Professional Documents
Culture Documents
this constitutes “a profound change in social logic” (1990: 3), coinciding with
the rise of populist groups challenging traditional class-based parties no longer
seen to be representative.
The emergence of women’s organisations from popular sectors of society also
poses a challenge to traditional middle-class feminist groups (Franco 1989: xxi).
Today, Latin American feminist movements, recognising the need for a distinct
set of values from their Anglo-American and French counterparts, have turned
to autochthonous figures such as the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo, Rigoberta
Menchú or Domitila de Chungara and as such have found themselves espousing
the socio-political objectives of the wider community. The shifting rural–urban
boundaries, due to economic growth and large-scale migration, have meant that
many women have been pushed to the frontier of socio-cultural and public–
private boundaries and, as a result, have found themselves in a position to
negotiate new roles and identities.3 Responding to transformations in their
societies, many have themselves become agents of change.
Gender identity and role configurations in Peru share much in common with
the rest of Latin America but retain some specificities of their own, namely the
highly stratified ethnic nature of the country where women are widely differen-
tiated from other women, as well as other men. This is particularly the case with
women from rural, or semi-urban, areas. Since the 1960s, many anthropologists
using a Marxist theoretical framework have regarded socio-economic issues,
such as landownership and the division of labour, as key concepts in understand-
ing the position of women in Andean society both past and present. In their
study on Andean women, Susan Bourque and Barbara Warren (1981) explore the
ways in which proximity to urban areas influences class and patriarchal relations.
Their thesis rests on the premise that the further a community is from a town or
city the more rigid its class and gender relations, whilst closer proximity allows
for the greater mobility of women and more fluid class structures. According to
them, women near urban areas are less affected by male-favoured inheritance
lines, stemming from communal land bases, due to the greater quantity of
privately owned land. This limits their role in the sphere of domestic consump-
tion, releasing them for the management of cash crops aimed for the market.4
If market forces and occupation allow women to resist the constraints of
patriarchal structures in the ayllu and offer them a degree of ethnic mobility,
other forms of resistance have also been available to them. By focusing on the
psycho-social or symbolic field, feminist historical studies have shown that
long-term strategies of resistance are embodied in the roles and identities of
Andean women within their communities. This has led Irene Silverblatt (1980:
176) to speak of a “female culture of resistance” in the Andes, the origins of
which she locates in the early colonial era when curaca women began to keep
the memory of an Inca past alive in their dress and weaving codes (1987: 123).
The Taller de la Historia Oral Andina (THOA) (1990: 167) has also linked
Andean female resistance to weaving, with women preserving a sense of ethnic
identity by encoding their histories into textiles. These woven accounts, with
their highly symbolic and non-linear form of narration, reflect the pattern of
indigenous oral history. THOA has also detected an indirect line of contestation
embodied in women’s agricultural activities. This links them to the larger
40
“ANTHROPOLOGY” AND “LITERATURE” INTERSECTED
linking certain women, such as Matilde, Asunta and la kurku to symbols from
the natural world (mountains, snow, flowers and birds) representing distance,
isolation and rarity, these women become vehicles for the sentiment of la
soledad cósmica, the thematic current running through much post-Hispanic
Quechua poetry and songs where the loved one (feminine presence or higher
spiritual being) is always perceived as far off or unobtainable.
This sentiment, coined by Arguedas (1961) in his analysis of Quechua poetry,
represents the sense of rupture and isolation endured by native culture in the
wake of the Spanish invasion. It is, therefore, a post-Columbian emotion and is
distinctly indigenous since it is directly linked to the experience of colonis-
ation.11 Arguedas, however, is keenly aware of its ambivalent implications.
Whilst it expresses feelings of pain and separation, it also acts as a consolidating
force, establishing an empathy in suffering which, compared with the mestizo
community which has no such integrative emotional dynamic, may restore
confidence and foster resistance. As such it can be highly subversive. That
certain women in TLS should come to represent it, through the association with
natural elements which symbolise it in Quechua poetry, comes as no surprise
when one takes into account that women, like the Indian community, have also
experienced disruption and marginalisation by patriarchal and capitalist forces,
and some (misti/unmarried women) more so than others in an Andean context.
The fact that these female characters acquire Marian dimensions also reinforces
notions of distance and inaccessibility through images of chastity and gives them
a public role as vehicles of expiation. This again draws a parallel with Quechua
poetry and hymns in which a female presence is often equated with consolation
and catharsis through shared suffering (Arguedas 1948, 1955). On another note,
the fact that Matilde and Asunta are mistis, or vecinas, and are transformed into
repositories of an autochthonous sentiment, suggests a process of
“indigenisation” taking place in the social imaginary of the vecino group and
correlates with Arguedas’ aim to present the reader with a vision of diverse
cultural allegiances, thereby reversing the image of acculturation represented in
much indigenista literature.
Matilde is the daughter of a declined aristocratic family from the coast
(Chiclayo). Her marriage to don Fermı́n, a landowner from the sierra, and her
transferral to the Andes, give rise to feelings of insecurity and isolation in San
Pedro society. Associated by Rendón and his comuneros with Andean images of
purity and rarity, or inaccessibility, such as mountain peaks, snow and the
achank’aray, a white mountain flower which grows just below the snow line, she
becomes a symbol of “cosmic solitude” through mutual identification and
empathy. The image of the achank’aray, therefore, not only reflects her geo-
cultural marginalisation and isolation, the fact that she has been uprooted from
the coast, but allows the Indian community, also marginalised and uprooted, to
see itself reflected in her. The emotional reciprocity between Matilde and the
comuneros becomes firmly established as she acquires a new perception of
reality, viewing her surroundings through the prism of an Andean cosmology in
which she now sees herself to be rooted.
If this character establishes a sense of mutuality through a shared experience
of “solitude” with the comuneros, Asunta parallels this with the vecinos. Her
43
MELISA MOORE
entry into the study of la kurku as a character and social actor. A religious
mentality linked to the colonial hacienda system and endorsing a dual image of
femininity is represented at the beginning of the novel by don Bruno with the
words: “La mujer fue creada para calmar o espolear al hombre” (1985: 116). In
this framework, la kurku becomes a model of “deviancy”, incarnating the
transgressive nature of carnal desire for the male characters in the novel. For don
Bruno she is thus simultaneously repellent and alluring: “¡Flor horrible, llena de
dulzura!” (1985: 211), so that soon she is equated with temptation and sin, and
morally responsible for his wrongdoings: “¡Kurka Gertrudis, tú eras el demonio,
no yo!” (1985: 35). If the figure of the “deviant” female is placed alongside that
of the unmarried woman which, according to Andean precepts, is equated with
unsocialised patterns of behaviour, a more composite image of la kurku begins
to emerge. La kurku is unmarried and unable to conceive because of her physical
condition as a hunchback. This denies her a role in the domestic sphere as wife
and mother, her condition taking on ontological significance in the popular
imagination: “Las kurkus no pueden parir” (1985: 54). The denial of a sex role
which socialises her also acquires cosmological significance through an Andean
discourse in which the boundaries between social and cosmological spheres are
suspended. In fact, la kurku’s very role and identity from her first appearance in
the novel are paralleled on the cosmological plane, so that her social marginal-
isation is translated into images which equate her with the asocial or “wild”. The
description of her miscarriage in mythical terms: “parió un condenado; un feto
muerto y con cerdas” (1985: 25), moreover, reveals the confluence of Catholic
and indigenous precepts in the Andean framework, where notions of the “wild”
are also equated with sin or transgression.
But la kurku’s role and identity of deviancy/“wildness” in the first half of the
novel gives way to a new position as a vehicle of collective memory through
song in the second half, a process which potentiates her role at a symbolic level
and which coincides with the reconfiguring of socio-economic and cultural
relations in San Pedro in the face of growing pressures from the capitalist
Consortium. Whereas Matilde and Asunta evoke the sentiment of la soledad
cósmica, through images from the natural world used in Quechua poetry, la
kurku’s songs embody both the collective experience of the indigenous com-
munity and now a natural universe (Pachamama) “orphaned” after the Spanish
invasion,19 her voice, like her physical demeanour, incarnating its very essence
so that she comes to personify the concept of an “orphaned” cosmology: “El
timbre era viejo […] en lo profundo de esa voz extraña, Anto oı́a que toda la
tierra se quejaba” (1985: 53). The play of light and shadow on her body
meanwhile dramatises the interconnection between social and cosmological
levels embodied in her as she sings.20 This reciprocity between human and
natural spheres is commonly represented in a type of song usually only sung by
women: the pre-Columbian harawi in which a mutuality is established between
the atonal sound of the women’s voices and that of the earth,21 as Arguedas
(1957a: 31) points out in “Canciones quechuas”: “Las mujeres cantaban, acom-
pañadas siempre de los wak’rapukus. Yo tuve la impresión de que el mundo
todo, las montañas y los cielos, la tierra, gemı́a, llameando […] Es la expresión
más intensa del hombre por comunicarse con las fuerzas sobrenaturales, por
46
“ANTHROPOLOGY” AND “LITERATURE” INTERSECTED
kurku conveys the meaning of the harawis through her delivery of them, her
tears literally constituting the semantic content of her songs to the vecinos.30
Whilst the content of these songs remains magical, since they still operate within
the framework of la soledad cósmica, their function acquires secular dimensions,
fostering a sense of resistance which will be used to defy the coastal authorities.
In TLS two wankas31 linked to the work-cycle are woven into the narrative: one
accompanying the construction of the new terraces in Lahuaymarca and the other
complementing the ploughing in Paraybamba. These wankas, like the ayla sung
during the annual cleaning of the irrigation canals, constitute erotico-religious
rites in which the work of young men and the singing of unmarried women
parallel and assist in the act of growth in the natural world by harnessing the
“ánimo”, or energy, of the dead buried in the soil along with the seed.32 The
wanka also shares the imploring tone of the harawi sung to the dead during
funerals so that ultimately, like the latter, it becomes a ritual affirmation of life,
that is growth, over, or through, death. In her study of the Laymi community,
Olivia Harris (1992: 72–7) has suggested that unmarried women convert nature
or the “wild” into “culture”, or socialised patterns of behaviour, through the
symbolic discourse represented by song.33 Combined with the men’s work, the
wanka transforms an otherwise barren terrain into cultivated plots of land. Many
of the elements associated with these harawis and wankas were incorporated in
the hymns written by Jesuit priests for the purpose of conversion. The hymns
were intoned in a similar manner and accompanied by women crying. In his
study of Quechua Catholic hymns, Arguedas distinguishes between those written
by Jesuit priests and those composed by mestizos who resemanticised their
content, quechuanising and in many ways secularising it, by employing agricul-
tural as well as biblical imagery. According to Arguedas (1957b: 53), this not
only invests the songs with new meaning but also re-emphasises their indigenous
content: “los himnos católicos más recientes son de naturaleza muy indı́gena,
escritos en un quechua popular, de tal manera que tienen el estilo de los cantos
folklóricos”. Whilst the Jesuit hymns instil a sense of fatality in the community
by evoking fear and guilt, the mestizo hymns promote a sense of release by
enhancing images of a consoling Marian figure (Arguedas 1955: 40, 1957b: 55).
Crucially, whilst operating within a framework of la soledad cósmica, the
fuentes de alegrı́a, are thus re-activated through catharsis, as Arguedas makes
clear: “Estos himnos tienen la virtud de ahondar el dolor causado por los
padecimientos terrenos y de abrir los cauces del llanto, del desahogo final […]
El creyente sale en seguida, del templo al campo, o la plaza, renovado”
(Arguedas 1955: 42).
This description can be compared with that of the vecinos in TLS who, as la
kurku sings and weeps, undergo a similar act of catharsis: “lloraban, no por
desconsuelo, sino desahogándose, despejándose de la oprimente rabia su sangre.
Fueron sintiéndose limpios, decididos, listos para irse a luchar en cualquier
pueblo” (1985: 411), their suffering transformed into a source of resistance so
that they feel “tranquilos, casi felices” (1985: 411). Passing through Lahuay-
marca thus constitutes a rite of passage where la kurku, assisted by the Sacristán,
sings triumphant hymns which restore the vecinos’ sense of confidence and
assuage their rabia (1985: 427).34 This ultimately stems from the re-established
49
MELISA MOORE
link between the vecinos and their land through memory stirred by the song:
“con la memoria ya pura e inapagable de su pueblo, de su campo hermoso de
maı́z, de ese andén hecho por Dios” (1985: 411), so that just as the wankas
accompanying the building of the new terraces and the ploughing harness the
energy of the dead from the soil and use it ultimately for resistance against the
soldiers, this harawi also provides, or restores, a telluric base for defiance against
the coastal order.35 Framed by the symbolic discourse of la soledad cósmica, the
harawi, and the memory of the land evoked by it, reinforces the cultural bases
of an otherwise ethnically fragmented community.
The condition of double marginalisation suffered by la kurku, gender and
ethnicity separating her from the dominant stratum in the system of stratification
places her, like la opa before her, on the boundaries of what Jean Franco (1989:
xii) has called the “broad master narratives and symbolic systems of society”,
such as religion, nationalism and modernisation. Being ethnically a mestiza and
situated on the margins of hegemonic socio-economic and cultural structures,
however, she acquires a pivotal role, enabling her to move from one socio-
cultural realm to another, so that like certain vecina women (Matilde and
Asunta), she is able to link her personal experience to that of a wider community
which shares it. The fact that she is unmarried but still able to exercise a
maternal role as defender of the community and repository of ethnic identity,
points to the intervention of a symbolic discourse, or more specifically the
popular imagination, which, particularly in times of crisis, mobilises female roles
and mothering images for resistance. In other words, la kurku comes to embody
the suffering of the wider community at the hands of a patriarchal neo-colonial
regime, her lack of a maternal role in the material sphere releasing her for
activity in the symbolic realm. Like Irene Silverblatt’s (1987) priestesses and
witches, this character acts as an autochthonous Marian figure simultaneously
consoling the community and channelling a sense of resistance, often through
ancient huacas evoked through song. Like the figure of the servant in Arguedas’
El sueño del pongo (Arguedas 1987b), the extremity of her affliction radicalises
her discourse of resistance so that, as in the case of the pongo one year later,
concepts of indigenous justice based on pachacuti begin to emerge as a means
of redressing the balance between contenders.
Conclusions
The differential consequences of colonialism, market economics and migration
on women has meant that multiple strategies of resistance and modes of
mobilisation have emerged through time, from an active participation in the
market to the upholding of traditional domestic and agricultural roles. For many
women in the Andes, however, the lines between public and private spheres have
increasingly been eroded so that, for some, public roles in the market are
perfectly integrated with private identities as mothers and wives whilst, for
others, private identities become vehicles for ethnic resistance. These, because
they are usually equated with a larger community, have paradoxically become
increasingly public. As has been seen, the recourse to paradigmatic female roles
and identities, as reproducers and defenders of life, points to the enduring
50
“ANTHROPOLOGY” AND “LITERATURE” INTERSECTED
Notes
1
Women’s experience and women as knowing subjects as distinct from men not only emerged as a branch
of this approach but soon laid the foundations for a more radical questioning of the gendered nature of
scientific theoretical and empirical research (Smith 1988).
2
This is also argued convincingly by Kum-Kum Bhavnani (1993).
3
Tessa Cubitt and Helen Greenslade (1997) emphasise the interrelation of public and private spheres and the
need for a dialectical analytical framework to understand the role of women in Latin American society.
4
These findings have been corroborated in the studies of Florence Babb (1985), Linda Seligmann (1993) and
Marisol de la Cadena (1991). All three have also developed the idea that as well as redrawing the
boundaries between public and private spheres, market forces have given women a degree of leverage
regarding their ethnicity, with women who engage in the market now considered mestizas or cholas.
5
The edition used is José Marı́a Arguedas (1985). The title of the novel has been abbreviated to TLS.
6
Maruja Barrig (1979), Patricia Ruiz Bravo (1990) and Marfil Francke (1990) have explored this dichoto-
mous image of women in Peru.
7
Flores Galindo (1992) shows how Arguedas’ fieldwork in the Mantaro Valley between 1951 and 1955 leads
to the indio–misti dichotomy in his early writings being transcended, his later work revealing greater
51
MELISA MOORE
stratification within the ranks and the emergence of a new type of comunero-mestizo. There is also a
growing emphasis on cultural rather than social conflict.
8
Fermı́n del Pino (1995: 250) has pointed out that thematic and methodological correlations between the
thesis (published in 1968) and TLS (published in 1964) are by no means coincidental, since both were being
written at the same time in 1962.
9
Ayni, or reciprocity, as an organising principle in Andean society, is reflected in the parity between a
married couple, the latter equated with adulthood or socialisation, and a system of kinship ties based on
parallel lines of descent. These lines of descent are also gendered: sons inherit from their fathers and
daughters from their mothers, so that “equal” access to land and the community’s resources is granted,
regardless of gender (Silverblatt 1987: 5).
10
Billie Jean Isbell (1976), Tristan Platt (1986) and Sarah Lund Skar (1993) also highlight how men and
women in the Andes are divided according to hanan–hurin spatial divisions.
11
Arguedas (1961) distinguishes this sentiment from the mestizo community’s which, stemming in modern
times from migration, is probably more acute since it is experienced on an individual level: “La soledad
ha dejado de ser cósmica. No viene ya como de la sombra del universo agobiando a todos por igual; el
destino se ha diversificado […] cada quien se defiende como puede y el uno mira al otro como a un destino
diferente.”
12
This coincides with the experience of Arguedas’ only female informant in Sayago, the owner of the inn in
La Muga, who, because she is widowed and landless, despite an income from her business, finds herself
doubly marginalised in the community (Arguedas 1968: 269).
13
Barrig (1979, 1981) reveals how, since the 1930s in Peru, honour is related to the notion of “decencia”,
regulating sexual and social mobility through marriage.
14
This can be seen in Gregorio’s songs about unrequited love (Rowe 1979: 174).
15
Sara Castro Klarén (1973: 162) describes the subversive role of these women as they challenge previously
held notions of sexuality: “aunque anticuadas, se adhieren a la conciencia que tienen de sı́, a un sistema
de valores más allá de la vida diaria, más allá de creencias fosilizadas o convenencias del momento. En este
sentido son varones no machos, es decir que tienen un lugar en el mundo, en su conciencia de ser y por
eso se rebelan ante quienes quieren reducir su ser a un mero pago.”
16
In her endeavour to show that the nature (“wild”)–culture (“civilised”) dichotomy does not automatically
correspond to a female–male duality, Harris (1992: 91) reveals the masculine identity of certain elements
in the Andean cosmology, such as mountain peaks, associated with the “wild”.
17
Although the unmarried woman suffers none of the religious condemnation of the Judaeo-Christian ethos,
she is situated on the periphery of the socialised (Harris 1978).
18
The duality on which these conceptual frameworks operate: Marian versus deviant; married (“socialised”)
versus unmarried (“wild”), is thus ultimately subverted, together with the public–private dichotomy as in
the case of Matilde and Asunta.
19
Significantly, “solitude” or rupture is experienced at both social and cosmic levels and separation is seen
within these universes, rather than from them (Rowe 1979: 174).
20
The interplay of light and shadow also links up with the notion of pachacuti, as is revealed in the
description of the dance in La agonı́a de Rasu-Ñiti (Arguedas 1987a: 188).
21
In Inca times, these were sung by women to men who were forced to leave their ayllus in order to fulfil
their mita duties. They were also sung during funeral and agrarian work rituals (such as sowing), where
their imploring tone was considered vital for harnessing the energies of the dead and stimulating growth
(Arguedas 1953, 1957a).
22
Time and time again Arguedas emphasises the importance of Quechua, an onomatopoeic language, for
conveying this concept of social and cosmological interpenetration. (See also Arguedas 1948: 48.)
23
That is, illa with yllu. (See Arguedas 1989: 147–9. See also Arguedas 1973: 65.)
24
This evokes the notion of illa, or “luz menor” (Arguedas 1989: 149).
25
This can be compared with a passage in TLS where the puku-puku birdsong at dusk and the huaynos sung
by men establish a reciprocal relationship through the concept of illa (“luz menor”), suggesting the notion
of la soledad cósmica at both social and cosmological levels: “emiten esa voz tristı́sima con la que el colono
esclavo y todo hombre sufriente se compara en centenares de huaynos; porque el puku-puku canta de hora
en hora, como un péndulo que midiera y ahondara la desolación” (1985: 208).
26
For Bakhtin, chronotopes are spatial and temporal frameworks which structure narratives. In the novel,
these chronotopes interlock in a dialectical manner (creating “chronotopicity”), in contrast to the epic where
they are arranged hierarchically.
52
“ANTHROPOLOGY” AND “LITERATURE” INTERSECTED
27
Marina Warner (1990: 206–23) argues that the Franciscans were instrumental in propagating the cult of the
mourning mother in the thirteenth century, the latter reaching a peak during the Black Death which swept
through Europe a century later.
28
There is a definition of this concept in the first chapter of Los rı́os profundos (Arguedas 1973: 5).
29
The recounting of condenado folklore by this figure is seen as an interpretative and creative act, described
on a number of occasions by Arguedas (Arguedas 1955: 40, 1957a: 34).
30
La kurku’s tears are equated with a regaining of sight, paralleled by the image of the dove which overcomes
its blindness. The implication is that la kurku, in conjunction with the vecinos, has acquired new vision
through catharsis and an allegiance to autochthonous sources of justice. This overturns previous descriptions
of her eyes as “insondables” (1985: 411).
31
As Gose (1994: 273) states, the wanka has its origins in pre-Columbian times and constitutes a fertility rite
in which “undomesticated sexuality”, represented by unmarried women, is transformed into “agricultural
fertility” through men’s work.
32
This, as Gose (1994: 113, 137) reveals, establishes ayni or reciprocity between the living and the dead.
Usually the dead ancestors are reincorporated into society during the sowing season, in November, and are
dispatched before the harvest at the time of Carnival, between February and March. (See also Harris 1992:
81.)
33
Women, like Pachamama, embody the nature–culture duality, Pachamama representing both cultivated and
uncultivated land. As such they are “polysemic” (Harris 1992: 86). As intercessors, mediating between this
duality, and as the Moon or wife of the Sun-god, asking for protection or pardon, they are also “transitive”
(Harris 1992: 86).
34
This reflects the effect of the zumbayllu on Ernesto in Los rı́os profundos (1973: 89) and parallels the
resurgence of the colonos at the novel’s close (1973: 240–2).
35
The importance of land for consolidating a sense of cultural identity and resistance has been discussed in
relation to Rigoberta Menchú by Gordon Brotherston (1997).
36
Significantly, this echoes what Marina Warner (1987: xx) has said about female iconography in Western
societies: “a symbolised female presence both gives and takes value and meaning in relation to actual
women, and contains the potential for affirmation not only of women themselves but of the general good
they might represent and in which as half of humanity they are deeply implicated”.
37
Sur represents the organisation Casa de Estudios del Socialismo and Tempo, the research group Taller de
Estudios de las Mentalidades Populares. Both are based in Lima.
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55