Benavides - 2002 - The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past: Historicizing The Enchaquirados

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual
Past: Historicizing the Enchaquirados
And it is with great pain and terror that one begins to realize this In great pain
and terror, one begins to assess the history which has placed one where one is,
and formed ones point of view. In great pain and terror, because, thereafter, one
enters into battle with that historical creation, oneself, and attempts to re-create
oneself according ro a principle more humane and more liberating, one begins
the attempt to achieve a level of personal maturity and freedom which robs
history of its tyrannical power, and also changes history.
James Baldwin, Unnamedble Objects, Unspeakable Crimes
As part of our anthropological training in the Centro de Estudios

Arqueologicos y Antropologicos (Center for Archeological and Anthropo-
abstract logical Studies, or
CEAA) at Guayaquil's
The article assesses the role played by the
Polytechnic University
enchaquirados in the historical reconstruction of
(ESPOL, or Escuela Su
Guayaquil's sexual past. In this regard, the alterna-
tive reading of this pre-Hispanic homosexual harem perior Politecnica del
of boys questions the city's traditionally heterosexist Litoral) mv fellow class-
history; however, rather than simply blaming offi- mates and I carried out
cial historiography and pretending to offer some several semesters of eth-
new historical truth, the present contribution looks nographic and archaeo-
to interrogate the inherent problematics of histori- logical heldwork. In one
cal hermeneutics. Through this critical evaluation such reconnaissance en-
of the enchaquirados legacy, I offer some needed terprise, one of my col-
insight into the nature of historical production in leagues was dumb-
Ecuador and into the pervasive limitations of all founded by the initial re-
historical production in post-colonial contexts, sponse from one of his
particularly 1 atin American ones. In this manner, research subjects: when
the article looks to place the production of mv anthropologist rriend
Guayaquil's past and its reigning masculinity dis- approached a group of
course) in AW ever changing discourse in which el- men and asked their
ements of colonial relationships, race, and regional names, one of them re
geography play a vitally determining factor, and are sponded b) saving,
constantly re-determined themselves in the process. m\
/ •'• .'i ,".•.,'. I I •.',•,.••, k ,•/•!.•,••,.•.'.!.;! ' i i n . s 1 0 3 c o p y r i g h t ' : 2 0 0 2 , A m e r i c a n tothnmologkal
Journal of I atin American Anthropology

O. Hugo Benavides
Fordham University
name is Jorge, but my stage name (nombre de batalla) is Dolores. If you know
what I mean. ' This response would have been troublesome coming from any
Ecuadorian man but it was even more so from an inhabitant of a seemingly
traditional coastal village such as that of San Pablo, in the Peninsula of Santa
Elena.
The response clearly stunned us. How could a 'man, surrounded by his
group of male friends be so open about his homosexualityJ and a queer iden-
tity'1 This was particularly
troublesome since the resumen
majority of Guayaquilean El articulo busca entender el papel de los
men, including us, spent enchaquirados dentro del proceso de reconstruccion
so much time and energy del pasado historico (y sexual) de la ciudad de
Guayaquil. De esta manera, el presente analisis
in maintaining an osten
alternativo de los enchaquirados cuestiona la
sible heterosexual iden-
tradicional historia heterosexista de la ciudad. Sin
tity in congruence with embar o no busco simplemente atacar la historia
the social roles prescribed oficial, ni siquiera ofrecer la verdadera historia (en
to us. But it was even singular), sino mas bien indagar sistematicamente
more so since, at the time el proceso de la hermeneutica historica. Entendido
of the interview (in the asi, este trabajo propone una serie de contribuciones
mid-1980s), any con- al entendimiento del proceso de produccion
senting sexual activity historica en Ecuador y las inherentes limitaciones
between adult men in de todo proceso historico en contextos post-
Ecuador carried a man coloniales, particularmente en Latinoamenca.
datory eight-year prison Finalmente, tambien busco contextualizar la
produccion del pasado guayaquileno (y por ende
sentence (Ecuadorian
la masculinidad guayaquileria) en un dinamico
laws finally decriminal-
discurso en el cual elementos coloniales, raciales y
ized male homosexual ac-
regionales no solo juegan papeles paradigmaticos
tivity in 1998). constantemente, sino que tambien son re-
dcterminados en el proceso.
The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 69

Our angst-ridden heterosexual manhood was not to be taken lightly, as an
eight-year prison sentence expressed, and was definitely not something to be
joked about. All of us queer Guayaquilean men had spent too much time at
school, at home, in the neighborhood, in our minds, constructing a hetero-
sexual male identity that provided us the respect needed to carry out our daily
livelihood, even our actual survival. Any notion of a queer identity was met
with enormous suspicion because of a myriad of cultural and social constraints,
as well as a legal apparatus, which we had actively validated and participated
in up until then.
In the last couple of years of anthropological research, I have returned to
understand the conditioning that made such a queer sexuality a "problematized"
identity requiring constant explication. This particular search also lead me to
assess identity (mine and that of others) in a much broader landscape of cul-
tural and historical markers that serve as quasi-monolithic fixtures in a na-
tional and continental pantheon of regulated desire in Ecuador and Latin
America. During this time I have contested, analyzed, and been awed by a
historical representation of heterosexuality as hegemonic and produced at the
expense of a rich array of differing sexual desires and practices. In this manner,
through this article I look to write against dominant contemporary represen-
tations of Guayaquil's sexual and gendered past and present, speaking instead
of repressed practices: the homoerotic practices of the colonial figure of the
enchaquirado and of contemporary queer men (including myself)-
The article's main objective is to explore how significant elements of a
homosexual pre-Hispanic past are (mis)represented and ultimately excluded
from the city's contemporary production of its own history. These
(mis) representations are made even more meaningful because many of these
homosexual pre-Hispanic elements have been systematically overlooked. For
example, museums have routinely presented pre-Hispanic figurines that ex-
plicitly portrayed mainly male homosexual practices which contradicted the
heteronormative discourses espoused by the different national societies of Latin
America (Trexler 1995; Joyce 2000; Smith 1998). These figurines of males
engaging in oral or anal sex are present throughout pre-Hispanic Andean cul-
tures, including the Manteno-Huancavilcas. From my own archaeological
background, homo- and bisexual-themed figurines are not significantly
underrepresented when compared to strictly heterosexual ones. Furthermore,
these sexually explicit figurines have captured the contemporary imagination
as modern replicas are made for commercial purposes, including popular pro-
vocative key chain holders.
Just like these pre-Hispanic figurines, the enchaquirados have also been a
historical recourse clearly visible to the city's historians and the Guayaquilean
70 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

population at large. The enchaquirados (a homosexual harem of young male
religious/sexual servants) are described by the same ethnohistoric accounts
that have been used to reconstruct Guayaquil's colonial history (Cieza de Le6n
1971, 1986; Montesinos 1920; Benzoni 1995; Cobo 1983). These accounts,
however, have not only been consistently scrutinized to reconstruct Ecuador's
history (i.e., Ayala Mora 1983b; Pareja Diezcanseco 1990; Efre'n Reyes 1967)
but have also been used to produce and legitimize a particular heteronormative
national discourse. Not surprisingly, the proponents of this heteronormative
discourse have relied precisely on the supposed objectivity of the official mes-
tizo history to support its veracity, denying the inherent circularity in the
hermeneutical process of representation which always "obscur[es] the condi-
tions of its own creation, [and] cover[s] its own tracks" (Hale 1996:2; see also
Taussig 1992).
In this sense, it really is not a question of proving the existence of a queer
past—aafter all, the "evidence" has always been there. And nevertheless, for
the pre-Hispanic groups in question, the enchaquirados were as "queer" as
prostitutes and housewives are for contemporary Guayaquileans. Rather, the
relevant question is, how has this "evidence"— what were normative practices
in pre-Hispanic times—been excluded, or more accurately, represented not
only to not question contemporary heteronormative historical interpretations,
but to actively fuel and sustain this hegemonic ideology? For this analytical
endeavor, I will not only provide an alternative historical reading of the
enchaquirados, but also an assessment of the central place of local racial/geo-
graphical discourses inherent in the hermeneutics of historical interpretation
in Guayaquil.
The Enchaquirados and Guayaquil's Sexual Past

The contemporary city of Guayaquil is located inland from the Peninsula
of Santa Elena in the drainage of the river with which it shares its name, the
Guayas River. There is some historical inconsistency in terms of the actual
pre-Hispanic population that occupied the general area where the city now
stands. The most commonly held belief is that it was the Manteno-Huancavilca
polity that inhabited this region, and therefore it is this particular group (more
the Huancavilcas than the Mantenos) that is referred back to as the city's
indigenous ancestors (e.g., Martinez Estrada n.d.). However, based on the
ethnohistoric accounts (the cronistas), historians and archaeologists are not as
certain about the ethnic affiliation of the pre-Hispanic communities of the
area.4 It seems highly probable that Manteno-Huancavilcas5 along with Chonos,
Punenos and Tumbecinos, among others, formed a tight knit group of traders
{mercaderes) that controlled the Pacific coast trade of pre-Hispanic products

all the way to Mesoamerica. It was actually one of the sea-bearing vessels of
this trade which surprised the Spanish to such a degree that it merited being
narrated in great detail, and has been continuously re-presented in local mu-
seums.6
It seems the Manteno-Huancavilcas were strategically located on the Pa-
cific coast and had pivotal control over the maritime trade; in particular, the
lords of Salango and Manta seem to have been the strongest chiefs in the area.
The Manteno-Huancavilcas were infamous in the Spanish accounts for prac-
tices such as the adoration of stones, wooden effigies, and other deities,7 as
well as head shrinking, "bizarre" burial customs, and last but not least, for
their public acceptance and practice of sodomy. Victor Emilio Estrada, one of
the leading experts on the Huancavilcas, mentions in a short and easily over-
looked paragraph in his 1957 study of the group: "they were sodomites and
they had the boys very well enchaquirados and ordered with sartales (chain
necklaces) and many pieces of gold jewelry" (Estrada 1957:12; emphasis added).
For the Spanish chroniclers, all of this proved that the Manteno-
Huancavilcas engaged in barbaric rituals and were in direct communication
with the devil himself. But this peculiar portrayal of the groups' religious
practices is not surprising, since the emphasis on Native American rituals as
diabolical was widespread in the colonial accounts throughout the continent
(see Las Casas 1982:69).8 Zarate expounds on the particular coastal rituals
that impressed the Spaniards the most:
And in some temples, especially the one they call Pasao, on all their pillars
they had men and boys, their bodies crucified, and their skin cured in
such a manner that they did not stink ... They also had several Indian
heads nailed, that with certain knowledge and cocimiento they consume
until they are the size of a fist. [Zarate 1995:465]
Three chroniclers of these coastal groups, Girolamo Benzoni (1985),
Miguel de Estete (1918) and Cieza de Leon (1971, 1986), traveled the Pacific
coast in the 1500s from north to south and visited the principal Manteno-
Huancavilcas settlements, such as Coaque, Pasao, Caraquez, Puna, Puertoviejo,
Jaramijo, Charapoto, Picalanceme, Cama, La Plata, and the Peninsula of Santa
Elena (see Estete 1918:316-17; Xerez 1988:182-3).
Benzoni was actually able to observe several of these ceremonies first-
hand, but was thrown out on one occasion and fled for fear of his life after he
was discovered on another:
While I was in this province, often, to kill time, I would visit the Indian
towns, both those in the interior and those closer to the sea, and having
gone one day to a village called Charapoto, I found that the Indians were

in the temple doing their sacrifices; since I heard drums and the singing
of certain songs they use, I entered the temple eager to see, but as soon as
the priests saw me, they got angry and almost spitting in my face they
threw me out of the temple. However, I was able to see an idol of creta
(chalk) in the shape of a tiger, and two turkeys with other birds that were
going to be sacrificed to their gods; it is possible that they had a young
boy for the same effect, but I was not able to observe that. On another day
I found myself in another village, that of Picalanceme. I found all the
Indians drinking and since I wanted to stay and see how they got drunk,
they said to me in Spanish: Ah, rebellious Christian and traitor, leave our
country; when I realized that they wanted to get hold of my sword, I fled
and I made myself the promise of never going to those towns when they
had their feast days. [Benzoni 1985:109-110]
Cieza de Le6n is actually less generous than Benzoni in his description of
the Manteno-Huancavilcas' rituals, since in his self-righteous accounts the
groups' practices are always involved with diabolic ritual, heresy, and primi-
tive traditions:
The naturals of these towns were extremely agoreros (ominous) and they
used great religions; so much so, that in the larger parts of Peru there were
no other people like these that sacrificed, which is public and notorious.
And the devil, with terrible form, would let himself be seen by the estab-
lished one and signaled for that damned office, and they were very re-
vered and feared by all the lineages and community of the Indians in this
land. [Cieza de Leon 1971:193]
In a following chapter Cieza continues his description:
And in other parts, as I will continue to narrate in this history, and in this
province, they affirm that the lord (senor) of Manta has or had an emerald
rock, of enormous grandeur and quite rich, one which was highly es-
teemed and venerated by their ancestors, and which some days they had
for public exhibition, and they adored and revered it as if in it there was
some deity imprisoned. And if a male or female Indian would get sick,
after having made their sacrifices they would go to pray to the rock, and
they also state that they worshipped other rocks, making one understand
that the priest spoke to the devil so that health would come through these
offerings; and later the cacique and other ministers of the devil would do
this because in lots of different parts of this land the sick would come to
the town of Manta to make their sacrifices and to offer their gifts. [Cieza
deLe6n 1971:200]

Among the descriptions of these groups' reprehensible activities accord-
ing to the Spanish were not only that otidolatria (idol worshipping), dealings
with the devil, animal and human sacrifices, but also quite significantly that
of the sin of sodomy. Paramount in this sexual practice was a group of young
men recognized for their religious (or ritualized) homosexual activity and their
ritual wearing of chaquiras (shell beads) and gold ornaments:
And in other regards for the devil to have them in his chains of sin, it is
accurately maintained that in the oracles and temples where they were
given answers to their questions, it was assumed that it was necessary for
this service that some boys be at the temples from a young age, so that at
certain times and during the sacrifices and holy feasts, the lord and other
principals could carry out with them the damned sin of sodomy. And so
that you understand what you are reading, how some among them still
maintain this diabolical ritual: I will narrate a story that was given to me
in the city of Reyes by Friar Domingo de Santo Tomas, which I have in
my power and goes like this:
... And that is that each temple or primary adoratorio has one or two men,
or more, according to the idol. They have been dressed as women since
they were little boys, and they speak as such; and in their treatment, clothes
and everything else they imitate women. These men engage in carnal union
as a sign of sanctity and religion, during their feast and holy days, espe-
cially with the lords and other principals. I know because I have punished
two. Ones which, when I told them of the evil they were committing, and
the ugliness of the sin they were doing, answered that they were not at
fault, because since the moment of their birth they had been placed there
by their caciques, to use them in this damned and horrendous {nefando)
vice, and to be the priests and keepers of the temple. So what I gathered
from this is that, the devil was so in charge in these lands, that he has not
been contented with making them fall into such a great sin: but he has
also made them believe that such a vice is a form of sanctity and religion,
and in such a manner have them more enslaved.
This was given to me by Friar Domingo, known by all, and known for
being a friend of the truth. [Cieza de Leon 1986:199-200]
Fernandez de Oviedo describes the enchaquirados in the following manner:
These lands of Puerto Viejo are flat and with very few hills, and the sun
beats down on them a lot and they are somewhat sickly. Most of the
Indians who inhabit the coast are abominable sodomites, doing this with

the boys, and they have the boys very well beaded (enchaquirados) and
adorned with lots of gold jewelry. They treat their women very badly.
They use small shirts, and their shame is exposed. [Fernindez de Oviedo
1959, IV:221]
This also seems to be what "El Inca" Garcilaso de la Vega is referring to
when he expresses that:
The naturals of Manta and of the region, particularly the ones along the
coast (but not those inland which are called serranos) practiced sodomy
more in the open and with less shame than any other; that is, than all
the other nations that to this date have been noted for this vice.
[Garcilaso de la Vega 1998:390]
Very little is known about these young men, although they hardly seem to
have been sexual transgressors and rather, seem to have been quite integrated
to normative society. Similar religious structures of young boys serving in
temples and engaging in ritualized homosexuality are also described in other
parts of the Americas (see Trexler 1995 for an exhaustive, yet somewhat un-
critical, description of this phenomenon), both in Central Peru (Cieza de
Leon 1986) and Mesoamerica (Las Casas 1982:70).
When one takes into account the boys' use of chaquiras and gold we can
assume that they were held in an esteemed status within the community, espe-
cially since the chaquiras were considered priceless artifacts among these coastal
groups. The chaquiras are described in several of the accounts; the following
is a description by Fernandez de Oviedo:
They had red shells like the ones they have in chaquiras id est sartales, like
the ones in the Canary Isles that are sold to the King of Portugal for the
rescue of Guinea: and for this the Indians give all their gold and silver and
clothes that they bring as ransom. [Fernandez de Oviedo 1959, IV: 122]
What is also telling in many of these descriptions is that the chaquiras
were highly esteemed and in some cases were also distinctly part of the male
attire:
They tie their arms and legs with several rounds of beads of gold, silver,
and small turquoise, and white and red beads and shells, without allow-
ing any of the women to wear these. [Zirate 1995:33]
The women of these Indians, in the following manner, were adorned and
dressed themselves and their husbands: in cloth and shirts of cotton, and
some of wool. They had on their bodies some type of adornment of gold

jewelry and very small beads, which they called "red beads" {chaquiras
coloradas), that was extreme ransom and rich. And in other provinces I
have seen that these chaquira were so precious that large quantities of gold
were given for them. [Cieza de Le6n 1971:189]
In other instances as well, the chaquiras seem to have been a status marker,
as we can see in the following description of the coastal warriors that resisted
the Incan onslaught:
They are of middle height, dark: they and their women are dressed with
clothes of cotton, and they have long rounds of Chaquira on certain parts
of their bodies, and they wear other pieces of gold to appear beautiful.
[Cieza de Leon 1986:174]
In another of Cieza's descriptions he seems to imply the emotional im-
portance of some of these young men when he describes the traditional indig-
enous practice of burying the chief's most private companions with him at
the time of his death:
... if he is lord or principal, they put two or three of the most preferred
and beautiful of his women, and other of the most precious jewels, and
food and pitchers of their maize wine, however much they want. ... This
custom of burying their dead with their weapons, their treasure and much
sustenance was widely spread in these lands that we have discovered; and
in many provinces they would also bury live women and boys [Cieza de
Leon 1971:204; emphasis added]
Several other accounts also seem to hint at the value of the service of the
young boys to their lords, to the point that many of them were also buried
along with their wives in the lord's grave:
One or two of his women would bury themselves with him, the ones that
he loved the most, and because of this sometimes there were fights be-
tween them, and so the deceased would leave this decided upon before his
death, and in the same manner they would bury with him two or three
young boys of his service, putting in the grave all the gold and silver vessels
that they had. [Zarate 1995:33; emphasis added]
It was the custom to put the weapons with the deceased in his grave, and
his treasure, and a lot of work went into maintaining this in these lands
that have been discovered. And in many provinces they would also include
live women and boys ... And they had this as truth, they buried with the
deceased their most loved women, and their most private servers (servidores)

and servants {sirvientes) ... and in these valleys it is very common to bury
the dead with their riches and most important things, and many women
and the most private servants that a lord had while being alive. [Cieza de
Le6n 1986:166, 194, 197; emphasis added]
Other homosexual activities among these groups are also described by
many of the cronistas that visited these coastal groups early on:
But as these people were evil and full of vices, notwithstanding that among
them there were many women, and some of them extremely beautiful,
most of them engaged in (which has been certified to me) publicly and in
the open in the horrendous sin of sodomy, in which it is said that they
glorified themselves in extreme. It is true that in the last years Captain
Pacheco and Captain Olmos, that now are in Spain, made harsh punish-
ment to the Indians that committed the above-mentioned sin, admonish-
ing them how God was displeased, and they were so beseeched that now
very little or none of this sin is practiced, nor any of the other bad cus-
toms that they had, nor do they make use of other abuses of their reli-
gions ... [Cieza de Le6n 1971:198]
This last account both acknowledges the widespread practice of sodomy
among the Manteno-Huancavilcas and Cieza's reticence in discussing in de-
tail the sexual practice of sodomy itself. What is also quite evident is the ritu-
alized prescription for homosexual behavior for some members of this Indian
community.
In some of the other accounts, such as that of Fray Reginaldo de Lizarraga,
the use of homosexual activity to create a sense of "otherness" is particularly
explicit. This distance is not only afforded from the Spanish themselves but is
also instrumental in differentiating between the different Indian communi-
ties. In this account, where Lizarraga seems to have inverted the groups, the
descriptions of the acts of sodomy not only have civilizing qualities but also
racializing ones:
There lived in this city and its districts two nations of Indians, one called
Guamcavillcas (sic), well-disposed people and white, clean in their dress
and good-looking; the other ones are called Chonos, blacks, and not as
sociable as the Guamcavillcas (sic); both of them are warring people; their
weapons, bow and arrows. The Chonos have bad reputations of engaging
in the horrendous vice of sodomy; they have their hair on end and the top
of their heads completely bald, which is why the rest of the Indians ridi-
cule them; calling them Chono dogs "cocotados," (shaved) as we will later
tell. [Lizdrraga 1968:66; emphasis added]

Benzoni also seems to share this moral and racializing tone when he de-
scribes the vassals of the Cacique of Manta as "ugly, dirty sodomites, full of all
evils" (Benzoni 1985:110).
There is no mistaking the Spaniards' negative moral judgment of sodomy
among the Manteno-Huancavilcas. In every instance the cronistas envision
how divine wrath is set to punish such an unnatural and diabolical act as
sodomy:
It is accepted as truth by the Spanish, having seen these signs, that consid-
ering that these people were given to the vice against nature, divine justice
banned them from the earth, sending an angel for this effect, as he did in
Sodom and in other parts. [Zarate 1995:35-6]
Another interesting element in the description of ritualized male homo-
sexuality among coastal groups is the fantastic narrative about the presence of
giants in this area. It is very likely that the narratives of giants might have been
fueled by the presence of large unearthed bones of an extinct mastodon popu-
lation in the area. The existence of these giants is narrated by all the major
chroniclers, and their narratives share the characteristics of describing the gi-
ants as predators: first of food and supplies, but later also of sexual subjects.
The accounts express that initially, indigenous women were killed by the sexual
advances of these giants, which is why the giants turned to having sex among
themselves. One striking characteristic in the descriptions is that the giants
are all said to be men, without the absence of female giants ever warranting an
explanation or rationale:
Added to this is the account that the Indians themselves give, particularly
those along the coast by Puerto Viejo, who say that giants had come there
from the south in large rafts, but since they had not brought women with
them, they died out. [Cobo 1983:95]
Some years having passed and these giants still being in these parts: since
they did not have women: and the Indian women did not fit them be-
cause of their size, or because it was a common vice among them by
council and support of the devil himself, they used with one another the
(nefando) sin of sodomy, so horrendous and of grave consequences; which
they used and carried out publicly and in the open, without fear of God
and very little shame of themselves. And all the Indians [naturales) stated
that God our Lord, not being pleased to ignore such horrible sin, sent
them a punishment in accordance with the ugliness of the sin. [Cieza de
Leon 1971:206]

Likewise, the spies told how very large and tall men had arrived at the
cape which to-day (sic) we call Santa Elena, and that they were ruling that
land from Puerto Viejo, and that the natives of it were fleeing from them
because they used their bodies so evilly. And in my opinion, it was not
that they fled from the sin, for they themselves had it also, but that they
fled from the danger of the instrument with which the giants took their
lives. But so great were the excesses of these giants that Divine Justice
took their punishment upon itself, and it punished them in an instant, sending
fire from Heaven which suddenly consumed them. [Montesinos 1920:41]
To fully assess the heteronormative interpretive elements inherent in many
of the Spaniards' historical representation it is useful to assess the stylized
similarity of the description in Cieza's cronica of divine punishment in the
Peninsula of Santa Elena to the fantastic biblical damnation of Sodom and
Gomorrah:
And so, they say, that being all of them involved in their damn sodomy,
fire came from the sky, frightful and scary, making great noise. From the
center came a shimmering angel, with a grand and blinding sword, which
with a single blow killed all of them and a fire consumed them, and all
that was left were some bones and skulls, which in memory of the punish-
ment God desired to survive without being totally consumed by the fire.
[CiezadeLeon 1971:206]
At the same time these huesos y calaveras (bones and skulls) may be sym-
bolically understood as the lost struggles and practices which have not been
completely destroyed, but merely transformed, by the ravishing interpretive
fires of Guayaquil's sexual historical representations.
Since historical interpretation always "operates on a field of entangled
and confused parchments, on documents that have been scratched over and
recopied many times," absolute truth is more of a productive fantasy than an
absolute goal (see Foucault 1998:369). Taking into account historical herme-
neutics, these accounts express the particular biases that the Spaniards brought
into their own historical imagination and that centuries later infused an eth-
nographic imagination of non-Western sexual practices (Bleys 1995). It is
important to re-state that alternative pre-Hispanic normative behavior is not
equal to past sexual panacea, nor Spanish domination to mere repressive domi-
nation of heteronormative practices (see Trexler 1995). Rather than reifying
obsolete dichotomies, what is at issue is assessing the always enabling and
productive reconstruction (either judged as negative or positive) of a past that
is undoubtedly both constituted by and constitutes our present-day existence
(see James Baldwin's opening and closing quotes to this article).

Being a Man: Guayaquil's Masculine Legacies
The enchaquirados, although never explicitly admitted to in Guayaquil's
official history, have always resonated as much more than an isolated phe-
nomenon which, coupled with the transgressive remark of Jorge/Dolores from
my initial anthropological training, would seem to speak to a much more
dynamic configuration of suppressed masculinities. In this manner, Jorge/
Dolores's remark was not unusual in that it highlighted the existence of ho-
mosexuality, but rather in that it did so publicly, morally equating hetero-
sexual and homosexual identity, and excluding the expected ridiculing of het-
erosexual men around him. It is this same "general homophobic structure" (as
defined by Andrade 1997:77) that is used by Guayaquileans to sustain a het-
erosexual form of masculinity.
It was only later that I was able to significantly question this rigid repre-
sentation of masculinity, and the role of the Indian past as a historical ap-
proximation rather than purely objective history. A key element in this re-
newed understanding of the city's heritage was our textual discovery of the
enchaquirados. When we (archaeology students at the ESPOL) learned that
these young boys engaged in homosexual activity, "enchaquirados" (instead of
"maricon") became our code word to question our respective manhood. The
use of this new word implicated our supposed desire for illicit sexual engage-
ment with other men, even though these rarely took place since, in keeping
with our Guayaquilean enculturation, we constantly distanced ourselves from
any public expression of homosexuality. This cultural stance was also embod-
ied in the public flaunting of sexual interest in women, the singling out of one
person for the most consistent sexual ridicule (see Lancaster 1992), and the
denial of all homosexual representations, past or present. This latter element
was intriguing in particular, since the city had afforded me no clearly visible
and even fewer positive images of same-sex desire inscribed in its official or
even alternative histories. That same-sex desire was so thoroughly discrimi-
nated against is not difficult to understand; the Catholic context was enough
to explain that, but that homosexual representations demanded constant work
to be made invisible, or actively forgotten, is at the least interesting and pro-
vocative.
It was because of this active process (or hegemonic field of force, see
Roseberry 1994), that even then, the existence of the enchaquirados did not
thoroughly question the moral history of the city, but rather was used jok-
ingly to defend and articulate our anxieties about our manhood and sexual
identity (see Andrade 1995). This position was made more plausible by what
the reigning regionalismo discourse allowed us to believe, that not the

enchaquirados nor any other element of an indigenous identity really had
anything to do with us. This notion, coupled with the humorous use of the
figure of the enchaquirado, slowly contributed to my exploration of the in-
digenous sexual representations that constitute what Guayaquil is today. In
this manner it was my own sexual questioning and intellectual interest in a
cultural setting like that of Guayaquil—which so fiercely sought to annihilate
same-sex desires—which have been central in enabling me to return to Jorge/
Dolores's remark and the image of the enchaquirados.
The ethnohistorical accounts about the Manteno-Huancavilcas and other
pre-Hispanic communities in the area provide an opportunity to contextualize
both Guayaquil's contemporary regional construction of its sexual past and
Jorge/Dolores's transgressive remark. The "queer" identity inherent in his/her
response may, in this manner, be more strongly locally- and historically-con-
stituted than tied up to the global movement for gay rights. The pervasive
presence of a queer community in the non-urban setting of Ecuador's rural
towns and the Peninsula of Santa Elena, particularly the town of La Libertad,
has much to offer us in assessing the nature of sexual identities in general, as
well as notions of resistance and accommodation, from the plane of mere
daily existence to capitalist cultural sexual dynamics.
It is not uncommon to see men openly express a homosexual identity
throughout these coastal towns, although they are typically followed by angst-
filled ridicule that seems to reinforce the reigning heteronormativity. The chal-
lenge here seems to be not only to reinstate a homosexual history but rather,
to also understand how queer desire is experienced by most Guayaquilean
men, heterosexual or not. In this manner, studies of contemporary masculini-
ties need to account for the regulation of queer desire as it is commonly expe-
rienced (and hidden) in "all-male" settings, such as schools, drinking outings,
and political clubs. Nonetheless, it is also important to assess to what degree
these queer identities are also central to the ongoing shifting dynamics of
rural resistance to the national hegemonizing mestizo project. It is interesting
to note that coastal rural towns express a more public display of male homo-
sexuality (not necessarily more tolerant or normative) that seems to contradict
their larger dependency on a domestic mode of production to define their
access to land rights and labor obligations (Alvarez 1995).
As in these other regions, local politicians quite quickly understand the
lucrative possibilities that appeals to national myths and historical heritage
might provide. Because of this, a great part of my adolescence was spent lis-
tening to politicians, educators, and other public spokespeople call upon a
heritage of great resistance, which appeared as having precise gendered and
sexual specifications (see Radcliffe and Westwood 1996). In these discourses,

to be from Guayaquil meant, and above all demanded having courage, physi-
cal strength, and moral superiority. As expressed in one of the city's most
popular regional songs: "Guayaquilefio, madera de guerrero; mas fuerte y mis
valiente en todo el Ecuador; no hay nadie que te iguale en fuerza y en coraje;
lo digo en mi canci6n."9 It is this particular brand of machismo, with its pre-
cepts of engendered behavior and an implicit and unquestionable heterosexu-
ality, that is reified in Guayaquil's normative masculinity (Andrade 1995,
1997).
In this sense it is not surprising for the enchaquirados to have escaped
historical notice, because in terms of the official historiography they really did
not exist. As part of this official discourse, one could take Julio Estrada Ycaza's
(1987) discussion of Cieza's presence in American territory. Estrada Ycaza
systematically manages to exclude every mention of homosexuality or sod-
omy in his texts, even though they quite significantly appear in direct quotes
in the notes to the main text (Estrada Ycaza 1987:243). He even argues against
these "unmentioned" sins by blaming Cieza de Leon and other chroniclers for
attributing unspeakable acts to Indian communities that failed to go along
with the writer's explicit agenda. In a way he is blaming the accounts for what
he himself is doing and what is being reproduced in his text, which most
probably constitutes an inescapable dilemma for any consciously committed
historian (see Alonso 1988; Foucault 1998; Patterson and Schmidt 1995).
Estrada Ycaza's historical analysis is also key because it expresses the class
and racial dynamics inherent in Guayaquil's representation of its own past.
His membership in one of the most traditional elite families of the city and
history as long-time head of the Historical Archive of Guayas points to the
intersection of class and racial interests in the production of the city's history.
This intersection is not so much the result of an explicit program of domina-
tion by the white/mestizo elite as it is a more contested regional articulation of
a racial and national discourse initially expounded by the first European mi-
grants to the area. It is this particular racializing and nationalistic program
that has been consistently implemented and dynamically normalized by con-
tinuing generations of Guayaquileans (including myself). At the same time,
this hegemonic discourse has inherent attributes in terms of the sexual and
gendered patterns that have been established in Guayaquil and pressed upon
Guayaquileans over the last five centuries.
In this regard, even when other historians like Victor Emilio Estrada
(1957), quite tellingly an older relative ofJulio Estrada Ycaza, arid Jorge Marcos
(1986) have mentioned a disturbing homosexual existence in their texts, this
counter-hegemonic description has not been able to question the reigning
heteronormative discourse, not unlike the use my colleagues and I made of

die enchaquirados' image that we were given as part of our initial historical
training. It is this same structural constraint of the larger hegemonizing dis-
course of regionalismo's civilizing behavior and buenas costumbres, or good
manners (see Burns 1999; Gutierrez 1991), that also contributed to my living
in a city without any significant positive homosexual images, an existence that
I not so much, or exclusively, suffered as a queer person, but that I also ac-
tively produced and engaged with as agendered man growing up in Guayaquil.
It was in this sense that I was an active agent in the demise of my own queer
identity, and through this repression constituted myself as a historical subject
with the voice and authority to represent myself, the city, and the retelling of
the history of the enchaquirados (see Butler 1997a, 1997b).
Since the 1970s, there has been a significant effort to assess alternative
forms of sexualities and gendered constructions to that of the reigning nor-
mative heterosexual interpretation of Latin American (Murray 1980, 1987;
Lancaster 1992; Parker 1986, 1991; Arenas 1993, 1991; Puig 1986; Leyland
and Lacey 1983; Sarduy 1997) and U.S. Latino (Castillo 1996, 1992; Diaz
1996; Xavier 1999; Manrique and Dorris 1999; Cortez 1999; Guerra 1999;
Santiago and Davidow 2000) societies. These studies have provided a much
more problematic picture of Latin sexual desire and gender roles, both in the
past and the present, also allowing a much more textured understanding of
the reigning heteronormativity in the continent as one not devoid of contra-
diction and multiple underlying alternative sexualities (see Lancaster 1992;
Guttman 1994; Prieur 1998; R. Gonzalez 1996; Anzaldiia 1987, 1990;
Anzaldua and Keating 2000; Alarcon 1990; Alarcon et al. 1993; Moraga 1997;
Moraga and Anzaldua 1983). These analyses have contributed to my own
exploration of cultural hegemony and the need for alternative interpretations
in the constant process of dynamic historical officialization (see Wylie 1995;
Benavides 1999, 2001) which I now turn to below.
Repressed Histories, Histories of Repression: Racism and

Homophobia as Guayaquil
It is history's interpretive ambiguity that makes the city's and region's rep-
resentation of the Indian past a contested issue, even when, or most precisely
because of this, historical reconstructions of the Indian past in Guayaquil
have been traditionally presented as a matter of fact, as a question of historical
objectivity and not of interpretation. In this manner, most educational insti-
tutions, historical texts, local politicians, and, Guayaquileans at large assume
the Huancavilcas, presented as a community of fierce warriors that resisted
and rejected an initial Incan conquest, fighting to the bitter end against the
Spanish conquistadores, were the original Indian population to have inhabited

the area in which the city now stands (Martinez Estrada n.d.; Navas Jimenez
1994; Pareja Diezcanseco 1990).
This image of fierce resistance and proud heritage is enshrined in the
most popular explanation given for the origin of the city's name: Guayaquil is
supposed to have come from the name of the leader of the Huancavilcas,
Guayas, and his wife, Quil, who resisted the Spanish to their death. That is,
while Guayas was killed by a Spaniard, once he was captured his wife pre-
ferred to jump into the river (which carries her husband's name) and drown
rather than "belong" to any Spanish men. This particular origin myth is quite
similar to the racial/gender problematics presented in other American settings
such as that with the Malinche in Mexico and in Peru. In this instance Quil is
hailed as the true heroine, doing what La Malinche is blamed for not: dying
rather than engaging in sexual intercourse, or "sleeping with the enemy" (see
Mallon 1996; de la Cadena 2000).
The city of Guayaquil has historically been occupied by a large migrant
population. This initial migratory characteristic of Ecuador's largest economic
center began with the first Spanish and European migrants in the 1530s, im-
migrants who consecutively "founded" the city several times before it finally
survived the reoccurring attacks and destruction at the hands of the displaced
coastal Indian communities, most probably but not exclusively Chonos and
Huancavilcas (Estrada Ycaza 1975; Aspiazu 1970). These embittered forms of
logistic violence were also a prevalent characteristic of the city's history during
the colonial period (until the late 1700s), when it saw itself surrounded and
plundered by European pirates and ravished by city-wide fires, the last one
even as late as the early 1900s (Carrera Andrade 1957).
This particularly violent setting might not seem the most conducive place
for an emerging metropolis, but most probably its violent history is actually a
testament to the city's economic, and therefore cultural, viability. Its status as
a port benefited from the fact that although it is on the Pacific coast, its geo-
graphical location on the Guayas Gulf protected it (and its boats) from the
larger tropical storms and natural hazards that affected other American Pacific
ports. As a result, since its Spanish foundation, Guayaquil has continuously
attracted a large migratory population of Europeans and Americans.
The European population was mainly composed of Spaniards but this
was also sporadically interspersed with smaller Portuguese, Italian, French,
and British migrant groups. In the 19th and 20th centuries this Old World
population was joined by both Asian, first Chinese and currently also South
Korean, and Lebanese (or "Turks" as they are most commonly referred to)
communities. Although these latter-day migrants, especially the Lebanese com-
munity, underwent harsh discriminatory and economic conditions, in less

than a century they have been able to assert themselves as active members of
Guayaquil and of the Ecuadorian nation. This is clearly expressed in that two
of the last four Ecuadorian presidents during the 1990s were of Arab/Leba-
nese descent.
What is most readily striking about the cultural and economic success of
the Lebanese is that this particular triumphant path has been out of the ques-
tion for the nation's leading ethnic majority, that is, for the indigenous popu-
lation. Indian communities, which suffered the first displacement from their
territories and active ethno- and genocidal practices against them, were among
the first members and continuous migrants of the newly European-founded
city of Guayaquil. The Indian presence in the city has quite a complex history
which is visibly, although not exclusively, marked by a great level of racial
discrimination, social repression, and economic exploitation, as well as loss of
cultural identity and historical continuity.
Guayaquil was readily populated in the 1600s by a large "dis-Indianized"
population, mainly referred to at different times as cholos or mestizos, that
immediately were appointed to serve and support the elite Spanish classes;
however, this particular European-inspired and American-realized form of
serfdom was articulated in complicated manners. Unlike the highland Indi-
ans, coastal groups were more quickly affected by the colonization process
and within very few years were decimated by diseases, almost completely dis-
appearing. The members of coastal Indian communities that survived this
direct onslaught were very soon and quite actively introduced into a service
economy and cultural life that was significantly marked by a destruction of
their ancestral traditions.
These "dis-Indianization" processes quite rapidly and dramatically pro-
voked a confusion of the different defining ethnic/racial categories (V. Gonzalez
1978). This new hybridity increased the racial myths that the Spaniards had
inherited from their Old World existence and incorporated into their interac-
tion with newly conquered territories, in Africa and Asia as well as in the
Americas; however, this led to the increasing social role of a mestizo (or cholo)
population that quite accurately understood the value, not only in economic
but in existential terms as well, of letting go of any pre-Hispanic ethnic iden-
tity. This translated to the fact that the farthest away one could situate oneself
from an Indian heritage, the greater the realms of possibilities and opportuni-
ties in social terms. This mixed or mestizo population only increased in num-
ber and importance throughout the centuries, and was the second population
to most benefit from the colonies' independence from Spanish rule in 1822,
mainly in the fact that it moved from third to second place, after whites, in
the racial/ethnic order.

However, this particular form of upward social mobility did not translate
to the two groups placed in the lowest ethnic/racial stratum (i.e., Indians and
blacks, or Afro-Ecuadorians). Both of these populations experienced inde-
pendence from Spain in terms of a shift in elite control, but not as a signifi-
cant change in the social structure of the newly freed territories. This is mainly
what is captured in the popular description of highland independence as "the
last day of exploitation and shame, and the first day of the same." In this
manner, the mestizo population, which traditionally reified itself as such over
time, continued to distance itself from the Indian population and even from
its original assimilated term ofcholos (Espinosa Apolo 1995; Puga and Jurado
1992). This distancing trend inherited from the Spanish racial system has
been invigorated by a new order of Western globalization in which whiteness
still constitutes a marker of "civilization"10 (though now English and the U.S.,
not Spanish and Europe, are the markers of civilizing culture). It is this par-
ticular racial construction for mestizos as a group and for mestizaje in the
Ecuadorian nation (Stutzman 1981), that has been the prevalent reality of the
ethnic formation of the new white/mestizo elite players of Guayaquil's
economy; an ethnic formation that inspired a progressive liberal revolution
(1895-1905) at the turn of the 19th century which introduced the nation to an
international capitalist economy, and the nation's lower classes to a global
market and a proletarian existence (Ayala Mora 1983a, 1985).
This particular form of ethnic competition, which in five centuries has
allowed a significant number of mestizos to if not belong, at least closely
identify with the elite white population, has not gone without its particular
difficulties and provocative social experimentation. One of these provoca-
tions, most central to this article, is the historically ambiguous relationship of
Guayaquileans to Indian heritage(s). This is ontologically implied in multiple
ways with contemporary Indian communities, but perhaps much more subtly
in the representation of an Indian past that is shared by the contemporary
Indian and white/mestizo populations in Guayaquil,11 an Indian past that is
not exclusively about a racial legacy but also a sexual one. In a large sense this
racial legacy is not only dependent upon the sexual reproduction of Ecuador's
common ancestors, but also on the mechanisms of social reproduction and
contemporary representation that each group has put into place for its own
historical continuity and legitimization (de la Torre Espinosa 1996; Stoler
1996).
This form of historical ambiguity for the politically dominant mestizo
population and its corresponding ideological and identity framework is par-
ticularly inescapable because it refers back to the haunting question of cul-
tural authenticity (Quintero and Silva 1991). One of the essential contradic-

tions that is constantly replayed in the reclaiming of an Indian heritage is that,
while it supports the legitimization of a much-needed historical authenticity,
it also provokes an ethnic differentiation from European descent; however,
this same European legacy demands a racial division from Indian ancestry,
and to some degree this divides mestizos from themselves and/or the image
that they may produce of themselves (see Fanon 1967; Freire 1992; Lorde
1993; Giddings 1984 for similar discussion in other post-colonial contexts).
In this manner, there is an internal incongruity of conducting oneself as white,
of Spanish descent and claiming, or struggling to claim an Indian ancestry,
while in everyday existence one may also feel in desperate need of distinguish-
ing oneself as superior to the contemporary Indian population.
In Guayaquil this particular historical representation has had interesting
productions. One such production is a widespread form of regionalismo which
particularly discriminates against the highland population (Maiguashca 1994).
For the coast, the serranos (as highland people are pejoratively referred to)
represent the backwardness, hypocrisy and "Indianness" of the country. The
highlanders also hold the coastal population in low esteem, referring to them
as monos (monkeys) because they are popularly believed to be cunning, good
imitators, and are always eager to "con" someone for their own benefit, eco-
nomic or otherwise. In a specific manner this regional representation mimics
the geographical legacy of colonial government: while the coastal Indian groups
assimilated immediately to the colonial structure, one could say "imitating"
or "mimicking" the colonizers, highland Indian groups have not only main-
tained an Indian identity for the last five centuries of colonial and neo-colo-
nial domination, but along with the Amazonian groups have also been able to
form the strongest social movements in the last decade through groups such
as the CONAIE, or Confederacion de Nacionalidades Indigenas del Ecuador
(National Confederation of Indians of Ecuador), and the political party,
Pachacutik Nuevo Pais (New Pachacutik Nation).
The regionalismo felt on the coast, and most fiercely held by
Guayaquileans, in many ways could be interpreted as another distancing mecha-
nism; one that helps Guayaquileans deny any Indian component of their
current existence, but not necessarily of their heritage. This connection is
afforded even in a clearer way by the fact that most of the visible Indian mi-
grants to the city, many of whom are part of a food economy, are of highland
extraction and are phenotypically, linguistically and sartorially distinct from
the mestizo population. For Guayaquileans, serranos represent more clearly
the Indian past toward which they have such dichotomous feelings, both a
longing for ancestral recognition and fear and hatred founded in racial rejec-
tion. The pervasiveness of the city's regionalismo is also a marker of its own

administrative separation from the nation's capital, as a centralized political
authority that has been cause of resentment throughout the territory's colo-
nial and republican existence.12
However, the regionalismo not only points to this political resentment,
but maybe even more so to a deeper sense of internal colonialism and self-
loathing (see Zea 1991:32; Mariitegui 1955). The hatred towards highland-
ers seems to reflect the city's own ambivalent feelings toward itself and its
Indian past, especially since many Guayaquilean migrants have a highland
ancestry themselves. The regionalismo is a sign of the difficulty of effectively
valuing the different elements of a historical construction that may prove det-
rimental to the progressive Western ideal that Guayaquil set out for itself
almost five centuries ago; a Western (anti-Indian) construct that is an essential
component of what Guayaquil and Guayaquileans are today. We can also see
in this regionalismo discourse the reason why the enchaquirados' legacy has so
often been ignored and misconstrued. In the modern construction of
Guayaquil's historic identity there is very little representational room for any
Indian element, especially a "problematic" sexual one. In this regard it is im-
possible to understand the particular misrepresentation of the enchaquirados
as a sign of merely biased or bad scholarship, as much as it is an essential
emblem of the much larger regional racial discourse that underlines Guayaquil's
(wishful) contemporary and historical representation of itself.
Perhaps Kincaid's (1997) memoir about her brother dying of AIDS in
Antigua proves quite insightful in this regard:
I only now understand why it is that people lie about their past, why they
say they are one thing other than the thing they really are, why they invent
a self that bears no resemblance to who they really are, why anyone would
want to feel as if he or she belongs to nothing, comes from no one, just
fell out of the sky, whole. [Kincaid 1997:12-13]
In this regard, Guayaquilean historicity seems no different. Guayaquileans
continuously produce both a reified image of ancestral Indian heritage and a
contemporary notion of exclusion from belonging to an Indian race. In this
regional project, history plays a key role in legitimizing the city's civilizing
ideals, which include a central heteronormative ideology. To this degree, con-
temporary representations of the Indian past suppress not only any element of
normative homosexuality, but even the lived-in, class-varied practice of con-
temporary engendered masculinities and femininities of men and women alike
(see Andrade 1995; Cifuentes 1999). In doing so, modern Guayaquilean his-
tories highlight the racialized content of gender definitions and the pivotal
role of the sexual past in one's daily life.

This article's somewhat triumphant tone of recognition of a possibly lo-
cal queer identity in the image of the enchaquirados and contemporary queer
men, it is important to note, is only but half of the picture. The other half is
painted by five centuries of religious and moral ideology that has shaped and
constituted non-heterosexual identities in Ecuador and throughout Latin
America. It is actually likely that Catholicism has contradictorily not only
denied, but enabled Jorge/Dolores to be who he/she wanted to be. The ques-
tion to entertain is really how Latin American Catholicism's sexually repres-
sive ideology has contributed to, rather than merely repressed, the present
expression of queer Latin American identities (see Foucault 1990). This is
particularly complex in light of the Church's condemnation of homosexual
activity, and through its political clout, contribution to the creation of a ho-
mophobic secular ideology that has significantly ostracized queer communi-
ties.
Although not analyzed here specifically for the Latin American setting, it
is clear that same-sex living arrangements and the patriarchal ideology of the
Catholic Church have empowered more than a few homosexual men and
women throughout the world (Comstock and Henking 1986). The Catholic
Church, in its guise of male-structured agents, not only reinforced Christian
sexual practices but in many instances produced alternative forms of under-
ground non-heterosexual expression (Boswell 1980). In this manner, male
homosexual relationships were institutionalized within Catholic canons
(Boswell 1995). To complicate matters, this homophobic ideology has been
even further reified in a racial ideology: white/mestizo control of public poli-
cies, national images and political representations (as you can easily gather
from watching the ads on television and magazines), and a discourse of
regionalismo. In Ecuador this racialized control has meant the almost com-
plete erasure and outright denial of different or alternative pre-Hispanic sexual
practices to those officially advocated by the Catholic Church (i.e., hetero-
sexual marital relations).
However, this binary opposition does not fully explicate the complex in-
volvement and centrality of religion and sex in the construction of contempo-
rary Latin American sexual identities. There is no doubt that the Church's
homophobic wishes have not been fulfilled; Jorge/Dolores's existence is a simple
testament to that. But I am tempted to ask if the annihilation of sodomites
was ever the Church's ultimate objective. Rather, it would seem that more
subtle forms of domination were being instituted in colonial times, forms in
which pre-Hispanic and Spanish religious beliefs were equally caught. The
intersection of the Church and Indian communities could be seen as a site of
struggle within greater a web of hegemonic constraints. This is quite dear,

since as one can gather from the ethnohistoric accounts and the Church's own
history, the pre-Hispanic past was neither a panacea of sexual liberation, nor
was the colonial Spanish domination a mere repressive ideology of non-plea-
surable reproductive sexuality. Moreover, these hegemonic constraints are still
represented today by the "moral debate" over sexuality in Latin America, what
Roseberry (1994) and Thompson (1978) refer to as the "field of force" that is
inherent in the contemporary constitution of Latin American (Bustos-Aguilar
1995; Mirande 1997; Guttman 1996; Carrier 1995; Martinez-Alier 1974) as
well as U.S. Latino (Molloy and Irwin 1998; Bergman and Smith 1995; Patton
and Sanchez-Eppler 2000) identities.
This existential debate on Latin American sexuality is also implicated by
a myriad of more local racial, class and national factors. The contemporary
formulations of Guayaquil's Indian past with its specific representations of
sexuality are highly indebted not only to the actual descriptions but mainly to
the religious tone, ideas of morality, and sentiments of the ethnohistoric ac-
counts. The city's dismissal of any public referral to homosexuality speaks to
the systematic Spanish and Catholic production of a sexual discourse devoid
of non-heterosexual elements. In this light, the ofFicialization of heterosexist
historical interpretations is implicitly undertaken in the reification of a re-
gional way of racially being (i.e., regionalismo) and class dynamics that marked
the city's portrayal of Europe as the civilizing cultural center.
In light of the official historiography this article questions the traditional
historical interpretations of enchaquirados as a sexual anomaly. The
enchaquirados were far from an aberration, constituting a ritually prescribed
normative social element of Manteno-Huancavilca society and possibly of
other pre-Hispanic populations. It is also evident that strict sexual norms
were part of America's indigenous communities of the past, but unlike today,
homosexuality was far from the "crime" or "sin" that has been reified in con-
temporary terms. This new historical interpretation demands an assessment
not necessarily of flawed scholarship but of the greater hegemonic discourses
that structure all interpretations of the past (see Wylie 1995).
So, what is at stake in my historical assessment of Guayaquil's sexual past
is not truth per se, a smaller element in the hegemonic enterprise at hand.
Rather, this discussion of the enchaquirados engages the question of sexual
representation, and problematizes the historical interpretation of Guayaquil's
indigenous heritage. This research is fruit of an engendered upbringing that
faulted me, and many other men, for not living up to society's heterosexist
ideals. To this effect, heteronormativity used history as its "seductively attired
false witness" (Baldwin 1990:480) and contributed to discursive forms of
power, which I and other queer Ecuadorians are in the process of rewriting.

It has taken me three decades to rewrite history in my own "queer" terms,
making sure that my historical interpretation not only meets empirical value
judgments, but also takes into account the social nature of all historical recon-
structions. There is no doubt that I would change my engendered past if I
could and yet in an essential way it was only through this subjection to
heteronormativity that I have been granted the historic? i agency to offer an
alternative interpretation for the enchaquirados' legacy and historical repre-
sentation (see Butler 1997a, 1997b). Echoing James Baldwin, I am not con-
tent with the history given to me, and only that will make (historical and
social) change possible:
But, obviously, I am speaking as an historical creation which has had
bitterly to contest its history, to wrestle with it and finally accept it, in
order to bring myself out of it. My point of view is certainly formed by
my history and it is probable that only a creature despised by history finds
history a questionable matter. On the other hand, people who imagine
that history flatters them (as it does, indeed, since they wrote it) are im-
paled on their history like a butterfly on a pin and become incapable of
seeing or changing themselves or the world. [Baldwin 1966:175-176]
Notes
Acknowledgments. I would like to express my extreme gratitude to Mary
Weismantel for her support and suggestions in the writing of this article. My
thanks also go out to Xavier Andrade and two other anonymous reviewers
whose comments contributed positively to the ideas expressed here. Also spe-
cial thanks to Jan Bramlett for her editing and above all unrelenting friend-
ship. Any shortcomings are clearly my own. I also wish to acknowledge my
family, fellow Guayaquileans, and CEAA classmates, who made my engen-
dered existence in the city such a painful one. However, without that training
I would have never been able to write this article or fully begin to explore who
I really am. Finally, I wish to acknowledge G. Allen for his artistic vision,
which in many instances has questioned my own. In doing so, he has encour-
aged me to be more faithful to my own intellectual enterprise.
1. All translations are my own.

2. The word homosexual is used in its most descriptive sense; that is, as
describing same-sex relationships. In this manner, I am looking to neither
make value judgments on these relationships nor attempt to equate all homo-
sexual relationships in pre-Hispanic populations as the same. In this regard I
believe Trexler's (1995) work to be quite problematic. He seems to uncritically

homogenize homosexual behavior throughout the Americas when it seems to
have had a more varied array of meanings and social implications (see Smith
1998; Bleys 1995). The anthropological works of Roscoe (1998), Lang (1998),
and Fausto-Sterling (1992) also provide insightful analysis of the cultural pro-
duction of human sexuality.
3. Unlike the term homosexual, the utilization of queer attempts a much
more theoretical definition. I follow Kaminsky (2001) and Sdnchez-Eppler
(2000) in their use of queer as questioning the traditional heteronormative
("straight") structure of Western society. In this manner, queer is used both to
represent non-heterosexual practices and gender arrangements, as well as to
contrast it to the central/straight ordering of contemporary heteronormative
society.
4. At the time of the conquest there seem to have been two larger polities,
organized in some type of confederation, one of them being the Manteno-
Huancavilcas and the other the Milagro-Quevedo polity. The Milagro-Quevedo
polity consisted of a loosely connected system of chief-based societies that
occupied the upper, middle, and lower parts of the Guayas basin (Estrada
1979; Muse 1991). It is most probably one of these polities, specifically the
Chonos, that populated the current lower drainage of the Guayas river, where
Guayaquil is now located:
The Inga (sic) disembarked without hindrance on the opposite shore,

where the city of Guayaquil now is, he granted many favors to the chief
who had surrendered and to his district, and, by their aid, he conquered
all the lands of the Chonos, who are the people of Guayaquil. [Montesinos
1920:109]
The fact that the Chonos were not the only ethnically distinct population
in the area makes the definition of the respective cultural areas difficult. For
example, references to the area of "Colonchie in the Province of the
Guancavilcas," Punefios and Tumbecinos also make it clear that there was a
vast amount of interaction (both in terms of exchange and warring capacity)
between these different groups (Benzoni 1985:61). It is clear from several of
the accounts that the Punefios were openly hostile against both the Chonos
and Tumbecinos, and that all of these groups suffered some level of Incan
colonization just before their conquest at the hands of the Spanish em-
pire.
5. The Mantefio-Huancavilca federation occupied what today is the mid-
to southern coast of Ecuador and was most probably the product of an alli-
ance formed by over 25 different pre-Hispanic Indian communities (Estrada
1957). What little we do know about this federation comes from the Span-

iards conquest crdnkas and from recent archaeological excavations. There seems
to have been a large division of the federation into roughly two equal (or near
so) groups, the Mantefios that occupied the northern part of the coast from
Bahfa de Caraquez to southern Manabf, and the Huancavilcas that occupied
the Peninsula of Santa Elena and some of the inland areas. Both groups are
described as having complex forms of religious beliefs, social structure and
military organization. For some (Marcos 1986; Holm 1986), it was probably
this control over the maritime trade that economically maintained the federa-
tion.
6. These are two of the most widely cited description of these sea bearing
vessels and encounters, the first by Fernandez de Oviedo:
And he saw come above the sea a boat that had great volume, which
seemed to posses Latin sails, and the maestre and the ones that were with
them got prepared to fight, if it was necessary; they got close to the boat
and took possession of it, and they found that it was a boat of traders of
the region, on their way to do their exchange, in which there were up to
twenty persons, men, women and boys ... The shape of this boat was
made of very thick wood tightly secured with strong rope made from
agave {henequen) ... [Holm 1986:17]
They took over a boat in which there were up to twenty people, eleven of
them threw themselves overboard, and three were taken hostage, includ-
ing the pilot. The rest were put ashore so they could go free. These three
that were captured were used as translators and were very well cared for.
... The boat carried lots of pieces of gold and silver for their personal
adornment, also to exchange with whomever they were going to trade. ...
They also carried lots of wool and cotton blankets, and alulas (small shirts),
and alcaceres (capes), and alaremes (hoods), and lots of other clothes, all of
them extremely worked and rich, and blue, and yellow, all of different
colors, with different stitches and designs of birds, animals, fishes and
trees. [Xerez 1988:179-80]
7. They were known for having special temples (adoratorios) throughout

the coast, being the most renown ones in Manta, and in the islands of Santa
Clara, Salango, and La Plata:
In another small island very close to this one: one which is called La Plata,
they used to have during the times of their parents a temple or guaca
where they also adored their gods, and made sacrifices. [Cieza de Le6n
1986:175]

While he was at Tumbez, the priests and wizards went to make sacrifices
to the South Sea and to an idol which was on an island which the Span-
iards later called Santa Elena. [Montesinos 1920:125]
Unfortunately, contemporary archaeological excavations have not been
able to corroborate these descriptions, either because the temples were obliter-
ated by four centuries of deliberate abandonment or because the descriptions
might have been originally confused.
8. Through these fasting and vigils and penance in which they lived, they
were worthy for the devil to appear to them, or so they pretended, and
they would tell the people what the devil had told them or what they
made up, saying that it was their gods that ordered it. What they confirm
in seeing most commonly is a head with very long hair. [Las Casas 1982:69]
9. Guayaquilean of warrior wood; the strongest and courageous in all of
Ecuador; there is nobody that rivals you in strength and courage; I say so in
my song.
10. See Acosta 1997.
11. Guayaquil's attraction and fear of Indians is clearly expressed in its
repressive and discriminatory practices against the indigenous population. But
its relations with contemporary Indian groups is not exclusively marked by
racist parameters. For example, the relationship with the Colorado commu-
nity is quite telling in this regard. The Colorados' manipulation of traditional
shamanism as an alternative form of medical/spiritual healing is very attrac-
tive to Guayaquileans, especially those of the middle classes, who frequently
visit them for this purpose.
12. The struggle over Guayaquil's autonomy from the central govern-
ment is an ongoing discourse in the history and representation of the city.
This narrative of liberation expresses an account of being forced by Simon
Bolivar into cohabitation with the rest of the "Ecuadorian" territory after the
city's initial independence from Spanish rule. This distrust of the political and
economic control of Quito over the city were also the main issues in the ques-
tions asked in a recently held referendum in Guayaquil over the future admin-
istrative status of the city (for similar discussion of other Latin American cities
see Guillermoprieto 1995).
References Cited
Acosta, Alberto et al.
1997 Identidad nacional y globalizaci6n. Quito: ILDIS, FLACSO and
Instituto de Altos Estudios Nacionales.

AlarcxSn, Norma
1990 The Theoretical Subject(s) of This Bridge Called my Back and
Anglo-American Feminism. In Making Face, Making Soul/
Haciendo Caras: Creative and Critical Perspectives by Feminists of
Color. Gloria Anzaldiia, ed. Pp. 356-369. San Francisco: Aunt Lute
Books.
Alarc6n, Norma, Cherrfe Moraga and Ana Castillo, eds.
1993 The Sexuality of Latinas. Berkeley: Third Woman Press.
Alonso, Ana Marfa
1988 The Effects of Truth: Re-Presentations of the Past and the Imagin-
ing of a Community. Journal of Historical Sociology l(l):58-89.
Alvarez, Silvia
1995 Los comuneros de Santa Elena: Tierra, familia y propiedad. Quito:
Corporation Editora Nacional and Abya-Yala.
Andrade, Xavier
1995 Pancho Jaime: Masculinidad, violencia, imagenes y textos de una
narrativa popular. Ecuador Debate 36:95-108.
1997 Carnaval de masculinidades. fconos [Quito: FLACSO] 2:71-84.
Anzaldiia, Gloria
1987 Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. San Francisco: Aunt
Lute Books.
,ed.
1990 Making Face, Making Soul/Haciendo Caras: Creative and Critical
Perspectives by Feminists of Color. San Francisco: Aunt Lute
Books.
Anzaldua, Gloria and Ann Louise Keating
2000 Gloria E. Anzaldua: Interviews and Entrevistas. New York:
Routledge.
Arenas, Reinaldo
1991 El asalto. Miami: Ed. Universal.
1993 Before Night Falls. Dolores M. Koch, trans. New York: Viking
Press.
Aspiazu Carbo, Miguel
1970 Acta de fundaci6n de la Ciudad de Santiago de Guayaquil
(Santiago de la Provincia de Quito) 15 de agosto de 1534.
Cuadernos de Historia y Arqueologia XX(37).225-253.
Ayala Mora, Enrique
1983a De la revolution alfarista al regimen oligarquico liberal. In Nueva
historia del Ecuador. Enrique Ayala Mora, ed. Vol. 9, pp. 117-166.
Quito: Corporaci6n Editora Nacional and Ed. Grijalbo.

1985 Lucha polftica y orfgen de los partidos en Ecuador. Quito:
Corporaci6n Editora Nacional.
,ed.
1983b Nueva historia del Ecuador. 15 vols. Quito: Corporaci6n Editora
Nacional and Grijalbo.
Baldwin, James
1966 Unnameable Objects, Unspeakable Crimes. In The White Problem
in America. Ebony Magazine, eds. Pp. 170-180. Chicago: John
Pub. Co., Inc.
1990 Just Above My Head. New York City: Laurel.
Benavides, O. Hugo
1999 Telling Stories, Producing the Nation: Archaeology's Role in the
Construction of Contemporary Ecuador. Ph.D. dissertation,
Anthropology Department, City University of New York
2001 My Deep Dark Pain is Love: Reflections on an Acquired Identity.
In Gay Rights at the End of the Twentieth Century, Occasional
Paper Number 5. Bassam Abed, ed. Pp. 10-13. New York: School
of Continuing and Professional Studies, Paul McGhee Division,
New York University.
Benzoni, Girolamo
1985 [1572] La Historia del mundo nuovo (Relatos de su Viaje por Ecua-
dor, 1547-1550). Guayaquil: Banco Central del Ecuador.
Bergmann, Emilie and Paul Julian Smith, eds.
1995 ,;Entiendes?: Queer Readings, Hispanic Writings. Durham: Duke
University Press.
Bleys, Rudi
1995 The Geography of Perversion: Male-to-Male Sexual Behaviour
Outside the West and the Ethnographic Imagination, 1750-1918.
New York: New York University Press.
Boswell, John
1980 Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
1995 The Marriage of Likeness: Same-Sex Unions in Pre-Modern
Europe. London: Fontana Press.
Burns, Kathryn
1999 Colonial Habits: Convents and the Spiritual Economy of Cuzco,
Peru. Durham: Duke University Press.
Bustos-Aguilar, Pedro
1995 Mister Don't Touch the Banana: Notes on the Popularity of the
Ethnosexed Body South of the Border. Critique of Anthropology
15(2):149-17O.

Butler, Judith
1997a The Psychic Life of Power: Theories in Subjection. Stanford:
Stanford University Press.
1997b Gender is Burning: Questions of Appropriation and Subversion. In
Dangerous Liaisons: Gender, Nation, and Postcolonial Perspectives.
Anne McClintock, Aamir Mufti and Ella Shohat, eds. Pp. 381-395.
Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Carrera Andrade, Jorge
1957 Los franceses incendfan Guayaquil. Cuadernos de Historia y
Arqueologia 7(19-21):55-61.
Carrier, Joseph
1995 De los Otros: Intimacy and Homosexuality among Mexican Men.
California: California University Press.
Castillo, Ana
1992 The Mixquiahuala Letters. New York: Anchor Books.
1996 Loverboys. New York: Plume Books.
Cieza de Leon, Pedro
1971 [1553] La cronica del Peru. Buenos Aires: Coleccion Austral.
1986[1553] Cronica del Peru, Primera Parte. Lima: Pontificia Universidad
Cat6lica del Peru, Fondo Editorial.
Cifuentes, Maria Angela
1999 El placer de la representacion: La imagen femenina ante la moda y
el retrato (Quito, 1880-1920). Quito: Abya-Yala.
Cobo, Father Bernabe
1983[1653] History of the Inca Empire. Roland Hamilton, ed. and trans.
Austin: University of Texas Press.
Comstock, Gary David and Susan E. Henking, eds.
1986 Que(e)rying Religion: A Critical Anthology. New York: Con-
tinuum.
Cortez, Jaime
1999 Virgins, Guerrillas, and Locas: Gay Latinos Write about Love. New
York: Cleis Press.
de la Cadena, Marisol
2000 Indigenous Mestizos: The Politics of Race and Culture in Cuzco,
Peru, 1919-1991. Durham: Duke University Press.
de la Torre Espinosa, Carlos
1996 El racismo en Ecuador: Experiencia de los indios de dase media.
Quito: Centro Andino de Acci6n Popular.
Dfaz, Junot
1996 Drown. New York: Riverhead Books.

Efre'n Reyes, Oscar
1967 Breve historia general del Ecuador. 3 vols. Quito: Impresa Cat6lica.
Espinosa Apolo, Manuel
1995 Los mestizos ecuatorianos y las senas de identidad cultural. Quito:
centro de estudio felipe guamdn poma de ayala.
Estete, Miguel de
1918[1535] Noticias del Peru. Quito: Boletfn de la Sociedad Ecuatoriana
de Estudios Hist6ricos Americanos 3:312-35. Reprint, Quito:
Ediciones del Banco Central del Ecuador, 1986.
Estrada, Victor Emilio
1957 Los huancavilcas: Ultimas civilizaciones prehistoricas de la costa del
Guayas. Guayaquil: Museo Victor Emilio Estrada.
1979 Ultimas civilizaciones pre-historicas de la Cuenca del Rio Guayas.
Guayaquil: Publicaciones del Archivo Historico del Guayas,
Ecuador.
Estrada Ycaza, Julio
1975 Alrededor de la fundacion de Guayaquil. Revista del Archivo
Historico del Guayas 4(7): 9-63.
1987 Andanzas de Cieza por tierras americanas. Guayaquil: Banco
Central Del Ecuador and Archivo Historico del Guayas.
Fanon, Frantz
1967 Black Skin, White Masks. New York: Grove Press.
Fausto-Sterling, Anne
1992 Myths of Gender: Biological Theories about Women and Men.
New York: Basic Books, Harper Collins Publishers.
Fernandez de Oviedo, Gonzalo
1959[1535] Historia general y natural de las Indias. 5 vols. Biblioteca de
Autores Espafioles, vols. CXVII-CXXI. Madrid: Editorial Atlas.
Foucault, Michel
1990 The History of Sexuality. 3 vols. New York: Vintage Books.
1998 Nietzsche, Geneaology, History. In Michel Foucault: Aesthetics,
Method and Epistemology. James D. Faubion, ed. Vol. 2, pp. 369-
392. New York: The New Press.
Freire, Paolo
1992 Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Continuum.
Garcilaso de la Vega, "El Inca"
1998[1609] Comentarios reales. With an introduction by Jose* de la Riva-
Agiiero. Mexico: Ed. Porriia, S.A.
Giddings, Paula
1984 When and Where I Enter: The Impact of Black Women on Race
and Sex in America, New York: William Morrow Co.

Gonzalez, Ray, ed.
1996 Muy Macho: Latino Men Confront their Manhood. New York:
Anchor Books, Doubleday.
Gonzalez, Victor
1978 Historia del Ecuador: Raza y clases en la colonia. Guayaquil: Casa
de la Cultura, Niicleo del Guayas.
Guerra, Erasmo
1999 Latin Lovers: True Stories of Latin Men in Love. New York: Painted
Leaf Press.
Guillermoprieto, Alma
1995 The Heart That Bleeds: Latin America Now. New York: Vintage
Books.
Gutierrez, Ramon A.
1991 When Jesus Came, the Corn Mothers Went Away: Marriage,
Sexuality, and Power in New Mexico, 1500-1846. Stanford:
Stanford University Press.
Guttman, Matthew
1994 The Meaning of Macho: Changing Mexican Male Identities.
Masculinities 2(l):21-33.
1996 The Meaning of Macho: Being a Man in Mexico City. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Hale, Charles
1996 Introduction. "Mestizaje," theme issue, Journal of Latin American
Anthropology 2(l):2-3.
Holm, Olaf
1986 Cultura mantena-huancavilca. Guayaquil: Museo Antropologico,
Banco Central del Ecuador.
Joyce, Rosemary
2000 A Precolumbian Gaze: Male Sexuality among the Ancient Maya. In
Archaeologies of Sexualities. Robert Schmidt and Barbara Voss,
eds. Pp. 263-286. New York: Routledge.
Kaminsky, Amy
2001 The Queering of Latin American Literary Studies. Journal of Latin
American Research 36(2):201-19.
Kincaid, Jamaica
1997 My Brother. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux.
Lancaster, Roger
1992 Life is Hard: Machismo, Danger and Intimacy of Power in Nicara-
gua. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Lang, Sabine
1998 Men as Women, Women as Men: Changing Gender in Native
American Cultures. Austin: University of Texas Press.
Las Casas, Fray Bartolome' de
1982 Los indios de Mexico y Nueva Espafia: Antologfa. Mexico: Ed.
Porriia, S.A.
Leap, William and Ellen Lewin, eds.
1996 Out in the Field: Reflections of Lesbian and Gay Anthropologists.
Chicago: University of Illinois Press.
Leyland, Winston and E. A. Lacey
1983 My Deep Dark Pain is Love: A Collection of Latin American Gay
Fiction. San Francisco: Gay Sunshine Press.
Lizarraga, Fray Reginaldo de
1968 [1605] Descripcion breve de toda la tierra del Peru, Tucuman, Rio de
la Plata y Chile. Biblioteca de Autores Espanoles, vol. CCXVI.
Madrid: Editorial Atlas.
Lorde, Audre
1993 [1984] Age, Race, Class, and Sex: Women Redefining Difference. In
Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches. New York: W W Norton and
Co., Inc.
Maiguashca, Juan, ed.
1994 Historia y region en el Ecuador: 1830-1930. Quito: FLACSO and
Corporacion Editora Nacional.
Mallon, Florencia
1996 Constructing Mestizaje in Latin America: Authenticity, Marginality
and Gender in the Claiming of Ethnic Identities. Journal of Latin
American Anthropology 2(1): 170-181.
Manrique, Jaime and Jesse Dorris, eds.
1999 Besame Mucho: New Gay Latino Fiction. New York: Painted Leaf
Press.
Marcos, Jorge, ed.
1986 Arqueologfa de la costa ecuatoriana: Nuevos enfoques. Quito:
Corporaci6n Editora Nacional y ESPOL.
Maridtegui, Jose Carlos
1955 Siete ensayos interpretativos de la realidad peruana. Santiago de
Chile: Editorial Universitaria, S.A.
Martinez-Alier, Verena
1974 Marriage, Class and Colour in Nineteenth Century Cuba. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Martfnez Estrada, Alejandro
N.d. Historia del Ecuador. Quito: DIMAXI.

Mirande\ Alfredo
1997 Hombres y Machos: Masculinity and Latino Culture. Boulder:
Westview Press.
Molloy, Sylvia and Robert M. Irwin, eds.
1998 Hispanisms and Homosexualities. Durham: Duke University Press.
Montesinos, Fernando
1920 [1644] Memorias antiguas historiales del Peru. London: The Hakluyt
Society.
Moraga, Cherrfe
1997 Waiting in the Wings: A Portrait of Queer Motherhood. New York:
Firebrand Books.
Moraga, Cherrfe and Gloria Anzaldiia
1983 This Bridge Called my Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color.
New York: Kitchen Table Press.
Murray, Stephen
1980 Lexical and Institutional Elaboration: The "Species Homosexual"
in Guatemala. Anthropological Linguistics 22:177-85.
1987 Male Homosexuality in Central and South America. New York:
Gay Academic Union.
Muse, Michael
1991 Products and Politics of a Milagro Entrepot: Pefion del Rio.
Research in Economic Anthropology 13:269-322.
Navas Jimenez, Mario
1994 Historia, geografia y cfvica. Quito: Grafica Mediavilla Hnos.
Pareja Diezcanseco, Alfredo
1990 Breve historia del Ecuador. Quito: Libreras.
Parker, Richard
1986 Masculinity, Femininity, and Homosexuality: On the Anthropo-
logical Interpretation of Sexual Meanings in Brazil. Journal of
Homosexuality 14:156-63.
1991 Bodies, Pleasure, and Passions: Sexual Culture in Contemporary
Brazil. Boston: Beacon Press.
Patterson, Thomas and Peter Schmidt, eds.
1995 Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology and
History in Non-Western Settings. Santa Fe: School of American
Research Press.
Patton, Cindy and Benigno Sanchez-Eppler, eds.
2000 Queer Diasporas. Durham: Duke University Press.
Preur, Annick
1998 Mema's House, Mexico City: On Transvestites, Queens, and
Machos. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Puga, Miguel and Fernando Jurado
1992 El proceso de blanqueamiento en el Ecuador: De los puentos a los
egas. Quito: Colecci6n Medio Milenio.
Puig, Manuel
1986 Pubis angelical. New York: Vintage Books.
Quintero, Rafael and Erika Silva
1991 Ecuador: Una naci6n en ciernes. 3 vols. Quito: FLACSO and
Abya-Yala.
Radcliffe, Sarah and Sallie Westwood
1996 Remaking the Nation: Place, Identity and Politics in Latin
America. New York: Routledge.
Roscoe, Will
1998 Changing Ones: Third and Fourth Genders in Native North
America. London: Macmillan Press.
Roseberry, William
1994 Hegemony and the Language of Contention. In Everyday Forms of
State Formation: Revolution and the Negotiation of Rule in
Modern Mexico. Joseph, G. and D. Nugent, eds. Pp. 355-366.
Durham: Duke University Press.
Sanchez-Eppler, Benigno
2000 Reinaldo Arenas, Re-writer Revenant, and the Re-Patriation of
Cuban Homoerotic Desire. In Queer Diasporas, Cindy Patton and
Benigno Sanchez-Eppler, eds. Pp. 154-182. Durham: Duke
University Press.
Santiago, Esmeralda and Joie Davidow, eds.
2000 Las Mamis: Favorite Latino Authors Remember their Mothers.
New York: Alfred A. Knopf.
Sarduy, Severo
1997 ,;De donde son los cantantes? Madrid: Catedra-Letras Hispanicas.
Smith, Merril D.
1998 Sex and Sexuality in Early America, New York City: New York
University Press.
Stoler, Anne
1996 Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault's History of Sexuality
and the Colonial Order of Things. Durham: Duke University
Press.
Stutzman, Ronald
1981 El Mestizaje: An All-Inclusive Ideology of Exclusion. In Cultural
Transformations and Ethnicity in Modern Ecuador. Norman
Whitten, ed. Pp. 45-93. Urbana: Illinois University Press.

Taussig, Michael
1992 Malcficium: State Fetishism. In The Nervous System. Pp. 111-140.
New York: Routledge.
Thompson, E. P.
1978 Eighteenth Century English Society: Class Struggle Without Class?
Social History 3(2):133-65.
Trexler, Richard
1995 Sex and Conquest: Gendered Violence, Political Order, and the
European Conquest of the Americas. Ithaca: Cornell University
Press.
Wylie, Alison
1995 Alternative Histories: Epistemic Disunity and Political Integrity. In
Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology and
History in Non-Western Settings. Thomas Carl Patterson and Peter
R. Schmidt, eds. Pp. 255-272. Santa Fe: School of American
Research.
Xavier, Emanuel
1999 Christ-Like. New York: Painted Leaf Press.
Xerez, Francisco de
1988 Relacion Samano. In Francisco de Xerez: Verdadera relacion de la
Conquista del Peru. Madrid: Historia 16.
Zarate, Agustfn de
1995[1555] Historia del descubrimiento y conquista del Peru. Lima:
Pontificia Universidad Catolica del Peru, Fondo Editorial.
Zea, Leopoldo
1991 Precursores del pensamiento latinoamericano contemporaneo.
Mexico City: Secretarfa de Educacion Piiblica.

Benavides - 2002 - The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past: Historicizing The Enchaquirados

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Benavides - 2002 - The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past: Historicizing The Enchaquirados

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual

Past: Historicizing the Enchaquirados

As part of our anthropological training in the Centro de Estudios

Journal of I atin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 69

70 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Enchaquirados and Guayaquil's Sexual Past

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 71

72 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 73

74 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 75

76 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 77

78 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 79

80 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 81

82 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

Repressed Histories, Histories of Repression: Racism and

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 83

84 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 85

86 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 87

88 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 89

90 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

1. All translations are my own.

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 91

The Inga (sic) disembarked without hindrance on the opposite shore,

92 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

7. They were known for having special temples (adoratorios) throughout

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 93

94 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 95

96 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 97

98 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 99

100 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 101

102 Journal of Latin American Anthropology

The Representation of Guayaquil's Sexual Past 103

You might also like