México, 2004, pp. 331344.

SHERIDAN, CECILIA, “Territorios y frontera en el noreste novohispano”, en Hernán Salas y Rafael Pérez (eds.), Desierto y fronteras. El norte de México y otros contextos culturales. V Coloquio Paul Kirchhoff, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas-UNAM/ Plaza y Valdés, México, 2004, pp. 447-467.

SISTEMA DE ÁREAS NATURALES PROTEGIDAS DEL ESTADO DE SONORA (SANPES), “Programa de Manejo de Reserva de la Biosfera El Pinacate y Gran Desierto de Altar, Municipios de Plutarco Elias Calles, Puerto Peñasco y San Luis Río Colorado, Sonora, México”, Hermosillo, Sonora, 1994.

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TORRES, JAVIER, “Frederick Jackson Turner: frontera, mitos y violencia en al identidad nacional estadounidense”, en Hernán Salas y Rafael Pérez (eds.), Desierto y fronteras. El norte de México y otros contextos culturales. V Coloquio Paul Kirchhoff, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas-UNAM/ Plaza y Valdés, México, 2004, pp. 421-427.

VILLALPANDO, ELISA, “Los nómadas de siempre en Sonora”, en Beatriz Braniff (coord.), La gran chichimeca. El lugar de las rocas secas, Conaculta/Jaca Book, México, 2001, pp. 71-76.

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Algunos aspectos de las relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes Eugeni Porras Carrillo Centro INAH-Nayarit

Resumen. Este texto ofrece una descripción del papel que juega el desierto en la vida sociocultural y religiosa de los huicholes, pueblo indígena que habita la Sierra Madre Occidental, a 400 kilómetros del desierto de San Luis Potosí, destino de sus peregrinaciones rituales e iniciáticas. Las diferentes funciones y acontecimientos que tienen lugar en ese escenario (que los huicholes denominan Wirikuta), repleto de contenidos y referencias mitológicas, muestran que para algunos grupos indígenas el territorio de vida se extiende más allá de las fronteras administrativas de sus comunidades tradicionales. También dejan ver que sin ese vínculo con un espacio tan diferente al ecosistema del que se alimentan sería imposible la construcción constante de su identidad étnica y de su reproducción social como etnia diferenciada.

Palabras clave: 1. huicholes, 2. desierto, 3. mitología, 4. ritualidad, 5. simbolismo.

Abstract. This paper offers a description about the role played by the dessert within the socio-cultural and religious life of the Huichol Indigenous people, who inhabit the Sierra Madre Occidental in Mexico. This is about four hundred kilometers far from the dessert of San Luis Potosi, to where these Indigenous people have a series of periodical and ritual walks of initiation. The different mythological references and contents of the events and functions that take place in this scenario (that the Huichol people define as Wirikuta) show the ways in which the notion of territory for some Indigenous people goes beyond the official boundaries of their traditional communities. These references and events let us also appreciate the relevance of the link of these Indigenous people with that physical environment different than the one in which they regularly live.

Without this link, the permanent construction of the Huichol ethnic identity and their social reproduction as a differentiated ethnic group would be impossible.

Keywords: 1. Huichol, 2. desert, 3. mythology, 4. rituality, 5. symbolism.

culturales VOL. II, NÚM. 3, ENERO-JUNIO DE 2006

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Relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes

Presentación En este texto presentamos, a partir del análisis de un caso concreto, algunos comentarios y reflexiones que pueden enriquecer el debate sobre el tema de las “culturas del desierto”. En términos comúnmente aceptados por todos, creo que al hablar de ellas nos referimos a grupos que desarrollan su existencia en ese espacio o ecosistema definido como desierto, aun tomando en cuenta los diferentes escenarios y tipologías que tal concepto implica. Diversas cuestiones que debemos desarrollar, discutir o comparar surgen de preguntas tales como: ¿de qué forma ese medio ambiente específico imprime determinadas características culturales a los pueblos que en él habitan?, ¿qué conocimientos y técnicas se emplean para el aprovechamiento de los recursos que ofrece el espacio desértico?, ¿cómo contribuye el desierto a la conformación del imaginario social, de la religión o las creencias?, ¿existe una identidad común en las culturas del desierto o qué variaciones podemos encontrar?, etcétera.

En ese sentido, y en el contexto de la rica diversidad multiétnica de la República Mexicana, parece lógico que el estudio debería centrarse en los pueblos y comunidades que viven en el desierto y del desierto, como algunos grupos de Sonora (los pápagos) y la mayoría de las minorías étnicas de Baja California (cucapá, pai pai, kiliwa, etcétera), sin olvidar los asentamientos, poblaciones y ciudades mestizas, como Mexicali y otras.

Sin embargo, me parece que hay otros aspectos, tal vez no tan directamente relacionados con lo anterior, que se pueden plantear en torno a este tópico cuando pensamos en la existencia de pueblos o comunidades que no viven en el desierto, o que al menos no es su medio ambiente directo, pero que de alguna forma tienen una más o menos estrecha relación con él.

En estos casos, conocer la imagen y la concepción particular que del desierto tienen otras culturas ayuda a completar el amplio panorama de lo que implica la unión de esos dos conceptos: cultura y desierto. Es a uno de estos pueblos al que voy a referirme en lo que sigue.

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El desierto y los huicholes Aunque posiblemente la cultura del grupo étnico huichol o wixárica no puede estrictamente ser denominada una “cultura del desierto”, ya que el medio ambiente en que se desarrolla lo constituye la amplia franja de la Sierra Madre Occidental denominada el “Gran Nayar”, que comprende las porciones fronterizas de los estados de Nayarit, Zacatecas, Durango y Jalisco, el peso que el desierto tiene en ella es sumamente importante.

En los numerosos asentamientos huicholes cercanos a las ciudades, colonias urbanas o ranchos, surgidos de los constantes procesos migratorios en los que desde siempre se ha desenvuelto la vida del wixárika, la presencia del desierto y su relación con él también es constante y obligada referencia. En efecto, la peregrinación que de acuerdo con las obligaciones impuestas por su cultura deben realizar los huicholes al desierto de San Luis Potosí es uno de los acontecimientos fundamentales en su vida y uno de los aspectos más destacados y atractivos de este pueblo indio.

El hecho de que el objetivo más conocido de ese viaje sea la obtención del peyote o hículi, un cacto con propiedades visionarias, enteogénicas o alucinógenas (términos siempre relativos) usado en las festividades religiosas del grupo y parte imprescindible de su camino de conocimiento, contribuye sin duda a la aureola de fama, exotismo, misticismo y misterio que en todas partes tienen los huicholes. También es éste uno de los factores que más inciden en las numerosas relaciones y convivencias que con los huicholes llevan muchas otras personas no sólo de México sino ya de todo el mundo. Al mismo tiempo, ello ha contribuido enormemente a la difusión del peyote y a su uso en contextos muy alejados, tanto de la cultura huichol como del ámbito del desierto, en ceremonias y rituales propios de ese movimiento ambiguo que se conoce como “New Age”, y también a la aparición de nuevas formas de chamanismo.

Sin embargo y obviamente, las relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes son mucho más complejas e intrincadas. En lo que sigue trataremos de presentar, siquiera en forma somera, algunos de los aspectos, niveles o dimensiones que presenta 34

Relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes

esa vinculación, que han sido ya señalados, en mayor o menor medida, por la rica bibliografía en torno a esta etnia y que consideramos permiten comprender mejor el término “culturas del desierto”. A la vez, quisiéramos aportar los datos, no únicamente etnográficos sino sobre todo vivenciales, recabados en las cinco peregrinaciones realizadas con variados grupos de peyoteros a lo largo de los casi 20 años de trabajo y acompañamiento (no siempre constante) con ellos, una experiencia significativa que falta en muchos de los autores a los que nos vamos a referir.

El desierto como “nicho ecológico” El desierto de San Luis Potosí es denominado Wirikuta por los huicholes. Ese territorio es visto y vivenciado por el grupo huichol, en un primer nivel (no jerárquico), en contraste con el medio ambiente de la sierra en la que pasan la mayor parte de su tiempo. Frente a la vegetación, bosques, barrancas, plantas por recolectar, árboles frutales o no, campos de cultivo, animales de caza, ríos con sus peces, los elementos, en definitiva, propios del espacio conocido de los que obtienen los medios de subsistencia para cubrir sus necesidades materiales, la geografía del desierto es concebida como extraña, peligrosa, no apta para la convivencia duradera, llena de espinas, con ausencia de leña, incultivable, en donde habitan animales peligrosos, desconocidos y míticos. Temor y respeto son actitudes comunes ante ese paisaje, del que dan testimonio algunos de los autores que estuvieron en la peregrinación, cada quien con su singular estilo: Los troncos de las yucas ennegrecidos y casi sin hojas se yerguen como columnas de templos incendiados sobre un matorral grisáceo, uniforme y desgarrado por cuyas aberturas asoma la áspera caliza del suelo. Se tiene la impresión de que estas plantas sufren intensamente y que sus sufrimientos forman parte de un vasto conjunto donde el tiempo hubiera sido suprimido. La inmovilidad y el silencio propios de los desiertos son agobiantes y las montañas desnudas

35

Culturales del fondo, unas montañas de suaves pliegues minerales, sobreponen un nuevo silencio, una nueva inmovilidad, una nueva sensación e intemporalidad absoluta (Benítez, 2002:90).

La flora del desierto –y es otra de sus paradojas– tiene algo que recuerda en su forma a una flora marina. Los bosques de corales, de madréporas, con sus frondosos ramajes, sus tallos carnosos inmóviles, las esponjas redondas, las algas, las asociaciones caprichosas de la cal, evocan los densos arbustos ramosos del Myrtillocactus geometrizans, las serpientes recamadas del Aporacactus flagelliformis o las texturas y las formas de las hojas de la opuncia (Benítez, 2002:97).

Por donde uno mire sólo hay matorrales. Tremendo chaparral que se extiende hasta el infinito en cualquier dirección y da la impresión de estar en el centro de un enorme disco de flora desértica; ni más ni menos que parados en el centro del universo, en el ombligo del mundo (Blanco, 1992:42).

Se corre gran peligro físico porque casi siempre pasa algún contratiempo o accidente y porque en el desierto hay víboras de cascabel, alacranes con picadura mortal –todo el mundo debe llevar a la mano el suero antialacránico–; además, no resulta descabellado encontrarse con coyotes y hasta lobos en algunas ocasiones, y por supuesto, alimañas de todo tipo, y no me refiero a los abogados, como tarántulas, viudas negras, capulinas, ciempiés y demás monerías. El peligro sobrenatural está siempre presente, pues nos metemos en Wirikuta, donde habitan no sólo los dioses y los antepasados huicholes, sino también los kakayares, sus demonios. Y por lo visto todos tienen mal genio y pueden arremeterla contra nosotros... La prueba de que “ir a Wirikuta es una verdadera chinga” es que de 12 mil huicholes que existen aproximadamente, divididos en cinco comunidades, sólo asisten a la peregrinación anual al peyote alrededor de 150, esto es, unos 30 huicholes por comunidad. Y además, ¡nadie quiere ir! La mayor parte de los peregrinos van forzados porque las autoridades religiosas huicholas les dan “cargo”. El cargo dura cinco años consecutivos, después de los cuales difícilmente regresan por su voluntad. ¡Y nosotros vamos por gusto! (Blanco, 1992:24).

También las condiciones climáticas del desierto son muy distintas a las que se viven en la sierra. No parece haber allí ciclos 36

Relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes

estacionales, y todo ese ecosistema es percibido, sobre todo, como temperatura, calor y frío, elementos que conllevan sufrimiento y demuestran el valor y coraje de quienes a él viajan con muy limitadas pertenencias: La noche es fría y de una oscuridad profunda. La temperatura desciende bajo cero. Los peregrinos sólo cargan una cobija de franela y su traje típico de algodón, el cual no los protege del intenso frío... El clima del día es un asfixiante calor de más de 40 grados (Gutiérrez, 2002:181-183).

El desierto como lugar de los ancestros y origen de los huicholes: geografía sagrada.

Sin embargo, contra lo que pudiera suponerse, no se trata de un espacio completamente salvaje frente al territorio domesticado que sería el de la sierra; sino que el desierto también tiene un orden, una lógica y se encuentra poblado, habitado por seres que existieron antes de los actuales indígenas, ya sean considerados como antepasados, dioses, diablos o seres peligrosos. Por un lado, se puede considerar sin duda a Wirikuta como una topografía sagrada en la que los lugares están bien determinados y con accesos específicos, al menos para los que conocen sus puertas, que, aunque invisibles, requieren de una apertura ritual: Eusebio siguió la forma invisible de la primera de las puertas sagradas hasta que ésta queda abierta. Antes de cruzarla todos arrancamos ramas de unos pequeños arbustos y nos limpiamos de la cabeza a los pies. Acto seguido traspasamos la primera puerta: Valparaíso... el estanque donde habita la diosa del agua Tatei Matinieri... Ahí se abrió la Segunda Puerta Sagrada de Wirikuta y vino la ceremonia de los Matewames, los novatos que asisten por primera vez... El Capitán con la Vara fue el primero en traspasarla...

Tercera Puerta Sagrada de Wirikuta: Toymaiao. Se trata de otro estanque, más profundo, pero con menos agua que Tatei Matinieri.

Y mucho más lodoso... atrás de unos arbustos está el laguito donde habita Kauyumare, el Venado Azul. Eusebio abre la Cuarta Puerta Sagrada de Wirikuta. Se arrojan varias ofrendas al laguito... Santa Gertrudis. En este pueblo, al que los huicholes llaman Waka-

37

Culturales rikiteme, está la Quinta Puerta Sagrada de Wirikuta, la puerta de Nakawé, la última puerta. ¡La entrada a Wirikuta! Con gran nerviosismo se llevó a cabo la ceremonia de apertura... (Blanco, 1992:31-37).

Por otro lado, Wirikuta es también el lugar de origen de los antepasados y el escenario en donde sucedieron muchas de las aventuras y hazañas que recuerdan los mitos y leyendas que son narradas en las fiestas o en la intimidad de los hogares.

Actualizar el pasado imitando los desplazamientos y realizando las acciones que aquellos llevaron a cabo es uno de los propósitos del viaje: De acuerdo con su tradición, los huicholes se originaron en el sur, se perdieron debajo de la tierra y resurgieron de nueva cuenta en el este, en el país del hí’kuli (peyote), que es el altiplano central de México, cerca de San Luis Potosí (Lumholtz, 1986:13). ...los huicholes aseguran que tienen que dejar ofrendas como lo hicieron sus primeros antepasados, basándose en el mito de la creación... cuando Tawewiekame salió del Cerro Quemado, saltó por los cuatro rumbos del universo: primero salió de Tea’akata y brincó a Xapawilleme, enseguida a Haramara y luego a Hawxamanaka hasta llegar a Wirikuta. Los huicholes dicen que en su salto formó un Tsikuri, causando así la división entre el cielo y la tierra (Gutiérrez, 2002:207).

De este modo, los elementos físicos o materiales que presenta la naturaleza propia del desierto son interpretados a la luz de la cultura de los huicholes como signos palpables de la realidad de sus mitos, como pruebas de la validez de lo que éstos narran; huellas que se hallan en los detalles más diminutos y escondidos que presenta la geografía y sus accidentes, rocas, cuevas, montañas, arroyos... ...primera cueva (rumbo al Reunar) la de Takutsi... “aquí están los que quedaron sin salir, perdidos; cuando salió el sol los convirtió en piedritas, así, chiquititas, ya las vas a ver adentro, y hay que pedirles y hablar con ellos”... Por dentro, las paredes son calizas y húmedas;

38

Relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes conforme se avanza, el interior se va oscureciendo más y más, dando la sensación de entrar al fondo de la tierra, a la noche, al útero primordial o quizás a una jícara... El interior es amplio y de sus paredes escurren hilos de agua, la cual untan los peregrinos en algunas zonas del cuerpo... pequeñas estalactitas a las que se les reza... ésos eran los antepasados, “nuestros ancestros”... aroma a vainilla... de unos arbustos al roce de las ropas... olor de los antepasados pues “estamos cerca de donde ellos nacieron”... gruta de Pariteka... las lluvias vienen del centro de la tierra y salen de la cueva en forma de nubes hasta llegar a allá arriba... asimismo, aquí el sol salió después que los antepasados arrojaran a un niño al fuego... un mara’akame de San Andrés comentó: “la cueva es como la panza de una mujer, por eso todos venimos de ahí”... La cueva como matriz primordial y el fuego como principio seminal... para los huicholes de San Andrés, Wirikuta es semen, sangre y agua: tres principios de fecundidad (Gutiérrez, 2002:204).

Por el camino a Huiricuta están regados cacauyarixi, antepasados convertidos en rocas y en picachos; ellos no lograron alcanzar Huiricuta, en el camino erraron dejando la huella de su historia (Negrín, 1997:21).

Además, tomando en cuenta los datos proporcionados por el contexto histórico, parece ser que a lo largo del siglo XIX los huicholes participaron de algún modo como proveedores de sal para los enclaves mineros de Real de Catorce y alrededores, lo que en parte explicaría o potenciaría la sacralización de esas rutas y de los lugares visitados, así como el conocimiento exhaustivo que poseen sobre ellos. Una de las primeras referencias del viaje a Wirikuta procede de un documento franciscano fechado en 1845 (Rojas, 1992:145), precisamente en la época del auge de la minería en la zona de San Luis Potosí. De modo que: La ruta de creación (mítica) de su mundo sigue un eje este-oeste y une los sitios sagrados que parten desde la costa del Pacífico, en San Blas, con los del desierto de San Luis Potosí... Los Wixaritari participaban del comercio de la sal: la cargaban en San Blas para luego cambiarla en las minas de la región (Durin, 2003:1-3).

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Culturales

El viaje al desierto como rito de paso La peregrinación a Wirikuta constituye, sobre todo, un rito de paso, un viaje iniciático por el cual sus participantes adquieren una nueva condición social y simbólica en el conjunto social o familiar al que pertenecen. Según las normas no escritas de su cultura, al menos en cinco ocasiones a lo largo de su vida todo individuo debe realizar esta experiencia para poderse considerar un verdadero wixárika. En el periodo preliminal se pueden incluir todas las actividades previas a la peregrinación en las que los sujetos se preparan para el viaje ritual: la participación en la cacería del venado, la asistencia a las ceremonias con las que se conectan al resto de los peyoteros o teokaris, el trabajo de confección de las ofrendas (flechas, jícaras...) que obligatoriamente han de llevar al desierto, etcétera. El viaje debe realizarse en la época de secas, equivalente al día cósmico y regido por las divinidades masculinas asociadas al sol y al fuego.

Antiguamente éste se realizaba a pie, acompañados de remudas o animales de carga, y tenía una duración variable: En septiembre los representantes de los diversos distritos del territorio inician su viaje para recoger la planta, que se encuentra cerca de la ciudad de San Luis Potosí, en el estado del mismo nombre. Pernoctan en los mismos lugares todos los años, tanto de ida como de regreso, y tienen dioses a lo largo de todo el camino en forma de montañas o arroyos. El viaje de ida dura 17 jornadas. Permanecen en el lugar durante tres días completos y tardan 23 más en regresar (Lumholtz, 1986:16).

Sin embargo, actualmente la peregrinación se lleva a cabo utilizando medios de transporte como el autobús, el carro y el tren, debido a las numerosas cercas que existen, al surgimiento de nuevos asentamientos y a la expansión de las ciudades, que han interrumpido o hecho desaparecer los viejos senderos. Algunos grupos viajan por su cuenta utilizando el transporte público o rentando algún vehículo, pero son muchos los que reciben apoyo de instituciones, como la Comisión de Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas, que a menudo ponen a su disposi40

Relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes

ción vehículos oficiales, aunque ello genera una inagotable polémica, que hunde sus raíces en el cuestionamiento del significado y función final de este evento cuando se recibe una ayuda exterior al grupo: Algunas personas mayores nos han comentado que el ritual, en cierta forma, se ha vuelto demasiado “fácil”. Ir en camión implica menos sacrificio, o sea, menos posibilidad de tener visiones importantes (Neurath, 2002:294).

La primera peregrinación que se realizó a Wirikuta en coche fue gracias a Fernando Benítez (1968?) (Jesús Jáuregui, comunicación personal), quien contrató un camión para poder acompañarlos. Desde entonces acostumbran a ir en coche, aunque dicen que para poder ser mara’akame hay que hacer la peregrinación caminando aunque sea una vez en la vida (Gutiérrez, 2002:219, nota).

Podemos considerar que el denominado por Van Gennep (1986) “periodo liminal” se inicia desde la fiesta de despedida de sus familiares y, sobre todo, a partir de la primera reunión nocturna celebrada fuera de la comunidad de origen, en la que tiene lugar una particular confesión pública y, tras ella, la imposición de un nuevo nombre a cada uno de los peregrinos, los que, desde esos momentos, empezarán a adquirir cada vez con más intensidad la condición de seres sagrados, según ellos “delicados” y, por lo tanto, peligrosos: Acto de purificación, se realiza una confesión pública por la que cada uno de los aspirantes está obligado a manifestar las relaciones extramaritales mantenidas desde la última peregrinación a la que asistió. El marakame es el encargado de la confesión y de recibir de cada uno los nombres de las personas con quienes se tuvo relaciones sexuales, nombres que se convierten en nudos de una cuerda que será finalmente arrojada al fuego para borrar los posibles efectos negativos que esa conducta pudiera provocar... [...]

Todos los nombres comienzan por wirikuta tutú..., denominación del lugar y nombre cariñoso, “flor”, que se le da al híkuri. A esa marca común se añade otro nombre que se refiere a una de las posibles situaciones, condiciones o propiedades del peyote: por ejem-

41

Culturales plo, cimarone, de cimarrón, salvaje o “peyote que no se deja atrapar”; u, otro ejemplo, wirikuta tutú nierikayari, que alude al nierika, espejo, rostro, faz. Vemos, pues, que una de las características del proceso tiende a saturar de personalidad al iniciado y mantenerlo en contacto, en comunicación, por un lado con la comunidad y, por otro, con la nueva dimensión, la sagrada, en la que paulatinamente se penetra (Porras, 1996:198).

Por medio del contacto con los distintos lugares sagrados del desierto, al tomar el agua de Tatei Matinieri (manantial que se encuentra a la entrada de Wirikuta) y al ser bañados con ella por el guía de la peregrinación, al cortar la uxá (raíz de una planta que tiñe de amarillo cuando es tallada en una piedra y con la que dibujan en sus rostros signos de lluvia, venado, peyote, espirales, etcétera), y, sobre todo, a través de la cacería simbólica del peyote y de los efectos producidos por su ingestión, se profundiza la liminalidad de los peregrinos, híkuritame, y la sensación de estar en otro mundo, en el de los antepasados y el de las visiones: Los peregrinos se encuentran en un estado prenatal donde las cosas apenas se van creando: se hallan en el origen de las cosas, cuando aún no había luz (Gutiérrez, 2002:187).

No será hasta que se realice la ceremonia del peyote, hikuli neixa, ya de regreso a su comunidad, después de haber culminado la cacería ritual del venado y de llevar a cabo la visita a cuantos más lugares sagrados mejor –por lo general en el mes de mayo, cuando están a punto de iniciarse los trabajos para la siembra del maíz–, que finalizará el compromiso adquirido por los peyoteros. Sólo hasta entonces la cuerda con la que estaban unidos será arrojada al fuego. Los nombres que obtuvieron como peyoteros desaparecerán, así como sus características divinas, y todos volverán a ser de nuevo seres profanos, pero ya con la indeleble experiencia de la iniciación. ...los ritos que deben de realizar para que puedan reincorporarse al pueblo son muy elaborados; apuntan a la reintegración con sus familiares y a las labores cotidianas. Los peregrinos (xukurikate) se

42

Relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes han alejado de la normatividad humana; algo en ellos ha cambiado; el contacto con los antepasados los convierte en “intocables”, en antepasados, lo que significa una condición no humana, es decir “delicada”... los familiares representan a los hombres mientras que los peregrinos a los antepasados (Gutiérrez, 2002:219-229).

El desierto como inversión simbólica del mundo cotidiano Estrechamente relacionado con el punto anterior se encuentra el hecho de que en el desierto todas las cosas cambian de nombre, además del de los peyoteros, con lo que se acentúa la posición de liminalidad de los peregrinos y la realidad extramundana de Wirikuta. Aunque aparentemente arbitrarios e infinitos, los nombres, que se eligen mediante acuerdo de espóradicas propuestas surgidas de cada quien a partir de “la confesión”, guardan una lógica metonímica la mayor parte de las veces que ayuda a recordarlos. De alguna forma, corresponden a lo que algunos autores denominan “inversión simbólica” de la realidad, definida como: ...cualquier acción expresiva que invierta, contradiga, abrogue o de alguna manera presente una alternativa para los códigos culturales, los valores y las normas considerados como comunes, sean éstos lingüísticos, literarios o artísticos, religiosos, sociales o políticos (Babcock, 1978, citada en Kindl, 2003:14).

La sucesión nos muestra diversos niveles, diferentes campos semánticos de las relaciones simbólicas, y nos habla de la estructura integral, de la etnicidad huichol y de los pasajes propios de cada peregrinación en particular, aunque algunas denominaciones se repiten una y otra vez, cruzando lo ideológico con lo material, lo individual con lo social, como muestran los siguientes ejemplos de muy distintos tiempos y condiciones: El primer nombre, “máquina”, se refiere al fuego; le siguen “Salinas de Gortari” para referirse al sol; luego “Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas” para la luna, y la serie de objetos más usados, como “cerveza” para el agua, “pluma” o “lápiz” para referirse a los cigarrillos, “manguera”

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Culturales para la garganta, “camellos” o “elefantes” para las vacas, etcétera (Porras, 1996:199).

El Desierto es el mar; el camión el barco; las camionetas pangas; los peregrinos nadadores... (Blanco, 1992).

A los niños se les llama costal para llevar, a los huaraches bicicleta, a las piedras ranas, a los árboles peces (Benítez, 2002:86).

Por ejemplo, el sol es llamado Vicente Fox, los peregrinos son los gringos, Wirikuta es Nueva York, al ocote le llaman velas, el híkuri es la manzana y la leña es soyate (Fresán, 2002:40).

También acompañan a estos nombres cómicas referencias a hechos o acontecimientos vividos a lo largo del trayecto, presentados en estricto orden desde la salida. Incluso, para no olvidarse, se elige a un secretario de actas, quien satírica y escrupulosamente apunta en un cuaderno los nombres y sucesos que les parecen más sobresalientes o jocosos, y cada noche, junto a la lumbre, los repiten y rememoran entre todos. De esta forma, a través de esta especie de “lenguaje secreto” y de esa construcción imaginaria de la “aventura en el desierto”, se fortifican los vínculos grupales y se hace posible distinguir con claridad entre los individuos que estuvieron en la peregrinación, y por lo tanto comparten las historias inventadas que cuentan, y quienes quedaron en la comunidad.

El desierto como espacio de identidad social y familiar El desierto es también uno de los espacios que intervienen en la construcción, reforzamiento, interpretación o cuestionamiento de la identidad social de los wixaritari. En primer lugar, muchas de las peregrinaciones están organizadas por un centro ceremonial o tukipa, que agrupa a quienes tienen algún cargo tradicional, religioso o civil, propio de la cultura y organización social de los huicholes. Podemos decir que, en realidad, quienes peregrinan son los objetos que representan o simboli44

Relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes

zan a cada uno de estos cargos o a los antepasados familiares, matewamite (principalmente las jícaras y las varas de mando de las autoridades), mientras que las personas no son más que sus portadoras y cuidadoras. Con el viaje, también estos objetos reciben las bendiciones del desierto y se “cargan” de fuerza, que luego es transmitida a la comunidad o a la familia extensa en forma de protección y prestigio, sobre todo en las distintas ceremonias y festividades en las que están presentes: Durante la peregrinación los jicareros llevan consigo las jícarasefigie del tukipa al que pertenecen. Si se trata de un grupo de parientes, los individuos cargan en sus morrales las jícaras de sus antepasados cercanos, las cuales provienen de los xirikite localizados en sus rancherías. Los jicareros, por lo general, van a Wirikuta en marzo, mientras que la demás gente lo hace cuando quiere o puede (Kindl, 2003:112).

En segundo lugar, como sucede en algunas organizaciones de tipo militar, también en la peregrinación existe un ordenamiento de acuerdo con una escala jerárquica mediante la cual se distribuyen funciones y responsabilidades. El orden de la fila de peyoteros debe mantenerse estrictamente durante todo el viaje y en las ceremonias que tienen lugar en la comunidad u otros lugares que se deben visitar hasta que no se acabe el compromiso, como se dijo, con la celebración de hikuli neixa.

Tampoco se deben cruzar unos con otros para “no enredarse” mutuamente, sobre todo a la entrada o salida del círculo que forman alrededor del fuego, ejemplo de comportamiento en la vida: ...el naurrá, lleva los símbolos y las ofrendas de las autoridades tradicionales de la comunidad a la que pertenecen. Cada uno de los participantes encarna algunas de esas... tsaurírika, sacerdote o encargado del kaligüey (centro ceremonial o templo circular comunitario)... tlatoani o gobernador... topiles, policías, servidores o agentes del gobernador. Otro más será el alguacil, etcétera. Estos nombres serán convocados cada noche al reunirse alrededor del fuego y realizar esa especie de juego ritual que en una de las peregrinaciones llamaron “el teléfono” (Porras, 1996:198).

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Culturales

En tercer lugar, la peregrinación refuerza los nexos familiares y proporciona una identidad de pertenencia al grupo de cada uno de sus miembros, ya que muchos de estos viajes al desierto los realizan familias extensas o incluso rancherías en las que los participantes están emparentados. Las posiciones en el seno familiar se definen con mayor precisión a través de los rituales que se realizan en el desierto, a la vez que se establecen alianzas y parejas de compañeros entre los parientes que perdurarán después de la peregrinación en forma de compadrazgo ritual. Los peyotes suelen aparecer en grupos de distintos tamaños que son comparados a familias y cuya unión es considerada como modelo de la armonía familiar que hay que conservar: Se va a la pereginación como un grupo familiar y allá se encuentra “nuestra vida” en la representación de una familia de híkuli, para luego ofrecerse en forma de híkuli como familia (Gutiérrez, 2002:190).

La peregrinación... es un “acto total” en la medida en que no fragmenta ninguna parte de la cultura (familia, religión, parentesco, etc.) donde lo “físico” es al mismo tiempo “elemento de significación”, cuya escenificación es la posibilidad de confirmar una “realidad cultural” (Gutiérrez, 2002:224).

El desierto como campo de experiencia mística o paranormal El último aspecto que podemos mencionar sobre lo que para los huicholes representa el desierto y su viaje iniciático tiene que ver con las experiencias psicológicas que allí viven producto de la ingestión del peyote y de las condiciones de esfuerzo, tensión y emoción que los peyoteros adquieren a lo largo del camino, a lo que contribuyen los ayunos y abstinencias que realizan. En ese sentido, el desierto se convierte en un gran centro ceremonial en el que los peregrinos entran en contacto con los seres que componen su mundo divino gracias a 46

Relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes

los efectos provocados por la química del cacto y a la guía de los experimentados marakate con sus cantos, narraciones y consejos. En cuanto a estos efectos, las descripciones no son homogéneas ni objetivas, pues dependen mucho de la personalidad de cada uno y del estado anímico, expectativas y condición física en la que se encuentre; pero, desde luego, esa embriaguez vegetal es muy diferente de la obtenida por medio de bebidas fermentadas o destiladas, como ya señalaba Diguet (1992), uno de los primeros investigadores modernos de los huicholes: Un hecho digno de ser notado es que entre los indios que se entregan al peyote la ebriedad y la sobreexcitación producidas son muy diferentes de las que da el alcohol; este último les da en general un humor agresivo, mientras que el peyote, pese a que los sobreexcita, les deja cierta tristeza que los vuelve más bien temerosos y los lleva a evitar las disputas (Diguet, 1992:153).

El de las experiencias extrasensoriales es uno de los temas que más han llamado la atención de quienes, desengañados por las condiciones del “mundo occidental”, buscan en los indígenas y en sus prácticas estados de conciencia alterados, “realidades aparte” y nuevos mundos de significación a través de experiencias denominadas, a veces muy a la ligera, “místicas”.

Estos estados paranormales contribuyen a dibujar una imagen un tanto deformada de la religiosidad huichola, que fácilmente es comparada con otras sacralidades, según la particular vivencia de cada quien y sus experiencias de vida: ...yo podía ver cómo se congestionaban los rostros de los hombres al sentir dentro de sus bocas al dios Híkuri que estaba siendo ofrecido en comunión. Con los ojos cerrados y la cabeza inclinada, se entregaban a la meditación mientras masticaban lentamente el cacto. La ceremonia de la Comunión era bellísima. Los jóvenes llegaron con su jícara de Híkuri... a ofrecernos la Sagrada Eucaristía Huichola (...) la sola idea de que estaba comulgando con mis hermanos huicholes, participando activamente en la más sagrada de sus ceremonias y practicando los ritos ancestrales de nuestros antepasados, hacía que me sobrepusiera a la náusea (Blanco, 1991:191-192).

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Uno de los temas más recurrentes es la alusión a la “primitividad” y “naturalidad” de estos rituales, como si el tiempo no hubiera transcurrido y se conservara estrictamente una situación original, inmutable y pura, equiparable a la que despiertan otras civilizaciones, siempre alejadas culturalmente del mundo de quien relata o expone su testimonio, quien habla más de sí mismo que de los huicholes: La música se interrumpe de tiempo en tiempo y todos gritamos eufóricos, mientras algunos hacen sonar cuernos de toro. En la misma forma en como los lamas tibetanos interrumpen sus cantos rituales y hacen muchísimo ruido con platillos y con enormes cornetas que llegan hasta el suelo. Ambos, huicholes y lamas, con el mismo propósito: desatar energía. Como los aplausos en el teatro o las porras en el estadio... Sus cantos (de Eusebio) son hipnóticos; su interpretación tan sentida siempre me hace catalogar su música como una especie de blues primitivo, pues canta con el mismo sentimiento y la misma tristeza con que lo hacen los descendientes de los negros africanos (Blanco, 1992:102-103).

Como concreción práctica de esas experiencias, los huicholes entran en lo que podría llamarse “el universo de la magia”, caracterizado principalmente por la obtención de poder o control sobre los elementos naturales y atmosféricos mediante el contacto con seres sobrenaturales o espíritus. De esa forma, además de la cacería del peyote y su transporte a las comunidades de origen, en donde será compartido en las reuniones festivas, los peyoteros se transforman fundamentalmente en gotas, y el agua que llevan del manantial que llaman Tatei Matinieri se transformará en lluvia una vez que se haya “sembrado” en los coamiles donde se plantará el maíz. Este conocimiento es parte de las revelaciones y visiones que despierta esta experiencia mística, paranormal o mágica y que hace comprender a los huicholes el poder de sus rituales, el sentido de sus actos y el valor de sus instrumentos: ...aprende a invocar las serpientes del agua, que se transforman en nubes caminando por el aire con sus plumas. Las llama a Huiricuta, donde brotan de debajo de la tierra, abriéndose canales subterráneos

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Relaciones entre el desierto y los huicholes desde el oeste, en el Océano Pacífico (Nuestra Madre Járamara), aflorando en los ojos de agua de la sierra, en el centro (Ixruapa) y siguiendo hasta llegar al Este. Así, el agua, llevada del oeste al polo opuesto, buscará volver a su morada principal en el mar. Las serpientes de nubes aparecidas en Huiricuta seguirán el camino de regreso de los peregrinos, precipitándose sobre el centro de la tierra, nutriendo los arroyos de la sierra, para poder volver al mar en los ríos, que son serpientes también (Negrín, 1977:23).

Conclusiones Tras este breve recorrido en torno a algunas de las significaciones que el desierto tiene para los huicholes y sobre las diversas funciones que tiene la compleja peregrinación que hacia él emprenden anualmente agrupados familiarmente o por centros ceremoniales, podemos concluir que se trata de un espacio fundamental para la reproducción de su cultura, de sus creencias y prácticas religiosas. Sin el desierto resulta impensable la existencia de la sociedad huichola, pues allá radica el origen de su vida y del “divino luminoso”, otra caracterización del peyote. Aunque no constituye el medio ambiente natural en el que desarrollan su existencia cotidiana, las referencias al desierto son constantes en la vida de los huicholes, ya sea en conversaciones interpersonales o en el seno familiar, como en algunas festividades en las que los cantos narran los mitos del viaje de los antiguos. Especialmente en la fiesta del tambor, de las calabacitas o de los elotes, tatei neixa, el eje es el viaje imaginario por el que el cantador conduce a Wirikuta a los niños que en ella participan como una forma de preparación para la peregrinación real que en su día deberán realizar.

Por otro lado, este ejemplo nos muestra que la territorialidad étnica no se limita en muchos casos al lugar específico en que se hallan asentadas las comunidades o pueblos indígenas, sino que trascienden estas fronteras, a menudo arbitrariamente impuestas por la administración pública, para extenderse a otras zonas o regiones, de acuerdo con contenidos históricos o con la memoria mítica que aún conservan y actualizan. También, 49

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debido al carácter nómada y trashumante de la mayoría de los wixaritari, ya que únicamente un 10 por ciento de su población es sedentaria y habita la sierra. Ello plantea la existencia de lo que Durin llama “territorios vividos”, definidos como: ...espacio de convivencia multiétnica, y registra los movimientos poblacionales de tal manera que rebasa los límites de los territorios que el Estado reconoce como propiedad comunal de los indígenas (comunidades agrarias) (Durin, 2003:1).

De modo que el análisis de las relaciones que ciertos grupos establecen con territorios imaginarios u ocasionales, en todo caso extracotidianos, como es el caso del pueblo huichol con el desierto, permite comprender con mayor claridad que el territorio no es tan sólo un conjunto “natural”, un ecosistema con condiciones objetivamente determinadas, sino, ante todo, una construcción sociocultural que, a manera de escenario, sirve para vivenciar los aspectos históricos y sagrados de las etnias en cuestión.

Bibliografía BABCOCK, BARBARA, The Reversible World. Symbolic Inversion in Art and Society, Cornell University Press, Ithaca y Londres, 1978.

BENÍTEZ, FERNANDO, Los indios de México, vol. II, 8ª reimpr., Era, México, 2002 (original, 1968).

BLANCO LABRA, VÍCTOR, El venado azul, Diana, México, 1991.

–––, Wirikuta. La tierra sagrada de los huicholes, Daimon, México, 1992.

DIGUET, LEÓN, “El peyote y su uso ritual entre los indios de Nayarit”, en Por tierras occidentales entre sierras y barrancas, Centro de Estudios Mexicanos y Centroamericanos/Instituto Nacional Indigenista, México, 1992, pp. 151-159 (original: Journal de la Societé d’Amercanistes de Paris, t.

IV, 1907, pp. 21-29).

DURIN, SÉVERINE, “Territorio vivido, espacio sagrado y comunidades agrarias. Sobre la movildad estacional de los Wixaritari 50

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(Huichol)”, ponencia presentada en el LI Congreso Internacional de Americanistas, Santiago de Chile, 2003 (mimeo).

FRESÁN JIMÉNEZ, MARIANA, Nierika. Una ventana al mundo de los antepasados, Conaculta/Fonca, México, 2002.

GUTIÉRREZ, ARTURO, La peregrinación a Wirikuta, INAH/Universidad de Guadalajara, México, 2002.

KINDL, OLIVIA, La jícara huichola: un microcosmos mesoamericano, INAH/Universidad de Guadalajara, México, 2003.

LUMHOLTZ, CARL, El arte simbólico y decorativo de los huicholes, INI, México, 1986.

NEGRÍN, JUAN, El arte contemporáneo de los huicholes, Universidad de Guadalajara/INAH Occidente, Guadalajara, 1977.

NEURATH, JOHANNES, Las fiestas de la casa grande, INAH/Universidad de Guadalajara, México, 2002.

PORRAS, EUGENI, “Costumbre y comunicación: notas sobre la ritualidad huichol en torno al peyote”, en Jesús Jáuregui, María Eugenia Olavarría y Víctor M. Franco Pellotier (coords.), Cultura y comunicación. Edmund Leach in memoriam, Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana/Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social, México, 1996, pp. 195-203).

ROJAS, BEATRIZ, Los huicholes: documentos históricos, INICIESAS, México, 1992.

VAN GENNEP, ARNOLD, Los ritos de paso, Taurus, Madrid, 1986 (original en francés, 1908).

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‘Tipai Uam’: el recorrido indio.

Kumeyaay courses astride la línea Alexandra von Barsewisch Europa-Universitat Viadrina Frankfurt/Oder

Resumen. En demanda de sus derechos territoriales, de lenguaje y de autonomía política y cultural, los kumiai han comenzado a buscar marcos institucionales de trabajo y de distribución de sus recursos con sus respectivos Estados-nación. Este característico fenómeno de elaboración de redes multinstitucionales y gubernamentales, orientado hacia la ejecución de proyectos de desarrollo en beneficio de los indígenas, puede observarse a lo largo de todo el territorio americano. En el caso de los kumiai, este artículo define lo “transnacional”, no como un “nivel” de acción, sino como actores, acciones e interacciones que atraviesan distintos niveles y delimitaciones, acentuando de esta forma la naturaleza transgresiva e igualmente abarcadora del transnacionalismo. En este artículo se examinan las formaciones sociales elaboradas en y a través de las conexiones transnacionales, nacionales y comunitarias, que llaman la atención sobre las acciones políticas como procesos y como acciones materializadas.

Palabras clave: 1. frontera, 2. yumanos, 3. transnacionalismo, 4. indígenas, 5. kumiai.

Abstract. In demanding rights to territory, language, and political and cultural autonomy, the Kumeyaay have engaged with their respective nation-states, seeing the possibility of institutional frameworks and resource distribution.

This characteristic phenomenon of multi- and state institutional networking toward specific pro-indigenous development projects can be observed now throughout all of the Americas. In the case of the Kumeyaay, I define “transnational” not as a “level” of action, but as actors, actions, and interactions that cross over levels and boundaries, accentuating, in this manner, the transgressive and similarly encompassing nature of transnationalism. In this article, I examined the social formations made in and through transnational, national and community connections in drawing attention to political actions as processual and embodied.

Keywords: 1. borderline, 2. Yuman, 3. transnationalism, 4. indigenous people, 5. Kumiai.

culturales VOL. II, NÚM. 3, ENERO-JUNIO DE 2006

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Introduction Social, political and economic structural formations have never existed per se. They have been the result of a structuring beforehand. A change from one structural formation (though never truly stable) to the next is called a trans-formation, an “in-between state of being,” a significant and important process of lasting effect. The currently happening Globalization, likewise, is such as process that bears the risk to untie and destabilize existing coordinates and securities. But it also bears new possibilities and orientations and, accordingly, opens up ways to yet “unborn” agencies and identities. The ongoing process has an important effect on confirmed systems and national configurations that took form as result of individual and collective pursuit.

One might ask now, what, of all academic disciplines, anthropology has to say in times of world-spanning, radical changes? And I would like to answer this question with a quotation by Dieter Haller that underlines the specific potential of socio-cultural anthropology, its potential to make out and reflect on practices of social re-organization: “[...] I understand ethnology not as science of the cultural other, but as a science that reflects on processes of the drawing of borders between the self and the other.” (Haller, 2001:4).

The following work challenges the discern of such practices in an attempt to develop a research on borders, that means, on borders of identity conception, of self and other, borders of hierarchical relations, of “national belonging,” borders of authority. And I define borders, in this sense, as inherent components and underlying structural pattern of relationships and, respectively, as imperative precondition for a communication between positions.

I anticipate that description, characterization and meaning would not exist, if one could not differentiate and organize a given knowledge by the use of imaginary and abstract borders. The organization of knowledge is subsequently the organization of power in a socio-political sphere arranged by an overall legitimacy and authoritative principles. Any disagree53

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ment on a dominant power structure, therefore, might lead to a narrative and symbolic, often forcefully implemented, change in the structure of knowledge, a change in the organization of borders and limits of agreement.

The existence of borders, to name some aspects of a possible framing, hints toward an imbalance of meaning between “center” and “periphery,” between an authorized or somewhat dominant and agreed-upon status quo and its border, whose subject matters are more “out of scope” and of a different intensity and influence in meaning.1 But the border, vice versa, is not necessarily delineated by, or from, the “center,” but is a partly dependent entity that might generate marginal meanings that become central. The border, therefore, would not be without the center and the center would not be without the border.

This close-up perspective leads up to the more outstanding part of the problem, that of “defined” and “uniform” entities bordering on each other. In reference to the above-mentioned, one might conclude that the borders of these entities were of a notably distinct fiber due to the continuous contact with their centers. In contemporary research on borders, assumptions often follow two perspectives of a metaphorical understanding of the border.2 First, there is a specific quality of the border that belongs to a given entity. Second, in contacting another particularly defined entity, the specific borders form 1 “The centre traditionally stands for the place of the symbolic concentration of values and power. Following the tradition of Western metaphysics, the centre symbolizes that whole in which the founding meaning of origin and truth is concentrated. The centre articulates the representation of space by delineating outlines (fixing limits) and simultaneously graduating the degrees of intensity between the middle (point of greatest saturation of meaning) and the borders or edges: zones in which the loss of clarity issues in a lack of definition.” Cited from Nelly Richard, “The Cultural Periphery and Postmodern Decentring: Latin America’s Reconversion of Borders,” Rethinking Borders, ed. John C. Welchman (Hampshire/London: Macmillan Press, 1996) 72.

2 Here, I refer to related thoughts on theoretical aspects of the border in Claire Fox, The Fence and the River: culture and politics at the U.S.-Mexico border (Minneapolis: U of Minnesota Press, 1999) and David E. Johnson, and Scott Michaelsen, Border Theory: the limits of cultural politics (Minneapolis/London: U of Minnesota Press, 1997).

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a kind of third category, a sum of two borders, a borderland,3 or “third space.”4 But who defines this “third space?” Where are the borders of the borderland? And, are there borders in the central part of an entity? Questions like these were the thematic focus of my master thesis, which dealt with cinematic forms of representation of the U.S.-Mexican border.5 For my dissertation project, I decided to make the border my own experience and thus visited the setting of the previously used filmic material: the border between San Diego and Tijuana. The stories that I came across revealed bits and pieces of the stories that I was looking for: stories that lived in the border region.

The border between San Diego and Tijuana, between the United States and Mexico, has invoked academic interest of scholars not only from the field of (socio-cultural) anthropology, but also from the field of literature, film studies, linguistics, social sciences and, increasingly, environmental studies.

The post-colonial debate on “hybridity”6 indicates the symbolic importance of the U.S.-Mexican border as “the birthplace, […], of border studies, and its methods of analysis,” (Johnson, 1997:1) while approaches like Transnationalism and a wide range of Globalization theories came into being because of the international border’s changing function.

3

Term used by Gloria Anzaldúa, Borderlands: the new mestiza = La frontera (1987; San Francisco: Aunt Lute, 1999).

4 Term used by Homi K. Bhaba, The Location of Culture (London/New York: Routledge, 1994).

5 Here, I used fictional film for the purpose of examining the border region.

The filmic material was my way to enter, my way to cross it and perceive it.

Alexandra von Barsewisch, “Bordering on Images. A Cinematic Encounter at the US-Mexican Border,” unpublished Master Thesis, Berlin Humboldt University, 2002.

6 The term “hybridity” goes back to colonial times. Contemporary discussions on the term, nevertheless, are preoccupied with its potential for inclusion although the different definitions by Hall, Bhaba and Spivak show that it is not to be seen as stable concept in postcolonial theory. I will try to mediate between the diverging definitions in referring to a more general concept as to be found in Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, Key Concepts in Post-Colonial Studies (London/New York: Routledge, 1998) 118.

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In this way, the border has become an academic subject, and more importantly, a theoretic approach and “analytic tool” in the observation, categorization and understanding of different types of demarcated territories, localities and nation-states, social groupings, cultures, and identity conceptions in various disciplines. Working from the viewpoint of an anthropologist, “Border Anthropology” serves as an adequate theoretic stance, because the border is far more than a dividing line being imposed on people: it has to be maintained. It should be, as a result, associated more as yet with active thinking and conduct.7 Establishing a “Border Anthropology” necessarily means to switch back and forth between positions and to relate diverging structural patterns to an announced set of references.

To look closely at the border region means to look closely at different ideas and concepts. In the course of my writing, I will draw attention to diverse processes and re-affirmations of (national) belonging. My main focus will lie on the changing and situational “positionings”8 of people, groups of people and communities, on their active participation and tolerance within relevant fields of interaction, migratory movement and communication at and around the California border. In this sense, I understand the individual as acteur within greater social, political and economic contexts.

As I will observe phenomena in the area of an international border, I deal with concepts of the nation and the nation-state.

For this context, I agree with Kearney’s definition of the nation-state.9 Here, the nation can be understood as a community 7 Here, I relate my understanding of “Border Anthropology” to Haller’s “Entwurf einer Ethnologie der Grenze” as extracted from Dieter Haller, Gelebte Grenze Gibraltar – Transnationalismus, Lokalität und Identität in kulturanthropologischer Perspektive (Wiesbaden: Deutscher Universitätsverlag, 2000).

8 Term used by Trinh T. Minh-ha for the purpose of combining identities and differences in “An Acoustic Journey,” Welchman 7.

9 “[...] in this modern differing it is the nation-state that emerges as the supreme unit of order, a social, cultural and political form which, as Anderson (1983) shows, is distinctive in having absolute geopolitical and social boundaries inscribed in territory and on persons, demarcating space and those who are members from those who are not.” Michael Kearney, “Transnationalism in California and Mexico at the end of Empire,” Border identities: nation and state at international frontiers, eds. Thomas M. Wilson, and Hastings Donnan (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998)118.

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of people tied together by a common culture, a set of political goals and an attainment of some form of independence.10 Its geopolitical space is the sovereign nation-state, although only a small amount of cultural and economic formations is contained by national boundaries. Numerous minority nations, like the Kumeyaay, live within and across national borders that are dominated by one or several majority nation(s). The nation, as I principally understand it, is not only a political, economic and geographic entity as such, but is its idea at the same time.11 Imagined and factual manifestations of the nation inter-weave, correspond and link to each other in a cycle of cultural reproduction.

The United States-Mexican border shall be the shared axis serving as starting and reference point. It is the space, in the factual as in the metaphoric sense, for mediation on personal and collective identities. Here, I will delineate “culture” to be a concept of a continuously shifting set of meanings that is being mediated by different sets of representational practices.

Inside and outside, familiar and unfamiliar, self and other cannot be constructed without an imaginary divided space. The focus of my work, though, lies on lived realities in a jointly divided, but more so shared space: the cross-border community of the Kumeyaay.

The Mission Indians12 are divided into various Bands and onto reservation lands, for whom title is held by the United States of America through the Bureau of Indian Affairs. San Diego County is home to four ethnic groups called the Luiseno, the Cupeno, the Cahuilla (all Shoshonen-speaking) and the Kumeyaay (Yuman-speaking) about whom the anthropologist Florence Shipek informs us: “Although the evidence for it is controversial, a national level of organization appears to have functioned above the band territorial unit until its gradual, de10 Homi K. Bhaba, “Introduction: narrating the nation,” Nation and Narration, ed. Homi K. Bhaba (London/New York: Routledge, 1990) 1-7.

11 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism (1983; London: Verso, 1991).

12 The name refers to times of the Spanish era where many of the indigenous ethnic groups were subject to Christianization.

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liberate destruction under Spanish, Mexican and American political controls.” (Shipek, 1987:4).

The community of the Kumeyaay tribe whose “territory extended from the coast to the Colorado River and far about fifty miles on each side of the Mexican border,” (Shipek, 1987:8) finally drew my attention.

The Kumeyaay are in continuous contact with sister tribes on the Mexican side. Their interaction serves, besides the maintenance of familial relations, an increasing exchange of linguistic and traditional as well as spiritual knowledge that was and continues to be unevenly preserved due to the different national environments. The significant difference, though, is the economic basis with a predominantly rural economy in the south and a predominantly gambling-related economy in the north.

The Kumeyaay’s specific involvedness in the crossroads of identity, nationality and cultural belonging generates, by my account, a view on different kinds of separation and signification within the field of identity formation and identity politics.13 In this respect, I studied the existing diversity of borders, boundaries, limits and frontiers in their respective characteristic features and meanings to communities and organized interest groups. Questions are assembled around my hypothesis that the current U.S.-Mexican border situation actually fortifies Kumeyaay “nation-building” agency and individual as well as community consciousness. To see the different sites and mechanisms of these processes and to be able to qualify the established kinds of borders, it was especially important to include interest groups from the “outside” such as the Academia, local politicians and NGO members.

Ultimately, the voices of my “informants,” and my own, the author’s voice, will come to a shared conversation. This conversation, as mutual process, consists of discourses and narratives that transcend the borders of my particular field of research.

13 Here, the newer accounts of subjectivity, ontology and understanding of solidarity and relationships in the contemporary scholarship of Identity Politics are usefull : Hilde L. Nelson, Damaged Identities, Narrartive Repair (Ithaka/New York: Cornell University Press, 2001) and Iris M. Young, Inclusion and Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000).

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Important discourses, in this respect, are discourses on and by Native Americans. Indigenous narratives, for instance, might be less dependable records of the past than reconnections of fragmented realities and re-framings of current political issues of cultural heritage and public display. Indigenous politics, like politics in general, articulate multiple concerns such as resistance, separation, community affiliation or tribal governance. By this conceptual perspective on the politics of identity, I mean that the idea of identity is neither singular nor monolithic but has many dimensions that may be usually separated for purpose of analysis. Here, I am principally interested in the development of external images, as well as self-reflection and in the experience of “Indianness” through time and circumstance.

Community affiliation, then, brings in another key element that Raymond D. Fogelson contends with in his chapter Perspectives on Native American Identity: To a large extent one is identified as a Native American because one lives in or has close connections to an Indian community. The idea of communities is preferable to the idea of tribes, since tribes are politico-legal entities rather than direct face-to-face interactive social groups. Furthermore, in aboriginal and neo-aboriginal times there were very few true tribes, in the sense of institutions with clear lines of political authority, chiefs, councils, and strict membership criteria. Rather, [...], tribes as discernable units arouse out of the contact with Europeans. [...] Belief in the existence of tribes is of operational value in that it postulates a political entity with which to treat and to enter into binding agreements on a government-togovernment basis (Folgeson, 1998:40-56).

My research on the cross-border indigenous community of the Kumeyaay in the Californias, now, focused mainly on the impact of the international border situation on the multiplicity of community-related agencies conducted. The body of this article aims to give some insight into the different aspects of agency I encountered, aspects of “Kumeyaay courses,” as I name them here, at and around the U.S.-Mexican border.

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In regard to the very different historical backgrounds and political environments that had influenced the Mexican as well as the U.S. community of the Kumeyaay, I anticipated divergent entries to the field. On the U.S. side, I predominantly approached informants on an institutional level as in museums, tribal councils or at conferences, whereas field contacts on the Mexican side also included the private sphere. My research was thus strongly determined by prevailing and nationally differing frameworks of power and specific community interests in the foreground of unequal political and economic settings.

Kumeyaay Freeway 8 I held one of my first interviews with Patricia Fuller, the (nonIndian) director of the Barona Kumeyaay reservation’s Culural Center and museum. Driving to the reservation took about 3/4 of an hour following the newly renamed “Kumeyaay Freeway”14 from S.D. eastward.

While discussing my research interest, she made clear that I was not expected to seek private contact with residents of the reservation as this was seen as a disturbance. The Cultural Center, she continued, was also established to provide information to the interested public and, at the same time, to protect members of the Barona tribe from (scientific) inquiries. This commentation didn’t surprise me much as I had expected such reactions imagining the herds of anthropologists, historians, linguists and archeologists from the numerous surrounding universities that were eager to do their investigations on Native American subjects. In this situation, I was tempted to recall a passage from Vine Deloria Jr.’s famous 1969-manifest that I had read as part of my general literary preparation: Into each life, it is said, some rain must fall. Some people have bad horoscopes others have tips on the stock marked. […] Churches 14

Very recently, this name was chosen to publically pay tribute to the historical passage route of the Kumeyaay from the desert to the sea.

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“Tipai Uam”: el recorrido indio possess the real world. But Indians have been cursed above all other people in history. Indians have anthropologists (Deloria, 1969:78).

The range of Fuller’s activities was fairly large, including not only curatorial work, but also the organization of educational workshops, thematic research as well as the teaching of archeology and anthropology at two San Diego colleges. Most interesting to me were two upcoming events that month: a meeting of the Advocates for Indigenous California Language Survival and the opening of the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington where the history and current living circumstances of the “Campo Indian Reservation,” the southernmost of the twelve Kumeyaay tribes in San Diego county, was to be displayed.

The “language survival” meeting a few days later gave me an idea of the practices of cultural resistance and identity formation by means of language revitalization.

Part of our resistance is our language that is so important to our people. I thought I tell a little story about our language. My reservation, when my parents were young, they were taken away, in the 1950s they were coming around and were taking away Indian children off the reservations and put them into “foster homes,” they were saying that their parents were unfit. During these times, our reservation almost lost its language completely, cause that whole generation was taken away.15

The meeting was a workshop in advanced teacher training.

The participants came from all over California and represented about fifteen native languages out of fifty still spoken. In 1992, the “Native California Network” sponsored a meeting of a small group of tribal scholars to deal with the question of California’s endangered languages. Here, the “Advocates for Indigenous California Language Survival” (AICLS) was formed, with native people on its board representing most parts of the state.

And, since not all tribes have living speakers, I was notified, 15

Paul Cuero Jr., Chairman of the Campo Band of Kumeyaay Indians, speech at the “Symposium on American Indian Sovereignty.”

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there had to be found other ways to bring those languages back to life. One way was to use linguistic and anthropological materials collected at U.C. Berkeley housing thousands of field notes, rare tape recordings, songs, and stories. Participants of the meeting were solely native Californian, while there were three white women in the hall: the administrator, an academic linguist, and a camerawoman of a local TV station that assured, at the beginning of the gathering, that the filmed material would only be used by AICLS. The conference room is spacious and fully technically equipped.

Air condition is running. Tables are organized in long rows, so that the 60 to 70 people present find enough space. Strikingly, the majority of today’s participants are women in their 40s and older. The administrator, Marina Drummer, opens up the conference and makes some announcements. A Barona Kumeyaay lady subsequently opens up the meeting with a prayer in her native tongue and in English.

Everyone is asked to stand up for the prayer. She thanks God, all participants and involved communities for their efforts in supporting a revival of their native languages. She also draws attention to efforts that had been made in the past, meetings that people joined after having been walking or riding on horses, to exchange experiences and merge forces. The next speaker is Javier Rivera. His talk is concerned with the vanishing of the Kumeyaay language also in Mexico. He tells that he had been born in California, but was brought up on the Mexican side. His daughters were still living in Mexico, he said. Since about 16 years now, he had moved back to the U.S. where he currently lived in San Diego. After finishing his talk, he unwraps a gourd rattle and starts singing in Kumeyaay while accompanying his song with the rattle.16

There were about ten different native language teachers during the six-hour convention that day that shared their particular achievements, findings and difficulties in teaching, as well as practical techniques and concepts. The above-mentioned Javier Rivera was the first person I met that had regular contact to family members on both sides of the border and who practi16

Fieldnotes, September 10th, 2004, AICLS meeting, Barona Events Center.

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cally spanned the border space in applying his cultural knowledge, chanting or “Bird singing” and language, on various Kumeyaay reservations and in Mexican villages. He thus became a central person for my research later on. Another person I met was a non-native linguist who was working on an English-Kumeyaay dictionary for the Barona tribe. Later on, after our first interview, she wrote in an email: When we were talking about the Barona dictionary a few weeks ago, I might have neglected to mention one of the compelling reasons for presenting the dictionary in a comparative format and for NOT standardizing the language [many Kumeyaay tribes do not agree to have the same dialect and thus work, if at all, on their own Kumeyaay dictionaries though some tribes agree, as in this case, on a comparative lexicon]. You’ve probably heard that many of the elders were punished, when they were children at school, for speaking their own language. And for much of their adult lives, their language has been looked down upon. Standardizing the language would mean recognizing one dialect as standard or “correct.” It would imply that any other way of speaking is substandard or wrong. (…) I think, it’s much better to recognize the legitimacy of different ways of speaking, and that’s what I’m trying to do with the Barona dictionary.17

I found out that of twelve Kumeyaay reservations in San Diego county four different dictionaries were either already published or temporarily in the making. This reflected on an important element of identity for each single reservation and shed light on current strategies of tribal politics and means of representation.

Representation, or rather self-representation, had a specific significance also in regard to the National Museum of the American Indian’s (NMAI) first opening exhibitions18 in the country’s capital: 17

Email from Alice Thompson, October 7th, 2004.

Alternatively, for the majority of interested Indian and non-Indian people that could not attend the ceremony in Washington, the Cross-Cultural Studies department at Grossmont College, the local “American Indian Movement” (AIM) chapter and the “Council of American Indian Organizations” proclaimed an official invitation to a so-called Native People’s Day of Healing. An event that was to coincide the opening with the reading of the official apology from the U.S. government, the Senate Joint Resolution 37 and the House Joint Resolution 98.

18

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Culturales I just recently got back from Washington D.C. and participated in the procession that helped open the NMAI. And it was probably one of the most affecting events I’ve ever been involved in with American Indians since I’ve been an anthropologist! Just to be there in such an immense crowd! It was the largest, everyone was saying, largest intertribal gathering of Indian nations in the country’s history and possibly in all of the Americas ever! The museum is quite remarkable, it’s different from many museums and it’s also the same.

And the difference is: there is a gathering space. There was a critique the very next day in the Washington Post, after the preview. The very first article we read in the morning was very negative actually!

Sort of shocking to my husband and I, because we had such a positive feeling about it, and what it made me realize is that people had an expectation, being the colonizers, being the people who controlled the information for so long, they actually said: ‘Where are we? Where are we in this museum?’ [...] You know, you have got thousands of years of history to talk about in these cultures and 500 years of degradation may not be the most important thing on their mind when they were going to talk about what was important to them! And truly, the exhibits reflected spirituality, they reflected family, community and very little, you know, about being massacred and devastated.”19

I was surely interested in the emphasis that the Campo Kumeyaay put into their exhibition and found out that they used digital video material, photography and audio recordings among modern and traditional items ranging from willow baskets and grinding stones to pictures of the international border fence. The curatoral concept of the all-Indian NMAI board was to facilitate, support and show community-based and community-led public displays in the very last open space on the Washington Mall and to create, above all, room for national and international gatherings and conferences. The institution is thus the product of a historical development crucial for understanding the framework of conditions of social life and the political and socio-economic situation of Native Americans today.

By the mid- and late 1960s, indigenous minority activism 19

Interview with Patricia Fuller, Sept. 28th, 2004.

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and writing proliferated within and outside dominant cultural formations a growing number of politically viable institutions and discourses.20 This period, known as the Indigenous Renaissance, witnessed the foundation of the AIM in 1967, which later sponsored the first large-scale meeting of Indian representatives bestowed with the right to establish the first “International Indian Treaty Council” in office in 1974. A little before that, in 1970, the “North American Indian Woman’s Association” (NAIWA) was formed while, a few years later, in 1974, the “World Council of Indigenous People” (WCIP) had its first assembly. The imperative necessity for the WCIP was the building of an activist indigenous minority politics within the paradigm of a nation-to-nation status encoded in the discourse of treaties. As a council of “indigenous people,” they most importantly needed a designated stance of who belonged and who didn’t belong into the criterion. Here, the most striking feature of its 1975 definition of “Indigenous People” is that it was forged not as a list of „objective“ criteria but rather as a narrative. It thus created an auto-ethnography or collective repossession of definitional control. Defining and defending indigenous (minority) identities unavoidably led to disagreement over whether biological kinship, language, culture, group consciousness, community endorsement, personal declaration, or some combinations of these “objective” and “subjective” criteria should be used to recognize “authentic” indigenous status and whose conception of history, memory and methods of historiography were to be considered as “legitimate” and “authentic.” As acts of indigenous minority or rather identity recuperation, these attempts tried to seize control over symbolic and metaphorical meanings of the most fundamental concepts such as “blood”, “land”, and “memory.” These terms and their potential meanings then form a different and complex set of interactions, a juxtaposition and integration, at the same time, of “real” and “imagined” genealogies, physical and metaphorical ancestral land bases, and narratives of “factual” and “invented” histories. Notably since the Renaissance, indigenous 20 The following paragraph is inspired by Chadwick, Allen: Blood Narrative, 2002.

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activists, artists and writers contributed to define their sense of an indigeneity principally by the means of creating an interdependent and essentially inseparable triad of the redefined concepts of “blood,” “land” and “memory.”

One of the outcomes of the changing (self-) conception and political standing of Native Americans was the “Native Grave Protection and Repatriation Act” (NAGPRA) from 1990, whose realization was the central responsibility of Cheryl Hinton for years. NAGPRA puts Native American human remains, funeral objects, sacred objects and objects of cultural patrimony under a special regulation, so that these items, if found on federal land, are legally protected. Any institution receiving federal funds, in this case museums, are consequently obligated to report these objects to associated tribes.

The treaty paradigm requires a level of essentialism, a clear border between nations or sovereign treaty partners. Such formal relationships existed before and after the adoption of the Constitution in 1789 and the election of a president responsible for treaty making. There were little changes in the recognition of the status of the Indian tribes as nations throughout the last centuries. It is important to note, however, that the constitutional fathers accepted the English view of the national status of an Indian tribe. The revolution, then, resolved the question of political independence only for the Americans. It did not affect the posture of other European nations toward Indian tribes. Following the Mexican war in 1820, for example, the Mexican government immediately began making treaties with tribes who resided in the area later settled by the U.S. California, and continued to do so until the 1870s.

The tribes’ status today, as defined by federal courts, Congress, and the chief executive, has created a confusing body of federal Indian law which is constituted, again, of “a loosely related collection of past and present acts of Congress, treaties and agreements, executive orders, administrative ruling and judicial options.”21 The sign Sovereign Band of Barona Mission Indians – all 21 Commentary by Vine Deloria Jr. to Deloria, Vine Jr., and David E. Wilkens.

Tribes, Treaties, and Constitutional Tribulations, U of Texas Press, 1999.

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visitors check in at the tribal office at the entrance of the reservation was a first tangible proof of the distinct legal and political status of U.S. tribes.

Interested in what this status actually meant, I chose to follow an invitation from the chair of the “America Indian Studies Department” at San Diego’s state university (SDSU) to a conference on Native American sovereignty. The panelists were mostly representatives from the surrounding Kumeyaay reservations and their presentations discussed the impact of tribal sovereignty on politics, law, health or environmental management. Before entering the field of such practical impacts, it firstly seemed to be essential to underscore the specific meaning of sovereignty to the speakers and the respective tribes: [...] The U.S. and the state are delegated powers. Our sovereignty, that is inherent tribal sovereignty, is original and it is natural and it was not crafted by human made laws or actions [...], it comes from the creator, that’s how the people talk about how they came to be.

The U.S. as a government wields legal sovereignty and it’s vested in the institutions and in the agents of government and there is also something called political sovereignty! And this rests in the American population, in such expressions that again the U.S. Constitution has: to the people of the U.S.! So, from an American perspective, sovereignty is more about legal competence, rather than absolute power, and it means the power of the people to make governmental arrangements, to protect and limit personal liberty by social control.

Tribal sovereignty, as it is now exercised, has certain similarities with the way western law defines it, that is, is has, first of all, a legal political dimension, sovereignty can be defined as a relative independence of a First nation and their people combined with the right and power of regulating their internal affairs without undue foreign dictation, that includes forming their own government, [...] the power to exclude non-Indians from their lands, the power to administer justice, the power to tax, and the list goes on and on and on. And only governments can wield that kind of power and tribes are fundamentally that, they are governments, but we are more than just that, aren’t we?! We are also cultural and spiritual communities and I define sovereignty in a cultural-spiritual sense like this: I say that tribal sovereignty is the spiritual, moral and dynamic cultural force

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Culturales that’s inherent in a given native community. And that force empowers the community people and the community’s leaders toward political, economic and cultural integrity.22

And, concerning the symbolic dimension of the concept, he adds: It’s about that sense of “we know who we are” that we have the right to fulfill our community’s needs. Tribal sovereignty, or, put it another way, Lumbeness or Dakotaness, is, in my mind, the most important of the concepts that I’ve been discussing tonight, because it is, it doesn’t really represent, but it is, the collective and integrated soul of each indigenous community! It is, in fact, the dignified essence of each tribal community as evidenced by the actions of the people themselves, not the economic elites, not the most educated among us, and not even the elected leaders either, but you, the people!

And all you parents and grandparents at home who are working and laboring to maintain our homelands, our communities, because it is you, the people who are most directly affected by the communities decisions and those of the elected or unelected political leaders.

Example of a “gaming Kumeyaay tribe” The economy of Barona Indian is completely based on the profits from the tribally owned casino. In 1984, after years of trying to find a way to improve their economic state, the Barona Band decided to enter into public gaming and offered bingo.

During the following decade, bingo paid the bills and established a credible financial foundation. Today, Barona is one of the most successful Indian casinos in the country. The band is entirely self-sufficient and a very significant contributor to the local economy and charities in the surrounding area. This new casino, resort and golf course complex opened in January 2003.

22 Symposium on “American indian sovereignty and self-determionation in the 21. century,” SDSU, October, 7th, 2004: David E. Wilkens (associate professor of American Indian Studies, Political Science, and Law at the university of Minnesota) in his keynote presentation “Manifest Sovereignty: The origin, evolution, and contemporary status of indigenous nations.”

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It is a $260 million dollar resort designed by Bergmann, Walls & Associates, acclaimed Las Vegas architects that announced at its completion: “The concept is not of a ramshackle farm, but rather a themed, carefully integrated facility such as the master himself, Walt Disney, would have created. Ranch life has never been this good.”23 Policy toward gambling on American Indian reservations is made collectively by three sovereign entities: federal, state, and tribal governments. Eleven states now allow commercial casinos to operate. Twenty-four of them have casinos owned by American Indian tribes. Tribal gambling is the fastest-growing form of legal betting in the U.S. From 1988, when tribes earned $212 million from seventy gambling facilities in 16 states, to 1998, when they earned $8.2 billion from 260 facilities in thirtyone states, tribal gambling revenues grew enormously.

California’s passage of Proposition 1A in March 2000 will further accelerate this growth: Indian tribes now have exclusive authority to own casinos in the state. The role of the federal government, which holds American Indian lands in trust, has been of greatest consequence.24 23

Copy of a news release, Barona Indians, May 22, 2002 (2).

A tribe is sovereign in the same way the federal and state governments are sovereign. On the other hand, this relationship is one of fiduciary trust in which the federal government is empowered to make decisions for the tribe with the understanding that those decisions will be in the tribe’s best interest. So, in a more recent formulation by the Supreme Court in United States vs. Sioux Nations of Indians (1980) Congress has the power “to control and manage Indian affairs” as long as that power is used for “appropriate measures for protecting and advancing the tribe.” Over the years, the federal government has been an incompetent guardian at best, and a venal one at worst. Politically, however, attempts

by Native Americans to expand tribal influence began to bear fruit in the late 60s and early 70s with the American Indian Movement and the Native American Rights Fund, who, together with other groups sought a greater measure of selfdetermination on tribal political and economic affairs. In 1975, Congress passed the Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act, which gave tribal governments considerable discretion concerning how federal programs would be administered on their reservations. During the 80s, the Reagan administration concentrated its efforts on economic self-determination for American Indian tribes, partly in the hope that flourishing tribal economies would reduce their dependence on federal funds, which the administration severely reduced in 1981.

In the late 70s, some tribes began to invest in gambling operations. The Depart24

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In most cases,25 states and casino-seeking tribes have been able to fulfill responsibility under IGRA to negotiate mutually acceptable compacts. The states have concerns about casino related matters such as traffic congestion, crime and gambling disorders, and tribes need state and local cooperation in meeting the increased demand for roads and bridges, water and sewage, fire protection and electrical service that casino ownership creates.

The state of California has decided to grant tribes, whose lands are within its borders, a monopoly on casino gambling. In 1998, an Indian casino initiative (Proposition 5) was placed on the ment of the Interior, Health and Human Services, and Housing and Urban Development all provided loans and other financial assistance to help tribes develop gambling facilities.

Although the relationship between federal sovereignty and tribal sovereignty may be complex the relationship between the state and tribal sovereignty is not.

As the Supreme Court ruled in the 1980-case Washington vs. Confederated Colville Tribes, “unless the federal government chooses to allow states to apply their laws to Native Americans on reservations, tribal sovereignty is dependent on, and subordinate to, only the Federal government, not the States.� In 1980, citing Public Law 280, a federal statute that empowers the states to enforce their criminal laws on tribal land, the state of California tried to shut down two bingo parlors and a card room operated by the Cabazon and Morongo Bands of Mission Indians on their reservations near Palm Springs. Rebuffed by the lower courts, California took its case to the Supreme Court. But in 1987, in a six-to-three decision that crossed ideological lines, the court ruled in favor of the tribes (California vs.

Cabazon Band of Mission Indians). In essence, the Court held that unless a state consistently treats gambling as either a crime or a violation of its constitution, it cannot forbid gambling on tribal lands. Responding to concern expressed by many states about organized crime as well as about efforts by some tribes to acquire land near cities to serve as new gambling enclaves, Congress had begun to consider legislation to regulate tribal gambling in the mid-80s. In 1988, Congress voted overwhelmingly to enact the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act (IGRA). The law requires that any gambling facilities on tribal land should be owned by the tribe as a whole, and that the revenues generated be used primarily to fund tribal government operations and programs. IGRA defines tribal land as consisting for the most part of land the tribe owned at the time the act was passed. But it allows tribes to purchase and open gambling facilities on new land if the secretary of the interior and the governor of the state agree (Mason, John Lyman, and Nelson, Michael: Governing Gambling, N.Y.: The Century Foundation Press, 2001).

25 The following two parapraphs are informed by Mason, John L., and Michael Nelson: Governing Gambling, The Century Foundation Press: 2001.

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ballot by tribal organizations. Nevada casino interests which heavily depended on California gamblers, spent $26 million opposing the initiative, but proponents spent $68 million, making the battle the most expensive initiative campaign in history. Proposition 5 passed by a margin of 68 to 37 percent, it was overturned the following year by the California Supreme Court. In addition to their efforts on behalf of Proposition 5, California’s tribes had poured $7million into the state’s 1998 gubernatorial and legislative campaigns, including more than $650,000 to the winning candidate for governor, Gray Davis.

After the election, they spent $2 million lobbying the legislature. In September 1999, a month after the state Supreme Court ruling, Davis and the legislature agreed to place a constitutional amendment on the March 2000 ballot, Proposition IA, which would lift the constitutions ban on tribal casinos.

Now, two more casinos are planned, Jamul and La Posta, and the battle continues: Former Governor Gray Davis, a Democrat, similarly urged federal officials to reject the tribes’ bid to annex the land [these reservations are comparatively small and thus dependent on expanding their territory], but Schwarzenegger’s appeal is expected to carry much greater weight with fellow Republicans in the Bush administration.26

The next weeks, I was able to visit all four Kumeyaay-owned casinos: Barona, Sycuan, Viejas and “The Golden Acorn” on Campo reservation, a newcomer, financially much less equipped than the former three. At the “Golden Acorn,” most of the personnel were from Campo, while the other three casinos employed non-Indian and Mexican American members of staff.

The “Kumeyaay Border Task Force” The “Kumeyaay Border Task Force” is a solely Kumeyaayled organization that was founded in 1998/99. Up until the first 26 From www.kumeyaay.com, “Latest News,” Sweeney, James: “Governor opposes a casino in Jamul” 09/30/2004.

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half of the 20th century, the U.S.-Mexican border was a geopolitical line that separated two nations, but this line wasn’t explicitly controlled. Kumeyaay members had no difficulties crossing the border in order to visit family and friends or work in different and seasonally changing places. Since the 1960s, though, border control was tightened so that northern and southern tribal members started to negotiate with the U.S. and the Mexican governments in order to solve the situation. The result was an “identification card” issued by the “Instituto National Indigenísta” (INI) in Mexico. The cross-border contact was secured for about 15 years until the late 1970s and 80s when this card was getting used by a growing number of non-legitimatized Mexican citizens seeking short-term employment in California. The “Operation Gatekeeper,” beginning in 1988, then, complicated the border transfer to a formerly unknown and solemn degree, because the new law made it extremely difficult for Baja Kumeyaay to qualify for the application process to acquire a “Border-Crossing Card.” The requested qualification was a utility bill, some kind of proof of service like electricity bills, water bills or Military service, which hardly anyone could demonstrate. Ten years later, in 1998, the Kickapoo tribe of Texas and the Tonoho Od’ham nation of Arizona attempted to pass two bills to the U.S. Congress to enable dual citizenship for their Mexican tribal members. Before acting on those two bills, the responsible Congressman Lamar Smith of Texas asked in an official letter if there were any more tribes along the border that had border-crossing or citizenship issues and subsequently triggered the Kumeyaay efforts to initiate the “Border Task Force.” Through these efforts and despite the difficult border condition after “09/11,” half of the 1200 Baja Kumeyaay have been able to get a “B1/B2 laser visa” or “Cultural Exchange Visa” by this time. Luis Guassac, executive director of the “Border Task Force,” underlines the goal of the organization as follows: We explained to them [the Baja Kumeyaay] what we were going attempt to do on the U.S. side, because we are the ones that can sponsor this effort: because of our special unique relationship with our federal government. We explained that we are not going to seek

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“Tipai Uam”: el recorrido indio citizenship, we are only going to seek “pass and re-pass” privileges, because, frankly, in analyzing to go for citizenship we felt that it would take a lot more time and that we might perhaps even loose knowledge and relationship. We need a program right now for that our elders can get over here, and they agreed to that. Upon their grace, upon their blessings, we went on and started our initiation process with the “Immigration and Naturalization Service.”27

As one of the major interests is to preserve cultural knowledge, time seems to be the riskiest factor: “The elders are always first. All the people that are culturally connected, who still practice their lifestyle in some way: basket makers, language speakers. Those were priority! And age!” There is another aspect apart from these priorities factors, however, that still prevents many from the offered assistance: Unfortunately, we don’t pay for the individual 100$ fee for the laser visa. That’s what it costs, plus the 25$ for the Mexican passport. [...]

At this point today, the rest remaining are those that don’t have any resources. That’s making it very difficult to address for us, because I have no authorization of the tribes that financially support this to pay for any laser visas. They didn’t want to do that.28

Language lesson at Sycuan – strategies in the use of language and cultural knowledge Shin, Hemouk, Hewack, Sepap, Serrap: Kevin hands out the numbers one to ten, each number on a different sheet embellished with a laughing comic figure and some additional sheets, as he says, to teach family members and friends. This afternoon, the class is barely visited, there are three teen-age students, then Javier Rivera, myself and another, female teacher.

Melina and Adriana, two college stuff members who normally attend the Kumeyaay language course on Wednesdays, have not been able to come this day. Counting the missing students, 27 28

Interview with Juan Taboa, October 11th, 2004.

Cited interview.

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the class was probably half-full. “When would you need numbers in everyday life?” Kevin asks and scans the persons sitting around the school desks organized in a greater circle. The answers refer to the counting of things and objects and to the precise description of time periods. One student says: “You would need it for playing peon!” “Right! Exactly, you would need it for playing peon!” The course continues with simple questions for the total number of shoes or sweaters worn in the room, the number of boys versus girls and other distinguishing and countable features. One by one, words and expressions are added. The door is being pushed open and a possibly fifteen-year old boy enters the class. Being asked if he was interested in participating, he indifferently removes his hear phones and parks himself next to a boy with a similar looking T-shirt featuring some Hard Core band. The newcomer proves to be learning exceptionally fast and thus doesn’t take long to correct the carefully articulated phrases of his peers. Towards the end of the class, Kevin hands out plastic spoons, forks and straws for a simple version of the hand game peon. We play, starting with everyone in the class, guessing hidden straws in the hands of the opponent group, while the plastic forks and spoons are being used as makeshift counting points. Slowly, the number of players diminishes with the expulsion of more and more participants until there is only one person left, the winner. The sound level raises as notebooks are packed, tables and chairs are reordered. Concurrently, about half a dozen steaming casseroles are being brought into the class, the elegantly looking kitchen personnel coming, probably, from one of the casino restaurants. As we start to eat the enchiladas, rice and potato salad, I notice a rather thick hardcover book on the adjacent table: The Mesa Grande Dictionary: “Let’s talk Iipai aa” from the linguist Margaret Langdon. “The dictionary and its accompanying workbook are pretty useful,” Kevin says, “and I combine working with them to what I learn from Javier.” About an hour later, completely satiated and equipped with a selfburnt CD with vocabulary exercises, Javier and I head toward his car and drive off home. I ask why he didn’t lecture himself and he smiles and says: “It was a good lesson, wasn’t it?”

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Originally, Kevin doesn’t come from California so that he himself had to learn the Kumeyaay language from a local speaker. It was rather difficult to find an elder that still spoke the language and had instruction capacities.29 About two years ago, Kevin decided to learn the language in order to help teaching it. His mentor is Javier Rivera, a man in his 60s from Baja California who had lived predominantly on the US side of the border during the last 30 years. Brought up in a small Mexican Kumeyaay community, the native language was his first tongue.

And although his dialect is different from the dialect spoken by a handful of Sycuan elders, he claims to have learned some of the differing expressions of the “northern dialect.”

Notably at Sycuan College, the quarrels about different dialects are being solved in a rather supple way: “I know that Javier Rivera had been very available, we can always rely upon him to help a class. And if an elder like himself who knows the language and I willing to teach: then why not?”30 Despite the college’s flexible stance, the dialect issue remains a critical topic for Sycuan tribal members. Some time ago, the college also worked with Josefa Rodríguez and her son Felipe as language teachers: It’s kind of good and bad in the sense that sometimes people in the Kumeyaay Nation are a little sensitive with having someone from Baja. How do I say this? Sometimes a few Kumeyaay will get sensitive to the fact that [...] they have a slightly different dialect or accent.

People from the north, some of them, get sensitive about that.31

Unlike in the neighboring country Mexico, Kumeyaay is virtually taught nowhere as primary language in households so 29 The current Native American Language Act from October 1990, the result of an intertribal resolution first sent to the Senate Commitee of Indian Affairs, deliberately encourages and supports the use and recognition of native languages in tribal educational institutions. The law defines language as integral part for the survival of native cultures and identities. The accorded special status of Native Americans thus includes the right to continue separate identities. In the following language act of 1992, funding is allocated by Congress to pay for grant programs.

30 Interview with Roger Meyers, director of the Kumeyaay Community College (KCC), October 21st, 2004.

31 Cited interview.

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that the multiple efforts to revive the language, on occasion, happen to be strikingly curious. Jon, in this regard, just recently started to learn English, which makes an intermediate person like Kevin necessary. The outcomes of this endeavor are community-based, often inter-cultural collaborations aiming at saving what remains to be saved. Statewide, one can speak of a vast and ongoing language revival and general cultural renaissance. How Kevin ended up teaching Kumeyaay remains unclear to me so far. I was told, though, that Kalim wrote his dissertation at the UCSD Ethnic Studies Department and that he used to dance at the Viejas “cultural show,” a spectacular Native American dance performance staged on the torchlight-illuminated plaza that built the architectural heart between the casino entrance and the shopping area.

Language provides a direct and powerful means of promoting international communication by people who share languages.32 The maintenance of the Kumeyaay language, certainly, serves not only the binding and (re)-building of distinct forms of identity perceptions: it is also a cultural link between the nationally divided Kumeyaay communities. At least among elders from both sides of the border, communication is restricted to their native tongue because knowledge of the respective national language doesn’t exist. But, as Leanne Hinton rightly states: “[...] languages are far more than words and arbitrary rules of grammar – they are windows to whole systems of beliefs and values.” (Hinton, 1994:69).

A very central element of Kumeyaay cultural life is the guessing game peon. Reference to this game in the language class was therefore no coincidence, but a statement of a coherent understanding of language.

When I first attended a peon tournament at the Manzanita reservation, it had more to do with an aesthetic experience than a thorough comprehension of its rules and purposes. Participation in the game included all age groups, from teens to elders, although they principally seemed to play in separate teams. I noticed, though, that there were no players from Baja in the 32 Public Law 101-477, Section 102 (10), as found in Hinton, Leanne: Flutes of Fire. Essays on California Indian Languages, Berkeley: Heydey Books, 1994 (184).

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teams. If the language was the province of the Mexican Kumeyaay, then peon was certainly one of the foremost domains of the U.S. tribes.

The aim of this very complex hand game peon is to cheat the opponent party by hiding several lots whose correct location is to be guessed by the challengers. In actual play during fiestas, four persons kneel down in a line, facing the opponent party, whereby each party is consecutively allowed to hide its respective actions behind a blanket. Playing with two lots in a team of four results in sixteen possible combinations.

During the hiding phase of the game, the active party falls into a chanting designed to irritate and mock their counterparts. These chants alter from one turn to the next. As these chants are unique to each party, they contribute to the special performance character or tactical style of a team. The more experienced a certain team is and the better its actions are coordinated, the more successful it will play. Being a good peon player corresponds to a certain social standing and is therefore, besides achievements in conventional competitive sports, quite appealing to on-reservation kids. So is peon also offered at regular workshops in the after school program at Sycuan College.

It is also likely that betting contributes to the popularity of the game. In the descriptions of the American anthropologist Ralph Michelsen, this factor was essentially important. In the 1960s and 70s, he predominantly learned from a group of peon players on the U.S. side, the Salgado family, and one group from Santa Catarina, Mexico: The wagers were large. I witnessed the counting of one wager for a combined total for both teams of one thousand dollars. [...] Each team had counted the money before the game when each individual contributed his share to the “kitty.” The final sum totaled an amount agreed to in pre-game negotiations. If the team members lacked sufficient funds to match the agreed upon amount, friends or relatives could gamble with them in order to bring the sum to the necessary total. This was never necessary for the Salgados, because they regularly saved betting money before the season started. Also their

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The fact that gambling played a crucial role at fiestas is nowadays broadly publicized by the gaming tribes on flyers and in TV commercials arguing that the new businesses resumed ancient gaming traditions.

More interesting for a “promotion of international communication,” though, is the game’s binding potential in terms of (cross-border) encounters to which peon, according to Michelsen, has always been a benefit to: “Hand games and gambling in general were an important vehicle for the distribution of goods and ideas as the result of intertribal play” (Michelsen, 1981:19) And although the relationship is an inner-tribal one, mutual understanding, at present and for the majority of people, still is a very remote ideal and it has to be seen if peon could be one of the unifying components useful to a “new” Kumeyaay identity formation.

There are four team players and four times four possible hiding combinations of lots in the Kumeyaay version of peon.33 In reading about California language peculiarities, I came across two chapters in Hinton’s book that specifically dealt with native counting systems relevant for and constitutive of distinct structures of thought. In claiming that each language had its own peculiar way of constructing number systems, she concludes that numbers should be understood as markers of intellectual concepts and distinct systems of belief: 33

Slightly differing variants of peon are played not only by the Kumeyaay: “The modern distribution of the peon version of the hand game is confined to Southern Califonria, a narrow strip along the Mexican border, and both sides of the Colorado river extending into Sonora and Baja California, Mexico. The people who played peon during my years of observation were the Luiseño, Cahuilla, Cupeño, Diegueño [Kumeyaay], Mojave, Yuma and Cocopa. The most active teams are made up of Luiseño, Diegeño, and Cahuilla.” (from Michelsen, Ralph, 21).

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“Tipai Uam”: el recorrido indio The “pattern number” of European and European-American lore is three: fairy tales have three brothers, or three sisters, or three good fairies; a hero makes three attempts before reaching his goal. “The third time’s the charm,” we say in English, or, “Bad things come in threes.” But in most of Native California, the pattern number is four.

It is the fourth try that succeeds, characters and episodes come in fours.34

And apart from practical reasons for quaternary systems as for instance in a counting based on the spaces between the fingers instead of the fingers themselves, numeral systems or, more generally, the respective language should be seen as “accompaniment to the creation of the world” (Hinton, 1994:61).

In the chapter Language and the Structure of Thought, she argues that language reflected and encouraged a certain worldview such as a concern with the whole rather than with isolable individualities. She gives the following example: One of the most lyrical writers to apply this notion to specific aspects of language was Dorothy Lee, who described how the Wintu [a northern California tribe] language expresses Wintu philosophy: ‘Among the Wintu Indians of California, the principle of the inviolate integrity of the individual is basic to the very morphology of the language. Many of the verbs, which express coercion in our language – such as to take a baby to the shade, or to change the baby – are formed in such a way that they express a cooperative effort instead. For example, the Wintu would say: < I went with the baby,> instead of, <I took the baby.> And they say: <The chief stood with the people,> which they have to translate into English as <the chief ruled the people.> They never say, and in fact they cannot say, as we do, <I have a sister,> or a <Son,> or <husband.> Instead, they say: <I am sistered,> or <I live with my sister.>35

The linguist currently working on the Barona dictionary also underlines the highly distinguishing and meticulous qualities 34

Hinton, Leanne (37).

Lee, Dorothy, Freedom and Culture, Prentice-Hall, 1959 (7) as cited in Leanne Hinton (62).

35

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of the Kumeyaay language that revealed the speaker’s point of view and relational position.

Interestingly, in a 1950s ethnography about the Baja California Kumeyaay I found the following remark on ceremonial numbers: These [the ceremonial numbers] consist of 3 or 6 (a pair of threes); the number 4 has no special significance. Juan Mata “Payu” of Nejí ranchería asserted that 5 and 7 “were also good,” the only such opinion recorded. The usual story among the Indians of the Southwest is that 4 is the ceremonial number (Hohenthal, 2001:285).

In a section on shaman vision, though, the number four appeared to have central significance: “Indication of power comes suddenly through a dream; maybe this is a false dream, so the dreamer must fast for three days, during which times he takes toloache, and on the fourth he waits for the confirming dream” (Hohenthal, 2001:253).

The degree to which underlying characteristic features of peon, as the numeral system, notions of the functioning of teams and strategic play, or the role of wagers, are considered relevant to the (re-) vitalization of Kumeyaay culture is therefore part of my interest.

The Santa Catarina health fair - an example of NGO networks One of the greater upcoming events Peter Ralphs informed me about was a health fair in the fairly remote PaiPai36 village Santa Catarina. At 8 am that day, as I wait for Eduardo Gómez, a local Kumeyaay and director of CUNA, I meet Dolores. She tells me that she lived and worked in Ensenada. Occasionally, she says, she cooperated with CUNA in advocacy for her people, the PaiPai community from Jamau, who had lost its land base to a Mestizo 36

The PaiPai are a neighbouring indigenous group to the Kumeyaay with a different language and distict cultural heritage. Thoughout history and at present, there is continuous contact and intermariage between the communities.

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ejido years ago. After about an hour, we see Eduardo park his car in front of the office. He asks us to wait a little to be able to check mails and phone calls. The technical equipment of the four work places is certainly not brand new, but everything seems to be sufficiently functioning. Handmade dolls dressed in different traditional costumes are sitting among books and brochures, ceramics and woven baskets on shelves around the walls. We take a seat on the plastic chairs of the waiting area and wait for the water to pour through the coffee machine. Meanwhile, Dolores tells me of an elder’s anniversairy (death ceremony held one year after the actual decease) that she and others had been invited to at the U.S. Manzanita reservation and wondered if I wanted to attend. “Shortly, there was a French anthropologist in the office!” Eduardo joins our conversation, “do you know her?”

And after I confess that I had no idea who she was, he continues: “she wanted an interview and seemed to be interested in the same questions as you are.” He notices that I am definitively surprised and quickly adds that he felt really honored by the increasing academic interest. Indians, he said, were definitively en vogue! The car is being loaded with coarse-clothed bags of rice and beans. We get ready to leave and finally manage to set off for Santa Catarina after repeated stops at gasoline stations and taco stands. We pass the suburbs of Ensenada and follow the winding asphalt road into the desert hills heading southeast into the peninsular mainland. It is already getting hot so that the rolled-down windows have to stand in for the lack of air conditioning. Constant radio messages are noising through Eduardo’s walkie-talkie informing him about logistics and proceedings in the event’s preparation. The density of settlements diminishes by the covered distance and gives way to a wide-open landscape with isolated timber-built ranches. CUNA had been working with the US American NGO “Comunidad” for two years, I am informed, whereof the latter was mainly engaged in providing health services to the communities. A health fair like today was a product of cooperation between the two organizations with CUNA functioning as local and culturally versed mediator between parties. The last part of the three-hour journey leads through a debris plateau, the road stretches right into the horizon. It is the 81

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only passage from the Sea of Cortéz to the Pacific not only for legal transport: sandbags and stop signs give a forewarning to a military checkpoint. Slowly decelerating, we come to a halt. The metal gate in front of the vehicle is corroded and neither the shabby booth that had been erected in the middle of the road really provokes much respect. The hold-up machineguns, though, serve proof of the soldiers’ mission: this route had been used for drug trafficking for years. We take a left at the next village, the following track is rather bumpy and sand clouds our view. At arrival, Santa Catarina, notably, disputes the earlier passed settlements’ entitlement to despondency. The concrete plain in front of the school building now serves as the fair ground provisionally shed with a bluish awning. The place is teeming with people between and around the stands underneath. There are long queues in front of a classroom whose windows are covered with pieces of cloth. The whole scene resembles a huge fiesta with hordes of kids shrieking and scampering around. One room is used as dental clinic with technical equipment run by generators that continuously rumble behind the school’s back wall. The entrance to the right is equally busy and the laughing inside results, as I can see later on, from repeated attempts to get as much people photographed as possible: couples, parents with kids, cousins and grandparents reassemble to continuously varying groupings. The photographer belongs to the many volunteers of “Comunidad” whose core of professionals consists predominantly of physicians. Dolores, meanwhile, stands in line at the first table on the fair ground. The lady behind the table is roughly in her 50s and she doesn’t seem to get tired in explaining the day’s procedure. She then documents paperback “health-check books” with names and personal data and waives us into the arena. We follow the crowd, counter clockwise, to another stand where a friendly 30-year-old woman measures peoples’ blood pressure whose faces show shyness and irritation. Once again, notes are taken. Then comes the diabetes test. Here, Dolores declares her unease in respect to needles and it takes some time until she decides to make the test. Everything is fine with the result, which really makes her happy, because the risk of diabetes in the communities is particularly high. We subsequently come 82

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to the info corner where a number of volunteers, all dressed in T-shirts with the logo of “Comunidad,” share out prepared plastic bags with calcium and vitamin preparations, toothbrush sets, toiletries, medicinal info flyers and pictured brochures. For some of the volunteers, it was the first time, as I am told, to work with native Mexicans and to practice their Spanish. But everyone seems motivated and misunderstandings are quite often solved with a smile. A conversation reveals that the organization was recently formed out of a “Flying Doctors” delegation, but before getting into details, we are interrupted by a new highlight that, besides the ongoing raffle, mainly addresses the younger participants, the piñata game, a super hit in Mexico. Adults, in the meantime, are requested to proceed to the third classroom where intentions and capacities of the organization were to be explained.

The clattering sounds from the “clinic” continue and are well audible through the wall. Two representatives of “Comunidad,” a man and a woman, sit down in front of the black board. The room is filled. The man shortly introduces himself in Spanish then switches into English, interrupting his speak occasionally for Peter’s simultaneous translations. “Comunidad,” he states, now wanted to broaden their prior focus on medicinal assistance toward a more general and encompassing approach. There were several protégés, he says, that were willing to finance future projects. One of them had visited Santa Catarina some time ago and had in particular “fallen in love” with the village, which he wanted to provide with financial help for the completion of the clinic, a new water system, electricity service and an extension of the school building. All in all, assistance was planned for 10 indigenous communities with an estimated three to five year period for each one, in succession, to reach a stable ground for self-sufficiency. He knew how people were sometimes frustrated with development projects in the past, he says, and exactly this fact made it so important for everyone to understand the difference between “Comunidad” and former organizations in that they really wanted to work on a level of partnership, executing solely proclaimed needs which, again, were the result of community-based decisions. “We consider it essential and indispensable to maintain direct communication with each village,” he 83

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goes on to explain. Things get a little out of focus in the successive round of discussion, when a women from “Witness for Peace” is being asked to promote a petition for the Kiliwa to be included into the “Border Crossing Program” and another elder disapproves of shortcomings in the conduct of an Ensenada physician, a problem that, yet again, belongs to the responsibilities of CUNA. The meeting comes to an end. Half an hour before lunch break, only women assemble in the classroom for a “Women’s Health lecture.” A Spanish-speaking lady sketches the outlines of the female genitals on the board and illustrates biological processes of menstruation and pregnancy. The women nod and giggle. During the detailed lesson about the correct use of condoms, though, everyone bursts out laughing.

In making the biggest possible improvements on the health of Native Baja Californians, the Mexican NGO CUNA (Instituto de las Culturas Nativas) built up relationships with various other organizations. So did advocacy for specialized medical services lead to linkages with the Mexican Health Department Isesalud, over 80 local physicians, and other Mexican governmental and non-governmental agencies. In 2002, collaboration was started with the “Flying Doctors” that resulted in special health brigades and direct social assistance in indigenous communities including specialized consultations. To this end, CUNA organizes also the transportation of tribal members from remote communities to the scarcely equipped clinics in San Antonia Nécua and Santa Catarina.

In 1992, CUNA was founded by Peter Ralphs, a U.S. American anthropologist, whose father had been devoted to the history of various indigenous groups in Baja California.

In the successive years, a diversity of tribal, U.S. and Mexican volunteers began to build contacts over the border, trying to find solutions to urgent problems facing the Kumeyaay and other indigenous communities. One of their first activities was the organization of a trans-border contact where a delegation of PaiPai visited the Yavapai Indian communities of Arizona.

This was the beginning of a series of visits that aimed at strengthening pre-border cultural ties between Native Baja Californians 84

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and their relatives in Arizona and California. Today, CUNA is working toward the improvement of infrastructure, health care, education, and economic development in the eight indigenous communities that are scattered throughout the central sierras of northern Baja California: Native indigenous students of these communities face a wide variety of problems in completing their education, two of the most important factors being economic limitations and the difficult access to educational institutions, many of which are far from the communities themselves. [...] In the two years that the Indian “Education Assistance Program” has been operating, a significant number of secondary, high school and university students have benefited through direct scholarships, thanks to the invaluable support of Lakewood Village Community church and the U.S. Indian tribes of Viejas, Barona, Prescott and Cucapá.37

In its operating philosophy, “Comunidad” bears a resemblance to the approach of CUNA. Monthly medical service trips and health education fairs are combined, here too, with improvements in infrastructure and an educational outreach project that establishes partnerships with U.S. American schools. And although both organizations are likewise “dedicated to creating a self-sustained model in which the Nativos will receive the necessary support and training to be able to take charge of their own future,”38 they still operate as agencies of distinct national backgrounds, which certainly shapes the relationship with the communities in question. The skepticism and irritation encountered at the health fair in Santa Catarina might be due to different factors, even though the central problem was certainly a mutually perceived distance. Why and under which circumstances are such “cooperations” thus agreed upon and what differences are seen in the relations yet established with CUNA and U.S. American organizations like “Comunidad” are therefore guiding questions for my further research.

37 38

CUNA Newsletter, March 2002.

“Comunidad at Work,” www.bajacomunidad.org/Programs.html.

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“We run ourselves like a business in emphasizing our organizational efficiency,” was one of the introductory sentences in the health fair assembly. Not only did I notice Peter’s slightly modified translation of “business” into “enterprise,” the foremost indifference on the part of community members was definitively noticeable.

I mentioned this incident later in a dialogue with Peter where he understood such confusion to be caused by a “completely different rhythm.”39 The fact that former developmental projects from abroad had failed because of different perceptions of work, time and decision making processes, made the work model of CUNA particularly interesting. Initiated and principally led by a North American social scientist, the organization increasingly begins to recruit its volunteers and presently its employees from the communities themselves. And although a numeral balance between “outsiders” and “insiders” is not given, the central position of the director had been delegated to Eduardo Gómez from San Antonio Nécua.

I had the opportunity to work for the first time at a workplace in Ensenada, and it was Julia Bendímez Patterson the biologist of INAH (National Institute for Anthropology and History) in the state of Baja California, who gave me the opportunity to work as custodian here in Ensenada. I worked two years for the INAH and there I met very important people, good people who showed me things, people of whom I learned a lot. On the whole, while I worked there as custodian, I was encouraged to openly seek assistance for my people, for the people from the communities, and then I started to work for CUNA. First, I started working as coordinator for the “Medicinal Aid Network” program of CUNA where I am already working for eight years. By now, I am the director of CUNA and we currently, as result of the past years, administer four programs that form the essential stronghold of our institute, namely medical assistance, education, culture and sustainable development for the indigenous communities of Baja California.40 39

Interview with Peter Ralphs, CUNA, November 11th, 2004.

Interview with Eduardo Gómez, CUNA, November 15th, 2004 (my own translation).

40

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At the time of the interview, he had been executive director for two years.

He obtained two years of his elementary school education in Ensenada, living with his brother, and spent part of his secondary school years in a Mestizo village. During these years, a secondary school was built in San José de la Zorra so that he had the chance to practice and study agriculture and farming there.

After the end of his conventional school career, he further obtained a scholarship from INI (National Institute for Indigenous People) to take part in a nationwide workshop for VHS videotaping, one of his first projects that were to serve his community with outside resources. He later recorded between 80 and 90 tapes of oral history. “I am on both sides,” he comments his outside position, “I can tell you how my people think and how they act and I can also tell you how white people think and act.

This is the opportunity that was given to me in life, to know people from the larger society and people from my community.”

His distinction underlines a rather contrasting and bi-polar concept of belonging: “A person who leaves his community and stays there for a while will never loose his culture unless he has to assimilate.” In this sense, he understood his earlier video venture to Oaxaca: “[...] and to be honest, for me, it was a privilege since, on account of this vocational training and an awareness of the necessities that were urgent in my community, I could not go back to my community before I hadn’t brought benefits for which I had left my community in the first place.”41 In working as director for CUNA today, he sees himself as communal advocate working under “outpost” conditions.

The conceptual difference between “Comunidad” and CUNA is thus more concentrated around the question of “who helps whom” if the current tendency in employment was to continue.

Before long, CUNA’s personnel is expected to consist entirely of community members, so that the founder himself, Peter Ralphs, would become redundant. CUNA’s four leading programs, nevertheless, are still financed by foreign donations mainly.

In the political pamphlet of the recently founded “Intertribal 41

All quoted passages from cited Gómez interview.

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Council” of the PaiPai, Kumeyaay and Cucapá, I found interesting strategic merges and close correspondences in the formulation of political issues that hint toward the influence of CUNA’s projects and operating guidelines on the representatives’ policy making. The following statement is part of the Councils five-point declaration: The Council will join forces with CUNA and other organizations to support and maintain region-wide cultural and social assistance programs such as the Medicinal Aid Network, the Indigenous Scholar Program, support for indigenous artisans, traditional gatherings, applied research and sustainable development projects.42 CUNA, in addition, fulfills a function as (international) liaison, while the Council, conversely, “provide[s] evaluations to improve and strengthen the work of CUNA.”43 The structure and management of “Comunidad,” in this regard, is associated more with work schemes of classical (though modernized) developmental projects.

What both organizations have in common, is the ideal of a functioning economy inside the villages to enable the greatest possible continuity of indigenous ways of life: I think for us in general, we’re especially interested in making it possible for people to continue living on their land. When they move into the city, there’s a process of assimilation that happens much more rapidly and then they are much more likely to loose their land, because, if they’re not there to protect it, by Mexican law, it’s easier for other people to take it. In that sense, we probably referred to try to find ways to help people that live in the communities.44 42 Political pamphlet of “The Baja California Intertribal Council. PaiPai – Kumiai – Cucapá,” founded in 2003.

43 From „Intertribal Council of Baja California established“ in CUNA, Vol. 6, No. 1, Nov. 2002-Sept. 2003 (3).

44 Passsage from cited Ralphs interview.

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Policies on land rights and recognition are fought on several fronts: from within communities and from without, as in the case of Dolores, and with a broad selection of weaponry carefully chosen in accordance to the respective adversaries. The four native groups of Baja California Norte, the Kumeyaay, PaiPai, Kiliwa and Cocopá, obtained their present land bases in the 1930s and 40s as result of the agrarian reform in the post-revolutionary period though special status, as people of indigenous origin, was not granted until mid-century when the first Institute for Native People, INI, was founded in Ensenada.45/46 The reform established communal land rights that remained unchallenged until 1992 when article 27 of the Mexican Constitution was modified in order to allow the privatization of ejido land in the process of the institution of a free market economy. Names like (the PaiPai) Ejido of Santa Catarina or the (Kiliwa) Ejido of Arroyo de León still refer to this type of land tenure. Today, there are eight federally recognized indigenous communities or ejidos in the northern sierras of Baja California whereas a nineth, the PaiPai community Jamau, has been completely removed from its lands to urban Ensenada. It is essential to understand that official recognition of indigenous groups in Mexico 45 “I went to Mexico City in order to fight for our land. In that time, the government of Baja California used to hide the local Indigenous populations because it did not want the Federal Government to realize about our presence. In this way, authorities in Mexico City did not know anything about us and we did not know anything about the existence of a federal bureau of Indian affairs; consequently, the state government could entirely rule Baja California and sell out our territory. I went to see President Díaz Ordaz and he ordered to make some estimations of the native population in Baja California and see if it was necessary to establish an INI office. Since then we started to participate in a more active way in national conferences like that of Pátzcuaro, during the period of President Echeverría, and we were finally recognized as Indigenous people.” Interview with Jon Meza, Kumeyaay informant, in Everardo Garduño, “Chapter 3: The Imagined Comunities,” The Yumans of Baja California: From Invented to Imagined and Invisible Communities, unpublished dissertation (20).

46 Until 1948, there was no official Indian policy in Mexico. Afterward, INI (Instituto Nacional Indigenista) was established with the aim of integrating indigenous populations into Mestizo society. Key to integration was a monolingual incorporation, an assimilatory stance later partially abandoned when, from the late 1970s on, Indigenous groups began to demand pluralism and autonomy.

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does not take account of a political special status as comparative to the sovereignty model inherent to the U.S. Constitution.

Since the communities official recognition during the presidency of Echeverría Alvarez in the 1970s, one could say that some progress had been made on the subject of “public relations:” Mexican President Vicente Fox visits Kumeyaay in Baja California.

02/03/2003 – La Huerta, Mexico. [...] During his visit, the Mexican president spoke to the assembled members of local indigenous communities and neighboring ejidos about his administration’s commitment to helping the country’s indigenous people. He pointed out that the Commission for the Development of Indigenous people [formerly called INI] has recently formed a National Indigenous Council made up of representatives from all of Mexico’s indigenous communities to formalize channels of communication between tribes and the federal government. Baja California has currently four members on the Council. [...] Fox recognized the important work of indigenous community members to preserve their culture and traditions, and he told reporters that he had called for all three levels of government to carry out a coordinated effort to immediately begin work on rescuing Baja California’s native languages, all of which are considered of disappearing.

The article subsequently ends portraying the more practical facts that awaited the noble visit: “President Fox lunched at the home of 85 year old traditional authority Teodora Cuero. When asked what was on the menu, the ever-feisty octogenarian replied, ‘Rice and beans, of course! What should he expect? We are poor, that’s what we eat!’”47 I met the traditional Kumeyaay authority from the La Huerta, Teodora Cuero, as participant of the “Comunidad” health fair where she chat, now and then, with another traditional authority, Josefa Rodríguez, from San José de la Zorra. With Josefa and her son Felipe, activist in the bi-national Kumeyaay border alliance and coordinator of various community-based projects, I 47 Wilken, Michael: “Mexican President Vicente Fox visits Kumeyaay in Baja California. 02/03/05 – La Huerta, Mexico,” under Latest News, www. kumeyaay. com.

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later established closer contact. During the course of a couple of weeks, the Rodriguez family allowed me to get a glimpse of what living in the communities approximately meant.

November 8th, 2004 The ringing of the Disney-style clock is the reminder that today was a normal school day. To check the time would have meant to sneak past the girls’ beds to the dresser but I decide that I could do without. I guess the time around six o’clock in the morning. It is still dark outside. Slender rain is falling. The neighbors’ cocks seem to be quite hale and hearty. In the small kitchen, I grope for the matches and it takes some time until I manage to light up the lamp that contains no more than a puddle of petroleum. Water access down here in the valley of Guadalupe is notably less complicated than up in San José de la Zorra, the Rodríguez’ main residence. Morning coffee is brewed from the huge container of purified drinking water. All other needs are served by the yellow rubber hose screwed to the freestanding faucet right behind the out-of-order washing machine in the drive-up. Only after I brushed my teeth and packed, the sun rises slowly. I realize that I got up one hour early, at five. I hear the girls shuffle and giggle while they are frying in the kitchen.

It is seven o’clock in the meantime and furthermore no indication of Felipe’s arrival so that the girls also become a little nervous since he had offered them a ride to school. Chances for the planned appointment at Peter’s house in Ensenada shrink by the minute although I hope that he had calculated in “Indian time.” Around 8:30, Felipe drives by the “Dos Hermanos” shop where I am likewise busy buying donats and watching Claudia Schiffer praising the advantages of the newest Volkswagen in German. It comes out that he had been occupied the whole night in his San José bungalow wrapping up and packing the ceramics and various artesanías that we had bought the day before in Santa Catarina. Today, he says, they are sent to Mexico City with some people from SAGARPA. On the village dirt road, I see the girls come back from the bus 91

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station, where they had been informed that the buses were not running because of the rainfall. Rain, on many occasions in this area, brings normal bus and school schedules to a standstill. Felipe and I then say good-buy to Josefa and the “chamacas,” how her grand daughters are jokingly called. It is the last time that I see them this year. After half an hour drive, we meet Eduardo Gómez at his CUNA office. Peter had already left for San Diego, so that the three of us would have to drive in a separate car. Eduardo waives at me with a scribbled-down address of a hotel and asks me to look it up on the “mapquest” Internet page. I try my best with considerable difficulties, but the hotel seems not to exist. And only later on, I get its correct name and location calling Peter’s cell phone. We start our 2hour journey at nine after Felipe had asked the CUNA secretary to transport his numerous packages to the SAGARPA office. We drive with Felipe’s Japanese car. The pacific to the left glitters in bluish tones. At the coastline, the rain appears to be defeated.

There are no greater delays at the border and the vendors, crippled and in wheel chairs many of them, perform unwillingly as protagonists in some kind of absurd picture show while I film them through the rolled-down window. Roaring deer on canvas, Indian dolls, sorted sets of chewing gum, bamboo flutes and oversized plastic robots float by in a surreal visual sequence accompanied by a chorus of crying babies and the hollering sound of countless cars. At 11 am, we finally arrive at the “Red Lion Hanalei.” Asked for the NAEPC (Native American Environmental Protection Coalition) symposium, the receptionist sends us to the conference room on the first floor. Lunch break had just begun and everyone waits in line for self-serve at the buffet. We take a seat at one of the round tables and get into a conversation on questions of political self-determination with the interpreter, a charming lady from Ensenada who, prior to this day, confessed to have never heard of the Kumeyaay. After lunch, we assemble in a small group in the designated smoking area. A representative from the Arizona Tohono O’dham tribe, another border community, Peter and a biologist from San Diego are joining us. At that point, I remember coming across biologist’s name in a book on research projects in Baja 92

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California. We had just missed the talk “Water Systems assessment in Baja California” on her last year’s investigation in Nécua, Eduardo’s place of birth. The conference starts again.

Contrary to prior assumptions, the meeting is not attended by the San Diego EPA (the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency) official, which maybe led to the prolonged discussion on the continuously worsening state of communication and coordination between the latter and NAEPC (NGO in charge of synchronizing US tribal interests with respect to environmental issues). It becomes apparent that current tendencies in the actual “Border 2012”48 program to shift administrative authority from the national level to state and communal levels provoke ambivalent reactions, which, on the one hand, voice a menacing loss of political power and, on the other hand, a greater potential for efficiency in more locally defined and controlled environmental programs. The thus following subject, the drastic and ongoing cut in financial funds by the U.S. government, is being assessed by all participants in unison. The discussion then touches the nationally corresponding side of the joined enterprise when Peter is being asked if there were alliances between a government agency comparable to EPA and local indigenous communities in Mexico. “No, Semarnat, which, in this regard, would be the equivalent, has no contact to Baja California indigenous communities.” And he points out that CUNA in accordance to NAEPC would find itself in a similarly difficult situation of not being authorized nor in aspiration of speaking for indigenous communities in government-to-government agendas. In finishing his comment, he rounds at Eduardo and applies for a direct consultation. Logistical pause.

The English-speaking majority of people hunt for their headsets to be able to follow the exposition of his perspective. First, Eduardo draws attention to the incongruously artificial quality of the “100 kilometre” clause49 in the “Border 2012” program 48

Ten-year binational environmental program, agreed on in Tijuana 2001.

The binational environmental program „Border 2012“ considers the border region as the area extending 100 kilometers on either side of the U.S.-Mexican border, based on the Agreement on Cooperation for the Protection and Improvement of the Environment in the Border Area signed in La Paz in 1983.

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that momentarily excluded the Mexican Kiliwa from the program’s outreach because of their geographical location south of the demarcation line. “They will have to understand that pollution, be it air pollution or water pollution, doesn’t respect bureaucratic boundaries!” he illustrates the case, “The Kiliwa are affected to the same degree by border-related contamination as we are!” Most of the assembled mumble a general consent. His overall concern, though, would be that, for the future, he considered it essentially important to intensify a direct tribeto-tribe contact without mediation through NGO agencies and thus refers to the existence of the Mexican Intertribal Council.

After he finished, all switch back to English. The subsequent wrap up envisions, very generally, improvements in networking and communication. It is late afternoon. People pack up and move towards the door. Stepping outside into the bright daylight, I take some time to find everybody. While getting into the car, I am acquainted with the changed plan for today, a spontaneous trip to Santa Ysabel, the newly home of Felipe’s sister Adriana and her husband Steve. And so we start out for the northernmost Kumeyaay reservation in San Diego County.

It takes about an hour drive. Rain has started to fall again. With the commencement of dusk, we finally pass the reservation sign. A rather steep, woody hill elevates to the right, the pasture on the left side of the small road shimmers in a fresh green.

How different the landscape was in comparison to the desert region of the border! I am inspired to think that people here were quite well-off but am quickly corrected when I see the down-and-out trailers along the narrow mud road winding up the hill. The road becomes increasingly impassable. Our journey ends at a clearing where I hop out the vehicle to call for help since Felipe’s mobile phone has no reception on the U.S. side of the border. It is a ten minutes’ mud walk to Adriana’s house. Her dark blue Cherokee and a jeep convertible are parked in front of an old trailer. A personal visit in a weather like this and at this time of the day is surely unexpected. A longhaired fifty-year-old man opens the door to a crack. There is a sudden and awkward tension. Intuitively, I switch into Spanish to introduce the situation and am relieved to hear Adriana’s voice 94

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from the living room. Steve induces us to take everything out of the car as we pick up Felipe and Eduardo with the jeep.

Back at the house, we eat the offered tuna sandwiches and Mexican galletas with great appetite. Conversation is carried on in Kumeyaay with dispersed words in Spanish meanwhile Steve and I start to talk in English about the Iraq war, the impact of casinos on US indigenous communities and the living conditions here in Santa Isabel. Electricity and running water was still needed up here in Santa Isabel, I am informed, and it is only now that I knowingly become aware of the rumbling noise of the generator. Before it is becoming too late to drive back to Mexico, we get ready for our departure. Steve shoulders his 22-rifle placed right by the door. Thus, we are “convoyed” to the car. “I never leave the house without a gun!” is the comment to my questioning gaze at the weapon, “there are too many drugs around and people here don’t bother killing you for a dime! It’s Crystal Math here! You don’t want to know!”

The additional housing in the Guadalupe valley is a real benefit to Josefa’s grandchildren who otherwise wouldn’t have a chance to receive a by and large acceptable schooling. And it is only due to the Rodriguez’ relative decent income that the six kids from five to fourteen years of age are being taken good care of since their parents find themselves unemployed throughout most of the year. And whilst the earnings of Adriana, Felipe and Josefa, most certainly, are contributing in principle to the family’s economic state, does the most demanding part come up in their respective moneymaking strategies.

So have Josefa’s skills in basket weaving become a rather lucrative source of income throughout the last years. Most of her beautiful work is now being sold in the U.S. where she upholds regular personal connections with sister tribes. Cultural gatherings, Powwows and special invitations have proven to be an utterly reliable market and steady source of revenue not only for selling but also for practical teaching. Apart from being a respected authority on the communal level, she has moved on to tie up with indigenous tribes across the border, which involves, in exceedance to prior upheld familial relations, a financial profiting of the North Americans’ fascination for indigenous art. And since the demand for beadwork, 95

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baskets and wooden bows and arrows surpasses a single person’s capacities of production, her enterprise has evolved into a “greater” business that encompasses the marketing of products of friends and acquaintances living in different communities on the Mexican side.

The small kitchen in her San José domicile and the telephone connection in the more technologically developed Mestizo village of Guadalupe are serving accordingly as business office.

For the time being, it is maybe a handful of people, and mostly Kumeyaay women, that are in the position to undertake such endeavors. Organized cultural visits with CUNA, for example, have enabled Josefa to establish her connections a few years ago. Another essential precondition for such trans-border activities is the legal permission for pass and re-pass, the so-called “Cultural Exchange Visa” whose issuance is being assisted by the “Kumeyaay Border Task Force,” and only about half of the indigenous border population in Baja California today are holders of such permissions.

The question whether these transnational ties are predominantly running through the hands of women, yet has to be seen.

The gender topic, nevertheless, seems to bear the potential to mirror social and economical adjustments and renewals within the communities. So has the Mexican anthropologist, Everardo Garduño, for his part, observed a profound shift in gender roles in the named communities: In the last fifteen years, the traditional role of women among the Yumans50 has significantly been transformed. From being conferred to domestic affairs within the household, women among these groups now are representing the most salient interlocutors of the Indian community [...].

As explanation for this development, he gives two main reasons. An intense male predominated migratory movement to Mestizo workplaces, a lack of men presence in this sense, and an increased relevance of female agency with respect to Mexican official institutions: 50 Yuman is the general term for the linguistic group which includes the Kumeyaay and most southern California and northern Baja California tribes.

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“Tipai Uam”: el recorrido indio In this particular case of the Yumans, her traditional family-oriented role has kept women away from corruption and fraud, [...]. This is why women-directed organizations among the Yumans remain funded by federal programs, while funds for projects led by men have been cancelled. In this way, women, in many cases, have become the main source of income in the Yuman family (Garduño, 2004:24, 29).

Mexican national institutions, indeed, play a central role for economic opportunities in the case of the Rodríguez family whereof the transfer of handcrafts at the day of the conference had been an example. The shipment contained basketry from San José de la Zorra and purchased pottery from Santa Catarina and was, as a business dealing, part of the currently most important and wide-ranging project conducted in San José, the so-called “Alliance for Sustainable Development in the Indigenous Communities of Baja California,” short ADESU, in which Felipe presently operates as the main person in charge. Under the superordinate of the community-led “Tipai Uam,” a civil association for the right to self-determination of the Kumeyaay people, ADESU had been formed in collaboration with CUNA and the bi-national environmental organization “TERRA” to actively generate employment within the communities.

Since about two years now, eco-tourism has become the longawaited objective: The idea of the project is to work with the communities and we are starting with Nécua and San José to encourage sustainable development, especially through ecotourism and handcraft production. [...]

And we like that, because this project is meant to be an alliance, the idea is to bring together communities and governmental and nongovernmental organizations and individuals.51

Sagarpa, Secretary for Agriculture, Livestock, Rural development, Fishing and Sustenance, and other national and state agencies, are now forming part of this alliance and contribute, financially or logistically, to diverse segments of the project: 51

Interview with Peter Ralphs, November 19th, 2004.

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Culturales Our objective is to generate support for the directive council [of TIPAI UAM]. When something is needed for a project, the directory of the association assists the community in question, the respective traditional authority, education sector, housing developers, elders or health sector. At times, we support the eco-tourism project if something is needed. So, consecutively, we can arrange and solve the problems coming up. And well, the financial support we got from the federal government, from the National Commission for the Development of Indigenous People [CDI, formerly INI], well, thanks to them, we received important recourses to be able to solve and exercise our ecotourism project. And we also received support from other institutions like the SAGARPA and CONAFOR from the state government with which we realized construction work or electrical installations. In any case, this bundle of logistical support has revolutionized, day by day, our center for eco-tourism.52

At present, the San José center for eco-tourism materializes in a cluster of professionally built adobe structures at the village entrance. Barbeque places and playground provisions with swings and slides are so far completed and only the bungalows and the nearby museum are still in need of electricity and running water. The settlement’s luxury standard highlights in this fashion the comparatively poor state of the surrounding constructions whose owners, until one year ago, had only dreamt of electrical light.

How manifold the Rodríguez’ activities are, became apparent when it came to the arrangement of my fieldwork. The only available period in the calendar for late October and the beginning of November was between October 18th and November 11th. In the case of the formerly scheduled time, he and his mother had been busy preparing a week’s travel to Mexico City. A national foundation (FONAES) that supports micro-businesses and social projects, had invited participants to a trade fair to show products, partake in workshops and develop national and international contacts. But, the event had also another positive effect, as Felipe eagerly added: 52

Interview with Felipe Rodríguez, November 4th, 2004 (my own translation).

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“Tipai Uam”: el recorrido indio At this event, it was very important for us to see the Mexican president, Vicente Fox, the secretary of labor and the general director of the National Commission for the Development of Indigenous People at the federal level. And we were also very impressed by the communication between business ventures, which really seems to nourish future prospects. So lastly, we are very content with this additional support for the Kumeyaay community of San José de la Zorra and, most of all, proud of the recognition and tribute we are paid by the Mexican society.53

When I left the family, Felipe was packing up once again, this time, to participate in a similarly organized, yet smaller event in Chiapas.

Inadequate border environmental infrastructure. Sustainable economic development is seriously limited by a deficit in environmental infrastructure (water supply, treatment, and distribution; wastewater collection, treatment and disposal; solid and hazardous waste handling, storage, and safe elimination; and air quality monitoring equipment and emissions reduction programs). NAFTA-enabled transborder trade, transportation, industrial development, and energy demand have exacerbated the trends. Border communities, particularly smaller U.S. communities and Mexican municipalities are overwhelmed with the challenges of providing environmental infrastructure. The current border environmental infrastructure deficit is between $5.8 billion and $10.8 billion. It is likely that the cost of meeting the current deficit and addressing needs generated by growth to 2020 will be $20 billion.54

This situation is especially critical in Mexico where indigenous communities are amongst he poorest of the rural communities in the border region. Ironically, the Kumeyaay and PaiPai are rich in land and natural resources and possess an extraordinary knowledge of their environment. However, the lack of comprehensive 53

Above-mentioned interview.

Quotation from the “Executive Summary of Recommendation,” of the “Border Institute II” conference Economy and Environment for a Sustainable Border Region: Now and in 2020, Rio Rico, Arizona, April, 2000. www.scerp.org/BIII.html.

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land management plans for each community has resulted in subsistence strategies for survival such as overgrazing and overexploitation of natural resources. Some of the endangered species of plants, such as the sauce, are furthermore needed for the production of handcrafts while groundwater is the most important prerequisite for the formation of clay.

Some of those environmental problems were also central to the presentation at the NAEPC conference where water quality in the villages of Nécua, San José and Santa Catarina were examined. The lecturer, San Diego biologist and member of the North American NGO “Aqua Link,” for years, had been collaborating with CUNA to monitor and improve water quality through practical research. The outcome, as presented in her talk, is an extensive list in which low water levels, contamination and the lack of fresh water and waste water distribution systems are identified as prior concerns.

This above-mentioned project, again, was financed by a grant from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). Yet, far from willing to portray the entirety of border-spanning agencies, is the U.S.-Mexican environmental program “Border 2012” the most capital-intensive and high-ranking on behalf of which, pursuant to the 1983 “La Paz Agreement,” the EPA administrator and the Mexican Secretary of the Secretariat for Environment and Natural Resources (Semarnat) agreed on working jointly with the 10 border states and affected U.S. border tribes to develop a new bi-national ten-year agenda. The EPA agency, by definition, cooperates with NGOs, state, local, and federal governments, U.S. tribal governments, business associations and academic institutions. The EPA’s budget, though, has been cut down considerably since the beginning of the Bush administration, so that the potential of this institution will be on the decline in the nearer future.

The “Border 2012 Tribal Caucus” on November 8th, accordingly, was a legislative assembly of indigenous representatives whose aim was to discuss outcomes of regional work groups, task forces and forums. For most undertakings, funding comes from EPA and grants are permitted only if the given proposals foresee a verifiable environmental benefit to the U.S. as well as 100

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a benefit to the health of U.S. citizens. This means that most funding goes into border city projects. Unfortunately, most of the small Kumeyaay communities on the Mexican side are further away from the border, so that grants would either have to go to U.S. tribes and from there to related Mexican communities, or to NGOs, a common procedure, as Michael Rogers from the San Diego EPA border office states: We cannot give funds directly to Mexican organizations. So, we always have to find ways. Sometimes, you give them to a U.S. NGO and they can go into Mexico and spend the money or they can give the money to a Mexican NGO or they can work with a U.S. tribe, then it’s a tribal issue and they can spend the money in Mexico.

The most noteworthy difference is the political relation between the national governments and tribal councils north and south of the border. An allusion to this asymmetry in political recognition was one of the priority issues listed on the conference board, the disparagement of the lacking communication between the Mexican governmental institution Semarnat and Mexican indigenous representatives: And it’s sort of difficult for us, because Mexico doesn’t recognize tribes like sovereign nations, they recognize them as citizens of Mexico. Sometimes, we’ve got to walk a fine line with Mexico, because of the tribes. They are willing to work with tribes in the U.S., that’s not an issue for them, but to recognize the tribes as separate in Mexico causes them some political problems, more, because of the issues with tribal members in Chiapas in southern Mexico. If they recognize tribes like the Kumeyaay here, then that has implications in southern Mexico. [...] It’s big deal to Mexico! In public meeting, I have seen where U.S. tribe were sort of partitioning the Mexican to work closer with their own tribes and asking for recognition and status. I have seen Mexican officials getting really angry about it! That’s the only time I’ve ever seen them get angry about anything! Most of our relations are very cooperative, we get along well, and it’s really a touchy issue for the Mexican government!55 55 Interview with Michael Rogers, San Diego EPA border office, October 18th, 2004.

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A cross-border tribal cooperation is nevertheless established, though needs to be fortified as the director of CUNA, Eduardo Gómez, emphasized at the NAEPC meeting.

Felipe’s twenty-six year old sister Adriana has been living in San José most of her lifetime. After school, she became a kindergarten teacher in the surrounding indigenous communities paid by the National Council for Education (Conafe). In this function, she received an award and subsequently a grant for studying a few months at a college in Ensenada. In 2000, she got to know her husband Steve at a yearly traditional gathering in Baja California.56 Since three years now, she works as secretary and tutor at Sycuan College. She mostly speaks a mixture of “Spanglish” and Kumeyaay with her husband.

Visits to San José are fairly regular although Steve, a Navy psychologist, is often occupied working in the US and abroad.

The “Cultural Exchange Visas,” moreover, allow some family members to visit the couple’s new home on the reservation.

San José, though, still seems to occupy a very central place of social interaction for Adriana: Yes, I have my acres of land in San José de la Zorra and I am currently preparing projects for the kids there, for the young ones. Their parents want them to learn Kumeyaay57 and I want to offer courses and other workshops at a monthly basis, but for now, the money is lacking and I can’t start. In summer, though, I plan a gathering for kids from different Baja California communities so that they can exchange ideas and have the opportunity to take part in workshops here in San José. I will be like a camp.

But it is not only Adriana that upholds close ties, but also Steve who established his own linkages with the Mexican community: To live there? I don’t know yet, I will have to build my house first! [...] Yes, we want to build a hut. And since Steve knows how to play 56 The Mexican anthropologist Everardo Garduño, most interestingly, was invited to attend the traditional wedding in San José de la Zorra and to perform as wittness at the ceremony (personal communication, November 2004).

57 Native tongues are also endangered south of the border, although Kumeyaay is still spoken in Baja California communities.

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Conclusion For this jaunt into the territory of community-related agencies, I thus chose to focus on applicable concepts of community and indigenous political agency to locate my findings in a broader analytical context. To that extend, I will also explain what I understand by “indigenous” communities. The term “cross-border community of the Kumeyaay” implies two assumptions. So is the first one a postulation of a locally bordering and transnationally tied community of a certain group of people, while the second claims a distinct Kumeyaay ethnic identity as denotative and unifying bracket.

The Kumeyaay have traversed the border region separating the US and Mexico for thousands of years, the international border literally splits our aboriginal territory in half! It wasn’t really a problem until “Operation Gatekeeper” went into effect, that was approximately in 1988.59

The resolution to institute the “Kumeyaay Border Task Force,” an organization that aims at supporting the pass and re-pass for Mexican Kumeyaay, was passed by eight out of the twelve federally recognized Kumeyaay tribes on the U.S. side in 1999.

One could argue now, that the remaining four tribes were not interested in a regular contact with their Mexican relatives, and that might be true to some extent. A glance at the map, then, shows how dispersed the small reservations are scattered, some are right in the desert and close to the border while others are 58

Interview with Adriana Rodríguez, November 4th, 2004.

Interview with Juan Taboa, executive director of the “Kumeyaay Border Task Force,” October 11th, 2004.

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located at a distance of over one hundred miles to the north in the rather fertile hills of San Diego County. Most of those reservations have been “established” in the late 19th century. Conflict over political recognition, though, resulted in continuing removals and genocide for over a century.60 The reservation system, then, further fragmented traditional clan lines and stipulated new categories of belonging. Today, one can meet Campo Kumeyaay, Kumeyaay from the Barona Band of Mission Indians as well as members of the Viejas Band of Kumeyaay Indians, all belonging to different reservations or tribes but to the same Kumeyaay nation.

On the other side of the fence, the Kumeyaay are considered Mexican citizens without any special political status as indigenous people. They are officially recognized, though, by the National Institute of Indigenous People as indigenous people,61 meaning descendants of the original inhabitants of northern Baja California prior to colonization who have maintained some or all linguistic, cultural and organizational characteristics. In contrast to identification procedures in the U.S. where the “blood quantum” plays a central role in membership applications, is 60

When the Mexican-American war ended in 1848, the border was drawn. In 1852, the Kumeyaay met in Santa Ysabel and negotiated a treaty with the U.S. This treaty was the mechanism whereby the Kumeyaay people acknowledged their status as a nation within a nation. This treaty was then voted down and placed under seal by the U.S. Senate and territories were further parcelled. In 1875, the first of these parcels began to be converted to Reservation trust land. Further additions were then taken into trust over the next 25 years. In 1904, the seal of secrecy was removed from the Treaty of Santa Ysabel. An organization called the Mission Indian Federation was then formed to promote the establishment of rights for Indian people in southern California. This federation challenged the Bureau of Indian Affairs and fought for full citizenship rights for Indian people. When the U.S. Congress passed the Indian Reorganization Act in 1934 years later, legal ambiguities in federal policy toward tribes were recognized. In 1975, the Indian Self Determination Act was passed by the U.S. Congress, a legislation which gave more authority to tribes to determine their own priorities and manage their affairs.

61 The so-called “indigenismo” was born during the time of the Mexican revolution of 1910. From the 1930s on, first efforts were made to alphabetize also in the indigenous language at the Purépecha region of Michoacán although it took several more years to adopt the idea of a bilingual education throughout the nation.

In 1940, then, did the president Cárdenas call upon the first “Interamerican Indigenous Congress” in Pátzcuaro where the national and interamerican instituts of in-

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self-identification a fundamental criterion to determine who is considered indigenous.

Throughout the last decade, the development of neo-liberalism in Mexico resulted in complex cultural shifts. The modern nation was built on the idea of “the people,” a citizenship with common interests transcending cultural differences. As Mexico entered the global economy, “the people,” as the basis of nation-building, have passed, causing fundamental re-configurations in the relationships between government and cultural formations.

If ethnicity in its reference to decent, culture and place as mirrored in Taboa’s account on the border problematic could be taken as starting point, it is exactly the cohesion of these components that bring communities like the Kumeyaay’s into existence. And as culture cannot be possessed nor ancestry shared per se, do people have to elaborate these traits into the idea of community. In this sense, I understand communities, and the differing meanings given to them, to be in a permanent state of construction and re-construction.

More to the point of the named self-constitutive character of (those) communities, it is important to consider not only internal, but also external dialectics of community formation in the sense that both processes, internal identification and external categorization, are likely to feed back upon each other. A notion of community then likewise implies similarity and difference within itself and in opposition to other social entities. This, mostly symbolic, notion of community is therefore based upon a relational idea, called into being by the exigencies of social interaction.

The beginning and end of a given community is marked by its (symbolic) boundaries whose perception and creation are digenous people were founded with a theoretical basis of assimilation. It was not until the 1970s, that biligual teacher from within indigenous communities were officially allowed to teach in primary schools and a bi-cultural education was more and more accepted. This “ethno development” was adopted by the National Institute of Indigenous People (INI) and the Secretary for National Education. From Rodolfo Stavenhagen, Derechos Humanos de los Pueblos Indígenas, Mexico: 2000.

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tied to individual members and their realization of the community’s specificity and distinctiveness. The meaning given to these boundaries, though, is decidedly essential although the nature of these boundaries might be more tangible at one instance and more symbolic at the other: The manner in which they [the boundaries] are marked depends entirely upon the specific community in question. Some, like national and administrative boundaries, may be statutory and enshrined in law. Some may be physical, expressed, perhaps, by a mountain range or a sea. Some may be racial or linguistic or religious. But not all boundaries, and not all the components of any boundary, are so objectively apparent. They may be thought of, rather, as existing in the minds of their beholders. This being so, the boundary may be perceived in rather different terms, not only by people on opposite sides of it, but also by people on the same side (Cohen, 1985:12).

In the face of this variability of meaning, the consciousness of community has to be continuously kept alive by means of either reiteration, modification or a partial neglect of its symbols. The reality and efficacy of a community’s boundaries, and therefore of the community itself, depend on their symbolic construction and embellishment whereby the centrality of power in such processes has to be taken into consideration.

Among the more important contexts within which communal identification becomes consequential are therefore institutions and, particularly, organizations or “task-oriented collectives,” (Jenkins, 1996:25) like the ones mentioned above.

The agencies that I describe in the course of my writing can be differentiated into national and tribal governmental agencies, institutional and academic interest policies, as well as smallscale courses of action. In observance of these different fields of task-oriented practices, I thereby witnessed the building and functioning of political networks that assist the Kumeyaay’s demands in a variety of ways in involving some or all of these levels simultaneously. I therefore consider the (transnational) entanglement of agencies a “crossing of scales” (Radcliffe, 2002:2).

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In demanding rights to territory, language, and political and cultural autonomy, the Kumeyaay have engaged with their respective nation-states, seeing the possibility of institutional frameworks and resource distribution. This characteristic phenomenon of multi- and state institutional networking toward specific pro-indigenous development projects can be observed now throughout all of the Americas. In the case of the Kumeyaay, I define “transnational” not as a “level” of action, but as actors, actions, and interactions that cross over levels and boundaries, accentuating, in this manner, the transgressive and similarly encompassing nature of transnationalism.

Entrance into political processes of states, regions and bilateral systems thus increasingly offers unprecedented opportunities for indigenous communities. In this article, I examined the social formations made in and through transnational, national and community connections in drawing attention to political actions as processual and embodied.

Fusions of transnational agency and indigenous political action are likewise described in Radcliffe’s paper on Andean indigenous people: Compared with transnational circuits’ deracialized, apolitical discourses about indigenous people, which tend to emphasize indigenous people’s lack (of wealth, contacts, resources), indigenous people reverse this discourse, displacing lack away from themselves and highlighting issues of racism and political economy. In doing so, indigenous social movements argue that the state lacks a long term perspective for socially and ecologically sustainable development, and they consider the state as the primary interlocutor in demands for development (Radcliffe, 2002:5).

However, (indigenous) discourses do converge around an idea of cultural specificity: Notions of indigenous cultural specificity provide a powerful discourse around which indigenous issue networks come together, and which crosses multiple scales from the local to the international.

Looking at the ways in which indigenous, multilaterals, consultants

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Likewise, as I noted so far, do the Kumeyaay effectively position their culture around a set of practices and spaces by which cultural boundaries are inscribed and reproduced.

And, although the Mexican Kumeyaay see themselves predominantly as political agents rather than vulnerable beneficiaries, they are often pictured as such by North American NGOs, environmentalists, and other (trans-) national representations, though by contrast, a sense of a shared ethnic history of colonialism is seen as legitimate and uniting element on both sides of the border.

The border situation, nevertheless, remains a two-sided sword for the Kumeyaay. On the one hand, does it stipulate largescale and regional bi-national agencies that underscore a certain unity and sense of common interests. On the other hand, though, are past as well as contemporary experiences in the U.S. and Mexico poles apart. Remains now the question whether the portrayed cross-border activists will be able to assist in the building of a “new” sense of belonging and political posture on the basis of a shared though divided space and history.

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HINTON, LEANNE, Flutes of Fire. Essays on California Indian Languages, Heydey Books, Berkeley, 1994.

HOHENTHAL, WILLIAM D., Tipai Ethnographic Notes. A Baja California Indian Community at Mid-Century, Thomas C. Blackburn (ed.), Ballena Press, Novato (CA), 2001.

JENKINS, RICHARD, Social Identity, Routledge, London/New York, 1996.

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JOHNSON, DAVID E., AND SCOTT MICHAELSEN, Border Theory: The Limits of Cultural Politics, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis/London, 1997.

KEARNEY, MICHAEL, “Transnationalism in California and Mexico at the End of Empire”, in Thomas M. Wilson and Donnan Hastings (eds.), Border Identities: Nation and State at International Frontiers, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1998.

LEE, DOROTHY, Freedom and Culture, Prentice-Hall, New Jersey, 1959.

MASON, JOHN L., AND MICHAEL NELSON, Governing Gambling, The Century Foundation Press, New York, 2001.

MICHELSEN, RALPH C., Peon. A North American Indian Game, unpublished version, University of California Irvine, 1981.

NELSON, HILDE L., Damaged Identities, Narrative Repair, Cornell University Press, Ithaka/New York, 2001.

RADCLIFFE, SARAH, NINA LAURIE, AND ROBERT ANDOLINA, “Indigenous People and Political Transnationalism : Globalization from below meets Globalization from above”, paper presented to the Transnational Commitees Program Seminar, University of Oxford, School of Geography, February 28th, 2002.

RICHARD , N ELLY, “The Cultural Periphery and Postmodern Decentring: Latin America’s Reconversion of Borders”, in John C. Welchman (ed.), Rethinking Borders, Macmillan Press, Hampshire/London, 1996.

SHIPEK, FLORENCE C., Pushed into the Rocks, University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln/London, 1987.

STAVENHAGEN, RODOLFO, Derechos Humanos de los Pueblos Indígenas, México, Comisión Nacional de los Derechos Humanos, 2000.

YOUNG, IRIS M., Inclusion and Democracy, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2000.

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El kusiyai: chamanismo entre las poblaciones yumanas del norte de Baja California Michael Winkelman y Peter Finelli Arizona State University/University of Pittsburgh Resumen. Las prácticas curativas de los grupos yumanoparlantes del norte de Baja California estuvieron bajo el liderazgo del kusiyai, una figura desvanecida en los modernos estudios etnográficos, pero cuyas actividades pueden ser reconstruidas a partir de los reportes de etnógrafos, geógrafos y exploradores de principios del siglo veinte. Es posible observar en esas actividades ciertos patrones similares a los que siguen las prácticas curativas del chamanismo.

Más aún, esas actividades pueden ser reconstruidas en más detalle si utilizamos el paradigma chamánico para organizar los diversos tipos de material relacionado. Cabe señalar, por otra parte, que esta perspectiva ofrece en lo particular la expectativa de un posible resurgimiento futuro de esta tradición cultural. La perspectiva moderna sobre los universales del chamanismo y sobre los aspectos innatos de las actividades chamánicas es congruente con las creencias tradicionales de que los chamanes eran autodidactas en el desarrollo de sus relaciones con los poderes y lugares espirituales.

Palabras clave: 1. yumanos, 2. chamán, 3. curanderos, 4. kusiyai, 5. revitalización cultural.

Abstract. The spiritual healing practices of the Yuman-speaking groups of northern Baja California were under the leadership of the kusiyai. These cultural roles largely disappeared before modern ethnographic studies. Nonetheless, many earlier documents provide for a reconstruction of their activities, and reveal patterns of practice very similar to the cross-cultural patterns of spiritual healing practices referred to as shamanism. These shamanic practices can be more thoroughly reconstructed with the use of the shamanic paradigm as a framework for organizing diverse sources of material. These perspectives also provide hope for the future resurgence of these cultural traditions. The modern perspectives of universals of shamanism and innate aspects of shamanic activities are congruent with traditional beliefs that the individual shamans were self-taught by developing relationships with spiritual powers and places.

Keywords: 1. Yuman, 2. shaman, 3. healing, 4. kusiyai, 5. cultural revival.

culturales VOL. II, NÚM. 3, ENERO-JUNIO DE 2006

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Introducción1 Las culturas yumanoparlantes del norte de Baja California no han sido objeto de un estudio sistemático en su periodo de existencia anterior a su radical reorganización y virtual desaparición bajo la influencia de los misioneros; consecuentemente, varios aspectos de las culturas yumanas previos al contacto cultural permanecen desconocidos. Sin embargo, en los reportes realizados por misioneros, exploradores y geógrafos, así como en la información obtenida de los ancianos por los primeros antropólogos de la región, se indica que existían líderes espirituales de importancia entre los grupos yumanos. Estos líderes espirituales, quienes también fueron líderes sociales y curanderos, son referidos en esos reportes como “kusiyai”, “kwisiyaya”, “kessiyé”, “cusiyay” y otros términos similares. Con frecuencia, los roles de estos líderes fueron concebidos erróneamente como los característicos del personaje que en español se denomina como “hechicero” o “curandero”. Este artículo sugiere que el término más apropiado para denominar a estos personajes es el de “chamán”. Estos kusiyai, o chamanes, fueron importantes líderes sociales, formales e informales, y tuvieron una función central en las prácticas espirituales y ceremonias religiosas de sus respectivos grupos. Por esta razón, los kusiyai estuvieron siempre bajo el ataque directo de los misioneros, quienes en los siglos 1700 y 1800 establecían los centros misionales con el propósito de concentrar y controlar a la población nativa. La opresión de las prácticas chamanísticas, junto con las influencias que indujeron a la aculturación del grupo, dieron por resultado el debilitamiento de la presencia de estos líderes y su eventual desaparición en los inicios del siglo veinte. No obstante, algunos aspectos de la naturaleza de sus prácticas curativas son revelados en los limitados registros de los misioneros y reportes posteriores, lo cual permite reconstruir las características y prácticas de quienes desarrollaban estos roles.

La sistemática integración de esta información ilustra cómo las prácticas de los kusiyai fueron considerablemente similares 1

Traducción de Everardo A. Garduño y Elba A. Villaseñor.

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a las prácticas universales del chamanismo asociado a las sociedades cazadoras y recolectoras (Winkelman, 1992, 2000).

Estas similitudes nos permiten formular un paradigma para una reconstrucción más completa de estas actividades, cuyas características podemos encontrar de manera dispersa en la literatura. Este artículo reconstruye las prácticas chamanísticas de las culturas yumanoparlantes del norte de Baja California, específicamente, de los ipai o tipai (conocidos también como diegueños) y de los paipai, kiliwa y kumiai, al integrar varias fuentes de información primaria y secundaria (Aschman, 1968; Hohenthal, 2001; Levi, 1978; Lazcano, 2000; Meigs, 1939; Owen, 1962; Zárate, 1986). Dada la proximidad geográfica, ambientes similares y estilos de vida como cazadores y recolectores que eran, las prácticas chamanísticas de las diferentes tribus y grupos dialectales yumanos eran muy similares.

En este ensayo no intentamos establecer la diferencia entre las características de los kusiyai pertenecientes a los distintos grupos yumanos, sino proveer un panorama más amplio de sus actividades comunes, con base en una síntesis de información que describe a los diversos grupos.

La reconstrucción del entrenamiento, prácticas y actividades de los kusiyai que aquí se presenta es más que un simple ejercicio académico. Debido a que la actual comprensión del chamanismo está basada en el paradigma biosocial, que indica los aspectos universales de éste como parte de la naturaleza humana, el presente trabajo ofrece algunas líneas generales para la revitalización de las prácticas chamanísticas entre los yumanos. Tal revitalización se puede basar en las fuentes tradicionales de acceso al poder que se describen aquí, tales como el uso de sueños y cristales. Otra base para la revitalización de estas prácticas puede ser el modelo biológico del chamanismo, el cual indica que existen potencialidades humanas latentes, aún accesibles para aquellas poblaciones contemporáneas que siguen las prácticas chamanísticas. Estamos convencidos de que si bien las prácticas curativas, espirituales y comunales de los yumanos se han ido, y olvidado, no han desaparecido para siempre.

Los personajes a quienes en este trabajo llamamos chamanes 113

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fueron generalmente referidos en sus respectivas culturas a través del término “kusiyai” (representado ortográficamente de diferentes formas). Los diegueños también llamaban a este personaje “simup kwsiyaya”, que significa “doctor de sueños”, en referencia directa a la actividad empleada por éste para la adquisición del poder. Los kusiyai podían tener un rango de especializaciones que comprendía al kusiyai ñopa (el curandero), el kusiyai mispit (el chamán diabólico o hechicero), el awi kusiyai (especialista en mordidas de víboras) y el kwamyar (el especialista en la manipulación del clima) (Hohenthal, 2001). Aun cuando eran conocidos los poderes del kusiyai para matar, sus actividades curativas eran las que tenían mayor reconocimiento. Otras actividades de este personaje incluían la diagnosis y la adivinación; tenía habilidades como hechicero, inflingiendo enfermedades o muerte a sus adversarios; podía servir como médium para la comunicación con los muertos, y contaba con capacidad para ver el futuro y leer la mente de las personas. Además, los chamanes, se creía, eran capaces de transformarse en animales, especialmente en aves, para emprender un “mágico vuelo” y viajar grandes distancias a velocidades extraordinarias, y de hacerse invisibles. También se creía que podían hacer llover o detener las tormentas que se aproximaban. Los chamanes eran exclusivamente hombres y tradicionalmente vivían en las afueras de la comunidad, en donde residían por ser temidos y poderosos y en donde permanecían solos a menos que surgiera una circunstancia extraordinaria. Un chamán podía vivir sin contacto humano por meses en una pequeña comunidad indígena (Hohenthal, 2001). Independientemente de que fuera bueno o malévolo, siempre era visto como una persona con cualidades innatas que se expresaban por encima de su voluntad, y en ambos casos se creía que este personaje poseía la habilidad potencial de matar mediante sus poderes sobrenaturales. Incluso, se pensaba que era capaz de introducir objetos o animales en el interior de sus víctimas, o de matarlos con sólo apuntarle con un dedo o agitándolo. Por esta razón, algunos chamanes eran contratados por algunas personas que querían matar a sus adversarios.

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El culto a la datura Los aspectos centrales de las actividades espirituales entre las culturas yumanoparlantes de las Californias han sido caracterizadas como elementos constitutivos del “complejo chamántoloache” (Aschman, 1968). Cabe mencionar que el toloache es una especie de datura que jugaba un rol central en el entrenamiento de los curanderos, así como en su sistema de creencias acerca de las fuerzas sobrenaturales. Zárate (1986) hace una revisión de las primeras fuentes que sugieren que las ceremonias de iniciación con datura son históricamente recientes.

No obstante, hay otras versiones en el sentido de que esta planta tiene una presencia muy antigua en la cultura de los yumanos, particularmente en el entrenamiento de guerreros y chamanes.

De acuerdo con estas últimas versiones, el uso del toloache fue posteriormente incorporado a las ceremonias de curación.

El uso de la datura en las ceremonias iniciáticas aparentemente empezó en las islas San Clemente y Santa Catalina, frente a las costas del sur de California, y se difundió a otros grupos yumanos, particularmente los localizados en las misiones. Su aparente penetración tardía durante el periodo misional (siglo diecinueve) sugiere que la popularidad del culto a la datura fue una reacción al proceso de evangelización. Esta hipótesis puede ser sostenida indirectamente por otras investigaciones acerca de los usos de la datura y los alucinógenos (e.g., Jacobs, 1996; Andritzky, 1989). La investigación de Andritzky (también ver Winkelman, 1996) sugiere que el uso social de las drogas alucinógenas parece estar relacionado con los periodos de rápido cambio psicosocial. Ahora bien, aunque la difusión del culto a la datura durante los años de 1800 pudo haber sido motivada por el cambio social inducido por la evangelización, tal culto posee bases más profundas. El involucramiento directo del chamán como conductor de estas ceremonias, así como las experiencias y los resultados obtenidos en ellas, sugiere una íntima relación con el fenómeno del chamanismo indígena. Lazcano (2000) enfatiza el papel destacado de los kusiyai en todas las ceremonias, y los caracteriza como el sector más directamente opuesto a la actividad misionera, luchando por 115

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resistir su penetración y por asegurar la persistencia de las costumbres tradicionales. Los kusiyai no eran solamente curanderos, sino también líderes de los rituales tradicionales, incluyendo los de iniciación, los funerarios y las fiestas de recolección.

El reconocido líder kusiyai era regularmente anciano, poseedor de grandes habilidades para hablar y convencer a los otros.

El poderoso estatus de este personaje se reflejaba en su liderazgo en los rituales de iniciación, en los cuales los jóvenes determinaban el camino que seguirían a lo largo de su vida, ya sea como guerreros o como chamanes. Esto indica que las ceremonias de iniciación eran vistas como parte del desarrollo tradicional de un chamán. El papel fundamental de la datura en el entrenamiento del chamán condujo a que las actividades chamanísticas fueran etiquetadas como parte de un “complejo chamán-toloache”. Quienes tenían el potencial para ser chamanes pasaban por los ritos de iniciación en los que estaba presente el uso de la datura (Owen, 1962). Es interesante observar como en el término kusiyai la raíz kusi significa datura, y ello expresa la importancia de esta planta en el chamanismo yumano. Este culto a la datura, al que Zárate llama “hechizo del oeste”, incluía las ceremonias iniciáticas de los varones al llegar a la pubertad o adolescencia. El kusiyai era la persona a cargo de los rituales iniciáticos de la datura, empleando patrones de uso y roles chamánicos previamente establecidos en las culturas yumanas. El propósito de las ceremonias era asistir en la formación del joven en adulto, prepararlo para cumplir con sus obligaciones futuras como miembro de su comunidad, inculcarle temor a transgredir sus normas y dejar en él una positiva influencia para un futuro lleno de virtudes. Los rituales de la datura tenían también por objetivo la revitalización de la cultura, revirtiendo los efectos de la evangelización. Aparentemente, las más fuertes manifestaciones de estos rituales tenían lugar en aquellas áreas en donde la Cristiandad tenía los mayores efectos.

Jacobs (1996) presenta evidencia de que los alcaloides encontrados en la datura producen una condición de amnesia retrógrada; esto es, la pérdida de memoria acerca de eventos inmediatamente ocurridos. Esta propiedad farmacológica hace de la 116

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datura una planta útil en procesos de resocialización. Esto podría explicar el resurgimiento y posible expansión del culto de la datura en tiempos posteriores al proceso misional. Si el culto de la datura fue empleado con el propósito de erradicar la socialización misional y preparar a la juventud para la socialización dentro de su cultura indígena, las propiedades amnésicas de la datura ayudarían a eliminar las influencias del cristianismo.

El ritual de la datura entre los yumanos se llevaba a cabo de la siguiente manera. Los jóvenes que participaban en él eran aislados del grupo y colocados en una cueva o abrigo, en donde a lo largo de una ceremonia nocturna consumían las raíces preparadas de la planta. Durante y después de la ceremonia se imponía una dieta estricta; así, la datura era generalmente tomada durante un periodo de ayuno y aislamiento, con el propósito de alcanzar con gran fuerza un estado alterado de conciencia y protegerse contra los efectos tóxicos de la datura (ver a Jacobs, 1996). Durante el ritual, los iniciados alcanzaban una condición mental muy parecida a la del sueño, lo cual era un medio básico para adquirir poderes chamanísticos. Mientras se encontraban bajo los efectos de la datura, los iniciados eran asignados a un anciano protector que los acompañaba durante la ceremonia, quien los protegía y guiaba a la vez que les enseñaba a bailar y los forzaba a continuar hasta el colapso. Entonces, el anciano removía al iniciado del área de danza y lo cuidaba durante el periodo que duraba el estupor, esto es, alrededor de 24 horas. Cuando el iniciado se despertaba se le daban pequeñas cantidades de comida y agua tibia y se mantenía en una estricta dieta las siguientes semanas hasta llegar a un mes, con la finalidad de eliminar los efectos tóxicos de la datura, ya que hasta entonces se encontraba aún en riesgo de morir.

Durante este periodo los iniciados tenían que esforzarse para tener acceso a más visiones e integrarlas junto con las ceremonias a los planes de su vida futura y al compromiso con su propia cultura. La integración de la visión estaba relacionada con el destino de la vida del iniciado, y tradicionalmente se interpretaba en términos de llegar a ser guerrero o chamán. Las experiencias visionarias inducidas por la planta proveían a los jóvenes de la oportunidad para establecer contacto con el mun117

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do sobrenatural, lo cual los colocaba en la posibilidad de desarrollar poderes innatos. Las visiones o sueños ocurridos durante la actividad de iniciación revelaban si el iniciado poseía o carecía del poder natural para convertirse en chamán. Aquellos con potencial para convertirse en chamán continuarían ingiriendo datura por varios días, utilizando sus experiencias para desarrollar poder y adquirir el conocimiento sobre las canciones especiales y otras técnicas curativas propias de su condición. Quienes hubieran logrado tener visiones relacionadas con animales eran destinados a ocupar los niveles más altos del desarrollo chamanístico y a acompañar a los líderes chamanes considerados como los “capitanes de los animales”. Los animales que aparecían en la visión del iniciado tenían una relación especial con éste, quien podía en cualquier momento invocar su protección, pedirle ayuda en la cacería y en la orientación de regreso a casa en caso de perderse.

Fuentes de poder chamanístico Las fuentes de poder de las que los chamanes obtenían sus habilidades eran muchas. Aun cuando éstas eran consideradas innatas, debían ser reveladas al individuo a través de una espontánea comunicación con lo sobrenatural, por medio de sueños, y posteriormente desarrolladas en rituales de datura (Levi, 1978; Owen, 1962). Otras fuentes de poder eran las canciones, los cristales y las relaciones especiales con los animales, todo lo cual era adquirido a través de experiencias de sueño.

Sueños de poder. De esta forma, los sueños eran esenciales para el chamán, ya que, como afirma Hohenthal (2001), “un candidato a chamán no busca el honor que representa el serlo, no ayuna deliberadamente o se va a algún sitio aislado para estimular su visión. La indicación de su poder innato sobreviene repentinamente a través de un sueño”. Aun cuando las visiones preliminares de un joven chamán tenían lugar en sueños espontáneos, otros estados alterados de conciencia (EAC) podían ser deliberadamente inducidos mediante el ayuno, la vigilia, fumando tabaco o salvia y consumiendo datura (Owen, 118

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1962). No obstante, los sueños eran los medios principales de acceso al poder sobrenatural, ya que servían de ventana al reino de lo espiritual, en donde se pensaba que ocurría la comunicación y la adquisición del poder de los espíritus (Levi, 1978).

Los poderes adquiridos a través de los sueños incluían a los espíritus, las canciones, los cristales y el espíritu animal (Owen, 1962). Los espíritus eran la fuente del aprendizaje principal para este personaje, tal y como lo describe un anciano chamán: Llegarás a ser un chamán de manera natural. Nadie más puede enseñártelo. Pero tus espíritus tienen que venir primero para enseñarte.

Otra gente no puede enseñar esto, sólo el espíritu... esto es lo que mi tío me dijo... él quería las canciones; él quería sanar... así que ellos [los espíritus] lo regresaron y vino y cantó Gato Loco2 (Levi, 1978:48).

Canciones. Las canciones que se aprendían en sueños eran curativas y exclusivas de cada chamán. Estas canciones no podían ser aprendidas de otros chamanes, sino sólo de los espíritus y a través de los sueños. Muchas canciones eran entonadas con palabras no del todo entendibles dentro de la misma tribu, ya sea porque las palabras no existían en su lengua, o porque eran pronunciadas fuera de una secuencia que permitiera entender su sentido. Se pensaba que estas canciones no tenían poder a menos que fueran cantadas por el individuo que las había soñado. Es decir, estas canciones nunca fueron enseñadas por los chamanes con propósitos curativos. Un informante yumano recuerda lo siguiente: El aprendiz aprende sus canciones en estos sueños, y como ya se ha dicho, llega a estar cada vez más obsesionado con ellas. Él no puede aprender la melodía de las canciones de poder de otro chamán, ya que sólo cuando el individuo sueña las canciones éstas son efectivas (Levi, 1978:49).

2 Nota del traductor: entre los grupos yumanos existen dos géneros musicales, el denominado “Pájaro Chiquito” y el llamado “Gato Grande”. El primero comprende un tipo de canción festiva que puede ser cantada en cualquier fiesta indígena de las llamadas kuri-kuri. El segundo, sin embargo, consiste en un ciclo de canciones ceremoniales que sólo se pueden interpretar en ceremonias especiales, tales como las de carácter funerario.

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Datura. La datura tenía una función central en el entrenamiento del kusiyai, por lo que las prácticas espirituales de los yumanos han sido denominadas como parte de un “complejo chamán-toloache (datura)”. Los efectos mentales y físicos de la datura producían en el iniciado un estado parecido a los sueños, que se tenía como un primer canal de comunicación con los espíritus. Las experiencias visionarias inducidas por la datura también producían las experiencias de contacto con el mundo sobrenatural, lo cual era visto como necesario para el desarrollo de los poderes innatos de los iniciados.

Cristales. Los cristales, o wii’ipai (“rocas vivientes”), constituían uno de los objetos más poderosos de un chamán (Levi, 1978). La adquisición de un cristal de poder daba inicio en los sueños en los que los chamanes veían revelado el sitio oculto en donde podían encontrar su cristal personal, un artículo esencial para la práctica del chamanismo. Los sueños daban las instrucciones de cómo extraer los cristales y cuidarlos, y posteriormente, otras instrucciones para el cuidado especial de éstos eran adquiridas mediante otros sueños especiales ocurridos durante periodos de ayuno, y durante los cuales el chamán maestro proveía de orientación. Sin embargo, las instrucciones verdaderas para el cuidado de los cristales provenían de los espíritus del cristal. Los cristales demandaban cierto estilo de vida al chamán como una condición para usar su poder; estas demandas incluían cierta alimentación, atención, afecto y periodos de abstinencia sexual. Para evitar las consecuencias mortales que representaban los celos del cristal, los chamanes tenían que enterrarlos cuando deseaban tener sexo con su mujer. Así, los cristales eran tratados como individuos con quienes el chamán establecía una relación personal. De acuerdo con las creencias indígenas, los cristales podían ser hombre o mujer y tener emociones humanas como celos, enojo o resentimiento. Ahora bien, aunque los cristales no eran considerados buenos ni malos por naturaleza, ya que podían utilizarse indistintamente para curar o matar, sus poderes eran siempre referidos como diabólicos, y se creía que si el propietario no era lo suficientemente fuerte, en un sentido mágico, para controlar el poder del cristal, éste podía hacerle daño a él y a los demás. Un indio yumano recuerda la demostración del poder diabólico del wii’ipai: 120

Chamanismo entre los yumanos de Baja California ...Este hombre tenía una familia muy grande. Solía cargar una de estas rocas. Entonces, sus hijos empezaron a morir. Finalmente, alguien que sabía de estas cosas le dijo: “Arroja esa roca. Esta cosa que traes no es buena. Toda tu familia morirá por tu descuido, porque se dice que estas cosas son celosas”... Entonces, el hombre se volvió loco. Se perdió y pronto murió, simplemente porque no arrojó la piedra (Levi, 1978:45).

De esta forma, los cristales podían ser utilizados para producir enfermedades y muerte. Una de las formas en las que el chamán podía utilizar su cristal para hacer daño era colocándolo bajo la almohada de su adversario. Cuando la persona caía dormida en presencia del cristal, éste podía producir su locura o detener su respiración, como causa del poder que el chamán podía canalizar a través de dicho objeto (Levi, 1978).

La única forma de quitarle poder al cristal y disminuir su poder maligno era sumergirlo en el agua, y aun después de este acto, los yumanos debían manipularlo con gran cuidado para evitar sus poderes inactivos. Por esta razón, estas piedras eran tratadas con gran reserva, ya que se pensaba que simplemente hablar acerca del wii’ipai podía traer mala suerte. Los chamanes tipai usaban también los cristales para sanar y matar, e incluso los más arrojados utilizaban el poder de estas piedras para obtener suerte durante los juegos de azar (Levi, 1978; Hohenthal, 2001).

Poderes de animal. Otra fuente de los poderes chamánicos era el animal guardián revelado al futuro chamán en su sueño iniciático. Se creía que esas relaciones especiales con el animal brindaban al chamán protección y cualidades especiales para la cacería y le permitían recuperar la orientación en caso de extravío.

Petroglifos. Las actividades chamánicas dejaron evidencia en los sitios donde se localiza arte rupestre, particularmente petroglifos. En general, estos sitios han sido interpretados como fuentes de poder y lugares en donde los chamanes llevaban a cabo sus rituales, principalmente los de iniciación (Hedges, 1976, 1985). La presencia de la actividad chamanística en los sitios de arte rupestre en la región de las Californias ha sido 121

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ampliamente documentada (Whitley, 2000). El responsable de producir los petroglifos era el kusiyai, quien a través de ellos invocaba visiones y sueños mágicos.

Prácticas curativas La curación, o sanación, era la principal actividad del kusiyai.

Las ceremonias chamánicas de sanación eran eventos públicos a los que toda la población podía asistir. Al parecer, esta actividad era desarrollada principalmente durante la noche y podía durar dos o tres noches. Los chamanes no requerían pago, pero generalmente recibían regalos por sus servicios aun cuando el paciente llegara a fallecer. Los regalos que recibía el chamán consistían en una variedad de objetos, tales como productos agrícolas o animales, pieles y en algunos casos dinero (Hohenthal, 2001; Owen, 1962). Los chamanes se caracterizaban por su habilidad para predecir el arribo de pacientes, saber de antemano si el paciente sobrevivía o no e incluso conocer su condición antes de llegar (Owen, 1962).

Una ceremonia de curación regularmente involucraba una amplia variedad de actividades rituales, que daban inicio con una serie de preguntas que el chamán hacía al paciente. Por ejemplo: “¿En dónde tienes lastimado?” o “¿Qué tienes mal?”

Después el chamán determinaba si iba a ser capaz de curar al individuo; de lo contrario, podía declinar continuar con la ceremonia. Regularmente, el ritual proseguía cuando los parientes del paciente insistían y convencían al chamán de seguir con el caso.

Las técnicas que se empleaban para el ritual de curación eran las siguientes: realizar movimientos rituales alrededor del paciente considerando los cuatro puntos cardinales; entonar canciones aprendidas en sueños; soplar sobre el paciente; tocar y masajear su cuerpo; extraer objetos con la boca, especialmente espinas; calentar y proteger al cuerpo; manipular pequeñas figuras humanas talladas en madera; fumar tabaco y arrojar el humo sobre el cuerpo del paciente, y, finalmente, imponer dietas muy estrictas (ver Meigs, 1939; Gifford, 1928; Owen, 1962).

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La mayoría de los chamanes poseía también conocimiento práctico sobre primeros auxilios y habilidad para interpretar los sueños, la cual era empleada para solucionar problemas de orden psicológico. Los chamanes empleaban ocasionalmente la medicina herbolaria en sus curaciones, pero éste era un tipo de conocimiento personal que no se compartía con los demás (Owen, 1962). Cabe señalar que entre los yumanos había también especialistas en herbolaria que no eran chamanes.

Durante las actividades de curación el kusiyai cantaba y agitaba una sonaja.3 Los chamanes podían sostener cristales en sus manos mientras conducían la ceremonia, con el propósito de incrementar su poder y la efectividad del ritual. Estas prácticas de sanación se desarrollaban con base en un principio espiritual –los espíritus eran la causa de la enfermedad y el propio espíritu o alma era considerado el punto de ataque que conducía a diversos estados de salud–. Entre los factores que conducían a estados de salud aflictivos para los yumanos podían estar la violación de algún tabú que originaba un desequilibrio con la naturaleza; la pérdida del alma al ser robada por algún hechicero o brujo, y la invasión del cuerpo por poderes u objetos de la hechicería. De acuerdo con Owen, la brujería era considerada la causa más recurrente de enfermedad y muerte entre los paipai.

Existe incluso evidencia en el sentido de que la brujería llegó a ser más importante en la era moderna que en la antigüedad. En general, se atribuía a la brujería aquellos estados de salud que cursaban sin causa alguna aparente y que no cedían ante otros remedios. No obstante, la brujería no era generalmente considerada como causa de accidentes ordinarios que le ocurrieran a la gente en el curso de sus actividades cotidianas. Los chamanes curaban con sus poderes sobrenaturales un amplio rango de condiciones de salud, entre las que se encontraban los problemas físicos, psicológicos y espirituales, aunque el kusiyai también acudía al masaje corporal y al uso de hierbas medicinales para el tratamiento de heridas y contusiones (Lazcano, 2000). Regularmente, los chamanes curaban frotando sus manos y colocándolas sobre el cuerpo del paciente (Meigs, 1939). Las pipas eran 3 Nota del traductor: esta sonaja es conocida con el nombre de “bule”, denominación tomada de la planta con la que se elabora.

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también empleadas para fumar tabaco y eran consideradas una parte básica de la parafernalia del chamán. Soplar el tabaco sobre el paciente, particularmente en la parte del cuerpo herida, era una práctica común.

El chamán se sentaba a un lado del paciente y por medio del masaje conducía el dolor hacia un punto específico del cuerpo. En ese lugar el dolor podía ser removido por el chamán succionándolo con la boca (Hohenthal, 2001). Tanto los objetos que se consideraba introducidos por los hechiceros en el cuerpo como las infecciones eran succionadas por el chamán.

Los rituales de curación entre los tipai generalmente tenían lugar en presencia del kwelpai o jefe, quien al ser el más anciano era experto en los procedimientos chamanísticos más antiguos (Hohenthal, 2001). En una de las actividades rituales se empleaba un pequeño bordón llamado “kotat”, con el cual los chamanes tipai canalizaban su poder. El kotat era también empleado para hacer maleficios; para ello sólo era necesario tocar con el kotat a la víctima o agitarlo alrededor de ella. Se creía que nadie que no fuera el chamán propietario del kotat podía utilizarlo, ya que el poder de éste permanecía en el bordón después de usarlo. Otro objeto de carácter ritual empleado por los chamanes eran las “tablas”, piezas planas de madera que eran decoradas con diseños geométricos y pintadas. Estos objetos eran principalmente empleados en los ritos funerarios, aunque es posible que tuvieran otra función chamánica.

Uno de los informantes de Hohenthal describe así la manera en que se desarrollaba un ritual típico de curación entre los tipai: El paciente se acuesta boca abajo con la cara apuntando hacia el este, y el chamán se sienta a su izquierda... El chamán canta mientras exhala humo de tabaco sobre la cabeza y el cuerpo del paciente; se balancea hacia enfrente y hacia atrás y en ocasiones “se comporta como un demente”... Si esto es posesión, no sé qué o quién ha poseído al chamán; tal vez sea el tabaco que fuma. El tratamiento continúa por todo el día hasta que la víctima se sienta mejor, o hasta que sude copiosamente. Durante este tiempo el chamán ha palpado todo el cuerpo del enfermo y ocasionalmente ha succionado con sus labios ciertas partes del cuerpo en donde se presenta dolor. Luego escupe la enfermedad sobre su mano y se la muestra al paciente,

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Con frecuencia el chamán prescribía a su paciente una dieta especial después de la ceremonia. Una dieta en particular es descrita por Hohenthal: Después (de la curación) el paciente es puesto a dieta; puede comer solamente caldo sin sal y comidas blandas, cocidas, sin carne, chile o tabaco. Se debe beber agua de las montañas. Al final de la dieta, que dura una semana, el paciente toma un baño de agua tibia (Hohenthal, 2001:233).

Entre los paipai las sesiones de sanación eran generalmente ceremonias públicas a las que podía asistir cualquier persona que viviera en el área. Algunos de los objetos utilizados por los chamanes paipai eran pequeñas figuras talladas en madera que en ocasiones tenían apariencia de seres humanos. Estos objetos eran conocidos como “los cuñados”. Estas figuras, como los cristales curativos, eran utilizados para canalizar lo sobrenatural. Dada la fuerza que había en ellos, quien no fuera chamán no podía tocarlos sin temor (Owen, 1962). Estas figurillas se guardaban en cuevas cuando no eran utilizadas. Cuando se usaban durante las ceremonias chamánicas, se pensaba que sintonizaban los espíritus de aquellos que habían muerto hacía tiempo, especialmente los espíritus de los chamanes que habían alcanzado una notable reputación como exitosos curanderos de cierto tipo de enfermedades.

Adivinación. La adivinación jugó un rol muy necesario en las actividades del chamán, particularmente en el diagnóstico de enfermedades. El sueño y el uso de la datura, por su parte, fueron esenciales como instrumentos de adivinación. Otra actividad de adivinación requería la habilidad del chamán para contactar a los espíritus de los muertos de la comunidad y a los ancestros. Entre esos espíritus contactados estaban aquellos que podían revelar la causa de su muerte, así como los espíritus de chamanes poderosos que podían asistir al chamán invocador en el proceso de sanación de un paciente. Era usual que este 125

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proceso de adivinación durara más de una noche, en un ritual que incluía encender fuego y preparar comida especial para ofrecerla a los espíritus contactados (Owen, 1962). El contacto del chamán con los muertos se llevaba a cabo a través de lo que se denomina “vuelo del alma” o “proyección astral”, un fenómeno durante el cual el espíritu del chamán, se creía, abandona el cuerpo. El alma del chamán viajaría entonces a los mundos de los espíritus buscando el alma de la persona fallecida. Posteriormente el chamán convencía al espíritu a entrar a su cuerpo y hablar por su boca. El discurso pronunciado por el chamán era en general difícil de entender, pero daba la oportunidad al chamán vivo de interrogar al chamán muerto acerca de las causas de su muerte y acerca del culpable de ésta, si es que lo hubiera. Después de que el chamán determinara la causa del problema, otros espíritus podrían ser invocados para ayudar en la sanación del paciente, o bien, si se revelaba que algún hechicero vivo había sido el culpable de la muerte, era buscado para revertir el curso de sus maleficios produciéndole su propia enfermedad.

Un informante de Owen ofrece una descripción acuciosa de este tipo de ceremonias: Un palo es enterrado profundamente en el suelo y un anciano valiente permanece parado cerca mientras que otro sentado a su lado le da vueltas a un “zumbador” (bull-roarer).4 Cuando este instrumento es agitado los espíritus llegan, y tan pronto como lo hacen el viejo se sienta enfrente del palo sosteniéndolo con una mano. Cuando los espíritus entran (en el valiente hombre), él jala y gira el palo que ha sido clavado en el piso. Cuando los espíritus entran en él el hombre cae como si estuviera muerto y luego se vuelve a sentar, mientras los otros sostienen una pipa de barro... después de unas cuantas bocanadas de humo, el viejo dice quién es el que ha arribado y su nombre y pregunta: “¿Por qué me necesitas? Enseguida, uno de los ancianos se aproxima para hablar con él y para explicarle al espíritu por qué fue llamado (Owen, 1962:93).

4 Nota del traductor: se trata de un instrumento prehispánico de los yumanos, principalmente observado entre los kiliwa, que consiste en una cuerda atada a un objeto, el cual produce un zumbido al girar en el aire.

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Universales del chamanismo Con investigación transcultural (1990, 1992, 1996) y análisis de los universales del chamanismo (2000, 2002) Winkelman ha demostrado que éste tenía bases biológicas universales entre las sociedades cazadoras y recolectoras. Las prácticas chamanísticas estaban presentes de manera muy clara entre los grupos yumanos antes del contacto europeo, y evidentemente, éstas observaban los patrones universales del chamanismo (Winkelman, 2002). Por ejemplo: 1. El uso que de la datura hacía el kusiyai ejemplifica la experiencia de un estado alterado de conciencia.

2. Un propósito central del culto a la datura era entrenar a los iniciados mediante una inducción deliberada de un estado alterado de conciencia para producir experiencias visionarias.

3. La crisis iniciática conocida como “muerte” y “resucitación” del iniciado legitimaba la idea de que las experiencias con la datura podían ser mortales para éste.

4. El empleo de cantos, música y danzas, se encuentra presente en todas las ceremonias del kusiyai.

5. Las habilidades para adivinar, diagnosticar y profetizar, eran desarrolladas a través de las experiencias del sueño y el uso de cristales.

6. Los procesos terapéuticos se enfocaban en la pérdida del alma y su recuperación, en las enfermedades producidas por los espíritus y hechiceros, y en la intrusión de objetos o entidades.

7. Las relaciones establecidas con un animal, incluyendo el control del animal y del espíritu del animal, conducían a la creencia de que el kusiyai era el “capitán de los animales”, los veía en sus visiones iniciáticas y los utilizaba como fuente básica de su poder.

8. Por ultimo, los actos malévolos, o actos de hechicería, llegaron a ser la función primaria del kusiyai, una vez que las tradiciones curativas fueron suprimidas.

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De esta forma, las tradiciones del kusiyai encuadran perfectamente con los aspectos universales del chamanismo y abren varias avenidas para la revitalización de sus prácticas. La ausencia del kusiyai entre los yumanos contemporáneos no es algo fatal para dichas tradiciones, ya que: 1. En sus orígenes, el desarrollo del kusiyai a través de los sueños y los cristales estaba constituido por una serie de experiencias en las que no necesariamente mediaban chamanes ya establecidos.

2. La existencia de recursos tales como los provistos por la Foundation for Shamanic Studies (Fundación para el Estudio de los Chamanes) (www.shamanism.org; ver también Harner, 1990), que se utilizan en la asistencia y entrenamiento para la recuperación de los aspectos universales y centrales de la práctica chamanística.

3. Las bases del chamanismo que se encuentran en procesos y módulos del cerebro innatos, así como en sistemas representacionales y cognitivos con bases biológicas, son todavía accesibles para el ser humano y continuamente se manifiestan en experiencias espirituales espontáneas (ver Winkelman, 2000).

Conclusiones Las prácticas de los chamanes yumanos desaparecieron hace más de un siglo, como resultado del impacto que sobre sus culturas tuvieron los europeos, especialmente los misioneros.

No obstante, estamos convencidos de que estas prácticas no se han ido para siempre. Uno de los temas sobre el chamanismo que más se ha discutido en Estados Unidos es que los chamanes adquirieron la habilidad para establecer contacto con los espíritus de manera deliberada o incidental. La creencia de los yumanos sobre los kusiyai coincide con las tradiciones clásicas chamanísticas, en el sentido de que el chamán llega a serlo de manera natural, una vez que el individuo establece contacto con sus espíritus personales. Los espíritus podrían ser 128

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contactados espontáneamente o a través de los sueños y de visiones deliberadas comúnmente inducidas mediante un aislamiento prolongado o largas caminatas por el campo, o después de perderse en las montañas, en el desierto o en la tundra.

Tales experiencias podrían resultar en el contacto con los espíritus que vendrían a entrenar al futuro chamán. Este tutelaje directo de los espíritus mantiene abierta la posibilidad de resurgimiento de las prácticas chamanísticas en las diversas culturas en que éstas han desaparecido. Así como los registros antropológicos de la vida cultural de los pueblos durante más de un siglo han contribuido a la revitalización cultural, los registros de las tradiciones chamanísticas del pasado sirven como estímulo para la reintroducción del chamanismo en el presente y en el futuro.

Bibliografía ANDRITZKY, W., Schamanismus und rituelles Heilen im Alten Peru (Band 1: Die Menschen des Jaguar), Clemens Zerling, 1989.

ASCHMANN, HOMER, “Historical accounts and archaeological discoveries”, Pacific Coast Archaeological Society Quarterly, 4(1), 1968, pp. 46-51.

HARNER, MICHAEL, The Way of the Shaman, Harper and Row, San Francisco, 1990.

HEDGES, KEN, “Southern California rock art as shamanic art”, en Kay Sutherland (ed.), American Indian Rock Art, vol. 2, El Paso, El Paso Archaeological Society, 1976, pp. 126-138.

–––, “Rock art portrayals of shamanic transformation and magical flight“, en Ken Hedges (ed.), Rock Art Papers, vol. 2, San Diego Museum Papers, vol. 18, 1985, pp. 83-94.

HOHENTHAL, WILLIAM, Ethnographic field notes: a Baja California community at mid century, Ballena Press, Menlo Park (Cal.), 2001.

JACOBS, DAVID, “The use of Datura species in rites of transition”, en Michael Winkelman y W. Andritzky (eds.), Sacred plants, consciousness and healing cross-cultural and interdisciplinary perspectives (Yearbook of Cross-cultural Medicine and 129

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Psychotherapy, vol. 6), Verlag und Vertrieb, Berlín, 1996, pp. 341-352.

LAZCANO SAHAGÚN, CARLOS, Pa-Tai. La historia olvidada de Ensenada, Seminario de Historia de Ensenada, Ensenada, 2000.

LEVI, JEROME, “Wii’ipay: the living rocks ethnographic notes on crystal magic among some California Yumans”, The Journal of California Anthropology, 5(1), 1978, pp. 42-52.

MEIGS, PEVERIL, The Kiliwa Indians of Lower California, University of California Press (Ibero-Americana, núm. 15), Berkeley, 1939.

OWEN, ROGER, “The Indians of Santa Catarina Baja California Norte, Mexico: concepts of disease and curing”, tesis de doctorado, University of California Los Angeles, 1962.

WHITLEY, DAVID, The art of the shaman: Rock art of California, University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City, 2000.

WINKELMAN, M ICHAEL, “Shaman and other ‘magico-religious healers’: a cross-cultural study of their origins, nature and social transformation”, Ethos, 18(3), 1990, pp. 308-352.

–––, Shamans, priests and witches: a cross-cultural study of magico-religious practitioners, Arizona State University (Anthropological Research Papers, núm. 44), Tempe (Arizona), 1992.

–––, “Psychointegrator plants: their roles in human culture and health”, en M. Winkelman y W. Andritzky (ed.), Sacred plants, consciousness and healing cross-cultural and interdisciplinary perspectives (Yearbook of Cross-cultural Medicine and Psychotherapy, vol. 6), Verlag und Vertrieb, Berlín, 1996, pp. 9-53.

–––, “Altered states of consciousness and religious behavior”, en S. Glazier (ed.), Anthropology of religion: A handbook of method and theory, Greenwood, Westport (Conn.), 1997, pp.

393-428.

W INKELMAN , M ICHAEL , Shamanism. The neural ecology of consciousness and healing, Bergin and Garvey, Westport (Connecticut), 2000.

W INKELMAN , M ICHAEL , “Shamanism as neurotheology and evolutionary psychology”, American Behavioral Scientist, 45(12), 2002, pp. 1875-1887.

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ZÁRATE LOPERENA, DAVID, “Hechizo del Norte o el uso del toloache en las ceremonias iniciáticas de los Kamiai”, ponencia presentada en el Quinto Simposium de Historia Regional, Ensenada, Baja California, Asociacion Cultural de Liberales de Ensenada/Gobierno del Estado, 1986, pp. 112+.

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A Proposal on the Study of Mythologies, Applied to the Characters of Sun, Fire, Wind, an Rain Donald Bahr Arizona State University

Abstract. This paper concerns mythologies of the Yavapais, Maricopas, Pimas, and Huichols, all of whom live in, or at least visit, deserts and the related elements of sun and fire. This preliminary study of the impact of desert on tribal mythology stems from the following theoretical points: first that mythologies are interested in sun, fire, wind, and rain to the extent that they render those things as characters rather than as impersonal elements. Second that in what I call miniregions mythologies differ largely because of parody phenomenon.

And third that a “mythology” comprises all of the texts that one tribal narrator tells in the order the narrator arranges them. In this manner, this paper both sets an agenda for measuring the impact of deserts on myth and introduces authorship and authority into the study of tribal mythologies.

Keywords: 1. mythology, 2. parody, 3. sun-fire, 4. indigenous people.

Resumen. Este artículo retoma el análisis de las mitologías yavapai, maricopa, pima y huichol, quienes viven en, o por lo menos visitan, desiertos, e incorpora los elementos relacionados de sol y fuego. Este estudio preliminar del impacto del desierto en la mitología tribal postula tres aspectos teóricos importantes: primero, que las mitologías se interesan en los elementos de sol, fuego, aire y lluvia, hasta el punto de que le son asignados el carácter de personajes más que el de elementos impersonales. Segundo, que entre las denominadas “minirregiones”, las mitologías difieren enormemente debido al fenómeno de parodia. Y tercero, que una mitología comprende todos los textos que un narrador tribal cuenta en el mismo orden en el que el narrador los organiza. De esta forma, este artículo establece una agenda para medir el impacto de los desiertos en los mitos e introduce las nociones de autoría y autoridad, dentro del estudio de las mitologías tribales.

Palabras clave: 1. mitología, 2. parodia, 3. sol-fuego, 4. indígenas.

culturales VOL. II, NÚM. 3, ENERO-JUNIO DE 2006

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Introduction The ideal title and topic for this paper would be “The Impact of Desert Living Upon Peoples’ Mythologies.” In fact, the present paper concerns mythologies in general more than it concerns deserts and it concerns sun and fire more than wind and rain. The authors of the mythologies — Yavapais, Maricopas, Pimas, and Huichols — all live in, or at least visit, deserts. But to be decisive on the effect of desert life on their texts we should compare their texts with those of peoples with moister habitats, a step here untaken. Thus, this is a preliminary to a study of the impact of desert on tribal mythology. My three main theoretical points are first that mythologies are interested in, or at any rate are interesting about, sun, fire, wind, and rain to the extent that they render those things as characters rather than as impersonal elements. This is because the texts we call myths are basically stories about persons dealing with other persons. The persons are characters, and elements are other and less than characters. The second point is that in what I call miniregions, that is, areas of uniform geography, mythologies differ largely because of parody, that is, because of a will to “make a play on” or “take a turn on” a neighbor’s myth, especially on the identities and doings of its characters.

Third and last, I use the word “mythology” in a somewhat special sense, namely “all of the texts that one tribal narrator tells in the order the narrator arranges and tells them;” a mythology is one narrator’s full oral book of ancientness. To me, this is a promising but largely neglected notion on tribal mythology. In two words, it introduces authorship and authority into the study of tribal mythologies. Thus, this paper says a fair amount about Sun and Fire as elements and characters; and about how neighboring Sun and Fire myths are parodies of each other; and it says a bit about Wind and Rain as characters; and it sets an agenda for measuring, or at least sensing, the impact of deserts on myth.

Theory on Mythologies and Parody To my special sense of mythology we must add another and quite standard one: mythology as a people’s sense of their whole 133

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ancient past; their cosmology, cosmogony, their stories of the creation of anything and everything. This is a fine definition. It is simply more general and less “individual author centered” than mine — so my definition narrows but does not quarrel with this more general one.

The two leading scholars of New World myth, Claude LeviStrauss and Alfredo López Austin, take slightly different positions on what is the key event in tribal mythologies in the broad sense.

To Levi-Strauss the key is the human attainment of mastery over fire, especially fire for cooking (1990:624). To Levi-Strauss fire is something that tribal think has always existed. The essential tribal myth is how humans took possession of this thing that always existed. To López Austin the key is the birth of the sun and therefore the origin of years and seasons and the calendar (1993:3848, including Table 1). Thus, unlike fire, the sun is something that humans or gods made. Once there was no sun, and then one, or more than one, was made. Levi-Strauss stated his conclusion on fire in a chapter called “One Myth Only,” which is the next-to-last chapter of the final volume of his four book series, “Introduction to the Science of Mythology.” López Austin stated his conclusion on the sun along with a table outlining the typical mythology in an early chapter of his “Myths of the Opossum,” a book subtitled “Pathways of Mesoamerican Mythology.”

Levi-Strauss did not study single narrator multistory mythologies of the sort that I commend to you. He did something more difficult but also more vain. He immersed himself in all of the myth collections of the hemisphere and constructed his own 813 myth (with “a”s and “b”s) mythology starting with “The Macaws and their Nest” from the Bororo of South America and ending with “The Putrified Man” from the Apinaye of the same continent. In short, he made his own megamythology by way of introducing his science. Shortly after giving the last myth he stated his judgement on the greatest importance of fire.

López Austin did consider mythologies in my sense, of which the two most important ones from Mesoamérica are probably the Aztecs’ “Legend of the Suns” and the Quiche Mayas’ “Popol Vuh.” Both give prominence to the origin of the sun, but I would not say that the origin of the sun is the central issue of either text.

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(Perhaps there is not central issue, perhaps to seek one is to commit the fallacy of essentialism.) Actually, in López Austin I miss the kind of reading of whole complex works that I advocate.

Levi-Strauss gives such readings of single stories while presenting his megamythology, so I fault him only for overlooking his native colleagues, or rivals, the formers of multi-story oral books of ancientness. I regret that López Austin gave few detailed readings of any sort: he gives interpretations, he doesn’t analyze enough stories as stories. (Nor, therefore, does he give a reading of the full Legend of the Suns or the Popol Vuh.) And what is the sign of the analysis of story as story? In one word, it is attention to — preoccupation with — character, with the characters in stories. I say this, if I may put it this way, as a neo-Weberian, that is, an exponent of the reading of myths in that way that Max Weber read historical documents: to concentrate on the situations, motives, resources, and consequences of individuals’ actions. Levi-Strauss did this splendidly in developing his megamythology, even though his “One Myth Only” conclusion on fire leaves those situations and characters far behind. López Austin with his avowed and quite respectable interest in cosmology lets character slip by.

I oppose letting character slip. We will find that fire is nearly always an element and rarely a character in the mythologies. By “rarely” I mean that Fire is a character only in the Huichol text that we will consider, and his interactions with other characters in that text are very limited — essentially they dare not touch him or, at the start, even look at him. Nonetheless he is a character and as we will see, his is a tender story on the wish — Fire’s wish — to be tamed. Sun we will find is commonly a character and is sometimes is the source of fire. But in none of our texts is Sun the original, first time ever, source of fire. In one instance, again Huichol, we will find the situation that is famous from the Legend of the Suns and the Popol Vuh, when a character who is burnt in a fire (actually boiled in a pot in a fire) and becomes the sun.

We should explain those differences, but I feel that we are still learning to read mythologies. My main suggestion about how the differences can be explained is that neighboring peoples’ mythologies are intended to be different from each other. In fact, 135

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contrary to the tradition of «diffusionist» and “borrowing” studies of myth, and keeping with the newer tradition of Levi-Strauss, I propose (I don’t recall that Levi-Strauss said this) that neighboring peoples never tell exactly the same story — simply never.

Rather, for the sake of their feeling of distinctiveness — to create their “identity,” neighbors require that their individual stories and cumulatively their whole mythologies be different from each other. These differences, at least the most interesting of them, are not incommensurate. That is, they are not sheer, blunt, nothing-to-say-about-this differences. Rather, they are deliberately created through what I term parody. I believe parody in myth operates particularly upon characters, that is, upon the principal actors in myths and mythologies. Parody exists when one myth, or better one myth author, makes a deliberate, generally somewhat demeaning, play on a character in a myth of a neighbor.

And, parody exists only within miniregions of nearly the same geography; and so, the best hope for geographic or environmental explanations of the mythic imagination is through jumping across geographical miniregions.

This paper is especially about parodies on Sun and Fire. Before we begin, however, let us consider what is an “element” and what is a “character?” An element in the first place is a thing that has no will of its own. A character has will. Characters accordingly are more interesting as stories than elements.

Second and finally, an element is something that “always was there” throughout the history of the universe. I have in mind from our civilization the elements of old fashioned chemistry and physics, or the Greeks’ earth, fire, water, and air: things that characters use and that no one and nothing created or introduced into existence. Characters by contrast are works in progress. They are born, they die, they grow, they are uncertain what to do from one moment to the next. I grant that this dichotomy leaves out gods, that is, immortal and therefore eternal persons with disappointable wills; and it also leaves out artifacts, things made from other things. Thus, to recapitulate, Fire is generally an element, sometimes a character. Sun is sometimes a god but more often an artifact, sometimes a living one and therefore a “frankenstinian” character. This is roughly 136

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how Levi-Strauss and López Austin saw them and it is how they are in the stories we will discuss.

Yavapai, the Burning of the World Around 1930, Jim Stacey of near Mayer, Arizona, told via his interpreter son Johnson a twenty-six story, three cycle history of the world from the earliest of things (1933:347-415) to in effect the night before the return of the whites to the land in which they were created in story nine. The cycles end with world, or population, destroying cataclysms and they begin with the fresh creation of new people, such as the whites.1 I have discussed the organization of Stacey’s mythology twice before (1981, 1998), but without going into detail on the story we are now interested in. Here it is, in an abstract made by me: 1. Coyote gambled with Sun who lived as a chief with a wife and children and various followers, apparently nearly all human. His two storey house was of stone. They had a corn garden.

2. They gambled with the hoop and pole game (a homely variant I think of the Mesoamerican ball game). Coyote lost toss after toss. He lost all of his material wealth (baskets, dolls, beads, his wife), down to one of his legs which Sun cut off. Coyote replaced it with a wooden one,2 and went off.

1 A remarkable feature of the Stacey mythology is that it never states the origin or creation of the Yavapais. Thus, whites are created, and so are the Pimas, but the text is mute on the creation of the Yavapais’ tribal ancestors. I don’t think that was a detail withheld from the reocrded Gifford, because two other Yavapai mythologies also lack this event. I have speculated that it was deliberate omission to counteract the Pimas and Maricopas who gave large attention (especially the Pimas) to how their ancestors came into being.

2 With characters named for animals, like Coyote, it is never easy, and it is sometimes seems to be a bit of an intentional game, to guess how much of the character’s nature was animal and how much was human. Stacey gave us a nice problem. If Coyote walked on two legs, the loss of one would be worse that if he went on all fours. Typically, the text doesn’t say how Coyote walked, and I imagine that Stacey would have said that he does not know.

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3. He went to the highlands where pine trees grow to the house of Tree Squirrel, the chief of a band of mainly rodent-people. Squirrel and his people agreed to help Coyote regain his losses.

4. The revenge seekers came to the vicinity of Sun’s house.

Several rodents failed to get close enough by tunneling to inspect it. Hummingbird however succeeded in seeing it from above, and he ignited one of Sun’s eyelashes.3 Hummingbird also leared that Sun enters his house from below the ground.

5. Badger dug a tunnel through which the visitors entered Sun’s ground-level room. Sun sensed from the room above that they had come and he sent his own Coyote below to observe them. That Coyote reported that they had brought much property to bet.

6. Sun sent that Coyote to offer water, corn, and squash to the visitors. They received them but wisely and secretly threw them away.

7. Squirrel learned from the Coyote of his party where Sun had sat during the previous gambling. Squirrel sat there.

Sun came down and asked for his usual place, but Squirrel did not yield it.

8. Rabbit, not Squirrel, began to gamble with Sun, in a buried root guessing game. After half of the night, Sun made the first wrong guess.

9. Sun rid himself of this opponent by ordering his two daughters to take him to their corn garden and make love with him for the rest of the night. Meanwhile by morning Rabbit’s animal replacements had won the rest of Sun’s known property including his wife and daughters. Sun said that the victors could kill him. Squirrel however had learned that Sun had some sons. Sun was permitted to rise in the sky and make daylight, and Sun’s sons and the Rodent people, except Rabbit (gone) and probably Coyote (disabled) and Squirrel (too dignified), started a long kickball race.

3 We are not told whether this was accomplished by reflecting the sun’s light and heat or by emissions from Hummingbird.

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10. Roused by Sun’s wife from the corn garden, Rabbit ran to find Squirrel alone at Sun’s house. Rabbit learned of the race and created some obstacles on the path, including a high place. Then he followed the course and caught up with Sun’s sons who were then in the lead. These sons failed to kick their ball over the height obstacle, while Rabbit (cottontail), aided by Jackrabbit, succeeded.

11. Sun returned to learn who won the race. He accepted death by a stone axe blow from Squirrel. Squirrel then tore off one of Sun’s arms and threw it into the sky to become today’s sun. Sun’s people all ran away. Squirrel’s people flayed Sun’s body and tried to collect and contain and transport all of his bones, innards, and meat. The wooden-legged Coyote, however, absent mindedly left a piece of Sun’s stomach on a pile of rocks. As the visiting party departed the scene, they looked back and saw smoke rising. This was the start of a fire that burned the whole world and transformed all who survived into red ants.

We see that today’s sun is but the arm of an original Sun who, once killed, might have been kept safely by the killers. The story does not say how they planned to keep or dispose of the body, only that the piece they forgot to carry off became an allconsuming fire. We are left thinking their plan was illogical, there was no hope for safe-keeping.

Nor does Stacey’s mythology say that all fire originated in this episode. Indeed, there is a mention of fire in the very first story of the mythology, a story quite like the Maricopa one we will next discuss; and fire figures into a few other stories between that first one and the one we are interested in. Fire, as will be seen later, was an available and known element, and is not a character is Stacey’s mythology/history of the world. Thus, this was a fire, cataclysmic, formed from the residue of a violent character, Sun. The text testifies to what I think is an elementary rule on fire: it burns what it touches.

I believe that Stacey knew that rule perfectly well, and he or the story’s ultimate author defied it without trying to explain how 139

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the visiting party would keep the Sun’s body. The story says in effect, “I like the idea, don’t bother me with the details.”4 Maricopa, the Cremation of Cipas The first story of a ten story mythology told by a man named Kutox ends with the death by sorcery and the cremation of a man-god named Cipas (Spier, 1933:348-352). Cipas had furnished an abused Rattlesnake with poison fangs, with which the snake bit and killed its abuser, Rabbit. To punish Cipas the members of his small band (the first society in the world) decided to have Frog drink all of the water in a pond where Cipas went swimming each morning. The pond contained the washedoff essence of Cipas, and so the drinking caused him to sicken and die.

The survivors cremated Cipas who had earlier provided them with an axe with which to cut wood. The narrator states that in their happier days “they had enough fire to make them happy” (Spier, 1933:348). Fire then was not new to society, axes were; and this defies Levi-Strauss’s rule of the importance of the attainment of fire.

4 Let us note as an aside that this story has two motifs present in the Popol Vuh, namely gambling, in fact betting one’s life, on a competition over balls; and the origin of today’s sun. In the Popol Vuh two boys kill themselves by jumping into a fire after having defeated the Lords of the Underworld in a ball game; then after causing the destruction of the lords (the boys’ unburnt bones regenerate them) the boys destroy the lords and finally they become the sun and the moon.

The Popol Vuh and the Stacey story differ in what takes place around those motifs. In role of the defeated gambler, Stacy has the villainous Sun who prior to igniting the world involuntarily provides his arm to form today’s sun. In place of the Popol Vuh’s aggrieved twins (whose father was earlier killed by the lords), Stacey has the sequence of Coyote (aggrieved), Squirrel (sympathetic chief), and Rabbit (gambler, lover of girls, race winner). The Popul Vuh’s ball game becomes the Yavapai sequence of hoop and pole, bury-the-root, and kickball, all with cosmic overtones since all are games of the sun. Last, a corn field that the Popul Vuh twins reject to become ball players is Rabbit’s loving ground.

The elements of ball game and sun origin are probably present in other New World texts. We should see:(1) where each such text stands in its teller’s overall mythology, and (2) whether there are counterparts, parodic or not, in neighboring texts.

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The defiance is intentional. According to the Maricopa story the survivors feared that Coyote, who lived among them, would eat Cipas’s flesh as it cooked. Therefore they lied to him that they had no fire. He went to the sun to get some. On reaching the sun (not treated as a character) he looked back and saw that the cremation had already begun. He ran home, jumped over the shortest mourners, and ran off with the cooked but unincenerated heart of Cipas.

The story has many of the characters of Stacey’s the Burning of the World, but where the latter story has the singeing of the earth and the burning down of its creatures to the condition of red ants, this story has the burning of a chief murdered by the drinking of his bathwater. In both stories Coyote steals an internal organ, and most interestingly each story breaks one of the above-stated rules: my common-sense rule of fire’s dangerousness in the Stacey story and the Levi-Strauss rule on the need to obtain fire in this one.

Thus, I think that Levi-Strauss is correct. Mythologies do generally have a story about the obtaining of fire, elemental fire. It is just that some mythologies scoff at the idea.

Let us now see how Stacey handled his cremation story, the mate to this Maricopa one (1933:349-352). Stacey has a chief Frog in the place of the Maricopa’s fully human-formed chief, Cipas.5 His human-formed daughter, not a frog-woman as in the Maricopa, sickens the chief. (She is a shaman, the text says.)

In both stories the dying chief orders that he be cremated. In Stacey, he orders that his heart should be carefully buried. In both stories the people fear that Coyote will eat the roasting body. In Stacey a man shoots eastward a fire drill (stick) from a hunting hunting bow (fire-making bows are smaller and their strings are not taut). In both stories Coyote is sent to get some of the fire. He leaves, and he discovers the cremation has started without him. He runs back, snatches the heart, absconds with 5 I follow a simple convention: if a character has the name of a natural species or object, such as “Frog” or “Sun,” I assume this character fuses, or mixes, the qualities of humans and that natural object. If the character has a name which is not that of a species or object, I assume the character is entirely human in appearance. In New World mythologies the former kind of names, and characters, usually far outnumber the latter.

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it, and eats it. In Stacy the people put dirt where the heart had been and the first corn sprouts from that.

That Stacey changes the chief to a Frog and makes the chief’s killer his own human daughter, and that the killing is motivated by a complaint of the daughter (about incest in other versions of the story), in contrast to the Maricopas’ public outcry over the death of Rabbit, makes the two stories different enough so that each tribe could consider its version to be distinctly its own. When it comes to fire, both stories defy LeviStrauss’s rule: the journey for fire is a ruse. But they defy differently: journey to the sun (Maricopa) versus journey to get an eastern fire caused by the sparks (not the rotational friction of actual fire drills) made by a fire arrow (Yavapai).

The Pimas, who did not practice cremation like Maricopas and probably the Yavapais,6 have another version of this story (Russell, 1908:215-217): a man-god named Elder Brother gave fangs to an abused rattlesnake who bit and killed Rabbit the abuser. Elder Brother was not punished for this. Rather, Rabbit suffered a slow death and was cremated.

The Pimas normally buried their dead, but in this instance cremation was selected, it is said, for fear that Coyote would make short work of a buried rabbit. The Maricopas, said to be coresident then with the Pimas, proposed cremation. Coyote was sent to the sun for fire. Meanwhile Blue Fly invented the firedrill, thanks to which the pyre was ignited. Coyote discovered that he was tricked, and he came back, and snatched the heart and ran away with and ate it.

The Pimas’ Elder Brother (their equivalent to the Maricopa Cipas and the Yavapai Frog-chief) is eventually killed by an arrow shot from Sun’s bow. This event is well established in all versions of Pima mythology. What we have in their cremation episode is a Pima appropriation of a story that is central to their neighbors.

They appropriated it and made a place for it in their mythology by working it into the career of their god Elder Brother. Interestingly, of the three peoples (Maricopa, Yavapai, Pima), only the Pimas give us a story of the invention of the fire drill, that is, a 6 Yavapais buried their dead through the twentieth century. Perhaps they cremated their dead earlier.

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story of the origin of human mastery over fire. The other peoples’ stories assume the existence of that tool.7 Levi-Strauss was probably too inattentive to fire drills. After all, the drill is a means to make fire where there was none, in fact to create it, without bringing the fire from somewhere else (the sun, a cave in the earth, etc.). Levi-Strauss indexes fire drills only in the fourth volume of his “Introduction to a Science of Mythology,” and there he gives only four references for the instrument. One passage mentions the drill without comment (1990:102); two place the drill in the order of “culture,” not “nature” (1990:102, 159) — which is to acknowledge that whoever makes fire with a drill does not need to obtain fire from nature; and one reference speculates that the use of the drill is like incest in requiring “intimate contact between closely related pieces [of wood in this case]” and in resembling coitus (1990:149-150).

The incest remark is fanciful, but so is mythology fanciful.

We do not yet know much about how Native Americans fancied the fire drills that mock Levi-Strauss’s concern with the importation of fire.

The Pimas: Mythology with Little Fire and Little also about Sun From the Pimas we have something too rare in mythological studies: three independently told, well recorded, single narrator versions of the whole of ancient time. They were taken down between 1900 and 1935. Pimas are still interested in these matters, so the reason that additional texts were not recorded was more because of anthropology’s uninterest than because of that of the Pimas. Still, it seems that there may be no Pima today 7 Actually, two Pima texts have the origin of the fire drill. The other is from a version of 1927 (Bahr et al., 1994:53). In that text the fire drill is made by the man-god Earth Doctor at an early point in the chronicle of ancient times.

Immediately after creating people, he invented the fire drill by using two sticks that he had obtained. At this time he also demonstrated that fire could be made from sparks struck from rocks.

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who knows the stories as well and savors them as much as the narrators who were recorded three generations ago. It is a great help to have the three old versions because with them we can see what is constant and what varied, and what was major and what minor, and, important to us now, what was of hardly any account at all in this peoples’ mythology.

We have just considered the one important story about fire in the three Pima mythologies: that of the first cremation. It is present only in two of them. The other version of it is in Bahr, ed., 200:24.8 This story is generally considered by the Pimas to be Maricopa. The Pimas have no sun-or-fire-based burning of the world, and no story either about how fire first came under human control, or of any other important ancient action by or about fire (but see note 6). Thus, the Pimas have a basically fireless mythology. The reason for this is probably not that they were uninterested in fire, it is probably that they had no story distinctly their own to put up against the Yavapai and Maricopa stories about fire. Thus, they let themselves be mythologically fireless except for the small borrowing with modification that we have noted. Yet in their modification they gave the sole known local account of the origin of fire drills.

The Pimas say somewhat more about the sun which, or who, however is hardly a character in their mythology. They say that the sun was created by Earth Doctor, who froze ice in a bowl and threw the resulting disc into the sky (Russell, 1908:207; Bahr, ed., 1994, and Bahr, ed., 2001:7). The Maricopas by contrast have Cipas make the sun from a hair plucked from below his ear (Spier, 1933:346). The Yavapai mythology puts off the creation of the sun until “The Burning of the World,” although daylight and sunshine are mentioned from the first story onwards.

Otherwise, about the sun in the respective mythologies the Pimas have a story in which a man named Sun Meeter sends a 8 In that version the killed and cremated person is the Pima man-god Earth Doctor, a person different from the Elder Brother of the other story. As is explained in a note on p. 27 of the version now under consideration, there is reason to believe that the story, like the one discussed above, was “stolen” from the Maricopas.

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kickball to a rival village. The ball impregnates a girl there who gives birth to a female monster (e.g., Russell, 1908:221224). This story is present in every known Pima mythology and indeed the way to say “mythology” or “ancient history” or “old time story” in Pima is “Ho’ok A:ga.” “Ho’ok” is name of the monster and “a:ga” means “telling,” thus, ”Monster Telling.” The monster we may say was very indirectly fathered by the sun, via the kickball put into play by Sun Meeter. Sun per se is not given any role in the story. He, or it, has no stated interest in human affairs.

The Yavapai mythology has no stories on the sun other than the ones we have discussed. The Maricopas have none on the sun explicitly but they have a story that mentions a house made of ice in the sky (with a fire inside it) — Spier, 1933:407) and another about a feud that involved the shooting of a boy who could fly, and the killing and decapitation of a man from the boy-klilling group (1933:409-414), conceivably remotely solar.

The Huichols: Fire as Character The Huichols make fire a far more interesting character than do the three peoples just discussed. The remainder of this paper observes and praises how they do so, for they may have the best characterization of fire in the New World. We will examine three stories: one from a full mythology, one with no known context (at least none known to me), and one from a partial mythology.

The first is in fact the first story of a fourty-six story mythology told by Juan real to Robert Zingg in 1934 (published, 1938:515-516). Here is my abstract of Zingg’s rendition, which he explained is itself an abstract of Real’s full telling, which was in Spanish not in Huichol: 1. In the begining neither Sun nor Fire existed, at least not as they now do. What would become normalized as Fire came from a rock near the [western] seacoast. Each night 145

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[as if there was a diurnal succession prior to Sun] Fire grew slightly larger, reaching the size of a god-disc [said

by Zingg to be about 20 centemeters in diameter].

2. The man-god Kauymali told other existing ancient people, or god-people, that virgin children must take cautious care of the still and ever dangerous Fire. The chidren were sent and were stunned on seeing Fire. Then they dreamed how to “tame” [Zingg’s word] him.

3. Fire told the children to bring a censer, a pouch, a gourd bowl [with water?], and four small rocks. They should wet their hands with water, and the rocks were for Fire to sit on in the form of glowing coals.

4. Actually the colas jumped on the rocks and destroyed them. Fire said, “I am indeed the most delicate of all the gods. I cannot move without destroying<check if this word is used> everything in sight.”

5. Fire then told the children to bring five stone discs with feathers. On praying to the the discs [now separated from Fire] the feathers would ignite and people would have fire whenever they wished [the prayerful or magical equivalent of a fire drill. No such actual drill is mentioned in the Real mythology].

6. But Fire still ignited the world. To stop the threatened cataclysm the ancient people prayed for the help of the woman-god Nakawe who responded by loosening her hair to pour out rain. Only a small fire remained. This [which was also the person of Fire?] was put in a newly built small house [a “god-house”]. The people hung a bunch of feathers from the rafters.

7. The girl child then made an offering bowl and the boy trapped a deer whose blood was offered to Fire in the bowl.

8. That tamed Fire who nonetheless needed watching for five nights “as he could not go in all parts as of yet” [it is not clear what this means: that he would later go to them in a tamed condition, or that his going now would mean his loss to the ancient people]. On the fifth night Opossum stole the fire [to deprive the people of it?]. The people caught Opossum, killed him, and removed the fire [not 146

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Fire?] that was in his heart. Opossum revived, but the hole from which its [her?] heart was removed remains.

There the opossums now give birth to and carry and feed their young, and therefore opossums now revive after being killed.

The important point to make about this story is simple: Real put a contrary version of a standard myth about the origin of elemental fire at the end of this text, and he led up to that story with an account of how the character Fire volunteered to be tamed by virgin children. Real’s contrary version has Fire almost become lost to the people due to theft by Opossum. The normal version has Opossum obtain fire for people by stealing it, e.g., from a male Fire Master (e.g., Neurath and Gutiérrez, 2003:298-302 for the Coras, and for Mesoamérica in general, López Austin,1990:7). So, normally Opossum gets fire for people, but in Real he/she almost takes it from them.

And this is the “punch line” of a text whose real interest and probably real originality, comparatively speaking, is “Raising Fire:” how people followed Fire’s directions to change him from a blazing destroyer to a warming enlightener. And although Real’s mythology does not say so, Fire is also that with which the Huichols cook food. The beauty of the story is that Fire wanted this outcome: benevolent but dangerous fire, that is his character.

Next we take up a text taken down, probably in Spanish,

by Konrad Preuss early in the twentieth century, and abstracted by me from a Spanish summary by Neurath and Gutiérrez (2003:303-304). It is a story of how an old man, at first slumbering, came to embody elemental fire that had been separate from him, and how he was raised as Grandfather Fire to some ancient humans who lived above where he had been: 1. Some ancient people lived in the underworld. They desired light.

2. The moon, their grandmother, was born [came into existence], gave limited light, and tricked them by produc147

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ing heat and light inside some red and blue rocks. Then this light stopped.

3. The people went to investigate. One went to the edge of [an underworld] canyon. At the bottom lay an old man.

Near him was a blue rock of horrible [humanlike?] appearance, with feathers, an armband, sandals, and a feathered shining stick.

4. The investigator reported. The light-seeking band decided an arrow shot was needed. They aroused some small snakes that became the target and were hit, with no effect [pequenas serpients que fallaron el blanco y cayeron, sin resultado alguno]. Then the “Child of the Star” went to a peak above the rock and shot an arrow that dislodged the rock so it fell. Much smoke appeared.

5. The old man [he of the canyon] circled below [rodo cuesta abajo] , where the stones were now wet [regadas — means “wet?”]. Deer from the south and the north raised him [from the canyon]. They called him their grandfather and made chairs for him of four kinds of wood. He sat on one and flamed with a brilliance that enabled the people to see and recognize each other, “Our grandfather [Fire] is born.”

In this text arrows fired from above are the key to turning fire into the future Grandfather Fire. This idea was lacking in Real.

As in Real, deer are also involved in getting Fire to the people, but in this text as transporters and in Real as sources of blood that is administered by humans. Unlike Real, this story has the practical provision of wood at the end, for Fire to sit on (and ignite). Real on the other hand has the longer set of provisions with god-discs, ceremonial containers, a god-house, a rain storm, and the deer blood. The main difference, though, is that this shorter text makes Fire mentally and physically passive, while Real has him mentally and physically active: Confine me and offer to me, or I’ll burn you all up!

Our final testimony on Fire as a character is pictorial. It comes from a series of “yarn paintings” with verbal commentary, both made by Tutulia Carrillo and published by Juan Negrín 148

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(1975:38-59). The publication is an art museum catalogue and therefore Carrillo’s remarks are keyed to what he put into the paintings, including remarks on where a character, such as Fire, is located in a picture. This was appropriate, but it sacrifices the narrative of time (“this happened and then that, because of so-and-so”) for the exposition of things that show in a single pictorial space.9 In any case my use of Carrillo is entirely pictorial: within his paintings are pictures of the character Fire, always with a headdress (but then all the characters except birds have either headdresses or antlers or upright ears). Fire’s head is always in profile (this is true of most of his characters). The headdress like a chicken comb of four or five curving filaments, perhaps feathers or flames. These rise upright from the head and bend backward in parallel. They end at the level of the shoulder blades. Fire sometimes stands and sometimes sits in a chair. He has arms with hands and fingers and legs with feet; and he has other details the text does not explain but that Carrillo or persons schooled in his work could probably interpret. I am indebted to Carrillo for establishing what few may have doubted but about which I wanted to be certain, that Fire looks like a man in Huichol mythology.

Now Sun: very briefly, Real treats the “taming” of Sun in the second, fifth, and sixth stories of his mythology. Like Fire, Sun first existed in the ocean underworld, but his “family” of parrots, eagles, hawks, turkeys, rattlesnakes, and jaguars were either formed spontaneously from ocean spray or from Sun’s 9 The paintings as tangible and lasting statements are like the songs of Pima mythology. Most of a Pima ancient-times-telling performance is in oral prose and therefore must be summoned from memory for the occasion. The oral prose medium does not permit word for word reproduction from performance to performance. But the mythology is interspersed with songs which are perfectly memorized, down to the last sound. These unlike the oral prose portions are considered to be the very words, and syllables, of the ancients. They are also very short, usually just a few lines, or sentences, long.

The yarn paintings are as permanent as the songs, but they are permanent in externalized form. A song must be brought out from «internal» memory in order to be communicated, a yarn painting is already outside. It appears that Tutukila’s paintings have far more things (characters and objects) in them than the Pima myth-telling songs.

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spit. Sun’s taming required the services of the man-god Kauymali, the woman-god Nakawe, and Fire. Included in the taming process was anointment with deer blood, as in the taming of Fire. But Sun’s taming and entry into the sky were finally accomplished by the discovery and eating of peyote (formed miraculously from deer) by rival parties of ancient people led by Fire and Nakawe.

Thus, to Real the origins of Fire and Sun were both questions of the taming of something already in existence, and the stories run parallel courses. But Fire entered into Sun’s taming,10 and that taming required the eating for peyote, an act and a thing not present in Fire’s story.

Here is Carrillo’s simpler version of Sun’s origin: in the eighth story of this twelve-story mythology, a boy, persecuted by the ancient people, is boiled to death in a pot. As he he dies, blood spews from his mouth. This becomes the sun. Carrillo’s ninth story tells that the boy’s blood-becoming-Sun found a boy on earth to be his means of communicating with people, and the tenth story tells that the earth-living boy caused a bull, then a deer, to be sacrificed on Sun’s behalf, partly to establish Sun’s daily journey through the sky, partly to cause rain to fall, and finally to cause plants to sprout so that people would no longer need to eat people (Negrin, 1975:50-52).

Conclusions: Miniregions It is proper to study myths in the context of whole individual mythologies, and to see those wholes as making plays on neighboring wholes. Such was the procedure in this paper as between Yavapai, Maricopa, and Pima myths and mythologies on fire and sun. We then took up Fire among the Huichols.

This program of study is infinite. One can exhaust the references to fire that are contained in one telling of a mythology, but the narrator might say more or differently in another tell10 In the Carrillo version, below, too: the boy who becomes Sun is cooked in a pot heated by Fire.

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ing. Mythologies are the size of small books, and who of us who has written a book can remember and tell it the same way twice?11 Mythologies are not permanently fixed. They are probably under continual modification (we actually know little about this) due, I think, to a desire to answer back to neighbors. Each tribal small nation has, or had, three or four contiguous neighbors (plus local variations within itself), and each nation had a different set of neighbors. The striking thing about them is that they did not tend toward uniformity, or mythological unity, but rather they maintained diversity – through parody.

Now, how are the stories of the northern miniregion — Yavapai, Maricopa, and Pima — neighborly and parodic on the subject of fire? Let me first state the opinion that this paper has dealt with two stories of unusual interest and originality. These are Real’s Birth of Grandfather Fire and Stacey’s Burning of the World.

The Grandfather Fire story I will not comment on farther. We need more texts from the “southern” miniregion, texts that I hope are already published. On Stacey’s story, I have stated in a footnote that the plot of this text shares motifs with the Popol Vuh, good company for any story. I will not pursue that enticing comparison farther because those two are not actually company, that is, are not from neighboring peoples. I have also commented on how Stacey’s Burning of the World resembles the opening story in his mythology, with the cremation of Frog: the world versus a frog-man are burned, and Coyote steals an organ in each text (Sun’s stomach and Frog’s heart). Moreover, the cremation story ends a cycle in Stacey’s mythology, with a flood, while the burning of the world ends a cycle with fire. This is the proper comparison for us now.

Let us add the Maricopa cremation story to the set and consider all three parodically. A total of six important characters appear in one or more of the stories. One of those, Coyote, is in all three; three characters, Frog, Sun, and Rabbit, are in two stories; and two of the six, a human-man-formed-god (named 11 Mythologies are told in oral prose, that is, in normal speaking voice. They are memorized at the level of the event, not at the level of the sentence or word.

Other kinds of text of the region — songs, prayers, chants, and orations — are memorized at more minute levels.

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Cipas) and Squirrel, occur only in one story, both times in the role of chief of a band. Thus, Burning of World Frog Sun Man-god Squirrel Rabbit Coyote

Maricopa Cremation

0

+ + 0 +

Yavapai Cremat. +

+ + 0

+ +

+ +

0 0 0 0 +

The above cold actuarial summary establishes the interlocking nature of the principal characters. This is one criterion for what I mean by parody. Parodic texts must have characters (or let us say subjects, or topics) in common. The next criterion is that the characters (etc.) must be rendered differently; and, third, the differences must be understandable such that one version can be read as the “established” or “target” or “butt” or “stimulus” text for the parody and the other can be read as the “demeaning” “attacking” or “response” text, that is, as the actual parody.

The problem is in establishing intent. How can we be sure that the narrators of old texts appreciated the difference between their version and the versions of others: not only appreciated but created the difference in parody? The evidence can only be circumstantial. We will read the texts for interlocking generic characters with contrasting realizations; and we will fancy whether one version could have “put down” or “attacked” another. The mythologies of neighbors should yield many such readings, the mythologies of remote peoples should yield few.

Here are the my readings of our three “dual” characters: Frog: established in the Maricopa, where Frog drinks the bath water of her human-formed father; demeaned in the Yavapai cremation where Frog is presented as chief. The message: “Your chief is a frog to us.”

Sun: established in the Maricopa as a source for fire; demeaned in the Yavapai (world burning) where Sun is a 152

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delicious villain, a piece of whom makes a catalcysm.

Message: “Your sun is paltry compared to ours.”

Rabbit: established in the Maricopa as a pitiful victim; demeaned in the Yavapai (world burning) where Rabbit is a great, smart gambler and lover-boy. Message: “And your rabbit is infantile.”

Here are some supporting mythological facts. On Frog, the Yumas, Mojaves, and Maricopas all have a Frog daughter eat the feces, dropped in a river, of a man-god equivalent to Cipas (but with different names). It seems that the Maricopa version is a more modest form of those others. But at the same time the Maricopa narrative attacks one of the names of the Pima manman referred to above as Elder Brother. Another name for this god is “Drink-it-all-up,” which is what Cipas’s daughter did to the bather water. (I don’t know the Maricopa name “Cipas” has any literal meaning.)

On Sun, we have seen the widespread motif of “Coyote sent for fire.” The Yumas, Mojaves, and Cocopas have it, too. A mission to the sun (elemental, not character, sun) is the Maricopa rendition of the motif. One could consider the entire spread of elemental fire sources to be minor parodies of each other. But the major parody, I believe, is Stacey’s making the sun into a character. Stacey or a predecessor’s message is: “You have the sun as an elemental small thing, I make him an interesting fellow!”

On Rabbit, there is a nice contrast between Rabbit as victim and Rabbit as victor, but I can’t suggest which is the parody.

The Rabbit-as-victim story seems confined to the Maricopa and Pima versions of the cremation story. The Yumas, Mojaves, and Cocopas have their man-god killed because of his incestuous glances at a daughter who eats his feces in retaliation. One can say the Rabbit as victim is a parody of those (Rabbit replaces man-god, bath water replaces feces). I don’t know a nearby story other than Stacey’s with Rabbit as victor, nor of Sun as gambler or piece-of-gambler as source of the sun, nor of piece-of-sun-man as cause of conflagration. If such stories are not found, we can say that the whole great Yavapai story is 153

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a parody of — or “a refraction from” — the locally rather widely spread cremation story.12 Parodies in modern written literatures are single-minded attacks on single texts. Tribal mythologies simultaneously parody points in all of their neighbors, like ships with guns pointed in several directions. And the mythologies change constantly depending on the new targets they discover.

What will this theory of mythologies do for us? We should like to tie the particulars in myths to particulars of a teller’s personal, political, geographical, and economic circumstances: to tie something literary (story) to something extra-literary. For the miniregion, where the peoples are all neighbors, the theory of parody opposes this reductionist, outside-cause theory of myth as follows. The theory ties a point in a myth to something outside the text, but inside the realm of literature, namely a neighbor’s mythology. This is a benefit because it makes us consider whether the peoples of a miniregion are not effectively the same in their practical activities in the world: same natural environment, same subsistence, same family life. They might be the same, and their mythological (also ceremonial) life may differ simply in order to be different. We can entertain this because we now have a sociological or psychological motive for their mythologies to differ: for the sake of difference, for social identity, for pride. Now, is this not an extra-mythic, extra-literary explanation? Yes it is, but it is not of the sort, “because the tellers had families of a certain type,” or “because the rains were of a certain amount.” Indeed, one supposes that within a miniregion such factors are constant.

Not so, however, between macroregions.

Conclusions: Macroregions “Desert” versus “grassland” versus «mountain forest» are macroregions, at least in a biological sense (regions are also political, and as we know politics can override geography). I believe it is in the spirit of this conference to consider how 12 There are surely aggressive and «agentive» stories on Rabbit or Hare from the Midwest of the U.S. There are summarized, for instance, by Bierhorst, 1985, 213-224.

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“desert” mythologies contrast with, say, “forest” ones. This is the spirit of discontinuous comparison in which continuity or neighborliness, and therefore parody, do not apply. A good topic for such comparison would be, for example, how the mythologies of the Athabaskans of North America differ depending on the life zones of the peoples, specifically the Athabaskans of the forested Subarctic and those of the dry Southwest. About them one could consider whether the details of the north and south peoples owe more to life zone or to neighborly parody (say, of Navajos making neighborly play on their Pueblo neighbors). This paper does not do that. We will, however, do the following: take the desert-sensitive topics of Rain and Wind, and note how a desert people promoted those topics as characters, not merely as mere elements.

Since the earth’s life zones mainly depend on climate – hot, warm, cool, cold — and moisture — arid, dry, moist, sopping — then a useful study should be how peoples of different zones mythologize aberrations of climate. There is ample study of the local norms, for example in archaeoastronomy: the solstices, the months, the phases of Venus, etc. But as far as I know the mythic expressions of aberrations of the local norms – floods, droughts, cold- and heat-waves — are little studied. Here as a start is a myth from the desert Pima on drought.

How Morning Green Lost his Power Over the Wind Gods and the Rain Gods Morning Green [the chief of an ancient village at the presentday Casa Grande Ruins National Monument] is reputed to have had special magic power over two supernatural beings, known as Wind-man and Rain-man. It happened at one time that many people were playing a game with canes in the main plaza of Morning Green’s settlement, on the south side of the compound; among these were Rain-man and Wind-man. The latter laid a wager that if he lost, his opponent should look on the charms of a certain maid. When Wind-man lost, in revenge he sent a great wind that blew aside her blanket, at which indignity she cried 155

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and complained of Wind-man to Morning Green, who was so angry he made Rain-man blind, obliging him to be led about by his servant, the wind; he also banished both from Casa Grande.

They went to the San Bernardino Mountains in what is now California and lived at Eagle Mountain, near the present town of Wadsworth, where as a consequence it rains continually.

After the banishment of these two the rain ceased at Casa Grande for four years, and Morning Green sent Humming-bird to the mountains where Wind-man and Rain-man resided. Humming-bird carried with him a white feather, which he held aloft to detect the presence of wind. Three times he thus tried to discover Wind-man by the movements of this feather, but was not successful. When at last Humming-bird came to a place where there was much green grass he again held up the feather to see whether it showed any movement of the air. It responded by indicating a slight wind, and later he came to the spot where Wind-man and Rain-man were, but found them asleep.

Humming-bird dropped a little medicine on the breasts of Windman and Rain-man, which caused them after a time to move and later to awake. When they had risen from their sleep Hummingbird informed them that Morning Green had sent him to ask them to return and again take up their abode with him at Casa Grande.

Rain-man, who had no desire to return, answered, “Why did Morning Green send us away?” and Wind-man said, “Return to Morning Green and tell him to cut off his daughter’s hair and make from it a rope. Bring this rope to me and I will tie it about my loins that Rain-man, who is blind, may catch hold of it while I am leading him. But advise all in Casa Grande to take the precaution to repair the roofs of their houses so they will not leak, for when we arrive it will rain violently.” Humming-bird delivered this message to the chief at Casa Grande and later brought back the twisted rope of human hair. Wind-man and Rain-man had barely started for Casa Grande when it began to rain, and for four days the downpour was so great that every roof leaked.

Morning Green vainly used all his power to stop the rain, but the magic availed little (Fewkes, 1912:47-48).

Rain and Wind are surely characters in this story. They are classic dirty young/old men. Here is how the story could be 156

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explained: ask what this story could be a parody of, and establish whether it is part of a desert-caused regional theme. Here are some thoughts.

First, the Maricopa and Yavapai mythologies do not contain Wind and Rain as characters, and they do not have stories of drought in the sense of «we had rain and then unfortunately we lost it.» Therefore the Pimas are exceptional in these matters, and therefore they seem to be parodying something or someone.

What could their target be? The only parodic resonance that I detect is relative to other Pima stories, not between them and the Maricopas or Yavapais. But this is tentative: the Maricopa and Yavapai record is very scant, and I may still have missed something in it. In any case the above story parallels other Pima stories on the loss of Corn and Tobacco, than these take two forms: (1) Tobacco was a woman who desired but lacked suitors so she got her father to kill her by burial; then she sprouted as tobacco the smoking of which attracted rain for the people; and then she quarreled with Corn over who was most important, and they both left humanity; and (2)Corn was a man who came to humanity and married a woman and provided humanity with work-free and abundant showers of corn; the couple had a child who died; corn left and the miraculous corn showers ceased (Bahr, ed., 1994: 85-107 for examples of both types).

I conclude that the Pima dirty-old-man drought story fits with other Pima «character-stories» in which an initial abundance is followed by total loss and is then normalized to today’s standards.

Love, sex, and marriage drive all of these stories. I suspect that the Pimas are more interested in those topics than in drought. The dirty old men are a comical and obscene turn in this love set, and the drought is more a means than an end. But let us see what moist land peoples say about droughts and other climatic aberrations!

References Cited BAHR, D. (ed.), The Short, Swift Time of Gods on Earth, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1994.

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BAHR, D., O’odham Creation and Related Events, University of Arizona Press, Tucson, 2001.

BAHR, D., “The Whole Past in a Yavapai Mythology”, American Indian Culture and Research Journal, 5(2), 1981, pp.135.

–––, “Mythologies Compared: Pima, Maricopa, and Yavapai”, Journal of the Southwest, 40(1), 1998, pp. 25-66.

BIERHORST, J., The Mythology of North America, Morrow (Quill), New York, 1985.

FEWKES, J., Casa Grande, Arizona. 28th Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, 25-179, Smithsonian Institution, Washington D.C.,1912.

GIFFORD, E., “Northeastern and Western Yavapai Myths”, Journal of American Folklore, 46, 1933, pp. 347-415.

LEVI-STRAUSS, C., The Naked Man, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1990. (Originally published: L’Homme Nu, Paris, 1971.)

LÓPEZ AUSTIN, A., Myths of the Opossum, University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, 1993. (Originally published: Los mitos del Tlacuache, Mexico City, 1990.)

NEGRÍN, J., The Huichol Creation of the World, Crocker Art Gallery, Sacramento CA., 1975.

NEURATH, J., and A. GUTIÉRREZ, “Mitología y literatura del Gran Nayar (Coras y Huicholes)”, in J. Jáuregui and J. Neurath (eds.), Flechadores de estrellas: nuevas aportaciones a la etnología de coras y huicholes, Mexico City, Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia/Universidad de Guadalajara, 2002.

RUSSELL, F., The Pima Indians. 26th Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, 3-389, Smithsonian Institution, Washington D.C., 1908. (Reprinted 1975: University of Arizona Press.)

SPIER, L., Yuman Tribes of the Gila River, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1933. (Reprinted: Waveland Press.)

ZINGG, R., The Huichols: Primitive Artists, G. E. Stechert, New York, 1938. (Reprinted: Krauss Reprint Co.)

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