Missing the Revolution: Anthropologists and the War in Peru
Orin Star
Cultural Anthropology, Vol. 6, No. 1. (Feb., 1991), pp. 63-91.
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Tue Oct 3 15:30:40 2006Missing the Revolution:
Anthropologists and the War in Peru
Orin Starn
Stanford University
On 17 May 1980, Shining Path guerillas burned ballot boxes in the Andean
village of Chuschi and proclaimed their intention to overthrow the Peruvian state
Playing on the Inkarri myth of Andean resurrection from the cataclysm of con-
quest, the revolutionaries had chosen the 199th anniversary of the execution by
the Spanish colonizers ofthe neo-Inca rebel Tupac Amaru. Chuschi, though, pre-
figured not rebirth but a decade of death. It opened a savage war between the
‘guerrillas and government that would claim more than 15,000 lives during the
1980s."
For hundreds of anthropologists in the thriving regional subspecialty of An-
dean studies, the rise of the Shining Path came as a complete surprise. Dozens of
ethnographers worked in Peru’s southern highlands during the 1970s. One of the
best-known Andeanists, R. T. Zuidema, was directing a research project in the
Rio Pampas region that became a center of the rebellion. Yet no anthropologist
realized a major insurgency was about to detonate, a revolt so powerful that by
1990 Peru’s civilian government had ceded more than half the country to military
‘command,
‘The inability of ethnographers to anticipate the insurgency raises important
«questions. For much of the 20th century, after all, anthropologists had figured as
principal experts on life in the Andes. They positioned themselves as the “good”
‘outsiders who truly understood the interests and aspirations of Andean people; and
they spoke with scientific authority guaranteed by the firsthand experience of
fieldwork. Why, then, did anthropologists miss the gathering storm of the Shining
ath” What does this say about ethnographic understandings of the highlands?
How do events in Peru force us to rethink anthropology on the Andes?
From the start, I want to emphasize that it would be unfair to fault anthro-
pologists for not predicting the rebellion. Ethnographers certainly should not be
in the business of forecasting revolutions. In many respects, moreover, the Shin-
ing Path’s success would have been especially hard to foresee. A pro-Cultural
Revolution Maoist splinter from Peru's regular Communist Party, the group
formed in the university in the provincial highland city of Ayacucho. It was led
by a big-jowled philosophy professor named Abimac! Guzman with thick glasses
and a rare blood disease called policitimea.* Guzmién viewed Peru as dominated
by a bureaucratic capitalism that could be toppled only through armed struggle.
664 CULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGY
{A first action of his guerrillas in Lima was to register contempt for “bourgeois
revisionism” by hanging a dead dog in front of the Chinese embassy. Most ob-
servers intially dismissed the Shining Path, Sendero Luminoso, as a bizarre but
lunthreatening sect. This was fiercely doctrinaire Marxism in the decade of per-
estroika
‘What I will claim, though, is that most anthropologists were remarkably un-
attuned to the conditions which made possible the rise of Sendero. First, they
tended to ignore the intensifying interlinkage of Peru's countryside and cities,
villages and shantytowns, Andean highlands and lowlands of the jungle and coast
‘These interpenetrations created the enormous pool of radical young people of
amalgamated rural/urban identity who would provide an effective revolutionary
force. Second, anthropologists largely overlooked the climate of sharp unrest
across the impoverished countryside. Hundreds of protests and land invasions tes-
tified to a deep-rooted discontent that the guerrillas would successfully exploit.
To begin accounting for the gaps in ethnographic knowledge about the high-
lands, the first half of this essay introduces the concept of Andeanism.* Here 1
refer to representation that portrays contemporary highland peasants as outside
the flow of modern history. Imagery of Andean life as little changed since the
‘Spanish conquest has stretched across discursive boundaries during the 20th cen-
tury to become a central motif in the writings of novelists, politicians, and trav-
clers as well asthe visual depictions of filmmakers, painters, and photographers.
{believe Andcanism also operated in anthropology, and helps to explain why so
‘many ethnographers did not recognize the rapidly tightening interconnections that
were a vital factor in the growth of the Shining Path
GEER thowgh. was not the only influence on anthropologists of the
1960 and 1970s, The growing importance S160) 3 baIG AEB in
international anthropology theory of the period also conditioned ethnographic
views of the Andes. In the second half of the essay, I argue thatthe strong impact
of these two theoretical currents produced an intense preoccupation with issues of
adaptation, ritual, and cosmology. This limited focus, in turn, assists in account-
ing for why most anthropologists passed over the profound rural dissatisfaction
with the status quo that was to become a second enabling factor in Sendero's rapid
My mapping of Andeanist anthropology starts with Billie Jean Isbell’s To
Defend Ourselves: Ecology and Ritual in an Andean Village (1977). Through
close reading of this synthetic and widely read ethnography, I begin to outline the
imprint of Andeanism on anthropological thinking and to explore how the heavy
deployment of ecological and symbolic approaches led to the oversight of political
ferment in the countryside. Isbell’s book has a special significance because its
‘Andean village was Chuschi, the hamlet where the Shining Path’s revolt would
explode just five years after Isbell’s departure
1 juxtapose To Defend Ourselves with a remarkable but little-known book
called Ayacucho: Hunger and Hope (1969) by an Andean-born agronomist and
future Shining Path leader named Antonio Diaz Martinez.* Hunger and Hope
proves it was possible to formulate a very different view of the highlands fromMISSING THE REVOLUTION. 65
that of most Andeanist anthropology. While Isbell and other ethnographers de-
picted discrete villages with fixed traditions, Diaz saw syncretism and shifting
identities. Most anthropologists found a conservative peasantry. Diaz, by con-
trast, perceived small farmers as on the brink of revolt. Passages of Hunger and
Hope foreshadow the Shining Path's subsequent dogmatic brutality. Yet the man
‘who would become the reputed “number three" in the Maoist insurgency, after
Abimael Guzman and Osmén Morote, discovered an Ayacucho that escaped the
‘voluminous anthropology literature, a countryside about to burst into conflict.
Through criticism of Andeanist anthropology, my account points to alter-
natives. 1 press for recognition of what historian Steve Stern (1987.9) calls “the
‘manifold ways whereby peasants have continuously engaged in their political
worlds”; and I argue for an understanding of modern Andean identities as dy-
‘namie, syneretic, and sometimes ambiguous. Finally, 1 seek to develop an anal-
ysis that does not underplay the Shining Path’s violence yet recognizes the in
‘mate ties of many of the guerrillas to the Andean countryside and the existence of
rural sympathies forthe revolt.
| feel a certain unease about writing on the Andes and the Shining Path
nderology"”—the study of the guerrillas—is a thriving enterprise. In my
View, a sense of the intense human suffering caused by the war to0 often disap-
pears in this work, The terror becomes simply another field for scholarly debate
‘This essay is open to criticism for contributing to the academic commodification
‘of Peru's pain, But I offer the account in a spirit of commitment, No outside it
tervention—and certainly not by anthropologists—is at present likely to change
the deadly logic of the war. | hope, though, that sharper anthropological views of
the situation will help others to understand the violence and to join the struggle
for life
Isbell wrote To Defend Ourselves from fieldwork in 1967, 1969-70, and
1974-75. Closely observed and richly detailed, the book presents the village of
‘Chuschi as divided into two almost caste-like segments: Quechua-speaking peas-
ants and Spanish-speaking teachers and bureaucrats. An intermediate category
appears more peripherally, migrants from Chuschi to Lima. Like other Andean:
ists, Isbell positions herself firmly with the Quechua-speaking comuneros. The
‘mestizos, even the dirt-poor teachers, figure as the bad guys, domineering and
Without Isbell's knowledge or appreciation of Andean traditions.
Isbell’s analysis revolves around the proposition that Chuschi's peasants had
‘ured inward to maintain their traditions against outside pressures. The comu-
neros, she argued, had built a symbolic and social order whose binary logic
Isbell (1977:11) made her mission to document “the structural
defenses the indigenous population has constructed against the increasing domi-
nation of the outside world,(66. CULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGY
Iselregsred that Chuschi was a eglonal market centr with a church,
stool and Health pos. She noted tha tucks pled the dit highway between
Cust and the iy of Ayacucho. We ea ofthe constant in people and
foods between Chuschl and not only Ayacicho ut alo Lin andthe coc gow:
ing eglons of the upper Amazon, More than a quan of Chusch's population
had moved wo Lima, Many others migrated seasonally. Even he pean
inigrane maintained closets in thet naive village, rtuning prod and
ieepng ails dnd.
When it came to representing Chuschino cule, however, Ibell dow
played mine and change. Instead he concentrated cn how terial kine
ios, reciprocity, ctumology, and ecological management of Chuschi's
Diaz (1969:34) summed up his dislike of development and belief in the rev-
olutionary potential of Ayacuchan peasants in a passionate passage with strong
Andeanist overtones:
ere the man of the Andes lived under a centralized economy, until the white predator
‘who lasted for 300 years and his successor the modern mestiz0: governor, priest, con
aressman, public employee, propagandists and sellers of technology, who say they
will achieve "“development.”' “Development” of whom?. if they don't even stop 0
lear about the native culture, or even the economie structure, how will they be able
{0 develop i? But nevertheless, this autochthonous people stands on its feet, with
hope forthe future, wit faith in its efforts, and one day will break the chains that
impede its development.
Diaz’s language reiterates that Andeanism does not always accompany a vision
‘of peasants as conservative. It did for anthropologists with their disinterest in pol-
ities. But Diaz, like the indigenista socialists of the 1920s and 1930s, connected
his belief in the survival of “autochthonous” traditions with an assurance about
the possibility of change. Lo andino became a seed of purity that would flower in
anew social order,
Despite the heteroglot identity ofits own cadre, the Shining Path would also
invoke the concept of a return to uncorrupted Andean origins. In the "popular
war” against the “reactionaries and their imperialist masters,” certified an article
in the semiofficial party newspaper I Diario, “the Andean people advance
the Quechua, aymara, and chanka advances." Where Sendero differs from other
socialist alternatives is the frightening rigidity of its vanguardism. The absolutism
of the Senderistas about their views—and their own right to lead—provides the
‘moral framework that justifies the murder of those perceived as opponents. Hun
‘ger and Hope contained some advance warning of this authoritarianism. Diaz
(1969:34-35) directed the book not to poor people in Ayacucho, but to “young
students and researchers” whom he hoped would recognize their “historical re-
sponsibility to study our problems and take an honest position in the search for
‘new situations."” While conserving a profound regard for peasant knowledge and
militancy, he also mixed in phrases about the “'miserable masses” and “illiterate
‘peasants” that suggested their political consciousness to be less acute than that of|
‘an educated vanguard, The people would be at the heart of the revolution. But
they would need to be organized in a “planned state” (1969:266).
On balance, though, Diaz’s vision had a collaborative flavor very different
from the dogmatism of the party he would help to organize in the next decade.
‘The sharp-sighted passion of the young professor had not yet hardened into doc-
trine. The University of Huamanga, Diaz (1969:265) wrote, should avoid becom-MISSING THE REVOLUTION. &3
ing a “producer of egotists and individualists”” and “put itself at the service of
the collectivity."* But if it did not, Diaz (1969:24) believed Ayacucho’s poor
‘would make change on their own, “passing sooner or later right over [the uni-
versity], and transforming its world.” At the end of Diaz's (1969:266) vision was
‘a powerful yet strangely innocent dream of a collectively fashioned utopia. The
‘Andes have strong people and rich natural resources, he wrote in the last line of
‘Hunger and Hope—"let’s make them into a paradise.
Edward Said (1979:1) speaks of how the bloody civil war in Beirut of 1974—
175 crashed against the imagery of Orientalism. It was no longer so possible to
represent the Middle East as ‘a place of romance, exotic being, haunting mem-
cries and landscapes, remarkable experiences."" Ayacucho marked a similar mo-
ment for Andcanism, No longer could the highlands so easily support interpre-
tations where they appeared as a place of static cultures and discrete identities.
Colorful posters of Andean peasants in ponchos posed next to llamas at Macchu_
Picchu still adorned the walls of travel agencies across the United States. But a
different kind of image of the highlands also began to reach this country: pictures
‘of mass graves, wreckage from explosions, soldiers in black ski masks, and farm,
families mourning their dead.
Far from the paradise imagined by Diaz, life in much of Peru’s highlands has
become a nightmare. More than fifty thousand people fled the terror in the coun-
tuyside for Lima's slums over the 1980s (Kirk 1987). Senderistas murder not only
representatives of the state, but political candidates and trade unionists. Gover.
_ment security forces have made rape and torture into standard practice. They have
‘disappeared’ more than 3,000 people since 1982, and killed at least as many in
‘mass executions and selective assassination (Amnesty International 1989:1),
One casualty of war was Antonio Diaz Martinez. Arrested in the early 1980s,
the was one of the 124 prisoners in the terrorism wing of the cement-block Luri-
_gancho prison in the sandy hills on Lima's periphery. In June 1986, Senderistas
in Lurigancho, the island prison of El Front6n, and the women’s detention center
of Santa Barbara staged simultaneous takeovers to protest government plans 10
move them into a more secure facility. President Alan Garcia refused to negotiate
‘He tured the prisons over to the armed forces. The police stormed Santa Barbara,
killing two prisoners. At El Frontén, helicopters bombed the main pavilion.
‘Troops killed at least 90 prisoners. At Lurigancho, the police fired bazookas, mor-
tar, and rockets into the compound and then stormed the prison. Diaz was prob-
ably one of atleast one hundred prisoners executed after surrendering, shot inthe
hhcad or mouth as they lay flat on the ground (Amnesty International 1989:7). To
prevent autopsies, the security forces secretly buried the bodies at night in grave-
yards around Lima. Diaz’s body was discovered in a shallow grave in the Imperial
‘Cemetery in Cafete province, just south of the capital.
Just five weeks before the prison uprising, Diaz. gave one of the first inter-
views granted by a Shining Path leader. Journalist José Maria Salcedo (1986)
passed from the chaos of the regular prison into the special terrorist cellblockSt CULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGY
where Senderistas maintained tight discipline, Salcedo attempted to paint Diaz as
«half-hearted revolutionary. He concentrated on the young guerrilla who super-
vised the interview. The prison transfer was already announced. Diaz foresaw that
the army might use opposition tothe transfer to justify a massacre, but professed
ro fear. “Our morale is superior and we take death as a challenge,” said Diaz
(quoted in Salcedo 1986:64).
In the end, however, the interview undermines Salcedo’s effort to depict
Diaz as less than committed to the Shining Path, For Diaz had clearly evolved
into a hard-tiner. The answers were still concise and smart. But they had the un-
‘compromising edge that had already emerged in Diaz’s second book, China: The
Agrarian Revolution (1978), Written after a 1974-75 stay in China and published
aa decade after Hunger and Hope, this book revealed Diaz’s turn to the inflexible
Maoism of the Cultural Revolution. "Since 1949... . the Dictatorship of the Pro-
letariat against the bourgeoisie had grown even more intense,”” Diaz (1978:8) be-
gan the book, “*. . . [and] with the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution the red
line of President Mao again becomes more vigorous." In Lurigancho, Diaz could
now give emphasis to his commitment to communism ("we are all material for
the transition to communism’) and cite the cold-blooded Abimael Guzmin—
“President Gonzalo” —as a maximum paragon of moral virtue (“the greatest af-
firmation of life over death”). The Shining Path must sometimes kill peasants, he
explained in good Maoist-Stalinist language, because “the countryside is not flat
but divided into classes.
As for anthropologists, most have retreated from Peru. Only a handful still,
work in the highlands, and none in Ayacucho’ countryside. Only one remains of
the more than ten major Andean archacology projects that operated at the end of
the 1970s, Graduate students interested in the Andes now opt for Ecuador or Bo-
livia
To my knowledge, the only Andeanist to offer written public reflections on
why anthropologists did not anticipate the Shining Path is Billie Jean Isbell. Her
short introductory note to a 1985 reprinting of To Defend Ourselves mixes a frank
admission of err with a confident rhetoric of continuing expertise. “My anthro-
pological perspective,”* she writes, “blinded me from seeing the historical pro-
cesses that were occurring atthe time. . . . did not adequately place Chuschi in
‘a world system in which increasing Violence and the breakdown of nation states
in the Third World are becoming commonplace’ (Isbell 1985:xii—niv)
But Isbell also conserves her Same vision of Andean continuity and self-con-
tainment. She does not consider how the growth of Sendero has reflected peasant
discontent or Peru's intensifying interconnections. Instead, she still speaks of an
“increasing polarization of the Quechua-speaking masses and the national cul-
ture" and depicts the Shining Path as a *'small leftist movement” external and
different from the peasantry:
Sendero Luminoso has declared that they are prepared fora fifty year strugele in order
to destroy the existing government and institute a new onder. ‘The peasants. on theMISSING THE REVOLUTION. 8
‘ther hand, are concentrating on preserving their lands and their way of life. [Isbell
1985xii)
‘Of course, this position has partial ruth. It remains essential to understand that
Sendero is no organic peasant uprising. But Isbell overlooks that many of Sen-