The Elders and the Hills

The Elders and the Hills

Animism and Cosmological Re-Creation among the
Q’eqchi’ Maya in Chisec, Guatemala

Stefan Permanto

SCHOOL OF GLOBAL STUDIES

PhD Dissertation in Social Anthropology
School of Global Studies
University of Gothenburg
September 2015

© Stefan Permanto
Cover Layout: Frida Lundberg
All photographs by the author unless otherwise noted
The photo on the cover is taken by Andrew Verbovszky
Printed by Ineko, Göteborg, 2015
ISBN: 978-91-628-9477-1
http://hdl.handle.net/2077/39336
Dedicado a los ancianos en Chisec
Contents
Acknowledgments i

List of Illustrations v

A Note on Q’eqchi’ Orthography vii

1. Introduction: Encountering the Elders 1

Chisec, Alta Verapaz 2
Encountering the Elders and Finding the Field 6
Maya Animism 14
Modes of Identification and Modes of Relation 15
Outline of Thesis 23

2. Coming Down from the Mountains: A History of a Colonized Landscape 25

The Q’eqchi’ Maya: The Lords of Darkness 25
The Pre-Columbian Q’eqchi’ Maya 27
The Spanish Colonization 30
The German Colonization 34
Colonization of the Franja Transversal del Norte 38
The Army and the Guerilla 43

3. The One and the Many: History and Identity of the Tzuultaq’a 53
Tzuultaq’a: The Earth Being 54
Tzuultaq’a and Christianity 59
The Plural Aspect of the Tzuultaq’a 64
The Social Structure of the tzuultaq’as 66
Contextualized Gender 73
Settlement and the Tzuultaq’a 74
Ancestors and the Tzuultaq’a 76
The Perception of the Tzuultaq’a Identity 77

4. Aspects of Being and the Logic of Sociability 87

Becoming Human and the Transformations of Unstable Corporeality and Interiority 88
Aspects of Being: Manifestations of Mu 91
Muhel 93
Xiwak: Loss of the Muhel 95
Corporeal Death 101
Musiq’ 102
Ch’ool 105
Winqilal: The Overarching Personhood 107
Bodily Affordances and Personal Characters 108
 The Character of Wankilal: Power 109
The Character of Tioxil: Benevolence 109
Winqul: The Reactive Person 112
Ch’olwinq: Being Almost Human 117
The Logic of Sociability 122

5. Encountering the Tzuultaq’a: Cosmological Maintenance and Revitalization 125

Dreams as Factual Experiences 126
Spirit and Matter 127
Sharing and Interpreting Dreams 129
Nocturnal Encounters with the Tzuultaq’a 133
Diurnal Encounters with the Tzuultaq’a 143
Cosmological Maintenance and Revitalization 152

6. To Feed and Being Fed: Existential Exchange and Cosmic Equlibrium 157
The tzuultaq’as and the Discovery of Corn 158
Mayejak 163
K’ajb’ak: Ritual Observances of Fasting 164
Yo’lek: The Vigil in the Church 166
The Pilgrimage 167
Other Reasons to Mayejak 171
Wa’tesink: The Feeding of Non-Human Beings 173
The Constitution of Food 174
Mayejak: Harmony, Unity, and a Correct Moral Behavior 177
Moral Transgressions and the Internal Logic of Cosmos 179
External Influences Disturbing Unity and Harmony 183
The Ecological Implications of a Failed Mayejak 187
Cosmic Equilibrium and Existential Exchange 195

7. Epilogue: Visions of the Future 203

Loss of Respect and Traditions 204
Visions of the Future 206
Tradition and Modernity: From Assimilation to Cultural Resurgence 210
Concluding Remarks 218

Svensk Sammanfattning (Swedish Summary) 223

References 225
Acknowledgments
In Chisec I owe my deepest gratitude to a great number of people. First and fore-
most my thanks go to the Q’eqchi’ elders, the cheekal winq. Had it not been for
their benevolent assistance this study would not have been possible. I thank espe-
cially Don Santiago Cuc who accompanied me throughout my stay and aided me in
organizing visits to different communities dispersed throughout the municipality of
Chisec. Despite his old age and injured knee we rode on buses, on the back of
trucks, and hiked on foot for hours on gravel roads and trails up and down the steep
densely forested hills. My heart goes out to all the elders who gave me such a warm
welcome. It was always a pleasure to come and visit you in your communities.
There are so many of you and space does not allow me to mention all your names. I
will, however, mention some of you who made a deep and lasting impact on this
study. Thank you (b’anyox), Don Felix, Don Crisanto, Don Manuel, Don Juán
Rax, Don Victoriano Coc, Don Pedro Caal, Don Miguel Ba’, Don Juán Chub,
Don Vicente, Don Samuél, Don José Pop Caal, Don Cesario Coc, Doña Dolores
Caal, Don Miguel Quib, Don Hermelindo Caal, Don Mariano Pop Caz, Doña
Manuela Choc, Don Abelino Choc, Don Jacinto Botzoc, Doña Petrona Cacao,
Don Tomas Caal, Don Manuel Tiul Coc, Don José Cacao, Don Ejidio Rivas, Don
José Choc Caal Don Sebastián Ical Cú, Don Marcelino Caal, Don Juán Caz, Don
José Ba’, Don Francisco, Don Marcos Butz, Don Rosario Caal, Don Mateo
Choco’oj, Don Santos Caal, Don Sebastián Cuc, Don Domingo Ramos Ical, Don
Pablo Choc, Don Domingo Quib Tec, Don Domingo Caal, Don Sebastián Gual-
ná, Don Martín Choc, Doña Matilde Tzií, Doña Emilia Chub. I am furthermore
indebted to Peace Corp Volunteer (PCV) Brian Smith who initially took me under
his wing guiding and pushing me in the right direction. His friendship and
knowledge of the region proved to be invaluable for my work in Chisec. Many
heartfelt thanks also go to PCVs Scott Rowland and Mark Yoders who not only
joined me occasionally on my visits to certain communities but also helped me out
with accommodation. I also enjoyed the company of PCV/photographer Andrew
Verbovszky. I have moreover the greatest admiration for the work carried out by my
assistants and interpreters, and I am indebted to them for all the work they put into

i
the transcriptions. Thank you, Raul Caal Bo, Victor Caal Bo, Elsa Caal, Romelia
Isem, and Hector Caal.

I also want to thank the international community of researchers who assisted me in

different ways with information regarding field site, texts, and general advice.
Thank you Professor Richard A. Wilson, Kelly Kirschner, Dr. Liza Grandia, Dr.
Jon Schackt, Dr. Edwin Braakhuis, Professor Anthony Stocks, Dr. Amy Olen, Dr.
Víctor Gálvez, and Knut Wagner. I also want to thank FLACSO, AVANCSO and
CIRMA located in Guatemala.

At my university department in Sweden I am foremost indebted to my supervisor,

friend, and colleague Dr. Dan Rosengren, mostly for his patience with me, but also
for his relentless encouragement and faith in me that I one day would finish my
dissertation. I also thank Professor Karsten Paerregaard for his enthusiasm and
encouragement and Professor Kaj Århem for inspiring comments on my texts.

A big thank you goes out to all my fellow Ph D students, Doctors, and other people
involved in academia for being there with me throughout the years, commenting on
drafts, sharing mutual interest in seminar groups, etc. There are, however, those of
you who deserve an extra thank you for your support and contributions to the con-
tent of my dissertation. Thank you, Dr. Annica Djup, Dr. Anders Burman, María
Eugenia González, Dr. Mikael Johansson, Nicholas Waller, Simon Larsson, Dr.
Ingrid Slotte, Dr. Johan Normark, and Dr. María Clara Medina. Thank you also all
members of Indigenous Studies Initiative and Indigenous Peoples’ Support Group -
Gothenburg. A big hand also goes out to my friends outside of academia who have
supported me and cheered me on along the way. Many thanks goes to Michael
Walls who has proofread the thesis (admittedly, I have revised the text afterwards
which means that any errors ultimately falls on me). I also thank Frida Lundberg for
her help with the cover layout.

I am deeply grateful for the financial support I have received throughout the years
enabling me to carry out this study and thank the following groups and organiza-
tions for believing in the project: International Workgroup for Indigenous Affairs
(IWGIA), Adlerbertska Stipendiestiftelsen, Knut och Alice Wallenbergs Stiftelse,
Stiftelsen Paul och Marie Berghaus Donationsfond, Wilhelm och Martina

ii
Lundgrens Vetenskapsfond 1, Svenska Sällskapet för Antropologi och Geografi
(SSAG), Kungliga Vitterhetsakademien, and Wallenbergsstiftelsens fond.

Lastly, I thank my own little clan for all the love and support you have given me
during the years it took me to finish this dissertation. Anna, Gabriel, Victor, and
Vida, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

For the record, any errors or misconceptions found in this thesis are solely attribut-
ed to me.

iii
List of Illustrations
Fig. 1.1. Map of Alta Verapaz. 4
Fig. 1.2. Two women and cardamom, Cajcan/Pecuilix. 5
Fig. 1.3. The cheekal winq, Chisec. 7
Fig. 1.4. Signpost outside the cultural center of the cheekal winq in Chisec. 10
Fig. 1.5. Map of fieldwork site 2004-2006. 11
Fig. 1.6. Interview session in Rubel Ho (Photo: Scott Rowland). 13
Fig. 1.7. Descola’s four ontologies. 16
Fig. 1.8. Bag and Machete, Chisec. 24
Fig. 2.1. Map of Chi Tukurub’/Tecolotlan (region marked in grey). 29
Fig. 2.2. The Q’eqchi’ and their neighbors prior to and during colonial times. 33
Fig. 2.3. Family in Camposanto I 40
Fig. 2.4. A reminder of the internal conflict, Chisec. 42
Fig. 2.5. Chisec cemetery. Memorial burial of the massacre in Las Ruinas 1982. 45
Fig. 2.6. The Calvary Church in Chisec. 48
Fig. 2.7. Chisec center in 2005. 50
Fig. 3.1. Elders in Secomuxan I 55
Fig. 3.2. Elders in Tamarindo. 57
Fig. 3.3. The hills and the cross, Sepoc II. 61
Fig. 3.4. Iglesia de Díos, Ticario. 63
Fig. 3.5. Table over the Thirteen most powerful tzuultaq’as. 69
Fig. 3.6. Don Mateo and his wife (in the front), Yalmachac. 70
Fig. 3.7. Elders in San Isidro. 84
Fig. 4.1. Don Juán and Don Santiago, Yalchacti. 96
Fig. 4.2. Don Samuel, Serraxquén. 99
Fig. 4.3. Corn endowed with tioxil. 110
Fig. 4.4. Two elders from San Isidro. 118
Fig. 5.1. Don Felix and Don Crisanto, Rubel Ho (photo: Scott Rowland). 131
Fig. 5.2. Don Cesario on top of the tzuultaq’a Juan Secumun. 134
Fig. 5.3. Don Manuel holding on to this Bible. 137
Fig. 5.4. Don Victoriano Coc and his wife, Chisec. 142
Fig. 5.5. Elders from Cajcan. 155
Fig. 5.6. cheekal winq. 156
Fig. 6.1. Preparing the precious corn. 158
Fig. 6.2. Don Pedro Caal and his wife. 163
Fig. 6.3. The Catholic Church in Sepoc II. 167
Fig. 6.4. Offerings left at a cross, the Calvary Church in Cobán. 169
Fig. 6.5. Ready to serve Kaq Ik (a spicy chicken soup). 179
Fig. 6.6. People from Carolina. 185
Fig. 6.7 Working the milpa 191
Fig. 6.8. Don Ejidio Rivas, Chisec. 197

v
Fig. 6.9. Don Miguel Quib, Chisec. 200
Fig. 7.1. The Elder and the young generation, Chisec. 206
Fig. 7.2. Internet center in Chisec. 215

vi
A Note on Q’eqchi’ Orthography
Throughout this thesis I make use of the orthography of the Q’eqchi’ language as
promoted by the Academia de las Lenguas Mayas in Guatemala (ALMG). Accord-
ingly, the Q’eqchi’ alphabet has thirty-three letters: a, aa, b’, ch, ch’, e, ee, i, ii, j, k,
k’, l, m, n, o, oo, p, q, g’, r, s, t, t’, tz, tz’, u, uu, w, x, y, ‘ (glottal stop). Pronuncia-
tion is similar to English except for the letters x and w, which sounds like ‘sh’ and
‘kw’ respectively. Words are generally pluralized with eb’ as an article or a suffix but
to avoid any confusion I have instead opted to use the English s as a suffix. Thus,
instead of writing muheleb’, for instance, I write muhels.

vii
 1
Introduction: Encountering the
Elders

This thesis is a study of cosmology and costumbre (traditional customs and ritual
practices) as accounted for by Q’eqchi’ Maya people.1 In collaboration with a group
of elderly Q’eqchi’ Maya men and women the study departs from an effort to doc-
ument and preserve their cosmological knowledge they conceive of as being inherit-
ed from their ancestors. The main reason behind this endeavor is the elders’ ex-
pressed concern that the younger generations of today are diverting from what the
elders consider to be traditional ways of life. The elders fear that if traditional cos-
mological notions and costumbre are lost it may eventually wreak havoc in the
world. Therefore, these elders have come together not only to narrate and share this
vital knowledge but also to transmit it to future generations. Although the elders
currently live in the municipality of Chisec this is a so-called migrant settlement
area which means that many of the elders originate from other regions and have
different life experiences. Consequently, this study deals not only with the docu-

1
The Spanish word costumbre (customs) is a common word among the contemporary Maya denoting
both customs and (practical) traditions specifically associated with the Maya-Catholic religion. Costumbre
is moreover generally understood by the cheekal wing and other Mayan peoples to be practices handed
down to them from their ancestors (Warren 1978; Reina 1988; Adams 2011; Cook 2001). The Q’eqchi’
word for ’customs’ is b’aanuhem, which derives from the verb b’aan, meaning ’to do’ (Juárez et al. 1997).
However, since the cheekal winq frequently make use of the Spanish term costumbre and because it is a
rather well known concept in Mayan literature I opt to use this concept throughout this thesis.
Consequently, costumbre here refers both to customs and traditional religious rituals. For a more in-depth
analysis of these two concepts of customs and traditions and how they may be differed by the Q’eqchi’
Maya, see Kahn (2006: 101-106). To be clear, whenever I speak of ’tradition’ or ’traditional ways’ in the
text it encompasses costumbre as well as cosmological notions shared primarily by the Catholic elders.

1
mentation of inherited knowledge but also with the re-construction of local cosmo-
logical notions and how this affect costumbre. Focus is primarily on how these el-
ders, on the basis of their cosmological notions, engage and participate in their
world as constituted by two different dimensions in which they interact with a
number of non-human beings. Central to this thesis, however, is the relation be-
tween the elders and the hills, otherwise known in the vernacular as tzuultaq’as.
This thesis provides moreover a forum for contemporary Maya elders to share what
they think is important to them about their notions of cosmology and talk about
how they apply them to their lives today.

Chisec, Alta Verapaz2

The Q’eqchi’ Heartland, as it sometimes is called, is located in the highlands of the

department of Alta Verapaz. The actual ‘heart’ appears to pump more vigorously
though around the highland towns of Cobán, San Pedro Carchá and San Juán
Chamelco. However, towns such as Lanquín, Cahabón, Senahú and Chisec are also
important Q’eqchi’ places (see map 1.1). People of these towns and municipalities
belong to two linguistic groups where Cobán, Carchá, Chamelco, and Chisec con-
stitute centers around a western dialect, and Lanquín, Senahú, and Cahabón make
up the centre of an eastern dialect (DeChicchis 1989). This study is based on field-
work conducted in Chisec, one of seventeen municipalities in the department of
Alta Verapaz, which is situated in the central-north region of Guatemala. Chisec, in
turn, is located in the northwestern part of Alta Verapaz and is also part of the Fran-
ja Transversal del Norte (FTN), a transitional region situated between the lowland
jungles of the department of Petén to the north and the Verapaz cloud forests to the
south. While the climate in the Verapacian highlands is pleasantly temperate, com-
ing down the mountains from Cobán to Chisec one enters a warmer subtropical
region of low montane humid forests at an altitude of 200 to 800 meters above sea
level. Characteristic to the region are the numerous karst limestone hills that con-

2
Etymologically, Chisec has been said to translate variably as ‘the place of the Navajuela’ (salaria
bracteaba, a razor sharp plant) or ‘the place of utensils (?)’ (Sp. trastos) (Municipio de Chisec n.d.).
However, the term Chisec was employed by Spanish colonizers in the mid-fifteenth century as a region
‘anciently’ inhabited by the chol-speaking Acala people (see chapter 2). Consequently, one may question
if Chisec is a Q’eqchi’ derived word.

2
spicuously shoot up from the ground as if they were overgrown ancient pyramids.
Many rivers carve their way through the thick forest landscape creating sinkholes,
lagoons, caverns, and caves inside the hills. The year is roughly divided into a hot
rainy season extending from June to December and a relatively cooler dry spell
between January and May. While the fauna of the forest used to consist of a wide
variety of birds (toucans, macaws, etc.) and wild animals (deer, tapirs, opossums,
pisotes, monkeys, jaguars, etc.) due to deforestation some animals are nowadays
hard to find.

According to the national census of 2002 (INE 2003; SEGEPLAN 2011), the
Q’eqchi’ constituted the second largest indigenous group in Guatemala comprising
852 012 souls of which 620 040 individuals inhabit the department of Alta Vera-
paz. According to the same census the Chisec municipality was comprised of 196
communities which are home to 69 325 individuals. Of these 56 997 were
Q’eqchi’-speaking people and 7 285 were Spanish-speaking ladinos. 3 Other lan-
guages spoken in the municipality are, for example, Poqomchi and K’iche’, which,
according to the census are spoken by some 5 000 individuals. Ladinos are thus far
outnumbered by the indigenous population and live in towns like Raxruhá and
Tierra Linda as well as in the municipal town of Chisec where they mostly hold
high positions within the municipal administration or are businessmen (see figure
1.5). The overwhelming majority of the Q’eqchi’ people occupy the rural areas in
small communities where they practice subsistence agriculture growing corn, beans,
rice, yucca, chile pepper, pimienta gorda, pineapple, banana, etc. People also hold
domesticated animals in their rural communities, in particular chickens and pigs.
Crops such as coffee and cardamom are cultivated as cashcrops and sold to buyers in
Cobán and other places. While coffee for long has been the dominant cash crop in
the Verapacian highlands, the climate in Chisec has proven to be suitable for the
cultivation of cardamom and has since the 1970s come to be the primary cash crop
cultivated in the region that today is one of Guatemala’s premier cardamom export-
ing areas.

3
Referring in general to non-indigenous Guatemalans or a mixed (mestizaje) ethnic identity of non-
indigenous and indigenous origin. In Q’eqchi’ they are referred alternatively as aj ladiin or kaxlan winq
(chicken men). The term kaxlan (chicken) is used as a prefix to denote anything considered foreign,
which most likely derives from that the foreign Spaniards introduced chickens in the region in the
sixteenth century.

3
Land distribution in Guatemala is unequal. The best arable and fertile lands are in
the hands of the country’s elite and used for export crops. Consequently, many poor
indigenous farmers have problems finding land suitable for cultivation. Chisec is no
exception. Besides the unequal land distribution the problem of finding land is
made worse by the region’s many steep conical karst hills that are difficult to culti-
vate.

Fig. 1.1. Map of Alta Verapaz.

Until recently few have tried to live among these karst hills which resulted in thou-
sands of hectares being unclaimed and covered with primary forests (Stocks 2002).
This has, in turn, resulted in Chisec having one of the highest percentages of baldíos
(state-owned land) in Guatemala. Thus, while some people own titles to their land,
others live on baldíos. Still others are squatters, occupying old coffee plantations no
longer in use.

4
Fig. 1.2. Two women and cardamom, Cajcan/Pecuilix.

5
Encountering the Elders and Finding the Field

Presently, the Maya people of Guatemala are involved in a process of cultural revi-
talization initiated by the pan-Maya movement that emerged during the civil war
(1960-1996). The ambition of the movement is to identify common elements of
indigenous culture that may serve to unite Guatemala’s otherwise relatively frag-
mented groups. As a result, there is now among Maya people a growing ethnic
awareness that influences virtually all sections of life. Still, it is important to note
that the movement to a certain extent is internally characterized by varied and con-
tested views. For example, some leaders tend to emphasize native religious elements
while others find it more important to promote Mayan languages (Warren 1998:
38-39). Due to the fragmentation of the movement, local communities often pur-
sue their own strategies of cultural revitalization based on their specific experiences
and relations with the environment (Schackt 2001: 11). The movement is however,
not as strong in the Verapaz region as it is in the southwestern highland region
where the majority of the country’s indigenous population resides. Consequently,
with the exceptions of the region around the highland towns of Cobán, San Juan
Chamelco, and San Pedro Carchá, there is in comparison with the western high-
lands relatively little sense of pan-Maya identity or activism among Q’eqchi’ people
in rural Alta Verapaz. Within the context of post-war cultural resurgence this study
aims to examine local cosmological notions and the implications they have for peo-
ple in everyday life. Inspired by the ethnographic work of Richard Wilson (1991,
1993, 1995) on Q’eqchi’ resurgence I steered my gaze towards the Q’eqchi’ Maya
of Alta Verapaz and despite the lack of revitalization movements among the rural
Q’eqchi’ I established contact with an organization consisting of Q’eqchi’ elders
located in the municipality of Chisec. These elders belong primarily, as they say, to
the ‘third age’, which means that they have lived ‘three sections of life’, that is, they
are generally over sixty-five years old, only a few are younger. One aspect of their
age is that they have difficulties in engaging in all kinds of work. In relation to this
Don Juán Caz says:

I am eighty-five years old now and I barely have the strength to work but I still have to
maintain and support my family. Regretfully, however, I suffer from this illness common
to old people and I only have the strength to work half a day.

6
In 2003 some elderly people from Chisec saw an urgent need to come together in
order to find solutions to problems of poverty and in October of that year some of
them journeyed to Cobán and to Ciudad de Guatemala in order to register the
cheekal winq (the elders)4 as an officially legitimate organization. Don Santiago Cuc,
the president of the group, explained that the main reason for forming this group at
first was due to the fact that:

We are poor. We do not have any money, no clothes and no shoes. Many of us do not
have nice houses. Today our houses are falling apart and our thatched roofs are breaking
down. Many of us do not even have access to water. Now we have come together and we
aim to improve the lives of our members by finding solutions to our joint problems. We
want access to water and roofs over our heads.

Fig. 1.3. The cheekal winq, Chisec.

4
While the elders occasionally refer to the group as cheq’il poyanam (see figure 1.4.) I use the more
frequently used term cheekal winq which conforms to the new Q’eqchi’ orthography as endorsed by
ALMG (2004).

7
When I first met the group in 2005 it consisted of members from some ten differ-
ent communities though by the end of my fieldwork the group had grown and
included close to one hundred members from over fifteen communities spread
throughout the municipality.5 Coming together and working as a collective they feel
they are increasing their chances in confronting the municipality with specific de-
mands and of locally improving material conditions. In the words of one elder: ‘the
law cannot help us, therefore we must help ourselves’. The cheekal winq has, for
example, received support from international NGOs in acquiring water tanks and
laminas (corrugated tin sheets) for roofs and some of them are involved in projects
concerning legal titles to land. Despite these efforts many of the elders feel they have
lost the authority and respect that they enjoyed earlier. They say that they feel ig-
nored and that people do not listen to them anymore. They are however, above all
afraid that their cosmological knowledge and costumbre that have been passed down
to them from their ancestors run the risk of dying with them. This fear is not
unique to the cheekal winq and has been observed among other groups of Q’eqchi’
people (Carter 1969; Hernando Gonzalo 1997) as well as in other parts of Guate-
mala (Montejo 2005: 139). Indeed, as Nygren (1998) observes, the need for indig-
enous people in Latin America to retell, or re-create, a cultural past constitutes an
important part of postcolonial/postwar struggles for ethnic identity, social represen-
tation, and self-determination.

In their study of the Maya Movement, Alberto Esquit Choy and Víctor Gálvez
Borrell (1997) distinguish four levels of organization according to which the cheekal
winq fits the definition of a First Level Organization, that is, a local organization
involved in community activities. Organizations of the first level work close to the
local population and usually lack a political orientation beyond the requirement to
satisfy an immediate need, which may include for example education, health, Ma-
yan rights and cultural practices.6 Hearing how the cheekal winq experienced their
situation during a meeting I attended we began to examine whether our interests

5 Chisec, Camposanto I; Pecuilix; Rubel Ho; Cajcan; San Isidro; Sepoc I; Sepoc II; Carolina; Serraxquén;

Sechaj; Tamarindo; Secomuxan I; Yalchacti; Yalmachac

6
Second level organizations are usually made up of two or more local organizations, also with close links
to the local population while third level organizations are generally composed of organizations from the
first and second levels and focus most of their activites (education, land rights, etc.) before the State.
Lastly, the fourth level organizations are primarily dealing with the Maya as one group of people on a
national and international level.

8
could be brought together in a common project. Thus, it was decided that day that
I would construct my study around this group of elders. This meant, on the one
hand, that I would document their understandings of cosmological notions and
costumbre and how they are followed while, on the other, I would have to find a way
to incorporate these data into a thesis. Ostensibly, my project would end up dealing
with the preservation of cultural traditions. However, since culture is neither static
nor homogenous the work and ambition of the elders to preserve and transmit what
they have inherited from their ancestors is simultaneously a process of rediscovering
and re-creating their cosmological roots and way of being-in-the-world. Consisting
of elderly men and women from some fifteen different communities spread
throughout the municipality of Chisec, it would moreover be hard to conceive of
them as steeped in one and the same form regarding anything from cosmological
notions to ritual practices. The truth is that even if they share many things in terms
of culture and history, many of the elders differ in opinion on a range of diverse
matters. The cheekal winq constitute a rather heterogeneous assemblage that to some
extent expresses disparate cosmologies, religious beliefs, and enactments of ritual
practices. As I focus on cosmology and ritual practices considered by the Q’eqchi’
elders to have been inherited from their ancestors, it is those who belong to the
Roman Catholic Church who generally adhere to what they call a traditional Mayan
faith, and it is they who take up most space throughout the text. Thus, whenever I
speak of alleged traditional beliefs and practices (costumbre) this information stems
first and foremost from the Catholic elders. This does not mean that Evangelical
Q’eqchi’ are devoid of a voice regarding these matters, as will be seen throughout
this thesis.

Still, while the cheekal winq in certain instances may differ in opinion, they claim
that they seek to challenge these differences and establish a common ground in
order to preserve and reinvigorate a traditional understanding of their culture and
cosmology. Although some of the elders say that they have forgotten much about
their costumbre they feel the need to reenact certain rituals. By coming together as
one force talking about and promoting their ancestral heritage they feel empowered
and want to share their knowledge with the younger generations.

9
Fig. 1.4. Signpost outside the cultural center of the cheekal winq in Chisec.

10
Fig. 1.5. Map of fieldwork site 2004-2006.

11
To narrate, share, and teach others of their knowledge and wisdom is thus to rein-
force cultural and cosmological values and practices. Although only a limited num-
ber of people will be able to receive their knowledge and teachings the cheekal winq
are determined to maintain their costumbre, which in practice means that they begin
by talking among themselves about their experiences and ritual performances. In
other words, they begin their endeavor by teaching one another. Coming together
at meetings they debate certain issues and tell one another stories that on occasion
some people have never heard before. It was evident throughout my conversations
with the elders that their determination to hold fast to inherited cultural aspects not
only served to preserve and document a traditional cosmology but also to initiate an
informative dialogue between their own knowledge and potential expectations to
empower process and forward-thinking – a re-creation of cosmological notions.
This dialogue between views on tradition and expectations works to create an epis-
temology that may have implications for ideas about anything from indigenous
rights, sustainable development, land claims, and cosmic harmony. Accordingly,
this study departs from the knowledge base of the cheekal winq in Chisec, a kind of
knowledge that has been termed as anything from Elder, Traditional, Indigenous,
Local, to Ecological knowledge. Whatever we may choose to call it, it is knowledge
that the cheekal winq feel is important to share and preserve. The work of the
cheekal winq is thus not only in accordance with a first level Maya organization but
also in a sense an example of the general approach of current pan-Maya activism
that aims to preserve and resurrect elements of Maya culture (Fischer and McKenna
Brown 1999: 13).

The first time I sat foot in Chisec I intended to stay uninterrupted for approximate-
ly one year, but due to my family situation I decided to divide my fieldwork into
smaller portions. Basically this meant that I came and went several times, spending
two to three months at a time in Chisec. In total, the time spent in the field adds up
to eleven months, from 2004 to 2006. I lived in the municipal town of Chisec but
since the people with whom I worked lived in different communities spread
throughout the municipality it required a lot of travelling. Sometimes I hiked on
foot, other times I used public microbuses and still other times I hitched rides on
passing trucks. In effect this meant that a great part of my fieldwork consisted of
conversations and informal interviews with individuals and collective gatherings.
When there were larger meetings with the cheekal winq these were initially held in

12
Chisec town at the household of Don Santiago Cuc and later in their own facilities,
the casa communal (cultural center), as they call it, also located in Chisec. In addi-
tion to these meetings I spent time on an everyday basis with elders residing in
Chisec town as well being invited to participate in diverse ritual performances both
in Chisec and in the outlying communities.

Since the elders are most comfortable communicating in Q’eqchi’ rather than in
Spanish I relied on interpreters during interviews. For this assignment I employed
in total four local individuals who assisted me throughout my fieldwork. Interviews
were recorded and later transcribed from Q’eqchi’ into Spanish by the local assis-
tants. With some of the assistants it has been possible to have contact through e-
mail afterwards, which has proven valuable when something needed to be clarified.

Fig. 1.6. Interview session in Rubel Ho (Photo: Scott Rowland).

13
Maya Animism

Theoretically, the present study is by and large inspired by the recent revival of the
concept of animism within anthropology. While this ‘new animism’, as Graham
Harvey (2005) calls it, has influenced research stretching from Amazonia through
the circumpolar north to South East Asia, it has been conspicuously absent in Ma-
yan research. While the cosmological notions of a syncretic Mayan folk Catholicism
occasionally have been termed animistic it has been done so primarily in a Tylorian
sense of the word. In contrast, by drawing from the new perspectives of animism
this study of Q’eqchi’ Maya cosmologies aims not only to contribute to the general
body of anthropological study of animism, but also to expand it to include the
Maya region.
In anthropology, the study of culture and nature and the manner in which
humans perceive their environment have been of central concern for a long time. In
order to pinpoint how indigenous peoples perceive the world the field of anthropol-
ogy has come up with several definitions and concepts attributed to specific groups.
E. B. Tylor (1920) argued, for instance, that ‘primitive’ or ‘savage’ people were
animists who attributed life and personality not only to humans but also to plants,
minerals and animals. Moreover, in addition to a body every human being had a
soul that could leave the body and that continued to exist after corporeal death.
Tylor, who was an adamant proclaimer of a positivistic rational science, saw in
animism a primitive precursor to religious beliefs. Animistic belief was, according to
Tylor, an irrational and erroneous way of perceiving the world and he equated it
with a child’s undeveloped state of mind. With time, Tylor’s ideas of animism be-
came untenable due to its evolutionary and derogative perspective and even though
anthropologists continued to produce excellent research on indigenous cosmologies
the issue of animism was generally avoided. In principle it was not until the 1990s
that the concept of animism resurfaced within anthropology, albeit in a somewhat
revised form (cf. Descola 1992; 1996; Viveiros de Castro 1992; 1998; Bird-David
1999; Stringer 1999). Today, this process of ‘reclaiming animism’ has come to be a
valid and legitimate concept within anthropological research in general and within
the ethnography of indigenous peoples in particular.
The redefinition of animism signifies essentially that animistic beliefs are taken
seriously, that is, it acknowledges what people say and do even though Western
logic and reason are contradicted (Jackson 1996; Clammer 2004; Willerslev 2007).

14
Accordingly, animism is no longer seen as an evolutionary stage awaiting correction
and improvement but as an alternative way of experiencing the world. Early on
Hallowell (1960: 21) noted that any sincere ‘objective’ study of cultures cannot be
reached by ‘projecting upon those cultures categorical abstractions derived from
Western thought’. This means that the experienced native point of view should be
taken at face value based on its own rational logic. Perception is moreover firmly
situated within the practical contexts of people’s ongoing engagement with the
environment. Accordingly, Bird-David (1999) refers to the reconfiguration of ani-
mism as a ‘relational epistemology’. Subjective persons emerge and come-into-being
first and foremost in relations with other persons. Thus, social interaction is the
foundation for an animistic ontology. To be alive is to be social. Informed by Tim
Ingold’s (2000) dwelling perspective this study places emphasis on people’s experi-
ences and interpretations of practical engagement with other-than-human persons
that are associated with conceptual representations of the world that can be shared.
Animistic ontologies refer, accordingly, not so much to a system of knowledge as to
a way of being-in-the-world through everyday practices and perceptions of how the
world is constituted. Just to be clear, I define the concept of ontology simply as an
account of what the world is and how it is constituted. As we will see below, hu-
mans differ greatly in respect to how they conceive of the world.

Modes of Identification and Modes of Relation

Philippe Descola was among the first anthropological scholars to redefine the con-
cept of animism and he is also among the latest to elaborate on it, which he does in
his book Beyond Nature and Culture published in English in 2013 (originally pub-
lished in French in 2005). I choose therefore to draw on the theoretical framework
developed by Descola and to use it as a springboard in my endeavor to define and
account for the cosmological notions of the cheekal winq.
Individual and collective experiences of the world can, according to Descola,
be reduced to two modalities that he refers to as modes of ‘identification’ and
modes of ‘relations’. With regard to the former, Descola argues that there exist (at
least) four possible ways of identifying what kinds of things (beings) that exist in the
cosmos. Concerning the latter modes, Descola accounts for six possible ways in
which entities can connect with each other. To begin with I account in brief for

15
what Descola calls ‘modes of identification’, or ‘ontological schemas of practice’,
which I will from hereon refer to simply as ontologies. These four ontologies are,
accordingly, animism, analogism, totemism, and naturalism. As the reader will be
aware of it is animism and analogism that is of greatest concern for this study. These
four ontologies rest on the conception of a fundamental similarity or dissimilarity
between the interiority and physicality of different classes of beings. Interiority
refers to a number of qualities of a person that are normally hidden from our gaze,
such as vital energy, spirit, consciousness, subjectivity, intentionality, feelings, re-
flexivity, etc. Physicality refers not only to the material aspect of the organic body
but also to certain dispositions and expressions (Descola 2013: 116). These four
variables (interiority, physicality, similarity, dissimilarity) combine to create the four
ontologies mentioned and can be presented as follows:

Similarity of interiority Dissimilarity of

interiority
Similarity of physicality Totemism Naturalism
Dissimilarity of Animism Analogism
physicality
Fig. 1.7. Descola’s four ontologies.

Naturalism is the ontological foundation of ‘modern’ Western science that pro-

motes a dualistic epistemology that takes for granted the fundamental distinction or
discontinuity between nature and culture and between spirit and matter. Totemism
acknowledges a plurality of relationships between a human collective and a specific
nonhuman being, or totem, that share a continuity of both interiority and physicali-
ty (Descola 2013: 171). Animism is basically defined as an ontology in which hu-
mans and non-humans share a common interiority whilst displaying distinct bodily
forms. The ontology of analogism resembles animism in that non-human persons
are potentially animate subjects. Analogism presupposes, however, distinct interiori-
ties and physicality between human and non-human persons. Descola holds that
animism is prevalent primarily among hunting peoples of South and North Ameri-
ca, Siberia, and South-East Asia while analogism is to be found in a wide array of
spatial and temporal settings. Descola observes that while it was the dominating
ontology in Europe during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance it is moreover
prevalent in Chinese philosophy, certain societies in West Africa, China, India, the

16
Andes, and in Mesoamerica. Following from this reasoning alone, it would imply
that the Q’eqchi’ Maya entertain an analogic rather than an animistic ontology in
their way of approaching the world. However, while Descola’s definition of analo-
gism to a large extent fit the ontological beliefs of the cheekal winq they arguably
also have animistic notions. While Descola may be right in observing that analogists
differ between entities on the basis of how interior components manifests themselves
and how much each being possess of them, several scholars working among Maya
people do not reject the notion of a common interiority but prefer instad to see one
essential singular animating force which when endowed within an entity takes on
certain aspects (Monaghan 2000: 60; Edmonsson 1997: Boremanse 1997; Hill and
Fischer 1999).

According to Descola analogical ontologies are based on a hierarchically structured

cosmos in which all existing entities are fundamentally distinct singularities differ-
entiated from one another by what and how many components they possess as well
as the particular mode in which they are combined. This plurality of different com-
ponents may include the material aspect of an individual being as well as one or
several interior ‘animist centers’ that endows them with vitality and individual char-
acteristics (Descola 2013: 202-204, 209, 238). Since the ordinary and initial state of
the analogic cosmos is based on the systematic multiplicity of distinct entities con-
sisting of disparate interiorities and exteriorities, making it a priori chaotic, it is
necessary to make it intelligible and somehow bring order and meaning to it. In
short, it is necessary to structure and classify different entities in order to grasp the
meaning of the agents and how they are related to one another. The only way to
solve this matter, says Descola, is to adhere to the use of making analogies. Even
though entities are intrinsically dissimilar, in an analogical ontology virtually all
entities are understood to be interconnected by a web of correspondences and mu-
tual influences. There are numerous ways of detecting resemblances and corre-
spondences between entities and turn them into explanatory systems. Two such
systems are especially indicative to analogism. The correspondence between micro-
cosm and macrocosm is for example, indicative to analogism, which expresses the
cosmos as a hierarchically organized pattern in which every part reproduces the
whole. Another common way to detect analogies between different entities is based
on what Descola refers to as a dualistic dichotomy of perceptible qualities distribut-
ed into structures that stretch between two poles to which virtually everything can

17
be reduced (Descola 2013: 219-220). In Mesoamerican research such systematic
pairings are commonly conceptualized as complementary opposites and manifest as
hot/cold, dry/wet, and so forth. The polarity between these dichotomies allows for
gradations and the ideal is to attain a state of equilibrium between the two. Indeed,
as Descola (2013: 201-202) notes, the quest for wellbeing (balance, equilibrium) is
intrinsic to analogical societies.
Furthermore, according to analogical ontologies all things are created to per-
fection and each species act according to its respective nature. Still, even though all
singular beings are composed of a plurality of dissimilar components they never
form stable wholes which makes it hard to attribute a continuous identity to any
entity. Their components can be mobile (capable of leaving its physical abode),
partly extracorporeal (appearing, for example, as a body-like shadow), and vary both
in amounts and in configurations (Descola 2013: 226, 298-299). Entities may be
invaded and possessed by interior forces belonging to other entities such as deities
and demons and in other cases, fragments of a human interior may host an animal,
a so-called animal double. Thus, metamorphosis is not possible within analogical
regimes. While non-humans may adopt an animal form in analogical regimes, this is
not accomplished by changing their own appearance but rather by infiltrating or
lodging one or several of their animistic components within the body of another
entity (Descola 2013: 215). In contrast, due to that all beings share the same interi-
ority, animists are able to change their physical bodies into the shape of other beings
while their interiorities remain intact. Several Q’eqchi’ elders attest, nevertheless,
that certain spirit beings are able to shapeshift into animals and myths tell of when
human in earlier days were able to transform into whatever form they wished.

While I do not dwell much on the subject of metamorphosis I do however find

another concept to be of considerable more interest, namely that of mimesis. Based
on fieldwork among the Yukaghir in Siberia Rane Willerslev (2007: 10-12) presents
an interesting case when he likens animism to mimesis. More specifically, he draws
on Taussig’s (1993) redefinition of the concept of mimesis. Willerslev describes
accordingly the Yukaghir cosmos as a ‘hall of mirrors’ where different dimensions
are but ‘replicas’ or ‘reflections’ of each other. The world of the dead is considered a
‘shadowy mirror’ of the world of the living and spirit beings lead their lives ‘analo-
gous’ to those of humans. Similar to Descola’s definition of an analogic ontology,
the animistic Yukaghirs constantly perceive similarities and construct correspond-

18
ences with their environment. Everything is paired together resulting in an almost
infinit number of mimetic doubles. To imitate significant others functions not only
to represent them but also to hold power over them. This ‘analogous identification’
(Pedersen 2001) of copying or imitating someone is not the same as to fully become
someone else and mimesis is therefore not the same as metamorphosis. Instead there
remains a detectable difference, no matter how small, between the copy and the
original and this difference is crucial since without it ‘the imitator and the imitated
would collapse into each other making any exercise of power impossible’ (Willerslev
2007: 11). I pick up on this thread in chapter 3 where I argue that certain spirit
beings imitate and transform themselves into other powerful subjects in order to
assume their authoritative power. Thus rather than defining this process as a case of
metamorphisis I term this process mimetic transformation.

To Descola (2013: 218) analogical systems are not anthropomorphic, that is, hu-
man beings do not constitute the blueprint for all other beings populating the uni-
verse. Due to the complex structure of the great diversity of singularities no single
creature can possibly be given that role. This notion differs from Descola’s defini-
tion of animism where relations between human beings and natural species are
organized by ‘the elementary categories structuring social life’ (Descola 1996: 88).
In other words, the social objectification of nature and natural beings is founded
upon the attribution of human disposition and social characteristics to nature. Ar-
guably, nature is not necessarily modeled on human society in animistic societies. In
accordance with Hallowell (1960) I rather suggest that it is the person that is the
overarching default category to which humans and other-than-human persons are
but different sub-categories (see also Harvey 2005; Bird-David 1999). Writing
about the animistic Chewong of Malaysia, Signe Howell (1989: 131) observes that
conscious beings, be they humans or non-humans, are first and foremost ‘personag-
es’.

Even though Descola has made a tremendous effort in identifying and structuring
different ontologies he has not escaped criticism. Hau: The International journal of
Ethnograhic Theory has, for example, recently published a symposium with several
contributions dedicated to Descola’s ideas on nature and culture. One of these
contributions comes from Marshall Sahlins who does not refute the ‘empirical reali-
ty’ of Descola’s ontological model though he argues (2014: 281) that all ontologies

19
but naturalism are animistic since they all recognize a ‘subjective personhood of
non-human beings’. Sahlins (2014: 287) moreover defines the three forms of ani-
misms as sub-categories to anthropomorphism on the basis that ‘humanity is the
generic ground’ of all beings. Sahlins accordingly presents an alternative view to
Descola’s fourfold ontological model, he says:

Classical animism is a communal form, in the sense that all human individuals share es-
sentially the same kinds of relationships to all nonhuman persons. Totemism is segmen-
tary animism, in the sense that different nonhuman persons, as species-beings are sub-
stantively identified with different human collectives, such as lineages and clans. […]
Analogism is hierarchical animism, in the sense that the differentiated plenitude of what
there is is encompassed in the being of cosmocratic god-persons and manifest as so many
instantiations of the anthropomorphic deity (Sahlins 2014: 282).7

In hierarchical animism, i.e analogism, the universe is inhabited by deities who

manifest and transform themselves in a myriad of ways and forms. Accordingly,
anything from animals and plants, to natural phenomena (lightning, light, etc.),
and activities (fishing, war, construction, etc.) are intimately associated with deities
in that they endow these entities with soul and personhood (Sahlins 2014: 287-
288). However, whereas Sahlins defines analogism as a hierarchical animism in
which deities encompass and constitute the interiority of different beings this is to
my experience not as explicit in Mayan cosmologies. While all existent beings are
endowed with one singular animating force this is not necessarily understood as the
personification of a divine being. While Pre-Columbian cosmogonies trace the vital
force to ancient deities, contemporary Maya most often have the Christian God to
thank for their life. There exists, nevertheless a hierarchical structure within present
Q’eqchi’ cosmological understandings in that specific beings are endowed with
different amounts of a common spiritual force.

Apart from the ontological modes described above, Descola (2012, 2013) identifies
six modes of relationship connecting different kinds of beings. These modes of
relation are divided into the following headings: exchange, predation, gift, produc-
tion, protection, and transmission. As with the ontological modes, no relational

7
Bassie-Sweet (1996: 13) defines a deity as an owner, protector, and controller of forces, elements or
objects that humans consider necessary for survival and who therefore must be respected, worshipped, or
appeased.

20
mode appears singularly, though one mode in general dominates and encompasses
other sub-modes. Thus, just as there exists a multitude of native points of view
Bird-David (1999: 79) points out that, in a similar way, there exists a diversity of
animisms each with their particular local status, history, and structure. Descola
theorizes these relational modes in terms of a hypothetical subject who enters into
relations with other subjects. The distinction made in this relation rests on whether
or not the subjects consider one another as equal ‘on an ontological level’ (Descola
2013: 310). Descola divides the six relational modes that he identifies into two
groups. Group one consists of relation of exchange, predation and gift that are
characterized as potentially reversible two-way relations between equal/similar be-
ings (Descola 2012: 448-449). Group two is characterized by one-way relations that
are founded upon connections between hierarchically related non-equivalent beings
and consists of production, protection and transmission (2012: 449). Intrinsic to
the concept of exchange (also referred to as reciprocal exchange) is the give-and-
give-back scenario. That is, upon agreement, any transfer from one entity to anoth-
er requires that something appropriate be given back in return. Contrasting to the
exchange mode, predation and gift are asymmetrical modes of relation and have no
expectation of reciprocity. The predation mode is a negative asymmetry where one
entity takes something of value from another entity without offering anything in
exchange. Relations between persons are regulated instead by punishments or re-
venge due to certain transgressions such as overhunting and amoral behavior. The
gift mode is a positive asymmetrical relation in which one entity offers something of
value to the other without expecting anything in return (even though it may well
result in a non-obligated counter transfer). Here, Descola questions Mauss’ idea of a
system of total prestation where the inherent hau of a gift forces the receiver to
reciprocate (Descola 2013: 312-314). In contrast, Descola (2012: 453) notes that
the logic of the gift is prevalent in hunter-gatherer societies and conforms to what
Bird-David (1990) refers to as a ‘cosmic sharing economy’ and a ‘giving environ-
ment’, which, according to Tim Ingold (2000: 70), comprises a relation built on
mutual trust. The second group of relationships identified by Descola is based on
irreversible one-way directed hierarchical relations between non-equivalent entities
(2012: 467). The production mode pertains primarily to a naturalistic ontology
where all non-humans are denied any animated interiority. Produced objects and
other-than humans are considered inert raw materials at the disposal of human
producers, the only entities capable of agency. There is, accordingly no ontological

21
correspondence between the producer and the product that he or she has created.
One way to better understand the production mode is perhaps to exemplify what it
is not. Descola (2013: 324) presents a few examples from animistic peoples in Ama-
zonia. Firstly, he notes that Achuar women do not ‘produce’ plants that they culti-
vate. Instead they relate to the plants and nurture them so as to win them over.
Secondly, when the Achuar hunt, they interact with the animals and negotiate with
them in order to be allowed to kill them. The protection mode is primarily found in
pastoral societies where a large amount of non-humans are perceived as dependent
upon humans for their reproduction and welfare. In the simplest manner the pro-
tection mode can be defined as a mode in which someone protects a second part.
This is fine but I find Descola’s elaborations on the concept of protection to be
rather vague. First he argues that it is a ‘nonreversible’ mode while he in the next
sentence holds that it can be ‘reversed in the course of time’ (Descola 2013: 325).
As an example of this reversibility Descola mentions how people take care of their
elderly parents as a repayment for the care their parents devoted to them when they
were young. Apparently, then, reversibility is existent but prolonged. Secondly,
Descola claims that the protection mode is never reciprocal while he at the same
time admits that there might be a ‘reciprocal interest’ involved (2014: 326). Often
protection is also mutually beneficial in that it guarantees the protector not only the
gratification brought by real or supposed gratitude of the person protected, but also
the possibility of receiving help and assistance from the latter. Descola describes
moreover the protection mode as inegalitarian since the protector always is the
dominant party who decides when, how, and if someone should be protected and
cared for. The protected is consequently in a dependent position and is unable to
refuse protection. Although the modes of identification and relation do not exist in
a pure and isolated form they nevertheless exist in various combinations with one
another. As such, these modes are abstract grids that are good to think with and
specific cosmologies may therefore display various combinations of relationships
that overlap.

Even though Q’eqchi’ and other Maya people on occasion have been defined as
animists (Vogt 2003: 24; 1976, Pacheco 1988: 75, 97; Carter 1969: 104) this is, as
mentioned above, generally done in a Tylorian sense of the concept. In contrast
Richard Wilson (1995: 143-144) argues that it would be erroneous to look upon
the Q’eqchi’ as animists since ‘they do not ascribe spirit to all matter’. Animism

22
does not in any way imply that all things necessarily are considered animate with
agency but rather, as Ingold (2000: 97) notes, things become alive in the context of
their close involvement with certain persons. Animacy, in other words, is a property
not of things as such, but of their positioning within a relational field which in-
cludes persons as foci of power. Thus, while animistic ontologies do not as a rule
consider all things to be alive, they nevertheless see the potential of subjective life in
all objects (Santos-Granero 2009; Descola 2005; Harvey 2005: xi).

Outline of Thesis

Following the introduction chapter two presents an account of Q’eqchi’ Maya his-
tory and the territory they have inhabited since Pre-Columbian times. It is a history
characterized by waves of colonization and oppression that to this day continues to
affect the lives of Q’eqchi’ people. Chapter 3 focuses on the Tzuultaq’a, a deified
being that is singular and plural at the same time. As a singular being, the Tzuul-
taq’a is equated with Mother Earth and as plural individual beings tzuultaq’as are
intimately associated with specific caves and hills and lead a life similar to human
beings. They are perceived as stern but benevolent parental figures that occasionally
appear to people as authoritative and powerful non-indigenous persons. The fourth
chapter addresses aspects of being in a world consisting of two distinct but open-
ended dimensions, the spiritual extraordinary reality and the physical ordinary reali-
ty. In line with animistic notions all life is endowed with one single spiritual force
that manifests itself differently due to the affordances given by specific corporeali-
ties. Humanness, moreover, is not something given but rather a state that constantly
needs to be controlled and manipulated. Chapter 5 focuses on human interaction
with tzuultaq’as through nocturnal dreams in the extraordinary reality and diurnal
transdimensional encounters that functions to maintain and re-create cosmological
notions and ritual practices. Chapter 6 adresses moral and ritual behavior as well as
the transgressions of these and what this implies. I argue that while correct moral
and ritual behavior serve not only to sustain humans and tzuultaq’as alike it also
functions to maintain a sustainable environment and cosmic equilibrium. Trans-
gressions, however, are detrimental not only to individual beings but also to envi-
ronmental relations and if not corrected it will eventually lead to the end of days.
On a grand scale, humanity and tzuultaq’as share the mutual responsibility of striv-

23
ing for and maintaining cosmic harmony and equilibrium. Chapter 7 returns to the
cheekal winq and their thoughts about the future with regard to themselves, future
generations and the Tzuultaq’a. This chapter ends with a brief conclusion of the
thesis.

Fig. 1.8. Bag and Machete, Chisec.

24
 2
Coming Down from the
Mountains: A History of a
Colonized Landscape

Starting in the mythological distant past working its way through history ending at
the present this chapter serves as a brief historical backdrop to both the Q’eqchi’
Maya and the territory they inhabit. While accounting for the Q’eqchi’ in general
the ambition is simultaneously to focus on the particular history of the Chisec re-
gion. The history presented is very much characterized as a continually ‘colonized
landscape’ (Wilson 1995). Despite the historical perspective, this chapter also estab-
lishes an understanding of Q’eqchi’ cosmological notions presented in the remain-
der of this thesis.

The Q’eqchi’ Maya: The Lords of Darkness

While contemporary Q’eqchi’-speaking people frequently refer to themselves as

being ethnically Q’eqchi’ Maya, the term Q’eqchi’ was not an ethnonym originally
but rather a linguistic denominator. The Q’eqchi’ language is a branch of the Eas-
tern Mayan K’iche’an language family and any person who is fluent in this language
can be called aj Q’eqchi’ (Campbell and Kaufman 1985). In Q’eqchi’ (as in all
K’iche’an languages), q’eq is the word for ‘black’ or ‘night’ (PLFM 2003) and the

25
term Q’eqchi’ translates most likely as ‘the language (chi’) of the Q’eq’.8 Besides the
denomination of Q’eq, Akkeren (2000: 111-114, 143) argues that the Pre-
Columbian Q’eqchi’-speaking people were referred variably to as the Aq’ab’ (dark-
ness/night) and the Q’eqakajol (the black sons). This association with blackness or
darkness can be explained through myths in which the Q’eqchi’ people originated
from within the Earth in a distant time of darkness before the sun had risen into the
sky – a time that the Mayan document of Popol Vuh refers to as chi q’equ’mal, chi
aq’ab’al (in the dark, in the night).9 The idea of a Q’eqchi’ pre-Sun existence is
supported in the dance of Patzká (a dance drama from Rabinal in the department of
Baja Verapaz) according to which the ancient people of Eq’umaal (The Lords of
Darkness) originated from within the Earth at a time when the world still lay
shrouded in darkness (MCRA 2003: 28-29). 10 Eventually, this group of people
arrived in Rabinal where they encountered a deity seated upon a rock. The
Eq’umaal began to dance around the deity and when they lifted it up the deity
smiled. At this precise moment, the sun rose into the sky and the present time was
created. In relation to this event oral narratives relate that it was the natural people
from Cobán who came to Rabinal where they later dispersed in order to find a place
to settle. Cofradias (religious brotherhoods) in Rabinal still hold in possession four
saints that they call Eq’umaal who they say represent their Q’eqchi’ ancestors (2003:
29). Although Rabinal today is primarily inhabited by Achi Maya people, Rabinal is
a Q’eqchi’ derived name meaning ‘The Place of the Lord’s Daughter’ (Akkeren
2000: 6). Accordingly, oral narratives, myths, and the etymology of the various
denominations for the Q’eqchi’ speaking people seem to point in the direction of an
ancient pre-Sun existence. In the following section I present an historical account
that takes its starting point in the Pre-Columbian period.

8
If we deconstruct the term Q’eqchi’ as it is spelled according to the new ortography endorsed by the
Academy of Maya Languages of Guatemala (ALMG 2004) we would end up with two words: (1) Q’eq,
which means ‘black’ or ‘dark’ and (2) chi’ which translates literally as ‘nance’, a large shrub or tree (Byr-
sonima crassifolia). However, prior to this new orthography, Q’eqchi’ was spelled in several but slightly
similar ways, such as Kekchí, Kekchi, K’ekchí, and Quekchi, where the suffix chi or chí (i.e. without the
glottalized stop) can be translated as either ‘mouth’ or ‘language’ (cf. Stoll 1888: 1; MCRA 2003). ‘Oral
language/narrative’ is, moreover translated as chi yeeb’il in the Q’eqchi’ language (ALMG 2004). Yet
another translation of Q’eqchi’ is presented by Flores (2001: 42) who suggests that it derives from the
K’iche’ language where qëq means black, and chi derives from the term achi, which translates as ‘man’.
9
The Popol Vuh is a K’iche’ Maya document authored in the mid-sixteenth century. Although it is
written in the K’iche’ language using the Roman alphabet it is most likely based on one or more hiero-
glyphic codices and oral narratives. In present days it has come to be conceived of a pan-Maya document
associated to the cosmology, cosmogony, religion, and history or virtually all Mayan peoples.
10
Ek’, or Eq’, is ‘black’ in the Chol and Yucatec language (Akkeren 2012: 49).

26
The Pre-Columbian Q’eqchi’ Maya

Due to waves of migration caused by intrusions, trade, rapid population growth,

forced resettlements, dispossessions, and, not least, a horrendous long-lasting civil
war, the Q’eqchi’ territory has since Pre-Columbian times and onwards varied in
size. Although in recent times it has expanded to include the lowland jungles of
Petén to the North, the Toledo District in Belize to the East, the Izabal region to
the South-East and the Ixcán and Quiché regions to the West. As a result, the
Q’eqchi’ speakers now inhabit the largest geographical extension of all Mayan
groups in Guatemala.
Archaeological data, however, has revealed that the present-day departments of
Baja and Alta Verapaz were occupied as early as around 1200 B.C. (Sharer and
Traxler 2006: 162, 251). Whether these early occupants were of Q’eqchi’ origin is
difficult to know for sure. Nevertheless, there are strong indications of a Q’eqchi’
presence in the Verapaz region during the Middle to Late Pre-Classic period. It has
been argued, for example, that the Q’eqchi’ Maya populated the area between Río
Chixoy and Río Polochic in 600 B.C. (Estrada Monroy 1979: 12, 14-15; King
1974: 13-14) and linguistic evidence suggests moreover that Q’eqchi’-speaking
people were present in Alta Verapaz in 300 B.C. (Campbell 1977, in Weeks 1997).
The Verapaz region was strategically situated in the midst of the so-called
Great Western Trade Route that connected the highlands to the south and the
lowlands to the north (Woodfill 2010; Woodfill and Andrieu 2012; Demarest
2014). While trade in the region was probably quite modest in the Pre-Classic peri-
od it accelerated during the Classic Period (A.D. 250-900), a time when the entire
Maya civilization flourished. While jade and obsidian were precious goods from the
mines in the south, the Verapaz was in possession of its own valuable items of
commerce. Salinas de los Nueve Cerros, for example, was the only non-maritime
source of salt in the lowland region and the cloud forest of Alta Verapaz was one of
few regions inhabited by the quetzal bird whose feathers were highly valued
throughout Mesoamerica. Approximately ten thousand feathers were harvested
annually (Feldman 2000: 96) and traders came from as far away as Teotihuacan in
Central Mexico to purchase them (Coe 2005: 23). With an increase in trade during
the Classic period, the region also saw an increase in ritual activities. The Candelaria
Cave System located just outside Chisec underneath the last foothills in the north-
ern highlands comprises the second largest cave system in the entire Maya world

27
and in the Early Classic period (A.D. 460 to 550) it came to be one of the primary
ritual centers in the entire Maya world (Woodfill 2010). Thanks to the trade of
quetzal feathers we know also of the name of the Q’eqchi’ region in Pre-Columbian
times. As noted by Fray Bernardino de Sahagún (2009: 256), the sixteenth century
Yucatec Maya claimed that the quetzal bird is to be found in the province of Teco-
lotlan located somewhere to the south in Honduras or thereabouts. Tecolotlan is
Nahuatl and means ‘place of owls’. The native Q’eqchi’ name was, however, Chi
Tukurub’ (named after the Tukur lineage residing in Chi Cobán) that extended
from Río Motagua to the south and Río Usumacinta to the north (Godoy Prado
2006: 97; Akkeren 2000: 11, 123).

While the Maya region flourished in the Classic period, many great Mayan cities of
the central lowlands abruptly declined in the Terminal Classic period (A.D. 800-
900) (for more information on the causes of this collapse, see for example, Sharer
and Traxler 2006). Consequently, these regions were abandoned and the entire
Mesoamerican area experienced a time of much movement and migration. Conse-
quently, the Q’eqchi’-speaking peoples of Chi Tukurub’ would not escape being
affected by these migratory flows. By way of Río Usumacinta Chontal-speaking
peoples from the Gulf of Mexico settled the Chisec region and took control of the
salt mines in Salinas de los Nueve Cerros (Sapper 1985: 17; Sharer and Traxler
2006: 585; Thompson 1990: 25-26; Fox 2008; Akkeren 2012: 71). It is also likely
the case that the Mayan collapse caused Chol-speaking peoples to migrate south and
settle the adjacent lowland regions of northern Alta Verapaz. In and around A.D.
800, Poqom-speaking people entered the Q’eqchi’ territory from the south and
settled in the Rabinal and Salama Valleys with the intention of taking control of the
trade route to the northern lowlands (Akkeren 2012: 88). While this intrusion by
the Poqom initially pushed some of the Q’eqchi’ people northwards along the Río
Chixoy into the highlands of Alta Verapaz, others remained to live peacefully with
the newcomers. In time, these two peoples became allies and were referred to by
other peoples as the Amaq’ (Akkeren 2000: 76, 137; Christenson 2007: 214). Sev-
eral centuries later, by A.D. 1200, the K’ich’e Maya sought to take control of the
entire Guatemalan highlands and in and around A.D. 1250 they took control of the
Rabinal region (Campbell 2000: 165) which again forced the Q’eqchi’ to migrate
north into the highlands of Alta Verapaz. At its maximum extension around the
mid-fifteenth century, the K’iche’ hegemony stretched from Soconusco in the

28
southwest to Rabinal and Cobán in the Verapaz region (Carmack 1981: 137; Lovell
2005: 48-52). Thus, after first having lost parts of their original territory to the
Poqom, the Q’eqchi’ not only lost the Rabinal region to the K’iche’ Maya but also
became tribute payers to the K’iche’ capital of Q’umarkaj (Carmack 1981: 135).

Fig. 2.1. Map of Chi Tukurub’/Tecolotlan (region marked in grey).

29
The Spanish Colonization

When the Spaniards invaded Guatemala in the sixteenth century, the majority of
the Q’eqchi’ people were settled in the highland area of Alta Verapaz between the
Pocolhá and the Xukaneb’ mountains on the upper reaches of Río Cahabón (Sapper
1985: 9). The region directly south of the Xukaneb’ mountains was occupied by the
Poqomchí, and the Rabinal Valley was mainly K’ich’e territory. The adjacent region
arching itself around the Q’eqchi’ territory from the northern shores of Lago de
Izabal, northeast through the Maya Mountains in present-day Belize and westwards
through the southern parts of Petén toward Río Chixoy and the Sierra Lacandon in
Chiapas, was inhabited by a number of different groups probably speaking different
dialects of Chol, or Ch’olt’i (Feldman 2000: 37; Thompson 1938: 586). The
Manché Chol occupied the region to the northeast of the Q’eqchi’ and they were
probably also resident in Lanquín and Cahabón (Thompson 1938: 586). West of
the Manché Chol in the region between Río de la Pasión and Río Chixoy lived the
Acala people. While their northern border was the Río de La Pasión, to the south
they bordered with the Q’eqchi’ in communities near Río Temal at the northern
foothills of the mountains of Pocolhá (Sapper 1985). It seems, however, that they
were concentrated in the ‘mountains of Chisec [Saq’lech’]’ and on the riverbanks of
Río Ik’bolay (Estrada Monroy 1979: 176; Feldman 2000: 43), which they, accord-
ing to Friar Escobar de Alonso (1841: 93), had occupied since ancient times. The
Lacandon occupied the northwestern part of Verapaz, west to the Río Chixoy,
extending into the Sierra de Lacandon in Chiapas.11 Prior to Spanish colonization
of Alta Verapaz, the Q’eqchi’ enjoyed friendly relations with these lowland groups
of people trading quetzal feathers, copal pom (resin from the copal tree), chile pep-
per, cotton, and salt, in exchange for cacao and achiote (Caso Barerra and Aliphat
2007: 49, 51). The northern region of Petén situated north of these chol groups was
the territory of the Mopan and Itza Maya. While the Itza dominated most of the
Petén region, the Mopan Maya occupied a restricted area north of the Manché
Chol.

11 The Lacandon were originally called Lakam Tun. The Spaniards first referred to them as El Acantun,

which with time was shortened to Lacantun, and eventually transformed into Lacandon. Consequently,
these are not the same as the modern Yucatecan-speaking Lacandon that today inhabit the same region
(Pugh 2009: 369).

30
After having laid most parts of the Guatemalan highlands under their feet in the
1530s, the Spanish conquistadors came to an abrupt halt when they encountered
the Q’eqchi’ people who managed to muster enough strength to keep the Spanish
soldiers at bay. Probably due to the fierce resistance offered by the Q’eqchi’, the
Spaniards came to refer to the Q’eqchi’ homeland as Tezulutlan (usually translated
as ‘the land of war’) (King 1974: 17).12 The task of conquest and subjugation was
handed over to the Catholic Church and where the sword had failed the cross
would eventually succeed. Instigated by the Dominican Friar Bartolomé de Las
Casas, in the early 1540s Tezulutlan was conquered peacefully by bringing the
gospel to the people and by converting them to Christianity (Estrada Monroy
1979). Apparently, this strategy of conquest was considered such a success that the
Spaniards decided as early as 1547 to rename Tezulutlan as Vera Paz (the land of
true peace) (King 1974: 20-21; Estrada Monroy 1979: 250-251). Unlike other parts
in Guatemala the Verapaz region was primarily ruled and dominated by the Catho-
lic Church throughout the colonial period. In consequence, the Q’eqchi’ Maya were
spared the worst abuses of colonial state oppression. They were, for instance, al-
lowed to maintain their existing land rights and customary laws and the status of
the local elite was also retained which can be exemplified by the newly baptized
Q’eqchi’ supreme leader, Don Juan Matalb’atz, becoming the first governor of Alta
Verapaz with full socio-political authority over the region (Estrada Monroy 1979:
273).
The Dominicans decided moreover not to employ the otherwise common
encomiendas and repartimientos in the Verapaz region (Sapper 1985: 1). 13 The
Q’eqchi’ would nevertheless be subject to high taxes and forced labor on the Span-
ish haciendas but what would come to take center stage in the conflict between the
Q’eqchi’ Maya and the Spanish priests throughout the colonial period was the es-
tablishment of the reducciones (urban centers modeled after European towns). To
facilitate conversions along with the collection of obligatory tax payments the Do-
minican Friars resettled the Q’eqchi’ people into reducciones and Santo Domingo

12 It has been stated that the fierceness of the Q’eqchi’ that inspired the Tlaxcalan warriors (a Mexican

group of people who assisted the Spaniards in their conquest of Guatemala) to name this region as
‘Tezeulutlan’ (Schackt 1986: 12). It seems, however, that Tezulutlan is a corruption of the term Teco-
lotlan (The Land of Owls), which was the Nahuatl denomination for the Verapaces in Pre-Columbian
times. I account for this in more detail in the following chapter.
13 The encomienda system meant that individuals and corporations were ceded the right to dispose of the

work power and collect tribute of determinate Indigenous communities. The repartimiento was a system
of native labor allotment.

31
Cobán was the first reducción to be established in 1543, which in turn was divided
into several barrios or parcialidades (Estrada Monroy 1979: 175). Having successful-
ly subjugated the Q’eqchi’, the Spaniards soon set out to subjugate and convert the
people of the adjacent northern lowlands. Accordingly, with the assistance of the
Q’eqchi’ under the leadership of Don Juan Matalb’atz, the Spaniards managed to
round up the Acala and Lacandon and resettle them into Q’eqchi’ reducciones. The
Manché Chols were also forcibly relocated to Alta Verapaz on several occasions,
with their final removal occurring shortly after the 1697 conquest of the Itza Maya
in Petén (Sapper 1985: 35-36; Schwartz 1990). As a consequence of the forced
resettlements, the lowland region to the north of the Q’eqchi’ territory was virtually
emptied of people. Instead the Manché Chol, Acala, and Lacandon became totally
absorbed by the Q’eqchi’. It can be assumed that this conglomeration of different
peoples and cultures meant that they mutually influenced one another to a certain
extent.14 For example, the Manché Chol were relocated to the town of San Lucas
Zulben where the Dominican priests preached the gospel to them only in the
Q’eqchi’ language (Feldman 2000: 12). Thompson (1932) has, moreover, found an
ancient Q’eqchi’ calendar that is of Chol origin, and many contemporary Q’eqchi’
still carry the surnames of ancient Chol lineages, such as Coc, Cuc, Cucul, Ba’,
Chocol, Pop, Saqrab’, and Chuwen.

The implementation of the reducción-policy was not as successful as the Dominicans

first had anticipated. Even though the Dominicans managed to extirpate certain
aspects of autochthonous ritual practices such as the use of idols and human sacri-
fices and bloodlettings, conversions were mostly superficial in terms of religious and
cosmological beliefs (Sapper 1985). Q’eqchi’ religious and cosmological beliefs were
centered on tzuultaq’as (deified spirit beings residing in caves within hills and
mountains) and the Spaniards never managed to suppress the belief in these beings.
Thus, despite having been converted to Christianity the Q’eqchi’ continued to
make offerings of copal to the tzuultaq’as whenever they crossed a hill or a mountain
(Sapper 1985: 20-21; Feldman 2000: 4). Furthermore, these forced resettlements
sparked several uprisings in the towns (Sapper 1985: 20; King 1974; Handy 1984:
48) but the most common response to the reduccion-policy with its ever increasing
taxes was to flee the towns and settle either in the countryside in close vicinity to

14 In 1571, Santo Domingo Cobán had 525 tributaries out of which 120 individuals were of Acala origin

(Sapper 1985: 25; Feldman 2000: 8).

32
their cornfields and local tzuultaq’as or to migrate in search of new lands to settle
and cultivate. In the late seventeenth century, a Spaniard named Juan Antonio de
Caravajal was travelling north from Cobán to the Sierra Chinajá. En route he
crossed Río Yalicar before he hiked his way over the hills of Saq’lech’ and the com-
munities of Pecajbá and Chisec, a region that he says was inhabited by Chol-
speaking peoples and other groups of people (see figure 1.5) (Sapper 1985: 37-38).
It is likely that these other people were Yucatec-speaking Xocmo who had migrated
into the Chisec region south of the Sayaxché region in Petén (Feldman 2000: xxiii,
21). Since the Acala were long gone by then, it is also plausible that Q’eqchi’ people
had moved north and settled in Chisec at that time.

Fig. 2.2. The Q’eqchi’ and their neighbors prior to and during colonial times.

33
The reducciones created by the Dominicans was the foundation for many of the
contemporary municipal towns in Alta Verapaz, such as Cobán, San Pedro Carchá,
San Juán Chamelco, Lanquín, and Cahabón. The municipality of Cobán in the late
eighteenth century extended from a northern belt constituted by Laguna de Lachuá,
Salinas de los Nueve Cerros, Yalmachac, Chinajá, Chisec, and Raxruhá to Chichén
and the mountains of Xukaneb’ in the south (Akkeren 2012: 62-63). According to
Fray Manuel María de la Chica (Akkeren 2012: 64), Chisec had been since the late
eighteenth century the largest dispersion center, or cabecera, in the northern low-
lands circumscribed by several smaller settlements.15 As the friar continues to report,
migrations from Cobán and other sites in the highlands of Alta Verapaz into the
northern lowlands continued at the beginning of nineteenth century. From about
1826 and onwards the Guatemalan state tried, with uneven success, to keep open a
road from Cobán north to Flores via the Chisec region (Schwartz 1990: 41), which
certainly must have facilitated a continued migration. Simultaneously with these
migrations most of the reducciones had disappeared altogether at the beginning of
the nineteenth century (Wilk 1997: 4).

The German Colonization

Guatemala gained independence from the Spanish Crown in 1821 and became
instead a part of the Central American Federation, which, besides Guatemala, in-
cluded Chiapas, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica. This federation
dissolved, however, in a civil war from 1838-1840 and Guatemala became a country
of its own. Since the Dominicans had treated the Verapaz region all too paternalisti-
cally and isolated throughout the colonial period, the region lay in the backwater of
Guatemalan development and would continue to do so until the mid-nineteenth
century (Woodward 1990: 68). This was especially the case in the remote parts of
northern Alta Verapaz. When Guatemala demarcated its national territory in 1839,
Chisec was neither listed either as a village nor as a municipality in the official doc-
uments, which meant that it was still included in the municipality of Cobán (Mu-
nicipio de Chisec n.d.).

15
Quolquol, Raxtaninquila, Acte, Pozil (Se Posil, Zona Sepalau), Cacao, Cordoncillo, Buenavista, [Río]
Chaquirroca, Zavalan, Chirriszul [Chirixtzul] (San José el Tesoro).

34
 The isolation of the Q’eqchi’ people of Alta Verapaz would, however, be radi-
cally broken with the coming of the ‘Liberal Revolution’ in 1871 and the introduc-
tion of coffee as the new primary export crop. Fueled by capitalistic ideas Guatema-
la had decided to go all in on coffee cultivation, which was considered a highly
valuable commodity on the international market with the promise of a higher and
more secure return (Cambranes 1985). It didn’t take long until the quality of Gua-
temalan coffee would spark the interest of both German coffee consumers and
wealthy German entrepreneurs and financers who saw a great opportunity to earn
money. The Alta Verapaz region proved to have ideal soils and an ideal climate for
coffee production and in the ensuing years this region would become the home of
several German immigrants involved in the coffee business. H. R. Dieseldorff was
the first German to enter the region in 1865 and within a couple of years he had
established his first coffee finca at Chipoc near Cobán (King 1974: 29). Others
would soon follow and by the 1870s onwards, foreign owned coffee fincas were
firmly established in the Alta Verapaz. In the effort to become a great coffee export-
ing country, the government under the dictatorship of Justo Rufino Barrios (1873-
1885), lifted the export tax on coffee in 1877 (King 1974: 30) and ten years later, in
1887, Guatemala and Germany signed a treaty that promised German entrepre-
neurs the liberty of trade, the right to own and exploit property without limit, cheap
access to land and labor, tax exemptions, military protection, as well as an enhanced
infrastructure (Fenner 2013). As a consequence, Germans virtually flooded the Alta
Verapaz region, which marked the beginning of a major coffee expansion in Gua-
temala and Alta Verapaz (King 1974: 31). The Alta Verapaz did not only offer a
favorable environment for coffee cultivation but due to the isolation of Alta Verapaz
from the rest of the country it would work to the German entrepreneurs’ advantage
enabling them to set up coffee fincas with relatively little transparence and interfer-
ence from the Guatemalan government (King 1974: 33). As coffee production grew
rapidly so did the need for land and labor and as a result the Q’eqchi’ would experi-
ence several legal and illegal oppressive and coercive means on behalf of the gov-
ernment and the German finqueros (plantation owners) in order to get their hands
on indigenous land and labor force. In 1877 the government passed new legislations
making it possible to revert communal lands to tierras baldios that went up for sale
on the public market (Grandia 2012: 39; Handy 1984: 68-69). Since the Domini-
cans allowed the Q’eqchi’ to regain their traditional land rights they had never
secured titles to their lands which now resulted in virtually all of their land suddenly

35
being put up for sale and rapidly bought by the finqueros. German finqueros also
entered the northern lowlands of Alta Verapaz where they established plantations
(Wagner 1987) and, in the late 1880s, German finqueros complained of the difficul-
ty in finding uncultivated land in Alta Verapaz that was not already in the hands of
national and German-owned fincas (Cambranes 1985: 305-307). At this time, the
Chisec region for the first time in Guatemalan history officially became document-
ed as a territorial district in 1883 and in 1892 Chisec became one of Guatemala’s
municipalities (Municipio de Chisec n.d.).

The Germans held a tight grip on both the land and indigenous population of Alta
Verapaz and by the mid-1940s the region was virtually a territorial possession of the
Germans referred to as ‘Little Germany’ (Sandoval 2005).The aggressive occupation
of indigenous land and the increased establishment of coffee fincas also meant that
there was a dire need for people to work on the fincas. Since the majority of the
Q’eqchi’ people were reluctant to work on the fincas for extremely low wages under
harsh conditions, several laws were issued that would force people to work. Accord-
ingly, the government passed in 1877 the mandamiento law, which basically meant
that the people were forced to work a certain number of days per year on everything
from fincas to public projects. To facilitate this law, a special court was set up in
Cobán to force the Q’eqchi’ people to work on local fincas (King 1974: 31). In
1894 the mandamiento system was complimented by debt peonage. The finqueros
offered so-called habilitaciones (cash advances) to the poor rural population, which
in practice was almost impossible to pay back or work off. As Handy (1984: 67)
notes, virtually all indigenous peoples in Guatemala at the time were in one way or
another heavily affected by debt peonage. Should a person die while still owing
debts to a finquero, these would be inherited by his or her children (Cambranes
1985: 152). While the mandamiento was abolished in 1920 and the habilitaciones in
the mid-1930s, president General Ubico issued a vagrancy law in 1931 which re-
quired people to be in possession of enough land that would generate an ‘adequate’
income; otherwise they were forced to work on fincas between 100 and 150 days a
year (McCreery 1994: 316-317).

As in colonial times, the Q’eqchi’ were not passively standing by while they lost
most of their lands and were forced to work under slave-like conditions on the
foreign fincas. On the contrary, the Q’eqchi’ people revolted whenever they could

36
(King 1974: 29, 34). However, since rebellions often resulted in violent repercus-
sions by the military the more common option was to migrate in search of new
lands to settle. Indeed, the introduction of coffee with the often violent land-
grabbing and forced labor, stimulated a massive and permanent Q’eqchi’ wave of
emigration. In the 1870s, Q’eqchi’ people settled the northern parts of Alta Verapaz
(King 1974: 27; Akkeren 2012: 22). Others migrated into the Izabal region and the
Toledo District in Belize (Wilk 1997: 42; Grandia 2012). To counter the emigra-
tion into other countries, the Guatemalan government in 1902 offered land in
Chisec along with tax exemptions and exemptions from military or labor services
(McCreery 1994: 287). Around this time, communities such as Seguachil and Pecu-
ilix were established in Chisec. Don José Ba’ was born in Pecuilix in the 1920s and
he recalls how the few households of the community lay scattered far away from one
another. It would take hours of walking to visit someone and whenever they were
about to have a meeting they had to be notified at least a week in advance. Q’eqchi’
people were not the only ones interested in land in Chisec, however. German
finqueros were probably present in Chisec as early as the late nineteenth century.
The rich ladino Lucas family (parents to General Lucas Romero, President of Gua-
temala 1978-1982) from San Juán Chamelco also began purchasing public lands in
the Chisec and Fray regions in the 1920s (Kaimowitz 1995a, in Grandia 2006: 118-
119). In 1928, a road was built between Cobán and Sebol, which opened up the
region further.

During the course of the twentieth century, the United States became increasingly
interested in Guatemala and several large corporations such as The United Fruit
Company (UFC) came to dominate the Guatemalan economy and politics. In
1930, the UFC alone controlled some 40 percent of the Guatemalan economy
(Handy 1984: 78-80). The German coffee enterprise must have been a powerful
threat to U.S. interests in the country because the U.S. Consul General of Guate-
mala likened the Germans with ‘an octopus that threatened to grasp with its tenta-
cles and swallow up all the country’s riches’ (Fenner 2013: 43). Accordingly, with
the coming of the Second World War (1939-1945), the United States pressured the
Guatemalan government to join ranks with the Allies in the war against the Ger-
mans and to expropriate most German landholdings and turn them into national
hands. Thus, just as the Germans had lost the war in Europe, the German Empire
in Alta Verapaz also came to an end.

37
Between 1952 and 1954, the Arbenz Administration aimed to reform the national
economy and implemented an agrarian reform that sought to expropriate unused or
underused land from large states and redistribute it to the poor rural population
who suffered from land loss (Handy 1990: 170; 1984: 107-108). Regretfully, for
the Q’eqchi’ of Alta Verapaz, however, the agrarian reform mainly affected other
departments (Handy 1992). As a reaction towards these reforms, the Arbenz Ad-
ministration was overthrown in 1954 in a coup d’etat launched by the military and
backed by the CIA. Consequently, close to ninety percent of the expropriated land
was returned to the former owners and a debt peonage system was reintroduced
(Handy 1990: 178; 1986: 383-408; Grandia 2012: 47). Over the following four
decades, several military dictators with friendly relations with the USA would take
turn to govern Guatemala with a firm hand. Strict legislated forced labor was no
longer needed in the same extent as before since loss of land, economic necessity,
and population growth had left the indigenous population with almost no choice
but to seek income by enlisting as mozos colonos (worker serfs) on the fincas (Siebers
1999: 22).

Colonization of the Franja Transversal del Norte

In the late 1950s, in part as a substitute for the rejected land reform of 1954, as well
as a response to a growing agro-export economy, burgeoning population, and in-
creasing land-scarcity in the highlands, the national government opened the rela-
tively isolated and underdeveloped regions of northern lowlands to colonization and
development. More specifically, the colonization of the northern lowlands included
the Petén lowlands, and the region commonly known as the Franja Transversal del
Norte (FTN): a belt stretching from Huehuetenango in the west to the Caribbean
coast in the east, divided into five regions: (1) Ixcán (2) Lachuá (3) Chisec (4) Sebol
and (5) Livingston. While this colonization project served as an incentive for a
number of Q’eqchi’ farmers to migrate north in order to search for land to settle
and cultivate, the developmental aspect of the reform, also brought a host of cattle
ranchers, coffee and cardamom producers, logging industries as well as companies
seeking to extract petroleum, copper and nickel. In 1959, the Ohio Oil Company
was present in Chinajá with the intention of extracting petroleum (Dillon 1978)

38
and in 1975, more than fifty oil companies requested exploration rights in the for-
ests of FTN and Petén. The establishment of oil companies in Chisec also became
an incentive for Q’eqchi’ people to migrate north. As Perez (2005: 13) notes, for
example, oil companies in Rubelsanto required labor to clear areas in order to con-
struct buildings, run extracting machines, and build pipes to connect Rubelsanto
with Izabal. There were several incentives then for Q’eqchi’ people to migrate from
the highlands and settle in the adjacent lowlands. However, while new job opportu-
nities may well have been attractive, the main incentive to migrate to the lowlands
seems to have been the opportunity to escape the hardships on the highland fincas
to instead migrate north where large swaths of untitled public land tracts could be
settled. As a consequence of this colonization process, INTA (the National Institute
of Agrarian Transformation) was formed in 1962, which, besides being responsible
for the construction of new roads, also distributed baldíos to landless farmers. It
seems, however, that even though these areas of colonization were intended to ame-
liorate land inequality, massive tracts of land (especially around oil wells) were given
away in the form of cattle and agriculture fincas to military officers resulting in that
the FTN became known as ‘the General’s strip’ (Grandia 2006: 118).
Thus, yet another wave of migration into the Verapacian lowlands saw the
light of day in the 1960s and if we turn to look at the municipality of Chisec region
it was only estimated to harbor some 1414 individuals (4 % being ladinos) in 1950
and by 1973,16 due to migrations, this figure had increased to 8728 (12 % being
ladinos) (Falla 1980: 54). Most of the cheekal winq arrived in Chisec between the
early 1960s and mid-1970s. The first who arrived came primarily from fincas locat-
ed in the municipality of San Pedro Carchá. As these elders testify, they had a hard
time working as mozos colonos planting and harvesting coffee for the patrón who
treated them like slaves. Don Sebastián Cuc relates how he worked on a large finca
called Chajkar. Several hundred families came there in search of work but in the
end the patrón was unable to hire them all and suggested instead that they head
north where there were plenty of baldíos on which they could settle and plant their
own crops. When Don Sebastián heard of this he and his family immediately left
the finca and headed north and in 1961 they ended up in what today is the com-
munity of San Isidro. Upon arrival they were the only three families there but after
a while other people came from other places and the village grew bigger. One of

16 The few ladinos who had settled the region tended to live in Raxruhá, San Antonio Las Flores and San

Antonio Las Cuevas.

39
these newcomers was Don Juán Caz who says he couldn’t stand the slave labor on
the finca Sasis in Carchá and therefore saw it necessary to leave in order to find a
new place to live. Eventually, by the late 1960s, he also found his way to San Isidro
where he settled down. Those who arrived to Chisec in the 1960s and 1970s en-
countered a place covered by dense tropical rainforest inhabited by several kinds of
animals that they never had heard of or seen before. The municipal town of Chisec
was only a small village at the time with houses made of wood and thatched roofs
spread out. Q’eqchi’ families traveling together searched for suitable places to settle
down and establish new communities and since large parts of the region consisted of
baldíos they began to solicit INTA for land and as a result people in communities
like Camposanto I live on their own legal land and they are not worried about being
thrown off it. Not all, however, were allowed, or had the opportunity to receive
titles for their land.

Fig. 2.3. Family in Camposanto I

There were also fincas in the Chisec region (i.e. Setzac, Yalicoc, Setal, Catalpec,
Yalpemech) owned by non-indigenous families such as Sapper, Dieseldorff and

40
Lucas (Falla 1980; Grandia 2006: 118). According to INTA figures, the Sapper
family owned eleven fincas in the FTN and in 1976, two years before he became
president of Guatemala, the Minister of Defense, General Fernando Romeo Lucas
García bought 10,800 hectares of land in Yalpemech from the Dieseldorff family,
the largest coffee baron family in Alta Verapaz (Falla 1980). As Grandia (2006:
119) notes, a literal land fever was burning up the Franja strip and INTA had par-
celed out most of the land in the 1970s. To facilitate the colonization of the FTN a
road connecting Cobán with Chisec was constructed in 1976 and yet another road
was constructed in 1977 connecting Chisec with the Franja Transversal highway. As
had been the case throughout history, the non-indigenous newcomers did not hesi-
tate to dispossess Q’eqchi’ communities and exploit their labor which led to many
conflicts (King 1974: Carter 1969; Wilk 1997: 53). Road constructions heightened
land conflicts as descendants of the Guatemala elite (ladinos and Germans) returned
to claim forgotten plantations awarded to them during the liberal reforms (Falla
1980: Grandia 2006: 119). In January 1976, finca guards murdered four Q’eqchi’
people in Semococh (Sepalau Cataltzul) due to land conflicts and when news of the
killings had reached the town of Chisec, some thirty soldiers from Cobán were sent
to the village the next day to bury the dead (CEH 1999: 1771). This was not an
isolated event, both in 1975 and 1976, Q’eqchi’ people from Chisec journeyed to
the Capital in order to publicize evictions, threats and murders by landowners that
had occurred in their communities, as well as to solicit for land tenure (Brockett
2005: 6; Falla 1980: 7). The finquero Ricardo Sapper Cordúa arrived to Chisec in
June 1976 in a helicopter (the first time he ever had sat foot in the region). He was
accompanied by an engineer and an employee from INTA and without any formal
deeds he simply claimed ownership to some 3,375 acres of land that turned out to
also include the three Q’eqchi’ villages of Seguachil, Semococh (Sepalau Cataltzul),
and Yalicoc (Black 1984: 96; CEH 1999: 1770; Falla 1980: 5-6). Apparently, Sap-
per’s intention was to expand his finca in Setzac. As the local population hold, ‘he
threatened to evict us and burn our houses if we did not work on his estate like
mozos’ (Falla 1980: 6). A few days later, the people of the three villages gathered in
the ermita (small chapel) in Seguachil where they wrote a letter of complaint to the
president against the intrusion of Sapper. As the letter read, they had been living
there for over seventy years and had never heard of their land ever being owned by
anyone else (1980: 6). They never received any reply and Sapper continued to pres-
sure the villagers to work on his finca in Setzac to sow and harvest cardamom. As a

41
consequence, the Q’eqchi’ villagers again sent a group to journey to the Capital
with their complaints. In response Sapper burnt down several houses and in the end
only five resident workers remained on the finca (Falla 1980: 7).
While many of the Q’eqchi’ people who had arrived in Chisec in the 1960s and
1970s were caught in land conflicts with finqueros they would soon find themselves
caught in the midst of a long lasting civil war too that hit Chisec especially hard.
Soldiers would soon be stationed permanently in Chisec. As one elderly man told
me:

When people arrived here around 1976 all of the houses lay scattered in the forest. In the
wake of the terrible earthquake that hit the country that year many of us thought that it
was the end of the world – soon, however, we in Chisec would experience first hand the
internal conflict.

Fig. 2.4. A reminder of the internal conflict, Chisec.

42
The Army and the Guerilla

Beginning in 1960 Guatemala would suffer an internal armed conflict that would
not end until 1996. This armed conflict resulted in the killing of approximately 150
000 people (50,000 missing) and the creation of one million refugees (REMHI
1999). While the conflict initially stood between the Gutemalan army and the
guerilla movement, it did not take long for it to involve innocent people in rural
communities. While the inhabitants of Chisec came to experience the effects of the
civil war in 1976 it would escalate in the early 1980s when persecution in the form
of military incursions, bombing raids, and massacres was particularly widespread in
communities located in what the army viewed as ‘red’ areas in the country.
The armed conflict has left deep scars in the hearts of the people of Chisec and
just about everyone has their story to tell. When the full force of the war hit Chisec
people found themselves stuck between the guerilla and the army. While the majori-
ty of the people did not want to participate on either side, only wanting to live in
peace, some opted to join ranks with the guerilla or to work for the army and the
government. According to one elder the majority of the guerilleros were poor peas-
ants and their main objective was to fight poverty. Apparently, however, it was
initially difficult for people in Chisec to fully comprehend what was happening.
People have told me that they were confused at the time and it was difficult to
know who committed all the killings. According to one elder both the guerilla and
the army were responsible for the killings. Chisec’s urban area was taken over by the
guerrilla movement in 1981. One elder recalls when the guerilla entered the town of
Chisec:

To announce as a warning that they [the guerilla] were closing in on the town, people
painted their houses red. Some say that the guerilla was stationed in the Catholic
Church. The guerilla did not kill people randomly but asked people who they were and
for whom they worked for since they sought to kill only soldiers and people working for
the government. They began killing people one by one. I recall how they killed six police
officers, took their weapons and released several inmates who were in jail. They killed the
judge on a street corner and at midnight on one of the days the guerilla came and kid-
napped the alcalde (mayor) who they later killed. Some two or three months later the

43
 Guerilla Army of the Poor (EGP) 17 came back and burnt down the entire municipal
building.

Between 1980 and 1983 several communities in Guatemala would fall under tre-
mendous military pressure and repression. Of 422 documented massacres, 103 took
place in 1981 and 192 took place in 1982 (REMHI 1999). In 1981, the army im-
plemented the so-called Scorched Earth policy, which sought to eliminate any sup-
port of the guerilla movement. In accordance with this plan the army began to
target specific communities chosen for their supposed affinity with the guerilla
resulting in massacres and burnt down villages. Early on the morning of the 19th of
November 1981, soldiers from the military zone in Cobán (who were temporarily
stationed in Chisec) arrived in Seguachil (CEH 1999). The guerilla knew about this
beforehand and warned the village. All the men escaped into the forest thinking that
if the army only found women and children they would be left in peace but little
did they know. When the soldiers arrived asking where all the men were, the wom-
en told them that they were away harvesting cardamom. Instead of leaving, the
soldiers set fire to all the houses, gathered all the women and children in the ermita
where they were abused and raped. Straight away by eleven o’clock they began
killing women and children before they set fire to the chapel with the people still in
it. In total 47 persons were massacred, the majority of whom were women and
children. As noted in Guatemala: Memoría del Silencio (CEH 1999: 1140), it was
common for soldiers to indiscriminately mete out revenge on innocent people if
they could not find who they were looking for. Those who survived the massacre in
Seguachil escaped seeking refuge in the hills where they remained under difficult
conditions for a whole year. Today, a new church has been built and a monument
has been erected in memorial of the victims of the Seugachil massacre.

In the following year, 1982, a unit of the Guatemalan army descended upon the
town of Chisec, which resulted in virtually the entire town being abandoned. They
kidnapped 15 men from the community of Las Ruinas with the intention of inter-
rogating them but ended up killing all but one. In 2002 the American Forensic
Anthropologic Association and USAID exhumed the remains of those dead at Finca
El Zapote. The victims were later buried in the Chisec cemetery (see figure 2.5).

17 The EGP was one of four organizations comprising the Guatemalan National Revolutionary Unit

(URNG – Unidad Revolucionaria Nacional Guatemalteca).

44
Chisec owns up to twelve reported massacres taking place between 1981 and 1983
(CEH 1999; see also REMHI 1999: 144); two of which were carried out by the
guerilla. Still, many community members tell stories of other incidents never offi-
cially being documented. In 2007, for example, anthropological forensics exhumed
the remains of twenty-one men, women, and children in the community of Sechin-
apemech in Chisec and evidence would indicate that the victims were killed some-
time between 1981 and 1984 (GHRU 2007: 1). The last massacre in Chisec took
place as late as in 1995 (one year before the signing of the peace accord), when the
army murdered eleven returned refugees from the community of Aurora 8 de Oc-
tubre, located at the finca of Xamán (CEH 1999).

Fig. 2.5. Chisec cemetery. Memorial burial of the massacre in Las Ruinas 1982.

One elder told me he grew up on a finca called Chaputelpeque in Fray San Bar-
tolomé de Las Casas and when the civil war began he thought that maybe this was
the only place affected so he fled to a community in the Chisec region. He would
soon be made aware of how was wrong he was. During this period, he says:

45
 People were not allowed out of their houses. If they were seen in the streets they would
be killed for sure. The leaders of the community were also forced to take turns to watch
the area and if they refused the army would kill them. It was a hard time. We planted
beans, chile pepper, and corn but we had no one to sell it to. We had to go out standing
by the road waiting for a truck to come by and sometimes we could wait for as long as
three days before a truck showed up. Eventually, when it became too difficult and dan-
gerous we fled to the hills where we lived in caves. We left everything behind. The sol-
diers ate all our food and killed all our animals. When we eventually returned after sever-
al months in the hills there was nothing left in our village and we had to start all over
again. It is a bad memory shared by many of us. Like us, the majority of all aldeas in
Chisec suffered.

Besides the scorched earth policy, the army used forced recruitment to fill its ranks
by forming Civilian Defense Patrols (Patrullas de Autodefensa Civil – PAC) in the
communities. In Alta Verapaz they were first formed in 1976 but expanded consid-
erably in mid-1981 as a central element in the counterinsurgency strategy of break-
ing guerilla links with the population. The main objective was to involve the com-
munities in the army’s anti-guerilla offensive. By late 1984 there were more than
900 000 members of the PAC system. Consequently, members of communities
were forced to become civil patrollers organized by local military commissioners
(often retired Army officers enjoying impunity and other military privileges) carry-
ing out surveillance on their neighbors as well as fighting the guerilla. The civil
patrols worked with the army to pursue and capture people fleeing in uninhabited
areas. They also carried out selective detentions in their communities. The civil
patrols were responsible for murdering many people in their own communities
(REMHI 1999: 123). According to one elder now resident in Chisec, when the
army arrived in Chisec, he was ordered to occasionally patrol the aldea at night.
People were very afraid, he recalls, and tended to stay indoors. He suspects that
most of those who were killed were out in the streets. The elder mentions that he
seldom left his house. Even if there was a fiesta going on somewhere he would stay
at home since there were soldiers everywhere. There were also public fiestas arranged
by the army but as he says, they were often arranged in order to capture people and
to kill them.
Some families who joined the PACs received land possession rights sponsored
by the Army. This situation split the indigenous communities. On one side, there
were families willing to be part of the PAC in order to maintain their land posses-
sion rights, and on the other were those who refused to support a government that

46
destroyed and burned approximately 600 communities (CEH 1999). Between 1981
and 1992 several families had received titles but as it turned out in the end, none of
them were registered in the property register, which made them all invalid (Perez
2005: 14). Below I present an account of how a Q’eqchi’ elder had to abandon his
house and escape to live in the hills.

Many people left their homes because the Civil Patrol came. They started burning our
houses, all our houses that were close to the road. One day they came along the road or-
dering us to leave. ‘We will give you three days to abandon your houses’, they said, ‘and
if we find that you are still here after three days we will tie you up and set fire to your
houses so that both you and your houses burn’. So we decided to flee our homes. We
went to live among friends in Sechochoc (a community close to the Candelaria caves).
There were only about eight families living there and I stayed there for two weeks. Then I
returned to my house in order to bring some corncobs (mazorcas), my grain mill (molino
de mano) and other stuff that I had left behind. While I was filling my bag I was surprised
to see that some of my old neighbors showed up. They told me that they had fled into
the hills together with some people from Seguachil, and they urged me to join them.
‘Otherwise’, they told me, ‘you and your family will die here’. They told me to go back
to Sechochoc and fetch my wife and children and return the next day where they would
be waiting for me. I followed their advice and the following day we joined our neighbors
and set out into the hills. First we went to a cave in Corraltzul where we stayed for four
months. Eventually, the soldiers got closer and we could hear them firing their guns all
night so some of us decided to move. We crossed the road close to Canrujá and went to
Sechinapemech and Agua Subterranea where we built some small huts for ourselves. We
remained there in hiding for four years and the soldiers could not find us. With time,
more people who could no longer endure life in the hills came and joined us. Eventually
we heard messages over the radio, calling people to return to their homes. It was a wom-
an who saw that there was no longer any danger in returning. She called for all the people
hiding out in the hills to come back as it was safe for us now. ‘I am already here and
nothing has happened to me’, she said. Thus we decided to come out from our hiding
places and go to Semuy where we encountered the soldiers. There were, however, those
who were too afraid to return thinking that the soldiers would kill them. When we got
back to Chisec, however, the soldiers said that they had forgiven us and that nothing
would happen to us. There were several groups of people coming down and we gathered
in the church of Chisec. The people from Coratzuul came and one group from Las Ruin-
as came. Still, even if they did not hurt us we had lost everything that we had. Our hous-
es were burnt down to the ground and we no longer had our animals or crops.

47
Most people began to return to their communities in 1983, and according to a
testimony in Guatemala: Memoría del Silencio (CEH 1999: 1078), those who were
the first ones to come down from the hills were those from Sechinapemech. Not all
chose to return, however. There were those from Sechinapemech who decided to
join the guerilla and to continue to fight the army. As one person claims, he had
lived in hiding in Sechinapemech for three years and had begun to grow some corn
but when the soldiers came they destroyed his cornfield leaving him without the
means to grow food. This angered the man to the extent that he joined the rebels
(Mendizábal García 2009: 113).

Fig. 2.6. The Calvary Church in Chisec.

While some people fled to cities such as Cobán, Carchá, Raxruhá, Petén and even
to Chiapas many people fled into the forest to live in caves which took a hard toll
on them. Even though some had managed to take animals and corn with them most
people had to leave all their things behind. Food and water were scarce and people
suffered from malnutrition and diseases. There are reports, however, that soldiers, at
least on some occasions, gave them food to survive. In most cases, however, it was

48
important to hide from the soldiers. Those who remained in hiding in Coraltzuul,
for example, relate that they suffered severely from hunger.

We stayed in the cave for a year. We had no corn and only ate fruit like papaya. We
didn’t dare to start a fire because the smoke would give us away. There were soldiers
everywhere shooting their rifles. We could also see and hear airplanes that kept
bombing all over the place. We kept hiding because both the patrols and the soldiers
only wanted to kill us. They could not kill us, however. They threatened us one time
with their weapons and we told them that if you fight us with your weapons we will
fight back with our machetes. Not willing to fight us, they eventually left.

On elder recalls how he and five others lived in caves in the jungle. The army was
looking for them and eventually they were found, tied up and beaten with their
weapons:

Luckily we weren’t killed because a group of people showed up and scared them away.
Because of this we are alive’, the elder says, ‘but because of the beating I still suffer today
and cannot work. I hope this will never happen again because it was a very difficult time
for us hiding among the hills. But when we finally returned to Chisec the conflict was
over.

When people began returning to Chisec after hiding in the forest from the army
they encountered a re-modeled town, not too dissimilar to the colonial reducciones.
Following the massacres in the northern civil war zones, between 1982 and 1986
the army established so-called development poles as part of their endeavor to exert
military control over the people and rural communities that were internally dis-
placed and considered to be the social base of the guerillas (REMHI 1999: 117). In
total between 50-60, 000 people were settled into four poles for ‘re-education’.
Chisec being one of them consisted of houses closely packed along urban gridlines
for greater surveillance (Grandia 2006: 111) and even renamed to Nuevo Desarollo
Chisec, which encompassed 17 communities (CEH 1999).18 Not all people who
had been separated during the early 1980s were resettled in model villages, however.
Many people returned to their communities where they began rebuilding their
homes and milpas (cornfields, k’al in the Q’eqchi’ language). Others established new

18 The Chisec Development Pole encompassed: Chisec, Setzí, Seguachil, Sesuchaj, Carolina, Setal,

Semuy, Pecajbá, Santa Marta, Semococh, Las Palmas, El Tamarindo, Cuibilhuitz, Secocpur, Ticario, and
Acamal (REMHI 1999: 117).

49
communities, which often became populated by people from different areas speak-
ing different languages. The guerilla was temporarily defeated in 1983 and 1984 but
resurfaced again in 1991 when they repeatedly blew up the oil pipeline between
Rubelsanto and Livingston, set fincas on fire and destroyed infrastructure.

Fig. 2.7. Chisec center in 2005.

Despite Chisec being one of the principle red zones of the worst atrocities commit-
ted against the indigenous population of Guatemala during the civil war, the popu-
lation of the municipality grew dramatically in the ensuing years. After the signing
of the peace accords in 1996, Chisec received attention from the international
community that led, among other things, to the multi-million dollar construction
of the asphalted road down the sierra de Chamá from Cobán to Chisec, which was
completed in 2001 and was financed by the Inter-American Development Bank. As
a consequence of the introduction of the paved road, it did not take long until a
number of ladino entrepreneurs and businessmen, as well as local and international
NGOs settled in Chisec. Chisec was rapidly transforming. High tension power lines
followed the advance of the road, which resulted in electrical coverage within the

50
community increasing from some 20 percent in the year 2000 to more than 60 %
in 2003. Accordingly, the first ever internet-center was opened in 2002 and the
following year a cellular phone service was inaugurated. When I arrived in 2004, the
inhabitants of Chisec could also enjoy the services of a bank. All in all, since the
early 2000, Chisec was rapidly transforming from a rather secluded region to a
bustling town harboring businessmen, entrepreneurs, NGOs, tourists, missionaries,
etc. Gravel roads were being constructed that would facilitate communication with
the rural communities circumscribing the cabecera (the municipal town).
Besides the ongoing problem with the mining industry that has been a cause
of violent conflicts since the 1960s between the companies and the indigenous
population (Nolin and Stephens 2010), at present, the Q’eqchi’ Maya are subject to
new colonizers of land in the form of sugarcane and African palm oil plantations
(Alonso Fradejas 2009; Guereña and Zepeda 2013). As a result, access to land and
environmental degradation due to the intrpduction of these new plantations are
sources for conflict between Q’eqchi’ communites and foreign companies often
supported by the Guatemalan state.

51
 3
The One and the Many: History
and Identity of the Tzuultaq’a

Although the cheekal winq participate in a world filled with a vast number of non-
human beings one is of special importance and takes center stage within Q’eqchi’
cosmologies and ritual life. People refer to this being as the Tzuultaq’a. In accord-
ance with an analogical regime where the cosmos is ordered by webs of correspond-
ences the Tzuultaq’a (translated as hill-valley, or alternatively as up-down/below) is
understood to be ‘the one and the many’ at the same time. In its singular manifesta-
tion the Tzuultaq’a (written henceforth with a capital ‘T’) constitutes the living
Earth-being in its entirety while in its plural manifestation this being manifests as
innumerable individual tzuultaq’as residing predominately in caves within specific
hills (written henceforth with a lower case ‘t’).19

While the previous chapter accounted for a Q’eqchi’ history I examine here the
origin and history of the Tzuultaq’a both in its singular and plural manifestations.
Despite having being under religious attack from colonial days until the present the
belief in the Tzuultaq’a still plays a great part in the religious beliefs of many people.
In my endeavor to outline Q’eqchi’ animism this chapter accounts for how the
cheekal winq perceive and relate to the environment, which in many ways is inti-
mately associated with the Tzuultaq’a. I account for how the Tzuultaq’a manifest
and emerge as social beings in the Q’eqchi’ landscape displaying a multitude of

19
The Q’eqchi’ make use of the term ‘Tzuultaq’a’ both in its singular and plural form. To avoid confu-
sion I choose, however, to spell the plural form as tzuultaq’as.

53
forms, functions, and identities. While people perceive themselves in a sense to be
an organic part of the Earth they also see themselves as the offspring of the Tzuul-
taq’a. Thus, tzuultaq’as are often spoken of as authoritative parental figures and they
play a decisive role in peoples’ lives. Here I make a point of that the tzuultaq’as are
intrinsically benevolent persons no matter how cruel and vicious their behavior may
seem at first. Tzuultaq’as are moreover capable to appear in diverse forms and, as I
argue in this chapter, their identities and appearances are the result of mimetic
transformations directly linked to historical processes and the presence of other
powerful and benevolent figures in Q’eqchi’ lifeworlds, be they of Maya or of for-
eign descent.

Tzuultaq’a: The Earth Being

That the Q’eqchi’ people conceive of the Tzuultaq’a as both singular and plural at
the same time is not an uncommon conception among Maya people (cf. Edmonson
1997: 67). Indeed the Maya frequently categorize different phenomena in pairs
according to the principle of complementary opposites, which constitutes a potent
fundament for the ideal state of cosmic balance (cf. Cook 2000: 183; Earle and
Simonelli 2005: 137; Bassie-Sweet 2008: 3; Hill and Fischer 1999). Other common
examples of such pairings are, male/female, right/left, up/down, hot/cold, sen-
ior/junior, and dry/wet. In its singular manifestation as the animate Earth-being,
Don Juán Chub considers the Tzuultaq’a to be equivalent to ‘all that exists in na-
ture which includes, for example, stones, all kinds of plants, trees, and animals’, i.e.
the Earth in its entirety. While all of the cheekal winq are convinced that God
(Qaawa’ Tiox) created the Earth, it is mostly the Catholics who equate this Earth
with the Tzuultaq’a. Accordingly, the Catholics claim that God created the Tzuul-
taq’a. In the community of Secomuxan I, people say that in the beginning all that
existed in the world was water. Then God made the Earth and the Sky as well as the
hills and the valleys. By and large, this understanding is coherent with other Mayan
cosmographies such as the one described in the Popol Vuh. However, instead of
referring to the Christian God, the document holds that two deities called Heart of
Sky (U K’ux Kaj) and Quetzal Serpent (Cucumatz) gave birth to the Earth:

54
 In order to create the earth, they said, ‘Earth,’ and immediately it was created. Just like a
cloud, like a mist, was the creation and formation of it. Then they called forth the moun-
tains from the water. Straightaway the great mountains came to be. It was merely their
spirit essence [nawal], their miraculous power [pus], that brought about the conception
of the mountains and the valleys [Juyub’-Taq’aj] (Christenson 2007: 70-73).

Fig. 3.1. Elders in Secomuxan I

Thus, it is not only the Q’eqchi’ who metonymically refer to the Earth as ‘hill-
valley’ which not only is yet another example of a complementary opposition but is
a clear reference to the constitution of the Mesoamerican landscape.20 However, the
Earth, or Tzuultaq’a, is spoken of in different ways depending on what aspect is
being referred to. Thus, besides being referred to as Tzuultaq’a in Q’eqchi’ vernacu-
lar people refer to the Earth alternatively as Ruuchic ch’och (Face of the World), Loq
laj na’ ch’och (Our Sacred Earth), Loq laj Che’k’aam (Our Sacred Mother Nature),

20
The Earth is referred to as ‘hill-valley’ in several Mayan languages. Accordingly, the Jakaltec Maya call
it Uitzailic (Thompson 1990: 275), the Mam Maya refer to it as Taajwa Witz (Watanabe 1992: 141),
and the Mopan Maya speak of Huitz Hok (Thompson 1930: 41-42).

55
and Qana’ Ch’och (Lady Earth), while in Spanish people variably call it Diós Mundo
(World God), Santo Mundo (Holy World), and Tierra Madre (Mother Earth).
Taken together, all these different terms of the Earth imply that it is conceived of as
an animate, parental, sacred, and divine being. The cheekal winq consider the Earth
to be an animate being in possession of a mind, a heart, and a face. The soil is the
Earth’s flesh, the rocks are its bones and water its blood. Accordingly, Don Vicente
says that ‘we sow our crops on the face of the Earth’. The sacredness of the Earth is
often emphasized in terms of having been created by God and that it sustains hu-
manity. According to Doña Emilia Chub:

God created the Tzuultaq’a. God holds power and authority over the Tzuultaq’a just as
the Tzuultaq’a has power over us. We pray to the Tzuultaq’a three times a day before
every meal and the Tzuultaq’a sustains and protects us all of the time. The Tzuultaq’a
gives us food all of the days. For this reason the Tzuultaq’a is sacred to us.

Don Juán Chub adds:

The Earth is sacred to us. The Earth sustains us and it is where we plant all our crops.
The Earth is like a god to us and she sustains all the people in Guatemala and thanks to
the Earth we plant corn and eat tortillas. All the campesinos in Guatemala work the earth.
I do not know how it is in the rest of the world, if they plant corn and eat tortillas like we
Guatemalans do. We live on corn. I have heard that people in big countries like the
United States only eat bread. We would never be accustomed to eating only bread. We
would die eating only bread because our stomachs are used only to corn.

The elders talk frequently of their intimate relationship with the Earth. When re-
ferred to as Mother Earth, the parental and nurturing qualities are emphasized,
implying that human beings are her offspring. Don Santiago says that:

The Earth is our mother who, just like any other mother, cares for and sustains her chil-
dren from when they are born until they are adults. If a mother did not care for her chil-
dren they would not grow and eventually die of hunger. When a child is hungry they al-
ways ask their mother for food and it is the same way for us, when we are hungry we ask
Mother Earth for food. If it were not for our Mother Earth we would not survive in our
communities. The Earth is very precious to us because without her we would die, and
because of this the Earth is alive. The Tzuultaq’a protects us and is the richness of nature.

56
As accounted for in chapter 2, myths tell of how the Q’eqchi’ ancestors originated
from a cave within the Earth’s interior and how they eventually appeared on the
Earth’s surface in the Rabinal Valley located the in the department of Baja Verapaz.
This ‘birth’ of humanity resembles several other Mayan cosmographies and in this
sense caves are often equated with the womb of Mother Earth (Heyden 2005: 22).
Due to this place of origin in combination with the nurturing aspects of Mother
Earth, the Q’eqchi’ Maya refer to themselves alternatively as aj ralch’och (the chil-
dren of the Earth).21 Relating to this notion, Don Francisco says that ‘we have a
strong attachment to the Earth. We are her children and our survival and suste-
nance depends on our Mother Earth’. Likewise, Don Felix states that ‘the Earth is
our ancient mother and she raises us as her children’ which concords with Cabarrús’
(1998) observation that in the mythological past infants used to be breastfed by a
tzuultaq’a.

Fig. 3.2. Elders in Tamarindo.

21 The kinship term r-al means ‘son of mother’ (Kockelman 2011: 437).

57
Being offspring to Mother Earth is to belong to her, to be a part of her. Don Victo-
riano says accordingly that ‘the earth is our foundation, our trunk, upon which we,
our children and grandchildren grow’. In this sense humans are an organic part of
the Earth and similar to the growing process of trees the Earth allows them to grow
sturdier and taller with time. Accordingly, in some sense humans and the Earth are
one and the same. Therefore, as Don Francisco says, ‘when we consume our crops it
is the same as we are eating the Earth and to eat the Earth is the same thing as to eat
ourselves’. Likewise, in a narrative presented by Milián, Grünberg and Cho Botzoc
(2002: 68), Mother Earth, manifested in the guise of an old woman, approached a
farmer and told him that she gives him food to eat (i.e allows him to enjoy his har-
vests) and in return she eats him when he dies, because in the end, as the old wom-
an told the man ‘your body is my body’. This brings into mind the Mayan notion
of being hombres del maize (people of the corn) as well as the cosmogony presented
in the Popol Vuh where humanity was created out of corn (This is decribed more in
detail in chapter 4).
Being the offspring of Mother Earth is stressed in the notion of having an
umbilical relationship with the Earth. After having given birth to a child it is com-
mon to return the umbilical cord to Mother Earth. Even after the umbilical cord
has been cut it is seen as constituting a part of the child’s person and body. It is thus
common that parents bury the umbilical cord, either inside the house where one
lives or in the ceremonial center of one’s hometown. Adams (2001: 201) notes that
‘the moral center of home [is] where one’s umbilical cord is buried’. It is common
for the Maya to consider one’s hometown to be located at the center, or the navel,
of the Earth, evoking the meaning of a life-sustaining cord connecting humanity to
Mother Earth. The Q’eqchi’ town of San Juan Chamelco is accordingly referred to
as xchu ‘up li ch’och (the navel of the Earth). Likewise, tzuultaq’as are sometimes
refereed to as navels. For example, Qaawa’ Chamá’ located in the center of Chamá
is, according to Akkeren (2012: 47) called xuj li k’aleb’aal, xch’ub’ li k’aleb’aal, ‘the
place in the middle, the place of the navel’. The umbilical cord is connected to a
person even after it has been cut off and therefore it matters where it is buried. If,
for example, parents wish for their child to remain close to their household and
family in the future, the cord is buried within the household and if they desire to
have an intelligent child it may be hung on branches high up in a tree, and if they
wish for their child to travel a lot the cord may be thrown into a river (Cabarrús
1998: 89; Parra Novo 2004: 16-17). Apparently, there seems to exist an invisible

58
bond between the cut-off umbilical cord and the person it belongs to that influences
the future life trajectory and character of that person.22 Since personhood and iden-
tity for Q’eqchi’ people expand to include the cut-off umbilical chord, in effect it is
also intimately associated with locality. Q’eqchi’ people are accordingly intimately
related to the Earth and the Tzuultaq’a through their respective bodies. This at-
tachment to the Earth/Tzuultaq’a will be discussed more in detail in the following
chapter.

To recapitulate somewhat, according to the cheekal winq it is God who has created
everything and Catholics claim moreover that God also created the Tzuultaq’a. In
agreement Doña Petrona Cacao maintains that ‘while Qaawa’ Tiox is the ultimate
master of everything in the cosmos, the Tzuultaq’a is responsible for the Earth, the
hills and the valleys and other things that constitute nature’. Consequently God is
the master of the Tzuultaq’a and the Tzuultaq’a is, in turn, the master and custodi-
an of the Earth. The Tzuultaq’a functions as an intermediary between humans and
God, or Jesus Christ, as some would have it. Still, others claim that God and the
Tzuultaq’a essentially are one and the same and that the power of God therefore is
instilled in the Tzuultaq’a as well. Evangelicals, however, tend not to believe in the
Tzuultaq’a, claiming that their religion prohibits such beliefs. Those Evangelicals
who reject the Tzuultaq’a faith claim that this figure is nothing other than the Devil
himself. Some reveal, however, that even though they are converted Evangelicals
they still believe in tzuultaq’as even though they no longer pray to, or conduct any
rituals directed towards them.

Tzuultaq’a and Christianity

As it has been suggested here, the belief in the Tzuultaq’a stems no doubt from a
Pre-Columbian veneration of the Earth as a living creature. Drawing from this it is
important to acknowledge that the Tzuultaq’a figure is not some static phenome-
non frozen in time but rather that it is continually influenced by external as well as
internal factors. When the Spaniards invaded the New World in the sixteenth cen-

22 Although I have not encountered this notion among the elders of Chisec, it is not uncommon also that

the personality, individual character and fate of a person are determined by what the day in the 260-
calendar he or she was born (Bassie-Sweet 2008: 8).

59
tury it profoundly influenced Maya religious beliefs and practices. The Q’eqchi’
region came under the control of Dominican priests who managed to convert a
large portion of the population to Catholicism. As evidenced in a Q’eqchi’ lament
written during this period of time, the evangelization of the Q’eqchi’ Maya came
with the explicit intent to eradicate autochthonous religious beliefs and practices,
especially back then with regard to the Tzuultaq’a.

O God, how painful it is to hear that you say that what we thought isn’t true, rather
there is another truth.
O God, don’t you hear our ancestors tell us that the tzuultaq’a gives us corn, the water,
the rain, the fire? O God, don’t you hear that our kin offered pom and hit their legs
[with a branch] at the crossroads? And didn’t that get rid of the pain?
Don’t you know that it got rid of our fevers and chills? O God, how hard it is for us to
believe what you say – that this is another truth. O God.
O God, how hard it is to believe that there is no tzuultaq’a, that there never was, nor
will there ever be, not over there in the sinkhole, nor in the mountain when we hear the
thunder and the lightning flashes in the sky.
(Quoted by Estrada Monroy 1979: 191-193, translated by Richard Wilson 1995: 158)

As this lament testifies it proved hard to entirely abandon belief in the Tzuultaq’a.
Indeed, the beliefs and ritual practices concerning the Tzuultaq’a were never com-
pletely eradicated. Instead this has led to Q’eqchi’ cosmologies and costumbre be-
coming hybrid forms mixed with Christian religious elements.

Since the intrusion of the Spanish conquistadores and missionaries, Maya indige-
nous religions have been under fire on more than one occasion. For instance, in the
1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, the apostolic sect known in Spanish as Acción Católica
(Catholic Action) within the Roman Catholic Church set out to alter indigenous
religion. After the second Vatican council (1962-1965), Liberation Theology devel-
oped into a major political force sending waves of European and Latin American
priests and nuns into the rural areas of Guatemala to train lay ministers and organ-
ize Catholic base communities. Priests and catechists argued for a rigid separation of
the soul from the body, which they associated with the earth, sin, and the Devil.
Mayan deities and ancestors were deemphasized and replaced by Christian Apostles
(Wilson 1991). It was not long until Mayan converts to this form of new orthodox
Roman Catholicism began to declare (much in the vein of today’s Evangelical
churches) that the Holy Earth was in reality the Devil, and called upon them to

60
destroy all of the sacred Mayan earth shrines (Saler 1965; Tedlock 1992). As a re-
sult, many people began to turn against traditional Mayan cultural practices. Mayan
catechists, who were mostly young men, soon usurped the power of their elders and
attacked Mayan worldviews and costumbre as ‘pagan’ (Warren 1978; Falla 2001;
Watanabe 1990a; Tedlock 2000). However, even at the height of this religious
fervor no Maya community became one hundred percent aligned with Catholic
Action. Instead, there were large numbers of individuals who continued to practice
their traditional blend of Catholicism and Mayan Earth worship (Tedlock 1992:
460). Thus, the clash of Roman Catholicism and Maya religion has become more
or less synthesized into a hybrid religion, which has been referred to either as reli-
gious syncretism or simply as folk or Maya Catholicism (cf. Avalos 1997). When I
ask the elders belonging to the Catholic Church, they refer to themselves generally
as Christians. For them, however, there is nothing strange to blend what we, for the
sake of simplicity, could call ‘autochthonous beliefs and practices’ with Catholic
beliefs.

Fig. 3.3. The hills and the cross, Sepoc II.

61
Recognizing that the Catholic priests never succeeded in stamping out the Q’eqchi’
belief in Tzuultaq’a, the priests instead set out to Christianize it. As a result of this
endeavor it is not uncommon for priests to place blessed crucifixes on cave altars
dedicated to the Tzuultaq’a as well as performing masses within caves (Wilson
1995: 60). Today, many individual tzuultaq’as have attained sainthood and received
new epithets and even the Christian concept of God has found a place within the
pantheon. While Q’eqchi’ Catholics generally conceive of the heavenly God as the
supreme divinity and creator people tend to enjoy a more direct and intimate rela-
tionship with the local tzuultaq’as who reside upon the Earth.

Beginning on a rather modest scale, the first Protestant missions in Guatemala

began to establish themselves in the late nineteenth century (Annis 1987). The first
Protestant churches in the Verapaz were established in 1907 and by the 1970s sev-
eral Evangelical churches had entered Alta Verapaz (i.e. Baptists, Mennonites, etc.)
(Adams 2001: 206). As late as 1967 baptized membership was estimated to be no
more than 1.6 percent of the total population. Yet, with time this figure would rise
significantly. According to Annis (1987: 78) those converting to Evangelism were to
a large extent ‘socially, economically, or psychologically maladjusted, socially isolat-
ed, illiterate, alcoholics, poor, and sick people in search of a cure In the late Seven-
ties and early Eighties three events came to hasten the pace of conversions signifi-
cantly. First, the earthquake of 1976 that killed thousands of people and dramatical-
ly disoriented rural life. Second, the disruptions caused by the civil war dislocating
many of the indigenous populations. Thirdly, Protestantism was seen as much safer
than Catholicism during the tumultuous Ríos Montt regime in 1982 and 1983 and
mid-1980s as many as one in three Guatemalans belonged to an Evangelical church
(Evans 1991, in Adams 2001)
Today Evangelical churches are common in most villages in the municipality
of Chisec. Similar to colonial Catholicism, Evangelical churches often preach that
the Tzuultaq’a is none other than the Devil and forbid people to continue with
rituals directed towards the hills. Although many Q’eqchi’ Evangelicals do consider
the Tzuultaq’a to be the Devil this does not hold true among all of them and many
I have talked to still believe in the Tzuultaq’a as a sacred being. However, while
some still conduct rituals directed towards the Tzuultaq’a, others say that they have
ceased doing so because it is forbidden and instead they pray to God. Others say
that the tzuultaq’as exist just like any other thing exists because God created them

62
and therefore it is necessary only to pray to God for what one wants. According to
Don Sebastián Gualná:

Q’eqchi’ people are now living the new life and today we have a new God. The reason
why our ancestors gave praise to the tzuultaq’as is because Jesus, the Son of God hadn’t
been born yet. The hills are not our gods anymore and today we thank the lord for giving
us our holy food.

Fig. 3.4. Iglesia de Díos, Ticario.

Thus for most Evangelicals, the Tzuultaq’a has been substituted by God. Several
Evangelical Q’eqchi’ perform almost identical rituals to the Catholics and with the
same intentions and motives but with the difference that they omit the Tzuultaq’a
from their prayers and petitions and pray instead directly to God.

63
The Plural Aspect of the Tzuultaq’a

Whereas the term Tzuultaq’a serves as a referent for the Earth in its entirety, the
Q’eqchi’ Maya refer to it also in a plural sense. The Catholic elders hold that Qaa-
wa’ Tiox created Earth along with its hills and valleys and since then the tzuultaq’as
came to reside in them. Accordingly, the Popol Vuh relates that when the gods made
the Earth to emerge out of the primordial ocean they ‘simultaneously placed the
mountain spirits upon earth’ (Goetz and Morley 2003: 7). Thus, a pattern was
established on Earth where an animating force was concentrated at certain points of
power constituted by hills and caves (Schele and Freidel 1990: 67). The hills are the
stone houses (ochoch pek) of the tzuultaq’as and people often refer to them as richly
adorned palaces, mansions, or churches. Furthermore, each respective hill within
which the tzuultaq’as reside is simultaneously understood by the elders to be their
physical clothing or physical manifestation. Thus, each hill is understood to be a
particular tzuultaq’a consisting of a spirit and a physical body. Therefore, when a
hill is inhabited by a tzuultaq’a the elders consider it to be alive (yo’yook li tzuul).
Consequently, not all hills are considered to be alive. For a hill to be alive it is,
however, required that it has a cave and that it is spiritually endowed by a tzuul-
taq’a. In the vicinity of the community of Yalmachac, for example, there are several
hills but according to the villagers not all of them are inhabited by tzuultaq’as.23
Likewise, people in the Izabal region claim that their local hills are devoid of tzuul-
taq’as. According to them tzuultaq’as exist primarily in the highlands of Alta Vera-
paz around towns such as Cobán.

As individual beings, tzuultaq’as are often referred to in Spanish as señores de los

cerros (lords of the hills), or dueños de los cerros (masters of the hills).24 As these epi-
thets reveal, many consider the tzuultaq’as to be the masters and custodians of their
respective hill. According to Don Miguel Quib:

Qaawa’ Tiox is the ultimate creator and master of the universe who created the Tzuul-
taq’a to be the master and custodian of the Earth and Nature. The tzuultaq’as have been

23 Regretfully, I wasn’t able to get a clear answer as to why some of these hills were not inhabited by

tzuultaq’as.
24
The Spanish word cerro may be translated as either hill or mountain. With regard to tzuultaq’as, some
scholars have chosen to render it ’mountains’ (mountain-valley, mountain spirits, etc.) while others opt
for ’hills’ (lords of the hill-valley, etc.). In this study I generally make use of the latter term.

64
 here since nature was created because Qaawa’ Tiox had to have someone here who could
take care of and protect nature and be responsible for everything that Qaawa’ Tiox creat-
ed.

Consequently, the tzuultaq’as have jurisdiction over all that pertains to the particu-
lar hill they inhabit and the area surrounding it. Thus, the landscape is turned into a
mosaic of demarcated territories, each being the property of a certain tzuultaq’a.

Tzuultaq’as are keepers of wild animals. This has not always been the case though.
According to Q’eqchi’ myths, a hunter and fisherman called Qaawa Kaqchahim
(Lord Red Star) was the original owner of all wild animals. However, when he chose
to ascend to the sky as the morning star (Venus) he left all his animals in the custo-
dy of the tzuultaq’as (Schackt 1986: 59-60, 176-179). While the animals are free to
roam the forests during daytime, when the nighttime comes they are rounded up by
the tzuultaq’as who tend and care for them in corrals inside the hills. Contrasting
the Q’eqchi’ who consider these animals as wild, the tzuultaq’as are their masters
and tend to them as their own pets. It is the tzuultaq’as who decide whether to let
them out of the caves to wander freely in the jungles and thus make them available
for hunting. The tzuultaq’as may also use their animals as messengers or send them
on specific assignments which, however, tend to result in negative outcomes for
humans. More often than not they invade and eat the crops of a transgressor and
snakes may be sent out to scare or bite wrongdoers. Besides keeping animals within
the hills, the tzuultaq’as also hold virtually all kinds of foodstuffs in their caves. Even
people and villages are said to belong to a certain local tzuultaq’a and it is not un-
common that Q’eqchi’ communities bear the name of the local tzuultaq’a. The
community of Pecuilix, for example, is surrounded by several tzuultaq’as and the
community received its name from one of them. When their ancestors first arrived
to their hill, they discovered a beautiful cave filled with swallows where they began
conducting rituals toward the resident tzuultaq’a. Pecuilix, translates, fittingly as
‘rock of swallows’.

Weather is also governed by the tzuultaq’as. Don Vicente from Yalchacti says that
the tzuultaq’as control rain, clouds, thunder and lighting, hail, and wind and as
stated by Don Francisco from Tamarindo:

65
 Our ancestors have taught us that when the wind blows hard, it is the Tzuultaq’a who is
responsible for this. The Tzuultaq’as spend all day giving air and wind to us. Here, at the
crossroads by Semococh (an aldea close to Tamarindo) it blows all day long. If one passes
here one may notice a hole in the ground by the road from where it blows all day sustain-
ing the plants all around.

Even though the tzuultaq’as in general are understood as terrestrial deities Thomp-
son (1990: 273-274) notes that their power over weather phenomena resembles that
of the chaks, ancient gods of rain and lightning venerated by the Chol Maya, for
example.
Since the Tzuultaq’a is the owner and custodian of everything that exists upon
and within the Earth, to use any of these resources means that one is taking away
something that belongs to the Tzuultaq’a. Therefore, to alter anything that belongs
to a particular tzuultaq’a, whether it be cutting down a tree, hunting animals, or
planting crops, people are obliged first to reciprocate and ask permission to do so. If
these rules of engagement are not followed correctly one may face tragic conse-
quences. I have been told of several incidents where animals have been sent by a
tzuultaq’a to eat entire crops because people have failed to ask properly for permis-
sion prior to planting. Other times, due to their failure to ask for permission to
make use of the tzuultaqa’s belongings, people have been incarcerated for several
days inside the hill. The tzuultaq’as may also choose to withhold crops or animals
inside the hills due to moral and ritual transgressions.

The Social Structure of the tzuultaq’as

According to the cheekal winq the life of the tzuultaq’as is strikingly similar to hu-
man life. The tzuultaq’as have their own culture, history, and social structure as well
as individual dispositions, behavior, and characteristics. They lead their lives within
a social community of fellow tzuultaq’as structured and organized by kinship,
friendship, sex, love, antagonisms, hierarchy, and power.
Like human society tzuultaq’as are considered to be organized within a hierar-
chical structure. Similar to other Mayan groups the Q’eqchi’ people hold some hills
to be more powerful than others (see, for example, Avalos 1997, on the Tzeltal
Maya, Holland 1964 on the Tzotzil Maya; Cook 1986, on the K’iche’ Maya; Carl-

66
sen and Prechtel 1994, on the Tzutujil Maya). According to Thompson (1930: 58-
59) the four most powerful hillss are Yaluk, Cojaj, Itz’am, and Xukaneb’, each the
ruler f a cardinal direction. Don Felix says that his grandfathers taught him that
there only exist three very powerful and attentive tzuultaq’as by the names of Qaa-
wa’ Ixim, Qaawa’ Cocaj [Kojaj] and Qaawa’ Non Juán. He admits with regret that
he does not know where these hills are located and instead points out that the most
important tzuultaq’a for him is Qaawa’ Xukaneb’, the highest mountain in Alta
Verapaz located to the south of Cobán. Indeed, many Q’eqchi’ Maya consider
Qaawa’ Xukaneb’, to be the king and supreme tzuultaq’a and ruler of all other
tzuultaq’as. Others maintain however that this title befalls Qaawa’ Siyab (Braakhuis
2010: 36). Concerning Xukaneb’s role as king and ruler of all other hills and moun-
tains, this hierarchical status is substantiated by a myth collected by Burkitt (1920)
where the entire Xukaneb’ mountain range is constituted by Xukaneb’ himself
along with a host of other tzuultaq’as of which some are servants and others are wise
old beings or strong and virile youths. Since Xukaneb’ is sometimes spoken of as a
king (Sp. rey) it would only be natural for there to exist a Queen (Sp. reina) and
more often than not this title is given to Qana’ Itz’am, one of the few powerful
female tzuultaq’as.
Even though there seems to exist an infinite number of tzuultaq’as, people
generally refer to thirteen great and powerful tzuultaq’as superior to all other tzuul-
taq’as (see figure 3.5). As noted by Thompson (1990: 280), colonial literature on
the Maya refers frequently to Thirteen gods (Oxlahun ti Ku). The number thirteen
is significant and Braakhuis (2010: 35) notes that to conceive of the Tzuultaq’a as
thirteen evokes the completeness and totality of the landscape inhabited by the
Q’eqchi’. The number thirteen is often used in religious and cosmological matters
(cf. Tedlock 2000: 251). The Tzotzil Maya, for example, say that their souls are
divided into thirteen parts and the same number has also been said to represent the
levels of heaven where sacred lords ruled the Earth. The ancient 260-day sacred year
calendar, or tzolkin, consists of 13 months of 20 days.

67
Petén25 Carchá, La Tinta, Senahú28 Belize29 Carchá. Alta Chisec32
Cobán, Panzos27 Chahal, Vera-
Ca- Raxruhá30 paz31
habón26
Xo- Shubyuc Shucuby
kob’yok uc
Xucaneb’ Xucaneb’ Xucaneb Xucaneb’ Xukaneb Xukaneb’
’
Raxon Raxuntz’u Raxon Raxon Chitz’un Rax- Raxon Chitz’un
Tz’unun nun Tzunum Tzunun un ontz’unun Tz’unun un
Itz’am Itz’am Itz’am Itz’am Itzam Itzam Litzam Itz’am
Juan Kokaj Cojaj Cojaj Cojaj Kojaj Kojaj
Kokaj
Se’Rincó
n Esqui-
puul
Siyab’ Siyab’ Siab Siab Siyab Siyab’ Siyab’ Siyab’
B’ele hu Belebjú Belebjú B’elenju
Saqlech Saql
echeb’
Se’llb
Ton Juan
Pet Mo’ Pekmo’
San
Pablo
Tulux Tulux
Chiaax Chiaax Chiaax
Cha
Chirix
Quiché
Chinam Chimam
Chajcoj Chajcoj
Tzunkin Tzunkim Raxon Tzunkin
Tzunqin
Raxon Rax Hon
Tac’caj Tac’ Caj Taqk’aj
Saqipek Saki Pec Saquipeq

Chajmaic Chajmaic Chajma-

yik

25
Adapted from Estrada Ochoa (2006b)
26
Wilson 1995.
27
Adapted from Estrada Ochoa (2006b)
28
Adapted from Estrada Ochoa (2006b)
29
Schackt 1986: 61
30
Siebers 1996; 1999: 85
31
Escuelas Sin Fronteras 1999: 54
32
Don Mateo Choco’oj, Yalmachac.

68
 Chijaal Chijaal Chi-
ha’al’
Cubilgüitz Cu- Kub’ilwi
bilgüitz tz
San San San Vicen-
Vicente Vicente te
Chis- Chis-
guajaga guajaga
Zac
Tzicnil
Ixim Ixim Chi Ixim Chi
Ixim
Sa’Mastu Sa’Masto Se’Masto
n on on
Sayil
Chimuy
Chikoivo
n
Sariquib
The calvary
mountain
in Cobán
Purixdiq’
Cajbom
Fig. 3.5. Table over the Thirteen most powerful tzuultaq’as.

One Q’eqchi’ creation story collected by the Spanish Friar Bartolomé de Las Casas
in the sixteenth century states moreover that the creator deities Xchel (Ixchel) and
Xtcamna (Itzamna) had thirteen sons (Casas 1992: 1456).33 Again, there is no clear
agreement among the elders about whom these thirteen tzuultaq’as are. Some peo-
ple even insist that there are only twelve great tzuultaq’as. Several myths relate of
how twelve tzuultaq’as were able in distant times to find corn. However, irrespective
of whether they are thought to be twelve or thirteen no one was able to account for
them all. Don Mateo Choco’oj could mention nine of these tzuultaq’as. While some
people do not remember all thirteen major tzuultaq’as, there exist, as the table below
shows, discrepancies concerning which tzuultaq’as should be considered to be in-
cluded among the thirteen tzuultaq’as.
Still, while people often consider some tzuultaq’as to be more important than
others there are numerous minor and local tzuultaq’as that are equally important.

33
The creator couple Itzamna and Ixchel are equivalent to First Mother Xmucane and First Father
Xpiyakok of the Popol Vuh, who in turn are manifestations of Heart of Sky and Quetzal Serpent.

69
Fig. 3.6. Don Mateo and his wife (in the front), Yalmachac.

Similar to human beings, tzuultaq’as lead their lives based on kinship and they are
interrelated as mates, parents, children, siblings, elderly relatives, etc. For the
Q’eqchi’ elders, this is obvious. The range of hills that surround the community of
Rubel Ho is understood by a village elder to ‘be like us human beings and to consti-
tute a family of their own’. In the same manner Don Santiago claims that ‘the hills
are like us. Like us they belong to a family’. Don Santiago continues to affirm that
the tzuultaq’as are of different sexes:

There is no doubt whatsoever that the hills are masculine and feminine. If we talk of the
animals we know that they have males and females. All terrestrial and aquatic animals
have their partners. I do not think that there exists one animal that doesn’t have a part-
ner. Like before the Great Flood, Qaawa’ Tiox told Noah to bring all the animals onto

70
 the ark in couples. You have to have a partner. Man can’t live alone and a woman needs a
man. We cannot live alone. If a man builds a house he cannot live there alone so he
needs a woman. Qaawa’ Tiox did not create anything incomplete. The animals are males
and females, human beings are men and women and likewise, the hills are men and
women.

There seems to be a consensus among the cheekal winq despite their religious affilia-
tion that God created everything in complementary pairs of men and women. In a
similar manner they talk of the Sun as being male and the moon as female.

Most people consider Xukaneb’ and Itz’am to be a married couple and while the
other tzuultaq’as are understood to be their offspring myths tell of Xukaneb’ having
a daughter called Suqk’im. There are reports stating that Itz’am is married to other
tzuultaq’as such as Siete Orejas, a tzuultaq’a located on the Pacific Coast (Thomp-
son 1990: 273) and Cojaj (Thompson 1930: 59). Indeed, being the only female
tzuultaq’a among the thirteen makes Qana’ Itzam a favorable spouse. Tzuultaq’as
are also siblings. Xukaneb’ has at least two brothers; San Vicente, and Ch’ina
Xukaneb’ (Little Xukaneb’). Besides being reported as a spouse to Qaná Itzam,
Qaawa’ Cojaj is also claimed to be her brother. The hills of La Ventana in Chisec is
considered moreover by people in the region to consist of seven siblings. Besides
being relatives, the tzuultaq’as also enjoy bonds of friendship such as among those
who live as neighbors. Below I present a story that shows not only how tzuultaq’as
interact with one another but also how this affects the environment. In the late
1970s, Chisec experienced a great storm with heavy rains that flooded the rivers and
made many trees fall. According to an elder this came as a consequence of domestic
affairs among local tzuultaq’as. Qaawa’ Emilio Jul Iq’, who lived in Planada Cor-
ratzul, was married to Qana’ B’omb’il Pek and they had lived happily togheter for
many years. They then befriended another happy married couple consisting of
Qaawa’ San Simón and Qana’ Candelaria. It didn’t take long, however, until Qaa-
wa’ Emilio Jul Iq’ began to flirt with Qana’ Candelaria. Qaawa’ San Simon soon
found out what was going on and he began to flirt with Qaawa’ B’omb’il Pek. Up-
on realizing what they had done, they could not stand the treachery committed
towards each other which resulted in Qaawa’ Emilio Jul Iq’ divorcing Qana’
B’omb’il Pek and Qaawa’ San Simon divorcing Qana’ Candelaria. Qaawa’ Emilio
Jul Iq’ was left alone where he was born and Qana’ B’omb’il Pek went further north
to live in the community of El Porvenir. Qana’ Candelaria, who could not stand the

71
treason and betrayals of Qaawa’ San Simon went to live farther away in Río Escon-
dido by the Candelaria caves. Having been abandoned Qaawa’ Emilio Jul Iq’ was
left angry and sad. Since he could not control his anger he caused lightning bolts,
thunder, heavy rains, and hurricanes. As a consequence, rivers got flooded and trees,
milpas, and fincas were torn down by the strong winds.

According to the cheekal winq there are essentially three ways of finding out the sex
of a tzuultaq’a. Commonly, when a person encounters a tzuultaq’a in a dream its sex
is revealed. Tzuultaq’as are in possession of their own specific names that often are
used in combination with a prefix determining their sex. Itz’am, for example, is a
female tzuultaq’a and therefore referred to as Qana’ Itz’am (Old Lady/Grandmother
Itz’am) while male tzuultaq’as are referred to as Qaawa’ (Old Man/Grandfather). In
Spanish these epithets are equivalent to Doña and Don respectively. Today, due to a
certain degree of Christianization of the tzuultaq’as some are referred to as saints. As
a result Itz’am is called instead Santa María Itz’am and Xukaneb’ is called San Pablo
Xukaneb’. The sex of a tzuultaq’a is also revealed in encounters. In these instances,
tzuultaq’as generally takes on a human guise. The third way to find out the sex of a
particular tzuultaq’a is to look at the physical shape of a hill. Male tzuultaq’as are
often said to have sharp peaks, and frequently a white cliff, while female tzuultaq’as
tend to be more softly rounded. There is also an association with water that plays a
part in finding out the sex of tzuultaqa’s. According to Sapper (2000: 33), male
tzuultaq’as tend to reside in poorly watered hills while female ones tend to inhabit
those with many springs. Consequently, female tzuultaq’as are to a larger extent
than male, associated with rain and bodies of water, such as springs, streams and
lakes. Female tzuultaq’as are often said to be responsible for deluges and landslides,
which, some say, are caused by fiestas they are having within the hills. Male tzuul-
taq’as, on the other hand, are more associated with lightning, thunder and earth-
quakes (Wilson 1995: 54). Still, all tzuultaq’as, irrespective of sex, have the ability to
throw lightning bolts. Lightning bolts, comets, and falling stars that traverse be-
tween the hills and the valleys of the landscape are all means of communication for
the tzuultaq’as. Regarding the family of tzuultaq’as that surrounds Rubel Ho, Don
Felix states that:

[t]hey communicate with one another through their messengers called correos. These cor-
reos appear like a flash that leaves one hills only to enter another. At night one can see
several of these messengers of the hills.

72
Fig. 3.7. Girl on a truck on the way to Rubel Ho.

Contextualized Gender

Having stated that tzuultaq’as are related to one another as kin as well as being of
different sex, it is important to note that sex, just like bodies and personhood, is
nothing fixed but contextually determined. If a specific hill is of a male gender it
follows that all land pertaining to this particular tzuultaq’a is considered to be male.
However, at the same time, the entire Earth (i.e. the Tzuultaq’a in its singular as-
pect) is referred to as Mother Earth, implying to the contrary that all land is female.
Likewise, when a male farmer sows his seed into the soil, irrespective of whether this
occurs on a male or female tzuultaq’a, the land receives the seed of a man in the
same manner as when a woman is receiving male seamen during intercourse. In
prayers, Q’eqchi’ people often address the Tzuultaq’a as inna’ injuwa’, meaning ‘my
Mother my Father’. The concept of a Father-Mother deity is widespread through-
out Mesoamerica. The Totilme’il of the Tzotzil Maya, for example, are the primor-

73
dial ‘Father-Mother of life’ (Guiteras Holmes 1961: 292; Vogt 2003: 19) and ac-
cording to Edmonson (1997: 81) it was common also among the ancient Maya to
conceive of and pray to a large number of gods incorporated into one unified godly
nature – the Mother-Father. The Popol Vuh refers similarly to the creator gods as
the ‘Mother-Father of life’ (Tedlock 1996: 64). Indeed, the Maya have since ancient
times conceived of their deities in the context of complementary opposition. While
the tzuultaq’as are conceived of as either male or female, both the deities and the
land are conceived of as both feminine and masculine, that is, they are endowed
with both female and male aspects of their being.

Settlement and the Tzuultaq’a

Almost all of the fifteen communities in which I have worked are located in the
close vicinity of one or more tzuultaq’as. Some are located on top of hills, others on
the slopes and yet others located in the lush valleys below. People consider it im-
portant to reside close to their local tzuultaq’as who protect and nourish them.
Thus, tzuultaq’as are intimately associated with place and locality. Indeed, when I
ask people what the Tzuultaq’a is, in many cases they answer directly that it is the
place on which they live and plant their crops. A case in point comes from the
community of Tamarindo. A man was in the midst of constructing a house on a
plot of land where he intended to live when a friend of his had a dream in which he
saw an old lady carrying a heavy load passing in front of the house. He saw her
enter the house where she put down her cargo. Afterwards, they went to see what
she had left but they could not find her or the things she had left there. All was
gone. In contemplating this dream they wondered if perhaps a tzuultaq’a lived close
to the house and if he was allowed to build his house there or if he had to move it
elsewhere. The friend said that he had seen the entrance to the house of the tzuul-
taq’a behind the house and that the heavy load that the old lady was carrying was
indeed a great gift. The friend then told the house builder to buy a pound of copal
pom and burn it in front of the entrance to the tzuultaq’as house. ‘Go there’, he said,
‘ and burn the copal pom and candles with all of your heart. Tell the tzuultaq’a that
you are here as a neighbor. Tell her that you will rest here with her’. This is what
the house builder did. He stood there in front of the tzuultaq’a’s entrance saying
that ‘maybe I should not be here? Maybe I should be afraid? I do not know but I

74
stand here with all of my heart in front of your house and I want to offer you this
copal pom’.
This account stresses the importance of knowing the local tzuultaq’as as well as
being allowed by them to reside on their property. Since many people in Chisec
have migrated here from other places this means that they have moved from their
original local tzuultaq’as to new unfamiliar lands where they do not know the tzuul-
taq’as. Don Victoriano, who originally came from the highlands of Alta Verapaz,
told me about his experiences when he first arrived in Chisec. As he was searching
for a place to live he asked an old man where he could find some land to plant corn
and if he could talk with the same tzuultaq’a as he had previously done in the high-
lands. The old man responded that:

If you have moved from one place to another you also have to talk to another tzuultaq’a.
You cannot talk to your old tzuultaq’a. I’ll tell you the name of the tzuultaq’a that con-
trols and protects the warm lands that extend from Chisec into the Petén region and oth-
er parts. He was chosen by God to be here a long time ago and the name of this tzuul-
taq’a is Qaawa’ Non Juán. However, he has changed his name. In earlier times when
people planted the earth they called him Qaawa’ Saq’lech’ but after having appeared in
people’s dreams he urged them to call him Non Juán.

I do not know the meaning of the word non but it appears as if the tzuultaq’a pre-
fers to be called by his Spanish name (Juán) rather than his original name of
Saq’lech’.

It was noted above that hills, mountains, and caves have been considered to be
places of spiritual power since primordial times. Closeness to caves and hills is im-
portant since these are considered to be the ‘source of life’ and linked to the creative
powers of the center of the Earth. These caves, when ritually dedicated to the dei-
ties, become the ‘pulsing heart’ of towns and communities providing the cosmogon-
ic referents that once legitimized the settlers’ rights to occupy that particular place,
and the ruler’s authority over that same place (Brady 2001: 298-300). Likewise,
temple-pyramids were built by the Classic Maya to symbolize, or replicate the sa-
cred mountains of the highlands and grottos were in the past often manually exca-
vated to approximate the shape of the mythological place of origin (cf. Vogt and
Stuart 2005). Mountains along with their caves have in Maya cosmographies been
interpreted to be connected to the center of the world where the World Tree stands

75
allowing passage to the Underworld (Wagner 2001: 286; Thompson 1990; Schele
and Miller 1986: 42). As such, mountains and hills along with their caves are con-
sidered portals to other dimensions.

Ancestors and the Tzuultaq’a

Occasionally, the tzuultaq’as are referred to as ancestors (qaxe’ qatoon), which literal-
ly translates as ‘our stem root’ and myths frequently describe them as ancient be-
ings. However, while there are families among other Mayan groups who claim to be
direct descendants of mountain lords (Nash 1970: xvi, 19-22, 259) 34 Q’eqchi’
people seem to relate to tzuultaq’as more in terms of fictive kinship. They do not
recognize a tzuultaq’a to be an apical ancestor and tzuultaqa’s are therefore not
included in kinship lineages. One notable exception, however, is the colonial ca-
cique Juan Aj Pop Matalb’atz who many believe to be a direct descendant of Qana’
Itz’am, and who is also believed to have transformed into a tzuultaq’a when he died
(Adams 2001: 218-219).

Nevertheless, Q’eqchi’ people frequently talk of and address the tzuultaq’as in pray-
ers and petitions as their Fathers, Mothers, Grandparents. In Tamarindo, for exam-
ple, people consider the tzuultaqa’s Qana’ Itz’am and Qaawa’ Axohajaw to be their
grandmother and grandfather respectively. Others say that tzuultaq’as and humans
are siblings who reside together on this earth. Much in the sense that the Earth is
referred to as a caring mother nurturing and sustaining her offspring I suggest that
when people refer to local tzuultaq’as as parents or grandparents it indicates first and
foremost their nurturing and parental qualities. Similar to other Mayan peoples who
hold that their ancestors watch over their descendants from nearby hills and moun-
tains (Vogt 2003; La Farge 1947: 59; Nash 1970: 19, 22) Don Felix says that ‘the
tzuultaq’as know and see everything that we humans do. Nothing escapes their

34
Studies conducted among several Mayan peoples show that there exist a close association between
mountain lords and ancestral beings (cf. La Farge 1947; Brintnall 1979; Holland 1964; Nash 1970: 19-
25; Vogt and Stuart 2005). Indeed, as Taube (2001: 270) notes, the borders between ancient Maya
deities and deceased ancestors are fluid and respected ancestors were in the distant past honored like
gods. Likewise, for other parts in the Americas, such as in the Andes, several scholars have documented
the close association between mountain lords and ancestors (Bastien 1978; Silverblatt 1987: 23; Taussig
1980: 185-190).

76
attention’. While Doña Emilia Chub refers to the tzuultaq’a as a deity, in the same
sentence she also equates the tzuultaq’a with the upbringing of a stern father stating
that ‘if a person does not obey the tzuultaq’a it is bad. The tzuultaq’a is the same as
a father, if a child does not obey him he might whip him or her.’

The Perception of the Tzuultaq’a Identity

There is no doubt that the tzuultaq’as are native to Guatemala and go back to Pre-
Columbian times. What usually differentiates them from ordinary human beings in
appearance is that they are described as very old and very tall. As a sign of their old
age they have long white hair and males among them tend to have beards. Yet, on
occasion, people say that the tzuultaq’as look like foreigners. Similarly, when people
describe the houses of the tzuultaq’as they sometimes describe them as great man-
sions or churches, which also indicates a non-indigenous origin. In these instances
the tzuultaq’as tend to appear well-dressed, wearing jewels and fine white expensive
clothes. Early one morning in 2006 I myself was likened to a tzuultaq’a when I paid
a visit to the elders of Pecuilix. That morning, Don Manuel told me a story of the
day he had conducted a ritual in favor of the local tzuultaq’a. The following day, the
tzuultaq’a appeared in Don Manuel’s dream. Don Manuel relates:

One day, after having finished the ceremony, he appeared in my dream. He appeared as a
well-dressed person with blond hair and blue eyes. He was talking to me in the dream
and it was like seeing you at that moment, Stefan. It was a tall blond man and he was
very humble. Just like this was the form of the person that I saw appearing in front of
me.

How is it that a tall Swedish anthropologist with a beard and pony-tail can be lik-
ened to a tzuultaq’a?

The fact that hill-valley lords are likened to non-indigenous persons is not restricted
to the Q’eqchi’ Maya. Non-indigenous identity is commonly attributed to Earth
Lords throughout the Maya area of Mexico, Guatemala and Belize. Similar to the
tzuultaq’as, these Earth Lords are considered authoritative and domineering owners
and guardians of hills and their respective surrounding landscape. In addition, they

77
dwell in caves or underneath the earth from where they control water, rain, wind,
thunder, lightning along with land and all of its resources (cf. Watanabe 1992:
141). According to Goldin and Rosenbaum (1993: 115) the Maya first began to
view Earth Lords as white, blond, and tall beings only after having come into con-
tact with the invading Spaniards in the sixteenth century. With time, the identity
and character of the Earth Lords transformed. Watanabe (1992: 76-77) notes that
Earth Lords later began to resemble rich, avaricious ladino plantation owners in
status, speech, wealth, and with their peremptory and exploitative – or at best pa-
ternalistic – attitudes towards the Maya. This transformation of the Earth Lord’s
identity into ladino finqueros reflects the indifference, if not hostility, that the Maya
have come to expect from outsiders. Indeed, as noted by Lovell (2005), the history
of Maya relations with the ladino population chronicles a living conquest of intru-
sion, extraction, and expropriation in which ladinos more often than not dictated
the conditions – if not the actual outcome – of Maya survival. Moreover, as ladino
plantation owners these Earth Lords are often identified as vicious, oppressive, and
exploitative, rich in money, clothing, livestock and land constantly seeking ways to
capture human spirits to work on their plantations within the mountains (Goldin
and Rosenbaum, 1993; Vogt and Stuart 2005: 165; Watanabe 1992; Nash 1970:
18, 23-24; Wagley 1949: 56-58; Reina 1966: 181-182; Wisdom 1940: 408; Oakes
1951: 93; Siegal 1941: 67). Differing somewhat from other Mayan groups, the
Q’eqchi’ experience of a plantation economy was not so much influenced by ladinos
as by German landlords who, according to Wilson (1995: 57) fundamentally altered
the character of the Tzuultaq’a. Beginning in the second half of the nineteenth
century Germans settled in Alta Verapaz where they bought, stole, and violently
seized Q’eqchi’ land and labor. As accounted for in chapter 2, many of the cheekal
winq complain about the severe situation on the plantations where they were forced
to work as slaves under harsh conditions. Just as the Earth Lords came to resemble
and be identified with Spanish invaders and later ladino finqueros, the German
landlords and the tzuultaq’as came to share numerous similarities. They were both
owners of land and were both authoritative and powerful figures referred to as boss-
es (patrones). Wilson (1995) and Kahn (2006) note moreover that the tzuultaq’as
frequently appear as German plantation owners with white skin and blond hair.
According to Wilson (1995) German finqueros, like tzuultaq’as, are said to be am-
biguous and unpredictable persons with the capacity of being both benevolent and
malevolent. Wilson (1991: 56, 60) holds moreover that in recent times more prom-

78
inence has been given to the vengeful and domineering side of the tzuultaq’as. Ac-
cordingly these tzuultaq’as are not to be trusted completely due to their ambiguous
and ambivalent character, which means that they may punish a person regardless of
whether that person has or has not fulfilled his or her moral and ritual obligations.
Hans Siebers (1999: 85) argues, however, that the connection between Ger-
mans and tzuultaq’as should not be taken too literally. Agreeing with this, while
some of the cheekal winq do indeed hold that tzuultaq’as may appear as powerful
non-indigenous peoples they do not explicitly associate them with Germans or
plantation owners. What is more, the cheekal winq do not as a rule consider the
tzuultaq’as to be vicious or unpredictable. On the contrary, Catholic traditionalists
claim that the tzuultaq’as are fundamentally benevolent. Indeed, to address tzuul-
taq’as as either parents or siblings is indicative of a close relationship commonly
built on mutual trust and cooperation. Whenever people are subject to the rage of a
tzuultaq’a, this is always explained as a logical and justifiable consequence of a
breach of a moral or ritual code. Nevertheless, rich, foreign-looking persons appear
frequently in the dreams of the cheekal winq. Don Domingo Quib Tec says:

Whenever tzuultaq’as appear in someone’s dream they often look like foreign people.
They are tall with long hair, wearing white clothes like the Jews wore a long time ago.

When asking people why tzuultaq’as appear as foreign people and what this means
the elders offer different explanations. When asked if this foreignness has influenced
the identity of the tzuultaq’a Don Pablo Choc replies that even if they might look
like foreigners this does not in any way alter their culture or their beliefs. Elders
from the community of Camposanto I say moreover that whenever they encounter
tzuultaq’as in dreams they appear as people from their own community, like elderly
people with white clothes. Sometimes, however, they assert that:

[w]e see in our dreams tall men, like they were from another country, blond and tall
men. When they show themselves as if they are from other countries, this is not tzuul-
taq’as, and it is not God. But it is the tzuultaq’as if they show themselves as persons like
us, from our own community.

Don Manuel states that the tzuultaq’a appeared once in the guise of a Spanish
priest:

79
 I dreamt that the tzuultaq’a looked like a priest who always comes to visit us in this
community to say mass. He is originally from Spain but now lives in Tzakani Ha’ in the
municipality of San Pedro Carchá. He is very humble and kind towards the people who
belong to the Catholic Church.

Likewise, Don Rosario Caal relates that he had a dream in which he dreamt of two
well-dressed men:

They were calling out for several small boys and they were signing papers for them and
finally they called out for me to sign my paper as well. They were like secretaries working
in an office. Having signed the paper a man came and brought me up to heaven and
there we stopped. He gave me huge mazorcas and said, ‘Here are your gifts, these are
yours to have’ and then he showed me all kinds of crops. ‘But you are not grateful’, he
said, ‘You never give me any gifts in return’. When I woke up, this dream made me think
and I came to the conclusion that it was the master of the hill that I had met and he con-
tacted me because we did not perform the mayejak and he was dressed in a white garment
[as worn by priests].

Don Manuel explains that the reason why a particular Spanish priest can appear as a
tzuultaq’a in a dream is because they know the priest very well and he is not consid-
ered a foreign stranger but a well known and liked person. Furthermore, it is stated
that this priest is also a believer in the tzuultaq’a. Therefore, as Don Manuel argues,
it is not strange for the tzuultaq’a to appear in the likeness of this priest. With re-
gard to the resemblance between German finqueros and tzuultaq’as Kahn (2006: 63)
observes that the former are perceived as highly respected givers and takers, ‘they
have assaulted laboring and female reproductive bodies as well as been godparents to
children of Q’eqchi’ laborers, and they are actively paid with the fruits of Q’eqchi’
labor’. Despite the exploitative nature of the German finqueros, many people in
Livingston still talk of the Germans with admiration and praise. Not only did they
father many Q’eqchi’ children but they were also godparents making them not only
strange foreigners but also kin, both biologically and ritually. In Chisec, today there
are still a few German descendants around as owners of fincas but they are seldom
seen since they tend to live in the Capital. In spite of this, people in Chisec do not,
as a rule, talk of the Germans with love and admiration. Don Domingo Caal from
Chisec, for instance, says that:

The young generations of today know nothing of the Germans who came here and in-
vaded our land and stole all our riches – our gold! However, not all of them were bad.

80
 While many of them were really bad there were also those who were good. Those Ger-
mans who remain here in Chisec today are owners of large fincas. Well, there were indeed
Germans who treated their mozos really bad. They looked upon us as animals and treated
us like slaves and they did not pay us well. Sometimes they even took our women by
force and now some of us Q’eqchi’ people have German blood running through their
veins.

It seems thus that according to Wilson’s (1995) and Kahn’s (2006) observances
Q’eqchi’ people equate tzuultaq’as and German finqueros on the basis of them both
being authoritative, powerful landowners capable of being both benevolent and
malevolent. This merging of identities is simply not possible for the cheekal winq
because the German finqueros were mainly experienced as malevolent while the
tzuultaq’as are perceived as totally benign persons. In relation to this, Wilson (1995:
241-243) observes that the powerful and authoritative Guatemalan army attempted
to actively associate themselves with the tzuultaq’as. This manipulative plan did not
succeed, however, because the Q’eqchi’ never accepted the army as a new legitimate
source of power. Just like the behavior of the German finqueros as experienced by
the cheekal winq, the army’s behavior was very brutal and destructive and therefore
they could not merge with the Tzuultaq’a figure. I have encountered one case where
the Tzuultaq’a was partly associated with the army during the civil war. In chapter
5, I account for a dream that Don Victoriano had in which two military commis-
sioners approached him saying that the alcalde wanted to see him immediately.
While military commissioners at times were ladinos more often than not they were
local ex-army officers working for the army. Their assignments were mainly to su-
pervise the local community and to maintain military control in the communities
by recruiting people to the Civil Patrols and to supervise their activities and as such
they became powerful figures (REMHI 1999: 120; Green 1999: 64). Accordingly,
these messengers were not soldiers but rather civilians working for the army. The
alcalde, also a civilian, was of course none other than a tzuultaq’a. Don Victoriano
adds the factor of power and wealth to this equation. He stresses that ‘whenever a
tzuultaq’a appears as a tall, rich foreign person with blond hair this represents in
essence benevolent economic and material power and wealth’. Regarding the alcal-
de/tzuultaq’a that had asked to see him, Don Victoriano describes him as a ‘very
large statured man with blond hair and wearing very nice clothes. He had many fine
jewels on both his hands and around his neck. It was’, as he says, ‘like looking at a
foreigner, a gringo’. Don Victoriano says moreover that the ‘Tzuultaq’as have great

81
power and authority over all nature and their power resembles that of the Spanish
people when they first came to our country to invade and plunder’. Thus, the
cheekal winq explain the non-indigenous appearance of the tzuultaq’as as a trustwor-
thy sign of power and authority, be that of politics or economics, that may work to
their advantage.

I agree with Richard Wilson when he writes that the tzuultaq’as are ‘multifaceted
and exhibit myriad aspects at different times’ (Wilson 1995: 58) and that they ‘wear
many masks’ and enclose ‘different ethnicities’ (310-311) and therefore can be
perceived as indigenous and non-indigenous. That the tzuultaq’as can appear as
both indigenous and non-indigenous is probably nothing that is considered strange
since it only seems to follow the logic of complementary oppositions (in this case,
indigenous/non-indigenous and one/many). The question that needs to be asked
here is rather how and why the tzuultaq’as occasionally appear as non-indigenous
people? In my endeavor to explain this I draw first on Taussig’s (1993) theory of
mimesis, which in turn builds on Frazer’s sympathetic magic (see also the theoreti-
cal discussion on mimesis in the introduction). Through the act of mimicry the
tzuultaq’as acquire and incorporate into their appearences specific properties of an
external authoritative power. In contrast to metamorhposis a copy is not one hun-
dred percent similar to the original, and indeed, in the case of tzuultaqa’s appearing
as foreigners, they always speak in Q’eqchi’, which, for the elders is only logical
since, as they say ‘if we didn’t speak the same language we could not communicate
with one another’. As Willerslev (2007: 11-12) notes, would the copy be perfect it
would inevitably collapse into the original and it would then be impossible to exer-
cise any power over the original since we then are not talking about mimesis but
metamorphosis. If mimesis became totalized the imitator would lose himself in what
he imitates – ‘nothing is left to imitate when the difference between the copy and
the original is totally gone’. Hence, with regard to the tzuultaq’as it seems we are
dealing with a partial copy, an imitation where differences indicates that they are
not foreigners per se. Rather, irrespective of them appearing as indigenous or non-
indigenous the tzuultaq’as are still native and belong to Q’eqchi’ lifeworlds.
Furthermore, if we are to take what people say seriously, we cannot dismiss
encounters with tzuultaq’as as mere cognitive processes. Therefore, the appearance
of a tzuultaq’a is not necessarily a construct of the mind. According to Q’eqchi’
people the tzuultaq’as are capable of transforming themselves into a variety of differ-

82
ent forms, including that of foreigners. Accordingly, the perceived identity of a
tzuultaq’a is directly related to the transforming act of the tzuultaq’as themselves. In
others words, by way of a mimetic transformation it is they themselves who inten-
tionally choose how to appear in front of others. Seen through the lens of Descola’s
ontological modes, the intentional act of imitation is consistent with analogism and
shows moreover that the ability of making meaningful analogies is not restricted
only to human beings. While imitation, or mimesis, is not the same as metamor-
phosis, I believe that there are important similarities to point out. While the tzuul-
taq’as do not totally become non-indigenous humans (or indigenous humans, for
that matter) they do appear in the physical shape of humans. In his discussion on
metamorphosis, Descola (2013: 137-138) concludes that metamorphosis facilitates
for communication and interaction between two dissimilar beings. By adopting the
same physical shape as the host, the visitor assumes not only a position that puts
both parties on the same level, the manner in which the visitor chooses to appear
coincides moreover with the ‘perspective in which s/he imagines that the other party
sees itself’. I would like to add here that the visitor (in this case, the tzuultaq’a)
appears in the guise that s/he imagines how the host (humans) expects them to
appear in. Thus, if tzuultaq’as expect people to perceive of them as powerful and
authoritative beings, through acts of a transformative mimicry they appear accord-
ing to how they imagine how people normally perceive of other powerful authori-
ties, be that non-indigenous or indigenous persons. As the reader might be aware of,
my take on mimesis differ somewhat from Taussig in that the acquired properties of
the imitator is not used as a means of power over the original. Rather, the tzuul-
taq’as make use of their acquired power and authority in order to be respected by
the Q’eqchi’ people.

I return here to answer my question as to why a Swedish anthropologist can be

likened to a tzuultaq’a. Although I was working in Chisec as an anthropologist
people often asked me to support them financially to satisfy certain material needs,
such as new roofs, clean water etc, as well as to gather funding so that communities
could buy the land they live on. For me, it felt as though I was partly looked upon
as working for some NGO involved in developmental issues. Maybe this is not so
far-fetched since I occasionally met with the elders in the company of Peace Corp
volunteers who were involved with several different developmental projects in the

83
communities where I worked. Thus, it seems as though my role as an anthropolo-
gist had merged somewhat with that of NGO personnel.

Fig. 3.7. Elders in San Isidro.

It was not until the late 1990s and early 2000 that Chisec became home for a num-
ber of different national and international NGOs and for many people living there
this was the first time they had come into contact with foreign people and develop-
mental projects. During the time when I conducted fieldwork in Chisec there were
several ongoing projects serving to rationalize and make more effective administra-
tive and economic work as well as to improve the living standards for people resi-
dent in the area by granting them access to clean water and so forth. With the com-
ing of more international NGOs more economic capital is flowing in and with the
flow of money comes new attractive sources of power that people often want a share
of. Thus, if the appearances of tzuultaq’as are associated with a powerful, wealthy,
beneficiary and authoritative entity that has the means to profoundly affect and
influence the lives of the Q’eqchi’, could it be then, that NGOs (and anthropolo-
gists) are the latest in a row of external elements allowed to be incorporated into the

84
identity of tzuultaq’as. Consequently, as Wilson (1995: 58) and Kahn (2006: 151)
observe, we have to understand the identity of tzuultaq’as as being informed by
historical processes. This means that the tzuultaq’as may choose to appear in the
guise of whoever is considered by Q’eqchi’ people as most trustworthy, powerful,
and beneficent at any given point in time.

85
 4
Aspects of Being and the Logic of
Sociability

All things that our parents do they have learnt from the Maya. It is Mayan costumbres that we
do today. We are children of the Earth because since we were children we have worked the
Earth and we are pure campesinos because we have Mayan blood, because they were our an-
cestors and left us our culture to perform rituals towards the hills.
Don Juán Rax, Chisec

While the previous chapter addressed how the cheekal winq conceive of their at-
tachment and relatedness to the Earth both as a singular and a plural entity I turn
here to focus more in depth on their ontological understandings. In this chapter I
account for forces that animate the entire cosmos and all beings dwelling therein.
By and large I address how living beings are spiritually and materially constituted
and how they relate to one another and the world they inhabit.
While different species display a diversity of corporealities all existent beings
are nevertheless animated by a common vital force. Still, as I show, this vital force
manifests and merges with corporeality in different ways, which give rise to a variety
of characteristics that differentiate certain beings from each other and in turn situate
them within a hierarchical structure. The nature of being is moreover not some-
thing that is considered fixed and constant but rather something unstable and prone
to change. Accordingly, humanness is not something given through birth but rather
a developmental process achieved by controlled manipulative acts based primarily
on ritual and social behavior. As I argue, sociality is intrinsic to Q’eqchi’ cosmology.

87
Even though certain beings are intitially different, it is a difference that may be
overcome and harmonized through means of social interaction and conviviality.
Due to the practical and social engagement with the environment beings are able to
navigate in the cosmos and by way of a social logic one learns about the nature of
other beings and how one ideally should to relate to them. Thus while the exteriori-
ty differentiate and distance one class of being from another, the social qualities of
the interior is what binds them toghether.

Becoming Human and the Transformations of Unstable Corporeality

and Interiority

According to the Popol Vuh (Tedlock 1996; Christenson 2007), the creation of the
human being was no easy task for the Mayan creators. In their attempts to populate
the Earth with beings they first created all sorts of animals but since the animals
could not speak and worship their makers it was decided that they would be re-
placed by another species. The second attempt ended up in a being made by earth
and mud but even if it could speak it spoke without knowledge and eventually it
was dissolved by water. In recognizing this failure the creators set out a third time
that ended up with beings made out of wood (poy ajam ché). These wooden people
could indeed speak and began to populate the face of the earth. Regretfully, howev-
er, they lacked a mind and a heart. Neither had they any blood that flowed through
their veins. Consequently, they were eventually destroyed. Some of them managed
to escape death, however, and exist today as monkeys inhabiting the forests. The
fourth attempt proved to be a success. Drawing from two of the most important
Mayan documents, the Popol Vuh (Goetz and Morley 2003: 105; Tedlock 1996:
146) and Memorial de Sololá (Recinos 2006: 50), the first human beings were finally
created by mixing corn and other foodstuffs with the primordial water and blood of
the serpent and the tapir (Freidel, Schele and Parker 2001: 111). As it happened,
however, the creation of humankind proved to be a little too good because they
became as wise and knowledgeable as the gods themselves. ‘It is a mistake that they
have become like gods’ (Christenson 2007: 200), the creator gods said, and there-
fore, they ‘remade the essence’ of human beings so that they were differentiated
from their creators. Thus, while the Maya frequently are referred to as ‘people of
corn’ (Sp. hombres del maíz), the human body is constituted by a combination of

88
elements from the ancient divine and spiritual dimension of the cosmos, the plant
world, and the animal kingdom.
As a collective Q’eqchi’ people refer to themselves alternatively as tz’aqal winq,
or yal winq, meaning ‘complete or true men’. Alternatively, when they refer to
themselves as true human beings they use the terms poyanam or kriistian. While
poyanam is an autotchthnous term reminiscent of the name of the Wooden People
of the third creation, kriistian is adopted from the Spanish term Cristiano (Chris-
tian), which obviously came into existence following the Spanish Invasion. Thus the
term kriistian became a new marker designating both their new religious identity
and their true humanity (Schackt 2004: 10). Indeed, in order to be a true human it
is required that one is baptized. Should this not be the case, one might be referred
to as a ch’olwinq. According to Don Abelino Choc:

The ch’olwinq are our ancestors. From what we have heard, when [the Spanish missionar-
ies] arrived they began to baptize people all over Central America which meant that they
were converted into human beings. They say that if you are not baptized you are not
human. The people who are not baptized are ch’olwinq. The ch’olwinq are much like
humans and they speak to us in the Q’eqchi’ language.

Q’eqchi’ people are thus not born as human beings but as ch’olwinq and they re-
main as such until they have been baptized. Parra Novo (2004: 85) translates the
term ch’olwinq as casí animales (almost animals) (see also, Schackt 2004: 10 and
Pacheco 1988: 55). Metonymically, winq translates as ‘man’ or ‘people’ and while
Q’eqchi’ dictionaries translate ch’ol as ‘group’ (of people), Kockelman (2011: 434-
435) notes that the designation ch’ol is associated with the Q’eqchi’ word xul,
which, as a noun refers to animals in general and wild animals in particular, and as
an adjective the word means ‘unbaptized’ or ‘wild’. This suggests that a ch’olwinq
can be understood as an unbaptized animal-man.35 Parra Novo (2004: 9) notes,
moreover, that giving birth to twins, or more children, is not well accepted by the
parents or the community who regard it as a disgrace and punishment. Parra Novo
argues that the reason for this may derive from the fact that while human beings
tend to give birth to only one child, animals usually give birth to several at the same
time. Twins are therefore more closely related to animals than to human beings and

35 Wilson (1995: 118) notes also that children sometimes are called ‘little animals’.

89
there are those elders who recall earlier times when one of the twins was actually
sacrificed.36
Besides associating ch’olwinq with non-human animal beings, the cheekal winq
also talk of the ch’olwinq as their Mayan ancestors. In relation to this the elders say
that ‘we are also of Maya origin, we have Maya blood running in our veins’. It has
been suggested moreover that the ch’olwinq are linked to the Chol people who oc-
cupied the lowlands north of Alta Verapaz prior to and during the Spanish Con-
quest (Wilson 1995: 83-84). While the Q’eqchi’ were relatively easily suppressed
and converted en masse into Christianity, the Chol people fiercely resisted being
forced to live in reducciones and being baptized. In other words, they were, and still
are, looked upon as wild disobedient animals rather than as civilized and baptized
human beings. Akkeren (2000: 130) suggests moreover that the Chol are equated
with the Wooden People of the Popol Vuh who, after having been destroyed, sur-
vived as animals (spider monkeys) on this earth.
Consequently, humanness is not something given through birth but rather a
developmental process achieved by controlled manipulative acts. While baptism
apparently seems to be a decisive ritual in the process of becoming a true human
being there are other instances that can threaten to influence the development of a
person into a human being.

During gestation, the mental state and bodily form of a fetus is highly unstable and
therefore prone to alteration. The development of a child’s mental and corporeal
state is intimately associated with the behavior of his or her parents during pregnan-
cy. Any wrongful behavior on their behalf may result in the development of unde-
sired mental and corporeal traits and characteristics in their child. This entire pro-
cess, that is, the transgressive act (the cause), the producing act (the effect, or reac-
tion) and the actual outcome (the manifested symptoms), is commonly referred to
as awas. Awas may for instance, manifest in a child when a pregnant mother is re-
pulsed by a pig or a piece of pork, or if she wants to eat chicharrón (fried pork rind)
and is not offered any by the father. Should this happen, their child may be born
with wrinkles and patches with hairy skin, or perhaps with ears like that of a pig.
Moreover, if a pregnant woman were to spot a monkey the child would be born
with the face of a monkey and s/he will eat like a monkey. Likewise, when a preg-

36
I rely here exclusively on the writings of Parra Novo since I do not have any data on how the cheekal
winq conceive of twins. I think, however, that it may be out of the ordinary today to consider twins to be
more like animals than humans.

90
nant mother, for example, sees a cow or a dog suffering and crying out in pain, their
child may be born crying and screaming all the time. If a woman is having sexual
relations with several men this results from that when her mother was pregnant with
her saw dogs or other animals are mating. I was told moreover of a newborn child in
Chisec who suffered from awas when his penis swelled up which made it difficult
and painful to urinate. Supposedly this resulted from his mother having eating
cooked sausage (which inflates as it boils) during pregnancy. Don Santiago told me
moreover that he had learnt during courses in the Catholic Church that if a preg-
nant woman looks up into the sky, depending on the phases of the moon and stars,
this could bring out the awas so that the child is born as an albino. Awas is accord-
ingly associated to transgressions of certain rules and regulations during pregnancy.
In effect, this means that individual behavior as well as social interaction influences
the mental and physical aspects of a being. To be born with some sort of awas need
not, however, be something lasting since in the majority of the cases, something can
be done about it. Whenever a child is suspected of having awas, it is required to
carry out a ritual called rawasinkil (get out the awas). In order to cure the awas
chicharrón (when the pregnant mother was repulsed by pork), the child is required
to taste a piece of pork or inhale the smoke of burnt pork.
While the concept of awas encompasses the entire process of becoming afflict-
ed (that is, from the transgressive behavior of the parents to the manifested symp-
tons of the child) the actual production of awas is understood as the expressive
reactions of an inherent spiritual force referred to as mu. Thus, when a parent
commits a transgressive act it affects the mu (the spiritual constitution) of the moth-
er that ‘transmits’ awas to the fetus in the womb that in turn influences post-natally
the physical and mental character of that same person (cf. Cabarrús 1979: 48-49;
1998: 54). Awas is, however, not only associated with human gestation but also
with the germination of corn. I elaborate on this in chapter 6.

Aspects of Being: Manifestations of Mu

Despite the divergences existing within the group of the cheekal winq it is still possi-
ble to put forth a common animistic ontology that departs from the fact that every-
thing considered alive is endowed with some kind of ‘invisible, spiritual, and con-
scious quality’ (Haeserijn 1975: 44-45), or as Don Felix states: ‘the whole of nature

91
(choxaach’och) has life and all that is alive has mu (vitality)’. The notion that a
common spiritual force animates all living beings concurs with the ontological un-
derstandings of several other contemporary Mayan peoples (cf. Boremanse 1997;
Edmonson 1997). Moreover the belief in the unity of a spiritual force is not some-
thing new under the Mayan sun. According to the ancient Maya it was the supreme
deity Itzamna who first imbued the entire cosmos with a vital spiritual force referred
to as itz’ (Wagner 2001: 287; Freidel, Schele and Parker 2001: 51). Itz’ is a term
that applies to many different things for the Maya such as, for instance, copal pom,
dew, milk and candle wax. These substances have in common their inherent poten-
tial of being a fount of vital energy and sustenance. Concerning milk, the Maya
hold it to be the primordial source of sustenance par excellence (Fischer 2001: 143);
dew is collected from leaves and used in rituals directed towards spirit beings
(Freidel, Schele and Parker 2001); copal pom and candles are frequently burnt as
food for non-human beings. Thus, the concept of itz’ can be understood as an ani-
mating substance that nourishes and sustains both human and non-human beings.
A common notion among contemporary Maya is that a spiritual animating force is
inserted in human beings at birth. For the ancient Maya it was the animating force
of itz’ that came to endow human and non-human beings with life and conscious-
ness and I contend that the Q’eqchi’ concept of mu is equivalent to itz’. Literally,
the word mu translates as shadow and people do indeed talk of mu as the shadow
that emerges when the rays of the sun, or any other light source, shines on a physi-
cal object. Kaxlan mu (literally, chicken shadow) is, for instance, the Q’eqchi’ term
for a television set. However, there also exists another meaning of the term that
indicates an invisible spirit shadow that Pacay (1989: 894) refers to as ‘cosmic ener-
gy’. Thus, for Q’eqchi’ people the mu is synonymous with an uninterrupted circula-
tion of a free-flowing vital force which, according to their cosmology, animates the
entire world. Considering that the world is permeated by one singular vital force,
i.e. the mu, implying the existence of a fundamental cosmic connectedness I posi-
tion the Q’eqchi’ Maya in the company of other Amerindian peoples who perceive
the world as constituted by a spiritual unity and bodily diversity (I will return to
this latter concept later on in this chapter). Still, while all living beings are endowed
with the singular spiritual force of mu Q’eqchi’ people recognize different concepts
when it comes to the spiritual constituency of a being. Accordingly, some scholars
conceive of the human body as being constituted by separate ‘spirits’ (cf. Carlson
and Eachus 1977; Estrada Monroy 1993) I suggest, however, that these ‘spirits’ are

92
but various manifestations of the mu that take on specific functions and roles. Thus,
even though Q’eqchi’ people employ various names for this vital force when associ-
ated with both human- and non-human beings it is still constituted by the same
spiritual force. Whereas the term mu signifies the animating, conscious, intentional
force in general, when beings are endowed with it Q’eqchi’ people refer to it either
as xmuhel, musiq’ or ch’ool.

Before moving on to describe the manifestations of mu I would like to make the

reader aware that I refrain as much as possible from using the term ‘spirit’ when
referring to the spiritual components of a being. The reason for my reluctance is
that I find it to be more confusing than clarifying. Seemingly, when people speak in
Q’eqchi’ people tend to use specific words associated with particular spirit forces or
manifestations but while speaking in Spanish they prefer the term espíritu (spirit).
Consequently, the term espíritu may denote all kinds of spiritual forces or manifes-
tations of the mu. Thus, throughout the thesis I make use, as far as I can, of vernac-
ular idioms regarding spirit forces.
From hereon I set out to account for the constitution of the spiritual unity
and how it manifests in relation to different beings.

Muhel

The muhel is intimately associated with human as well as non-human beings. When
talking about someone’s muhel, however, it is always referred to as xmuhel where the
prefix x- signifies third person possessor. The suffix -[h]el indicates an inalienable
character of what is referred to in the root (Kockelman 2007: 345-348; 2009: 36,
40-42), that is, in this instance, that which has mu. Hence, muhel is the bodily-
incorporated mu and can therefore never appear without being possessed. It follows
then that, since all living beings have mu they are simultaneously endowed with an
individual muhel. For the record, objects considered by Q’eqchi’ people to be en-
dowed with a muhel includes human beings, animals, minerals, plants, spirit beings,
land, bodies of water, air, fire, clouds, stars, houses, trees, clothes, food, drink,
crosses, agricultural tools, hammocks, religious paraphernalia, musical instruments

93
etc.37 Integrated within beings the muhel generates, not only life, but, also, as Doña
Dolores from Chisec says: ‘wishes, strength, emotions, knowledge, consciousness,
and intentions’. A person whose parents were murdered by the army in Chisec
during the civil war recalls, for example, how, ‘all of the houses were sad because
there were no longer any people inside them’ (REMHI 1999: 15). Don Victoriano,
the husband of Doña Dolores adds, moreover, that ‘all our expressions come from
our muhel’. Not only does the muhel generate consciousness and knowledge of
oneself but also of one’s environment, which, in turn, enables one to act upon one’s
own feelings and experiences as well as to external stimuli.
The muhel is said to be intimately associated with the blood that flows within
human beings but just as the mu is associated with a shadow, the muhel is attached
to beings as a sort of spirit shadow, a body-double of sorts. This shadow could per-
haps best be described a as a human-like projection of the muhel residing within the
body. At corporeal death the muhel leaves the body permanently. With regard to the
Tzeltal Maya, Pitarch (2010: 37) reports that ‘when a corpse is about to be buried,
it lacks any sort of shadow, for it’s shadow disappears at the precise moment the
ch’ulel (reminiscent of the Q’eqchi’ muhel) leaves the body for the last time’. Today,
as the elders of Chisec state, when people die the muhel goes to live with God in
heaven. Traditionally, however, it seems that Q’eqchi‘ people believed that one’s
muhel, after corporeal death, went to reside inside the hills with the tzuultaq’as
(Carlson and Eachus 1977). Thus, back in the day, people supposedly believed that
the muhel of one’s deceased relatives continued to exist within the hills of the local
environment. This is still a common notion among many contemporary Mayan
peoples. Drawing again from Pitarch (2010: 24-25), the Tzeltal Maya say that their
ch’ulel exists in a double form. When a baby is born the ch’uel appears simultaneous-
ly within the child’s body and inside a hill where all the ch’uels of a lineage reside
together. This is a notion that I have not heard of in Chisec but the elders claim
that even today there exist ancient Mayas who reside as spirit beings within the hills.
Perhaps, this could be a remnant of such a reality as that described with regard to
the Tzeltal Maya.

Even though the muhel leaves the body permanently at corporal death, it may on
occasion leave the body only temporally, either voluntarily or involuntary. With

37 For a more detailed list, see for example: Carlson and Eachus 1977: 44; Pacheco 1981: 69, 81, 91,

139, 149; Pacay 1989: 893; Wilson 1995: 143; Estrada Ochoa 2006a: 91; Hatse and De Ceuster 2001:
27; Kahn 2006: 115-117).

94
respect to voluntary detachment from the body, the muhel is considered to be the
principal integrator of a person with the spiritual dimension of the world. Don
Victoriano notes accordingly that: ‘[the muhel] is what enables contact and com-
munication between spirit beings and humanity’. In this sense, Q’eqchi’ people
conceive of the muhel as a ‘bridge’ granting them access to and insight into the
extraordinary reality of the world where they are able to engage and communicate
with various spirit beings – be they tzuultaq’as, the muhel of fellow humans or de-
ceased relatives. To dream is one instance when the muhel deliberately leaves its
corporeal dwelling to roam the spiritual dimension, which will be discussed in detail
in chapter 5. The muhel, as a shadowy body-doubled spirit capable of dislodging
itself from its bodily housing is moreover in accordsance with how Descola defines
the constitution of bodies within analogical regimes. Below I continue to address
involuntary detachment of the muhel.

Xiwak: Loss of the Muhel

When installed in a newborn baby the muhel is at first attached rather loosely to the
body but grows firmer with time. This loose grip on the physical body enables de-
tachment of the muhel. While the act of dreaming is equated with the deliberate
and intentional action on behalf of the muhel to free itself from the body, there are
also instances of involuntary loss. If a person gets frightened for some reason his or
her muhel might shake loose and become detached from the body. This condition
Q’eqchi’ people refer to as xiwak, more commonly known by the Spanish term susto
(Rubel, O’Nell and Collado-Ardón 1991). Although people sometimes say that the
muhel, the musiq’ and ch’ool may be lost due to xiwak, they almost exclusively talk
of the muhel in these instances. I will therefore focus only on the loss of the muhel
in relation to xiwak. Since the muhel grows more firmly fixed to the body with time
and life experience, infants, and young children are more susceptible to losing their
muhel than are adults.

95
Fig. 4.1. Don Juán and Don Santiago, Yalchacti.

According to Don Juán, to suffer from xiwak means that it is the heart and the
blood of a person that gets frightened with the result that the muhel shakes loose

96
and becomes dislodged from the body. A common consequence of xiwak is that the
muhel either is grabbed by spirit beings or that it aimlessly roams the Earth. To cure
xiwak the muhel needs to be recuperated and inserted back into the body of the
afflicted person. While I focus here on loss of human muhel, other non-human
beings may also lose their muhel. For example, when people dream that their corn is
disappearing in their fields this is a sign indicating that the corn have lost its muhel,
which then needs to be recuperated.
Xiwak is commonly said to be produced when a person unexpectedly stumbles
and falls while wandering about in the hills and forests or by rivers, lakes or springs.
As pointed out earlier, these are all places with a powerful spiritual presence that
have the ability to seize a person’s muhel. At the same time, however, these are plac-
es that are also intimately associated with the Tzuultaq’a. Q’eqchi’ people should
therefore be extra cautious when they find themselves in such surroundings. Never-
theless, one may risk losing one’s muhel at any time and in any place since, as stated
by Don Felix, ‘xiwak can happen everywhere, all of the time’. However, at least four
conditions seem to be required in order to produce xiwak: (1) unexpected or fright-
ening situations, (2) encountering something unfamiliar or something too hot or
too cold, (3) moral transgressions and (4) the malicious effects of witchcraft. I have
been told of numerous incidents where people unexpectedly have fallen while hik-
ing through unknown parts of the forests and hillslopes that have resulted in the
loss of muhel. Likewise, xiwak may be triggered by being in too close proximity to
abnormally ‘hot-blooded’ people, such as pregnant women, drunken persons, ladi-
nos, gringos, and the muhel of deceased persons. Men are generally considered to
have stronger, or hotter, blood than women but during full moons, menstrual cycles
and pregnancies, the blood of women becomes both stronger and hotter than that
of the men. The behavior of drunk people is a common cause of xiwak among
young children. Sudden and unexpected encounters with ‘hot’ gringos are also con-
sidered to be incidents out of the ordinary and may therefore also cause xiwak (cf.
Wikan 1989). As Neuenswander and Souder (1997) notes moreover, good health
and normal relations to nature require a state of equilibrium between the concepts
hot and cold. While there are allegedly only few brujos (sorcerers) active in Chisec
these days, Cahabón is a place known to have many. An elder shares the following
story:

97
 Once a man from Cahabón arrived in our village and offered me a job. However, I did
not want the job so I turned down his offer. The following day I felt how an illness start-
ed to come over me and I instantly knew that it came from the man that had offered me
a job the day before. I was home and sick in bed for at least a week and with the help of
friends and family we searched for a curandero who could cure me. Eventually we found
one and when he arrived at our house he diagnosed me and told that there was no doubt
that I had been bewitched. The curandero then managed to cure me with a remedy made
from leaves from certain plants.

General symptoms of xiwak are headaches, sweating, a fluctuating body tempera-

ture, weakness, bodily pain, spasmodic shakings, depression, memory loss, mute-
ness, aggressiveness, and insanity. The body of a person may also turn pale or yellow
which results from the blood turning yellow. Some people even hold that malaria is
directly linked to xiwak. Thus, to suffer from xiwak comes with a good number of
different afflictions and it is recommended that one employ a curandero (aj ilonel) to
diagnose the xiwak. Don Felix says that the blood talks and by touching the pulse of
the afflicted person ‘the veins tell you without the person having to tell you verbally
where and when the xiwak took place’.

When a person has lost his or her muhel it is important to return to the exact place
where the xiwak occurred in order to call back the muhel (xb’oq b’aal xmuhel). To
accomplish this one depends on the expertise of an aj ilonel (literally, seer), or an aj
b’oqonel, a specialized ‘caller of spirits’. To employ the services of a ritual specialist,
however, is expensive and only few people can afford it. Don Felix recalls that in the
early days a ritual specialist would charge around five centavos to cure a xiwak while
nowadays they may charge as much as five hundred quetzales. There are, however,
certain elderly people who possess the knowledge of calling back a muhel and who
do not charge as much.

Don Samuel, an elder from the community of Serraxquen, has a son who once lost
his muhel while he was out collecting firewood in the forest. All of a sudden he
tripped over some tree-roots and fell to the ground landing on his stomach with his
axe caught underneath him. This frightening experience made him lose his muhel
and for several nights he had trouble sleeping. On one specific night he woke up
feverishly telling his father that he had dreamt of the place where he fell and lost his
muhel. Don Samuel immediately called on his friend Don Sebastián (a man well

98
accustomed to call back lost muhels) to help him out and accompany him to this
particular place in order to call back his son’s lost muhel. Fortunately they succeeded
and two days later Don Samuel’s son was cured and could sleep well again.

Fig. 4.2. Don Samuel, Serraxquén.

In order to call back a person’s muhel requires, according to Don Sebastían, that it is
done in the dark at nightime and that one speaks firmly to the muhel ordering it to
‘rise up and come back to the house’, while at the same time it is offered burnt copal
pom and candles. If a tzuultaq’a has seized the muhel of a person it is necessary to
address him or her by the proper name in order to persuade him or her to let go of
the muhel. This is part of the reason why a specialist is needed in order to accom-
plish the ritual. Often these specialists are elderly people who have attained
knowledge of the names of the local tzuultaq’as through years of dreaming. If these
measures are not enough it is sometimes required to bring an image (muñeek, from
Spanish muñeca ‘doll’) of the afflicted person as a substitute (reqaaj) for the muhel.
It may be a figure made out of clay, copal, or beeswax into which the nail-clippings

99
of the patient are inserted and sometimes also a piece of his or her clothing. A wom-
an whose brother once suffered severely from xiwak recounts that she used clay
which she formed into a complete image of her brother with arms and legs and
dressed with parts of her brother’s own clothes and hair. The doll was burnt and left
buried in the ground. It is also required that one hit the ground three times with a
branch and this procedure is repeated when one has arrived at the house of the
afflicted. Everybody needs to be in silence when waiting for the muhel to return.

Next I account for a xiwak that involved a gringo who at the time was resident and
working in Chisec.

This gringo owned a dog (a big ferocious-looking black Doberman) which he

one day took for a walk into the hills. Shortly after returning home a man ap-
peared at his porch asking the gringo if he owned a dog and if he had a bag. The
gringo answered that he indeed had a dog and held up a backpack asking if this
was what the man was referring to. The man explained that the gringo, unknow-
ingly, had walked right through his milpa and by doing so he had scared both
his wife and children to such an extent that their muhels were lost and it was
now believed that their spirits resided in the gringos’ backpack. The man then
produced a pair of scissors and asked for some of the dog’s hair which he
burned, the smoke from which he then wafted around his head into his face and
then quickly stashed away the rest of the hair. Subsequently he asked the gringo
for some of his hair and repeated the procedure. Finally, before the man re-
turned home, he asked the gringo if he could have a look inside the backpack to
make sure that nothing was left.

Should one fail to bring back a lost muhel to its bodily housing and thus lose it
permanently, people believe that death is inevitable since in the long run it is impos-
sible to go on living without the muhel. Others say, however, that it is possible but
that one will live a life in a state of ‘dis-ease’. Accordingly, Haeserijn (1975: 46)
notes that the muhel is not a ‘principal life giver’ and therefore it is not needed in
order to continue living. Estrada Monroy (1993: 29) states moreover that ‘it is
possible for the muhel to only be partly separated from the body’. This could help
explain why it would be possible to go on living despite having failed to call back
the lost muhel in the correct manner. Such a view on xiwak is to some extent con-

100
sistent with the belief among other Maya peoples that one’s spirit is divided into
several parts (Vogt 1976: 38). Thus, if a person only loses the muhel and the ch’ool
and musiq’ remains intact it would suffice for the person to continue living. To die a
corporeal death, nevertheless, means that one has lost the totality of one’s spiritual
and animating force. The Q’eqchi elders claim that when people die, the muhel, the
musiq’, and the ch’ool leaves the body and as Parra Novo (2004: 71) notes, Q’eqchi’
people refer to death as xel lix ch’ool (the ch’ool has left) and ‘to kill’ is isink ch’oolej.

Corporeal Death

So far I have described the muhel as part of a person’s spiritual Self, there are those
who consider the muhel to be something dangerous. In the latter case people refer to
muhel as a verb rather than as a noun. Doña Matilde Tzií says for instance, that on
the one hand ‘muhel is when someone get’s frightened’, referring to xiwak. Later in
the same conversation she refers to the muhel as a spiritual component that leaves
the body after corporeal death to return to the family household in order to say
goodbye. ‘Sometimes’, she says, ‘when being at home one can hear the voice of
someone saying “good day” or “good afternoon” but when one goes to see if some-
one is by the door there is no one there’. Often one can identify the voice with the
dead relative but it is only the muhel of the dead that has returned home to say
farewell.’ Kahn (2006: 113) reports that some Q’eqchi’ people living in Livingston
consider the muhel to be ‘the evil side of the shadow [mu] that comes back strictly
to scare’. After having spent time in the company of Q’eqchi’ people in Chisec, I
have heard people talk of bad or evil spirits that can scare you to such an extent that
you can lose your muhel. Apparently, some of these spirit beings belong to people
who have died and for some reason leave their muhels to wander about in a state of
limbo. This is a consequence of the fact that they have not been able to ascend to
heaven to take a place by the side of God but instead are stuck in spirit form on
Earth.

Funerals usually take place no longer than three days after the passing of a person.
During this time the muhels have the opportunity to roam freely and visit places
that attract them such as houses where they have lived and the milpas where they
have worked. If the prescribed burial rituals are not performed correctly, the de-

101
ceased person’s muhel may turn into a ch’och’ kamenaq (literally, dead of the earth),
a spirit being that is forced to remain in this world haunting one’s family members
to arrange a new and proper burial (Flores 2002: 169). These spirit beings may also
remain on Earth if some special task in life was left uncompleted or if a debt to
someone has been left unpaid. To be the victim of a murder or lethal accidents may
also condemn one’s mu to roam the Earth until the appointed time when the person
was intended to die. These spirit beings are referred to as kaqi mu (red shadow) and
to encounter these supposedly hot-natured spirit beings can frighten people to the
extent that they suffer from xiwak. The possibility of encountering these wandering
beings is likely the reason why people sometimes state that the muhel is a dangerous
spirit that scares them. Furthermore, deceased persons are often buried with some of
their personal belongings partly because they may be useful in the afterlife but also
partly, and perhaps more importantly, because according to Q’eqchi’ understanding
of personhood, the personal aspect of mu is transferred and manifested in clothes
and other personal items and therefore, if these personal items are not buried with
the deceased they may remain and scare people (cf. Kahn 2006: 118; Parra Novo
2004: 76).

Musiq’

‘The muhel and the musiq are two things that go hand in hand’, says Don Felix,
pointing to the fact that they are similar to some extent. Likewise, some scholars
have had problems telling them apart and have therefore chosen to treat them as
conceptually indistinguishable, thus making use of only one of the concepts (cf.
Wilson 1995: 144; Estrada Monroy 1993; Parra Novo 2004: 80). As with muhel,
musiq’ is a bodily manifestation of the cosmic energy of mu that can be detached
from the body, either temporally due to xiwak, or permanently at the time of death.
The similarities end here I argue.
While people mostly refer to the muhel as a spirit shadow, musiq’ is spoken of
as an animating force residing within a being.38 As such it is intimately linked to the

38By adding the suffix –ej to a noun it signifies that it is non-possessed (Kockelman 2007: 346; 2009: 25,
38, 41), i.e. it is free-floating in the air. This may at first glance seem contradictive since the musiqej and
mu categorically seems to be the same. However, in the same way as spirit beings are by many indigenous
peoples considered to be in possession of a body, albeit in a spirit form, I believe that musiqej is under-

102
lungs and breath. Don Jacinto Botzoc says that the musiq’ is ‘the breath of life’ and
elders from Yalchacti equate the musiq’ with the spirit (Sp. espiritú) and soul (Sp.
alma) of a person. Parra Novo (2004: 5) writes accordingly that musiq’ is a spiritual
force that nourishes or sustains all of creation and the Popol Vuh (Christenson 2007:
197) states with regard to the creation of the first human beings that: ‘They had
their breath, therefore they became’. Don Victoriano relates how a young man who
was hunting in the hills of La Ventana in Chisec met a tzuultaq’a residing there.
There the tzuultaq’a appeared in front of him as a beautiful woman and she asked
him why he killed so many animals. He answered her by saying that he was living
under conditions of poverty and by killing the animals he could obtain both food
and money by selling parts of the meat to other people. The tzuultaq’a of La Ven-
tana then offered to become his girlfriend if he stopped killing her animals and he
would also be given the power to turn the leaves of trees into money by blowing on
them.39 The leaves of the trees were invigorated by the powerful musiq’ contained
within the air exhaled by the hunter which turned them into money. In accordance,
Don Victoriano states that the Life of Breath constitutes a sort of continuous ex-
change of vitality between the spiritual dimension (tzuultaq’as), nature (trees and
plants) and humanity:

All of nature is alive. The Tzuultaq’a, the trees, the rivers, the clouds and people like us
are all alive. The Tzuultaq’a acts through the trees that provide us with rain and air that
we breathe and when we exhale, the air is food for trees and plants. Thus all things in na-
ture need one another. Therefore we believe that the hills have been alive from the be-
ginning and that all of nature has life. God created everything without flaws: the muhel
and the plants, for example. Nature provides us with the air we breathe, the water we
drink, and the food we eat. Everything comes from nature. The plants and trees share
with us the air they produce, and we give them the air that we exhale.

stood by Q’eqchi’ people as some kind of free-floating spiritual coherent body of form unlike the disem-
bodied mu that permeates the entire cosmos. In this sense it is interesting that Burkitt (1902: 454)
alternatively translates musiq’ as ‘atmosphere’.
39 This story was told to Amy Olen and it ends with the hunter who had a habit of drinking a little too

much b’oj (fermented corn and cane sugar), when he was drunk he revealed what had happened to his
friends which resulted in everything he was given (i.e. the tzuultaq’a as a girlfriend and the ability to make
money from leaves) being lost and eventually, as a consequence for revealing the secrets of the Tzuul-
taq’a, he died from a high fever. As the storyteller holds, this is how malaria first was introduced in
Chisec.

103
As with the term muhel, musiq’ derives linguistically from the word mu. According-
ly, to the root (mu) is added siq’, which in the Q’eqchi’ language refers to ‘smell’
and ‘smoke’ (PFLM 2003; ALMG 2004). Smell and smoke are similar to air in its
constituency and Caal (2000: 169) notes that the term musiq’ stems from a combi-
nation of the words musuk (to breathe) and iq’ (air). Ik’ is moreover the logograph
for wind or breath in ancient Maya art (Bassie-Sweet 2008: 88). Indeed, Q’eqchi’
dictionaries translate musiq’ as ‘breath’ (PFLM 2003) and ‘oxygen’’(ALMG 2004).
40
According to David Parkin (2007: 39), smell, wind, air, along with notions of a
life force are regarded by many indigenous peoples throughout the world as ‘inter-
twined semantically and in their effects on the world’. This Breath of Life, or Breath
spirit, as it sometimes is called, was common among the ancient Maya and it was
intimately associated with the Wind God (Taube 1992; Bassie-Sweet 2008: 170).
As such it is considered an ethereal animating force that is carried by the wind/air
and enters physical bodies at birth and leaves, or is extinguished, at corporeal death.
Chortí Mayans claim, for instance, that three male wind gods are the ones who
blow the first breath into a newborn child and take this breath away at death (Wis-
dom 1940: 397). Turning again to Don Victoriano and a conversation I had with
him regarding the concept of musiq’ he mentioned that life is synonymous with
movement. He told me that:

Everything is alive because it moves. If we cut down all trees on a hill it no longer has
musiq’. When the trees still exist and they have their leaves it moves when the wind blows
through them. But when a tree is dry and dead it no longer moves when the wind blows.

As I mentioned earlier, musiq’ is related to the lungs and attainable through respira-
tion. Thus, as it would seem, all breathing creatures, humans as well as plants, are
endowed with musiq’ (mu). Musiq’ is associated with the smoke that arises when
Q’eqchi’ people ritually burn copal pom and candles as food for spirit beings. Per-
haps, this smoke incorporates the emanating musiq’ of the candles and copal pom. In
this case, candles and pom would not only be seen simply as nourishment for spirit
beings but also as a way for humans to offer vital energy to their deities. Regarding
the Lacandon Maya in Chiapas, Boremanse (1997: 343) reports that the gods eat
the pixan (an internal vital essence) of incense that is burned for them.

40 Musiq’ is equivalent to the Nahuatl word ihiyotl, which, besides being associated with breath and smell,

also can be externalized through the breath (López-Austin 1988: 234-235).

104
 When people dream they say it is the experiences of the muhel roaming the
spiritual dimension and in these instances it may encounter and interact with tzuul-
taq’as. However, people are also able to encounter tzuultaq’as while awake, which,
in Q’eqchi’ is referred to as sa’ santil musiq’ej.41 According to Don Victoriano the
musiq’ is a fount, or source enabling persons to communicate with one another and
likewise, as he states: ‘the musiq’ is a source through which the Tzuultaq’a com-
municates with humanity’. Thus, communication with other persons, disregarding
whether they be human or non-human, occurs primarily through their spiritual
connectedness (cf. Vogt 2003). Thus, while dream encounters in the extraordinary
realm occur thanks to the muhel, arguably, waking encounters with the tzuultaq’a,
are made possible through the musiq’. Nocturnal and diurnal encounters with tzuul-
taq’as is discussed in the following chapter.

Ch’ool

Whereas musiq’ is related to the lungs, ch’ool is a term used by the Q’eqchi’ to de-
note the physical beating heart but like the muhel and the musiq’, it is also con-
ceived of as a spiritual force that manifests and resides within the body. Even tough
there is no overt etymological connection between ch’ool and mu, ch’ool is linguisti-
cally related to the Maya word ch’ulel which according to Tzeltal Maya is a vital
energy associated with the heart (Hatse and De Ceuster 2001; Pitarch 2010;
Freidel, Schele and Parker 2001: 244; Vogt 1976). The spiritual aspect of ch’ool is
said to be located in the heart of a person and, by extension, the blood. Further-
more, similar to the muhel the ch’ool develop within the human body and grow
firmer with time, growth, and life experience (Adams 2001: 212). The ch’ool is
likewise intimately associated with the expression of emotions such as desire, worry,
jealousy, depression and motivation. Thus to talk of someone’s general state of
mind is to refer to one’s state of heart. A common greeting phrase is masala ch’ool?
(Are you content/happy in your heart?). Depression translates as rahil ch’oolej and
nervous, aggressive, or irritated people are referred to as kaq xch’ool (red heart).

41 Although I am not completely clear on the correct translation of this term, I understand it to mean

something like ‘through the sacred life breath’.

105
Ch’ool designates the core, or centering force, of a being and in this capacity not
only human beings have hearts; this also goes for plants (its root, or bulb), guns (the
charge mechanism), towns (the market place) and houses (the interior house-beams)
(Kockelman 2007: 352; Kistler 2007: 31, 69, 165). In constituting the center of
things, the ch’ool functions to govern and activate the periphery. The ch’ool is in
charge of the development of na’leb, knowledge, mind, or wisdom (Hatse and De
Ceuster 2001: 24). In this sense the ch’ool can be said to share the same functions as
the brain in modern Western thought. Regarding the human body Don Santos
Caal states that the ch’ool coordinates body movement. More importantly, the ch’ool
functions as the coordinator and transmitter of communication. Skills of communi-
cation also reveal one’s state of heart. Whereas interaction with spirit beings such as
the tzuultaq’a depends on the presence of the muhel and musiq’, being able to have a
two-way communication with them requires a ‘sensitive heart’ (Adams 2001: 11). If
people pray and petition the tzuultaq’as they need to do it with ‘their whole heart’
otherwise the tzuultaq’as won’t respond and grant them their wishes. Thus the
heart, or ch’ool, stands at the center of communication with both humans and non-
humans. As a spiritually manifested aspect of the mu, the ch’ool is associated with
someone’s (or something’s) general state of mind, degree of wisdom, skills of com-
munication and physical disposition.

Having accounted for the spiritual force of mu in its manifested forms of muhel,
musiq’, and ch’ool, it should be clear that they are associated with the body of hu-
man beings as well as a number of non-human beings. While all three forces merge
with the body and bring vitality to a person, the muhel appears to be almost exclu-
sively spoken of as the spirit body of a person. The musiq’ is associated with the
lungs, respiration, and the breath of life that continually animates the being en-
dowed, and the ch’ool is associated with the core of beings in charge of development
of the intellect and corporeal functionality. Thus, all living beings share in common
that they are animated by the embodied manifestation of the vital force of mu. The
shared vital force of mu implies that all living beings are rooted in a common en-
compassing subjectivity and they are thus connected to one another. Even though
all living beings are in possession of a muhel, musiq’, and ch’ool the condition or
state of these spiritual manifestations may change at times due to external influ-
ences. Accordingly, while one person may be healthy and strong due to their good
spiritual condition another person may suffer and become weak from xiwak (i.e. loss

106
of muhel or musiq’) or by having a red heart. Thus, even though persons do not
differ from one another in terms of distinct spiritual forces, they nevertheless may
diverge by what degree of spiritual power they have at any given point in time.
Persons differ from one another in other ways as well, which furnishes them with
unique characteristics.

Winqilal: The Overarching Personhood

Similar to the spiritual manifestations of muhel, musiq’, and ch’ool, all living beings,
including humans are endowed with winqilal (cf. Reiche Pop 2005). Returning
again to etymology, Kockelman (2009) translates the term winq (which is the root
winqilal) as ‘man’ (that is, of a male gender). However, at times, Q’eqchi’ people
refer to themselves as tz’aqal winq which translates as ‘complete’ or ‘true humans’.42
Kockelman translates the term winqilal as ‘manliness’, thus being consistent with
his translation of winq as a male. Hatse and De Ceuster (2001: 27), on the other
hand, translate winqilal as ‘humanhood’ (human character) while Cabarrús (1998:
54) and Wilson (1995: 53) translate it as ‘personhood’. Beings endowed with winqi-
lal are accordingly considered ‘persons’. In a Q’eqchi’ sense, all these translations are
most likely correct but perhaps used differently depending on context, i.e. one or
the other significance is more suitable at a particular moment depending on what
one means to emphasize.
Since all exisiting beings are supposed to have winqilal, or personhood, I argue
that according to Q’eqchi’ animism it is the ‘person’ who is the overarching default
category within which humans and non-humans are only subcategories. Included
within the category of persons is anything from human beings, spirit beings, ani-
mals, minerals, plants, weather phenomena, to man-made objects and social institu-
tions. As mentioned in the introduction a person is defined as an animate being
who is social and volitional demonstrating intentionality and agency with varying
degrees of autonomy and power.

42 For the Tzeltal Maya ts’akal winik also means ‘complete human beings’ (Pitarch 2010: 53).

107
Bodily Affordances and Personal Characters

So far I have described the spiritual unity and how it manifests within living beings
below I turn now to elaborate on the notion of bodily diversity and what it entails. I
argue here that the manners in which beings socialize with one another are largely
determined by bodily diversity and on how the mu manifests within, and merges
with, the body of each being. In my attempt to explain how physical bodies con-
tribute to form individual characteristics and to regulate sociality I draw on James J.
Gibson’s psychological theory of affordances, which has been developed further by
Tim Ingold (1992, 2000). According to Ingold (1992: 42) subjects perceive and
make use of environmental objects for the consummation of behavior in terms of
what these objects afford, offer, or provide the subject. Affordances exist as inherent
potentials of the object themselves independently of their being put to use or real-
ized, for good or for evil, by a subject. In other words, each object offers a subject
what it does because of what it is (or affords). In my application of affordances I
treat the mu as a conscious subject who merges with a body to create an animate
being. When the actual merging of spirit and matter occurs the inherent affordances
of each body provides opportunities and limitations for the mu. This implies that
different types of body determine differently the manner in which the mu is allowed
to manifest and express itself. This is perhaps what Cabarrús (1998: 57-58) is talk-
ing about when he argues that ‘when the mu is associated with a particular body it
works to fulfill its determined way of life’. Thus, the installment of the mu in a
body initiates the process of individual differentiation among subjects participating
in the Q’eqchi’ universe.43 Spirit and matter merge and influence one another to the
extent that they mutually constitute the person. Bodily affordances, in combination
with mu, are what fundamentally render different persons unique. I suggest that the
merging of spirit and matter allows for the development of different characters or
specific natures (i.e. individual traits such as morality and modes of behavior) asso-
ciated with a subject, which is what truly renders each person unique. Below I ac-
count for how different beings are endowed with three specific characteristics and
dispositions (wankilal, tioxil, and winqul) that stem from this merging of spirit (mu)
and matter (bodies). The specific nature, or character, of different subjects deter-

43 It is not exactly clear to me how the mu enters the human body but according to Bassie-Sweet (2008:

8) the Precolumbian Maya believed that the gods breathed or drilled the spiritual force into the fetus and
Wisdom (1940: 397) notes that the Ch’orti’ claims that three wind deities blow the first breath into a
newborn child and takes this breath away at death.

108
mines how they act and behave in the world. Likewise, as Don Miguel states: ‘it is
important for us to treat beings [endowed] with, for instance, tioxil and winqul
according to their own respective nature (xlok’al).’ Thus, in effect, awareness of the
specific nature of particular beings (i.e. the spiritual constitution along with indi-
vidual dispositions and behavior etc.) lends knowledge to how they should be ap-
proached and treated. Indeed, as Harvey (2005: xi, xvii) points out, central to ani-
mism is to learn to recognize persons and, more importantly, how to engage with
them.

The Character of Wankilal: Power

Wankilal translates literally as ‘presence’ but as a characteristic mode it is talked

more of in terms of ‘power’, ‘strength’, ‘dignity’ and ‘authority’ such as in the fol-
lowing sentence, xwankilal li Ajaw sa’ qab’een (God holds power over us).44 Among
things and beings endowed with wankilal Q’eqchi’ people mention first and fore-
most the Tzuultaq’a, bodies of water, and trees (as well as objects made of wood
such as, for example, crosses and planting poles). All animate beings are in posses-
sion of wankilal, it is just that different beings are endowed with different amounts
of wankilal. As Q’eqchi’ people told Richard Wilson (1995: 139), for instance, the
reason why women are not allowed into caves (the abode of the tzuultaq’as) is main-
ly because their presence would make the tzuultaq’as lose their power (wankilal).
They would turn ‘cold’ as they say. It seems then that wankilal is associated to the
relative amount of heat and cold in a person. Accordingly, while all beings have
wankilal some beings tend to be more powerful than others, which lock them into
an interactive mode based on power and hierarchy.

The Character of Tioxil: Benevolence

According to Doña Petrona Cacao, ‘things endowed with tioxil are very, very im-
portant for us’. This statement should not be underestimated because among the

44
The root is wank, which means ’to be’, ’to have’, ’to live’ and is related to ’existence’.

109
things that Q’eqchi’ people generally hold to be endowed with xtiosil are crops
(corn, beans, sugarcane, cacao etc.) and ritual paraphernalia (crosses, musical in-
struments, candles, copal pom etc.). While crops such as beans and corn are vital for
human survival, the same goes for copal pom, candles and music with respect to the
tzuultaq’as. Regarding musical instruments they are often used during ritual events
dedicated to and directed to the tzuultaq’as where the music takes on a central role.
I suggested earlier that the smell and smoke of burnt pom and candles is the emana-
tion of musiq’. Karl Taube (2001) notes moreover that the general Mayan notion of
Breath of Life also includes the sound of music. Thus, just as the smoke and smell
from burnt candles and pom is considered food for the tzuultaq’as, it seems likely
that the music played from instruments is considered nourishment as well.

Fig. 4.3. Corn endowed with tioxil.

The term tioxil apparently stems from the word tiox which is commonly supposed
to be a corruption from the Spanish word for God (Diós). In effect, this has led
some scholars to translate tioxil as ‘godliness’ (cf. Wilson 1995: 107) implying that
beings endowed with tioxil are considered to be godly or divine with reference to

110
the qualities of a Christian God. As a result the concept of tioxil emerged arguably
no later than the sixteenth century when Spanish missionaries managed to convert
the Q’eqchi’ to faithful Christians. However, drawing from Burkitt (1905: 276), I
suspect that the concept of tioxil existed prior to the Spanish invasion of Guatemala
even though with time it may have come to include the concept of a Christian god
and godliness. The word tiox is part of the word bantiox, meaning ‘thanks’,45 which,
as Burkitt observes, forms the base of tioxi that he translates as ‘being thankful for’.
Thus, if tioxil is understood in the light of this linguistic interpretation it is stripped
from its Christian connotation without rendering it less important for Q’eqchi’
people. Besides having been defined as godhood or godliness, tioxil is often de-
scribed as something totally benevolent. Perhaps then the term ‘benevolence’ would
better suit the character of those beings endowed with tioxil. The inherent nature of
tioxil is to provide sustenance and this benevolent act is indeed something that
Q’eqchi’ people should be thankful for. Indeed, tioxil is associated with the recipro-
cal act of giving and receiving rather than the commercial and profitable act of
selling and buying. If, for example, corn is sold as a commercial crop many people
say that it will lose its tioxil (cf. Grandin 2004: 124; Wilson 1995: 77).
Since beings endowed with tioxil are also endowed with a muhel, they are
considered emotive and conscious and therefore attentive to external influences.
Should, for example, corn be mistreated or disrespected so that it’s way of life is in
anyway obstructed it may react by becoming sad and fail to grow well. As a conse-
quence of their inherent benevolent character beings endowed with tioxil are inca-
pable of attacking or hurting those who mistreat them. Should, hovever, these emo-
tional reactions be ignored the transgressor may expect dire consequences since corn
and other beings endowed with tioxil ultimately fall under the protection of the
Tzuultaq’a. Consequently, the Tzuultaq’a is responsible for avenging any offender,
which s/he usually does either by seizing the muhel of the transgressor or sending
out animals to eat his or her crops.

45 Wilson (1995: 119) suggests that tiox derives from Diós, the Spanish word for ‘God’ and accordingly,

he writes that b’antiox literally translates as ‘because of God’. In support of his view he reports that
Q’eqchi’ people do not say b’antiox to the tzuultaq’as since this would anger them. Likewise, people do
not say ‘b’antiox to the hunter who returns with a kill, for thanks are due only to tzuultaq’as’. According
to the new orthography endorsed by ALMG (2004) the term for ‘thank you’ is spelled b’anyox.

111
Winqul: The Reactive Person

The term winqul is linguistically related to winqilal but people tend to talk of
winqul almost exclusively in relation to non-humans, which is also what I focus on
here. Similar to the muhel, winqul overarches both wankilal and tioxil. By this I
mean that beings endowed with tioxil, such as corn, also may be referred to as
winqul. I return to elaborate on this below. For now I continue by presenting a brief
survey of beings endowed with a winqul that looks something like this: items found
in households (clothes, walking sticks, brooms, hammocks etc.), agricultural tools
(axes, machetes, etc.), musical instruments (flutes, harps, etc.), constructions (hous-
es, bridges, etc.), social institutions (e.g. certain dances), natural phenomena (wood,
forests, rivers, lakes, the wind, the night/darkness, illness, etc.).
Winqul is a subject with agency and intentionality. I mentioned earlier that
trees, or the forest, are considered to have a muhel (muhel li ché) and Don Victori-
ano Coc says:

Trees also have their winqul and if a person cuts down trees [without having asked for
permission to do so or to have ritually fed the tree prior to cutting it down] their winqul
may appear to the person and give a warning asking him or her not to cut it down. The
winqul is a being that protects something or that can represent it. When speaking for ex-
ample of xwinqul li che’ [the xwinqul of the forest] or xwinqul li ha’ [the xwinqul of the
water] one refers to the protector of these things. The winqul does not always show itself
to human beings. Only when it is necessary might one see them or hear them make terri-
ble noises. But it can also be the Tzuultaq’a since he is responsible for everything working
fine in the world.

This statement is significant in many respects. Don Victoriano describes a winqul as

a subject with intentionality and agency capable of interacting and communicating
with human beings (which, most certainly occurs in dreams). Furthermore, Don
Victoriano also talks of the winqul as a protector which brings him in agreement
with Pacay (1989: 894) who, besides referring to winq’ as ‘person’, also refers to it as
a keeper or guardian of the being it endows. As a protector, the winqul provides the
endowed being with the capacity to act intentionally in order to protect oneself and
to best serve one’s interest in the world. Another elder, Don Juán, explained that
‘any misuse of a particular object may result in the winqul denying you continued
use of its services’. This denial on behalf of the mistreated object is a logical conse-
quence since the winqul is what protects and represents a certain object and there-

112
fore this is something that people would expect to happen. These reactions are often
talked of as retaliations that cause ‘bad’ things to happen to the offender such as
bodily harm due to accidents, snakebites, and the winquls are even capable of steal-
ing away one’s muhel. In relation to this Don Santiago Cuc mentions, for example,
that the Dance of the Deer (winqul li eb’ laj kej) has a strong winqul and he says
that many people have died while dancing because they did not respect the rules
and behavior associated with it. How they have died exactly he does not say but
there is no doubt in his mind that it was the winqul of the Dance that was responsi-
ble for the tragic outcome.

I mentioned earlier that corn, which is endowed with tioxil, reacts to maltreatment
by becoming sad which results in deciding not to grow well. This is an intentional
act carried out by the winqul of the corn. With regard to the winqul of the corn,
Don Felix says:

When people dream that their children are lost in the forest it is a sign that the corn is
not growing well. This is a direct result of people not treating the sacred corn [xtioxil li
ixim] with respect. If people mistreat corn and burn it or throw it away like trash it may
react by not growing in the milpa. Therefore, one should not play around with corn be-
cause it has its own winqul.

Thus, corn is endowed not only with muhel and tioxil, but also with winqul. Ac-
cordingly, for example, when referring to corn as being endowed with mu it seems
that Q’eqchi’ people use the term muhel and when they want to emphasize its be-
nevolent character as a source of sustenance they use the term tioxil, and when it
acts or reacts due to maltreatment they use the term winqul, the intentional action
of a person. Likewise, when people say that they have encountered a tzuultaq’a,
either out walking in a waking state or in a dream they frequently refer to the tzuul-
taq’a as the winqul li tzuul (the winqul of the hill). Moreover, accordingly, to Doña
Petrona Cacao, people address a tzuultaq’a as xtioxil li tzuul when they are invited to
join in convivial festivities or rituals before planting crops. Thus, similar to corn, the
Tzuultaq’a is considered endowed with muhel, winqul and tioxil. In contrast, trees
only have wankilal, muhel and winqul. Accordingly, when the muhel of the tree
(muhel li che’) advances to warn someone who has cut down trees without asking
permission first, it is referred to as winqul li che’. Thus, while mu constitutes the
spiritual unity of vital energy it manifests and expresses itself differently with regard

113
to the bodily affordances that are at hand. Therefore, the way Q’eqchi’ elders de-
nominate any specific being is contextually bound.

I want to return for a moment to the Tzuultaq’a figure. Whereas beings that are
endowed with tioxil have the capacity to react intentionally, when mistreated, they
do not seem to be capable of hurting transgressors in the same way as those beings
lacking tioxil. The tioxil, therefore, depends to a great deal on the protective agency
of the Tzuultaq’a. As revealed in the quote by Don Victoriano above, it seems that
winquls also have limited power since, as he says, there are occasions when the
Tzuultaq’a may react on behalf of a winqul. If a human being for some reason mis-
treats and disrespects a winqul this may provoke the Tzuultaq’a to intervene and
punish the transgressor by, for example, seizing the culprit’s muhel. The Tzuultaq’a
is the Earth-being itself, and as a manifestation of individual beings, these tzuul-
taq’as are the owners, controllers and protectors of all things that exist within their
respective premises. It is no wonder then that people consider them to have both
the right and capacity to intervene when their possessions are being mistreated or
taken without permission. With regard to the spiritual constitution of the Tzuul-
taq’a, what seems to distinguish them from corn, for instance, is that the Tzuultaq’a
is said to have a great deal of wankilal (power and authority), which, further testify
to the power of being the ultimate keeper. Thus, when push comes to shove in the
end it is the powerful Tzuultaq’a owner, controller and protector of all things who
exists both upon and within the Earth, who may intervene when any wrongdoings
have been committed. ‘The hills have their winqul,’ Don Felix, says, ‘and they see
everything we do because they have a benevolent winqul’. Hence, the Tzuultaq’a
takes on the role as the ultimate guardian or keeper of the entire world.

I challenge the notion that winquls are inherently malevolent and vengeful towards
human beings (cf. Estrada Monroy 1993: 26; Carlson and Eachus 1977: 61). On
the contrary, beings act and react first and foremost on the rational basis of their
respective nature or spiritual-corporeal composition. Consequently, all beings
should ideally be treated according to their own specific nature, or way of life.
However, this is not always the case and transgressions sometimes come with lethal
penalties. Obviously the winqul of a being is highly sensitive and easily offended if it
is mistreated or disrespected and it is quick to retaliate. Therefore, the winqul de-
mands that the being it endows be treated respectfully and some beings/objects need

114
to be ritually fed (with, for instance, copal pom and candles) before people are al-
lowed to make use of their services. Don Santiago Cuc says, for example, that when
a house has been built without first having ritually fed (wa’tesink) the winqul of the
wood (winqul li che’) it may cause a racket and be noisy to the extent that it scares
people. For many people with whom I have spoken, such scary behavior is not to be
regarded as malicious since this is merely the expected effect of failure in conducting
the appropriate rituals towards the house. Furthermore, as Don Victoriano noted in
the quote above the winqul li che’ (the winqul of the forest) chose to warn people of
their wrongdoings before allowing bad things to happen to the transgressor. In other
instances, as Don Santiago explains, ‘warnings of committed wrongdoings toward
another being may be mediated by the woodpecker, also known as the messenger
bird, which occurs in order to prevent bad things from happening’. Likewise, people
have told me a number of times about tzuultaq’as who appear only to inform people
of their wrongdoings if they have not asked for permission and failed to feed the
tzuultaq’a prior to planting corn or cutting down trees. Such encounters with a
tzuultaq’a (i.e. the winqul of a tzuultaq’a) are often warnings that if a person con-
tinues with his or her behavior s/he will be punished. Retaliation, thus, only seems
to be the last recourse of the tzuultaq’a and only a measure meted out when warn-
ings are not heeded. In fact, several of the elderly people in the group claim that the
winqul is ‘good natured’ and benevolent rather than evil and malevolent.
Still, just like human beings, non-humans are ill tempered at times and prone
to acting unpredictably. According to some Q’eqchi’ elders who claim to follow in
the footsteps of the ancestors they consider some winquls to be more powerful (i.e.
to have a large amount of wankilal), unpredictable and dangerous than others.
Included among these winquls we find, for example, winqul li ha’ (the winqul of the
water/lake), and winqul li nima’ (the winqul of the river). As seen above, bodies of
water are considered especially powerful and dangerous and whenever one is near a
lake one should take care so as not to lose one’s muhel. A woman from Secomuxan I
maintains for instance that when one hears noises and racket in the river and no one
is seen in the water it is the winqul li ha’ making the noises and this might scare
people enough for them to lose their muhel. To prevent such things from happening
people burn large candles and huge amounts of copal pom to keep the winqul satis-
fied so it will not disturb or scare people.

115
Thus, even though non-humans may act harmfully towards humans these should
not necessarily be understood as malevolent acts. Rather, there are probably good
reasons for this, which, most often involves some kind of transgression committed
by those punished. Thus punishment is not necessarily seen as a malevolent act but
rather as a means of self-defense enacted by the winqul of a being. Don Martín
accordingly observers that:

The Tzuultaq’a is a good God, just like God and the Tzuultaq’a is the same as a father to
a child. If the child is disobedient the father may whip him in order to correct his behav-
ior.

Thus, just as the father’s action may punish the disobedient children the tzuultaq’as
are right in their punishment of people who commit wrongdoings.

Consequently all beings within the Q’eqchi’ universe seem to act according to their
own specific nature and way of life and they may sometimes act erratically. But this
is not to say that evil does not exist. Some people do in fact refer to winquls as being
malicious. There are different explanations for doing so, however. There are those
Catholic elders who claim to only know very little about the ways of their ancestors.
These people do not currently conduct rituals directed towards the Tzuultaq’a, and
their knowledge of the spiritual dimension that includes muhels and winquls is
scant. When asked about the nature of these beings they tend to base their responses
on what they have heard from other people, which often results in vague explana-
tions of the winquls as ‘bad spirits’. Other Catholics say that malevolent winquls
exist only for those who do not believe in God and that they will never appear to
those who believe in God. Most of the Evangelical elders tend to reject the whole
idea of winquls, claiming to know nothing about them or vaguely to refer to them
as evil demons sent out to do the Devil’s work. When I first arrived in Cobán dur-
ing my first fieldtrip I got involved in a conversation with a waiter regarding the
nature of the Tzuultaq’a. We talked a bit and I was told that he was an Evangelical.
After a while the waiter had to leave my table to attend to other guests at the restau-
rant but when he again passed my table, he leaned over towards me and whispered:
‘You know, the Tzuultaq’a is the Devil’. The belief in the Devil is, however, not
something that is exclusive to Evangelicals but something that all elders share. Don
Domingo, a Catholic from Yalmachac, states that ‘the Devil is our greatest enemy’.

116
Catholics recognize some winquls as evil and often, if not always, they are associated
with the Devil.46 The winqul most intimately associated with the Devil is the winqul
li q’oxyin (winqul of the night/darkness). ‘The nighttime is dangerous, it does not
belong to humans’, Don Francisco says, since ‘dreams may be manipulated by this
winqul of the night. When we dream of things that we do not wish to see or some-
thing unbelievable it may well be the winqul of the night’. This winqul is distin-
guished by having a wide sphere of malevolent influence that can affect both the
muhel and winqul of human and non-human persons. Similar to the Devil, the
winqul of the night influences people to become aggressive and commit evil deeds.
Another winqul often spoken of as malicious is winqul li yajel (the winqul of illness).
When I asked Doña Petrona what a winqul is she readily made a connection to
illness stating that ‘a winqul enters a person causing an illness that can only be got-
ten rid of by conducting a curing ritual’.47

Ch’olwinq: Being Almost Human

As mentioned earlier the ch’olwing are referred to by the Q’eqchi’ elders as unbap-
tized animals, Mayan ancestors, and spirit beings, that is, they are not quite human.
Even though they are considered to be ancient beings they are nevertheless said to
exist today. Often they are believed to be spirit beings who usually live in caves and
hills or somewhere deep in the jungles hidden from humans.48 Moreover they are
spoken of as wise people and experts in magic. They are believed to be shape-shifters
capable of becoming invisible and they have the ability to appear to people either as
humans or animals. According to people from the village of San Isidro there are
ch’olwinqs who live inside the mountain of Chitz’unun. If one looks at this moun-
tain around noon it is said that one can see fire and smoke coming out of it. An
elder mentioned that in the past when he was hiking up into the mountains he
could hear the whistles of birds that were transformed ch’olwinqs. Today, people say,

46 The Devil goes under several epithets. One old name is K’axtoc, which today usually refers to anyone

being considered crazy or insane. Burkitt (1902: 447) suspects, however, that this term harks back to
some ancient dreaded deity. Other Q’eqchi’ terms for the Devil are: aj tza’ and ma’us.
47
It seems that sorcerers (aj tuul) are well acquainted with the winqul li yajel and they have powers to use
it to hurt other people.
48
According to a myth published by Burkitt in 1918, the entrance cave of the mountain Xukaneb’ is
called Ch’ol Winq (Burkitt 1920).

117
the ch’olwinqs are seldom seen in the Chisec region compared to how it used to be
in the past. There are times, however, when people hear them playing their music
from far away. According to Don Victoriano, the reason why people seldom see
them today depends largely on deforestation.

The ch’olwinq used to live here when there were still a lot of animals in the forests. Now-
adays one can only hear a little from them when they are out hunting. What you hear
above all are their dogs. Because we are running out of jungle here they do not show
themselves as often as they used to when everything was covered with a green lush jungle.
As we people cut down our forests the ch’olwinq disappear far away into the jungle in
search of another place to seek refuge, food, and peace and quiet - a place where they can
continue to hunt their wild game.

Fig. 4.4. Two elders from San Isidro.

Even if the ch’olwinq are seldom seen there exist many stories of people encounter-
ing them in the jungle. Don Victoriano tells of an incident where two hunters had
been out in the jungle for several days without finding any game. The story goes as
follows:

118
 All they could find were animal tracks. All of a sudden a person appeared in front of
them. It was a ch’olwinq. He asked the hunters what they were up to and the hunters an-
swered that they were out hunting but that they could not find any animals. The
ch’olwinq said that there indeed were animals close by and he offered to bring some with
him the next day.

‘Stay here,’ the ch’olwinq said to the hunters, ‘we will return tomorrow and when you
hear us come I want you to come and get the animals that you have asked for because we
cannot be seen together for a long time. We have a house not too far away from here but
you cannot see it. If you try to search for it you will not find it because you are not able
too see it. We would very much like to talk with you. We always do but regretfully you
have a body heat that affects us too much and because of this we cannot come close to
you. In exchange for the six jaguars we will bring you, I want you to give us one quintal
(approximately fifty kilo) of salt. This is the only thing we need from you because we can
never go and buy it ourselves since there are so many people in the stores who have a lot
of heat. If you continue to bring us salt we will reward this favor by bringing you game’.

This story discloses how Q’eqchi’ people conceive of the ch’olwinq. For example, the
story provides a clue about the ch’olwinq being associated with the Chol Maya be-
cause in the story above the ch’olwinq asks the hunters if they will barter salt for wild
game. In colonial times, and probably earlier, the Chol traded cacao and other
products for salt in the Q’eqchi’ town of Cahabón.

The ch’olwinq are described as spirit beings capable of shape-shifting and able to
appear in human form. According to Don Miguel Quib:

The ch’olwinq are ancient Mayas that were created at the beginning of time but because
of disobeying the almighty [God] they were left invisible. They still exist but you cannot
see them. Nowadays you can only hear them deep in the forest.

This quotation is interesting for several reasons. First, that the ch’olwinq are said to
be created at the beginning of time resonates with Queíros, Mittelstadt, and Lam-
borelle (2000: 22) who report that the Q’eqchi’ Maya indeed refer to themselves as
ch’olwinq on occasion, which, according to the authors, translates as ‘men of corn’,
i.e. the first humans created. Secondly, Akkeren (2000: 130) writes that the
ch’olwinq are not only the ancestors of the Q’eqchi’ Maya but also equated with the
Wooden People of the failed third creation as described in the Popol Vuh. As the

119
Popol Vuh relates, the creator gods decided to destroy the Wooden People. They
sent a great flood/rain of pine resin to wash over them from the sky. Other beings
were also sent to kill and torment them by gauging out their eyes, beheading them,
smashing their bones and devouring their flesh, and finally grounding them until
there was nothing left. They were attacked by their dogs, turkeys, pots, plates, and
grinding stones who accused the Wooden People of having mistreated them. They
tried to escape but eventually they were overthrown as a people. Today, their de-
scendants are monkeys (k’oy) that live in the forest and who appear as people. Thus
the fate of the Wooden People and the ch’olwinq resemble each other. In this sense,
it is also interesting to know that Q’eqchi’ people today hold monkeys inhabiting
the forests to be transformed human beings that are still their brothers (Queíros,
Mittelstaedt and Lamborelle 2000: 97-98) and in San Pedro Carchá there exist (or
at least existed) a book owned by the community where it is stated that monkeys
(the transformed Wooden People/ch’olwinq) are brothers to the Q’eqchi’ and so the
killing of these animals is therefore prohibited (Termer 1957: 143). Thirdly, this
quotation also associates the ch’olwinq with the ‘disobedient’, now ethnically ex-
tinct, wild Chol Maya.
The ch’olwinq live in houses that ordinary human beings are unable to see
because they are located in the spiritual dimension. The ch’olwinq are considered
colder than humans and very close encounters are therefore harmful to the
ch’olwinq. Nevertheless, they may become accustomed to heat with time. People tell
of two villages located to the north in the department of Petén. In one of the villag-
es there live only ch’olwinq while in the other only humans. At one time, despite
their difference in heat, they began to intermingle and eventually some humans
married ch’olwinq. When asking how this was possible Don Miguel answered that it
was possible because: ‘It is like I was to marry a foreigner. I am going to adapt my-
self to her customs and she to mine […].’ It is interesting that the mere idea of a
human getting married to a ch’olwinq does not seem any more strange than the idea
of a Q’eqchi’ person getting married to a white European person, for example.
Despite the differences in body heat and bodily constitution, and irrespective of
whether one part has been baptized and therefore has become a complete human
being while the other is not, getting married and living together is still a possibility.
Q’eqchi’ people are aware of the fact that upon encountering a ch’olwinq they run
the risk of becoming one of them and thus losing their humanity. Don Felix says:

120
 The ch’olwinq are experts in magic. They can make people lose their minds so that they
can take from them what they desire. When you encounter them, they can make you
walk with them deep into the jungle until you eventually become one of them.

Accordingly, it is possible to be transformed into other kinds of beings. As the ex-

ample above shows, differences in heat and bodily constitutions between two dis-
tinct beings may be overcome and harmonized with one another and with time one
may transform into the other. As it seems, this adaptive transformation is first and
foremost the result of convivial relations (cf. Overing and Passes 2000), a mode of
sociality that is based on living together and sharing the same life striving for peace
and harmony. To socialize with one another is to know one another which in the
end forms the basis of becoming one another. All beings that participate within the
same world in which Q’eqchi’ people live share the same fundamental spiritual
energy that constitutes the common subjectivity and Self. Even if persons display
distinct characteristics, what fundamentally makes persons different from one an-
other is the cloak they wear, i.e. their physical body. Still, all beings interact socially
and sociality is what unites and binds them together. Personhood moreover is seen
as expandable and encompassing. For example, similar to many other Mayan peo-
ples (Wagley 1949; Vogt 2003: 176; Carlsen and Prechtel 1991; Bassie-Sweet
2008) the cheekal winq commonly conceive a married couple as being one complete
person, i.e. one unit based on two complementary opposites. Likewise, when a
community sets out to collectively petition and ask the tzuultaq’a for permission
(tz’amaank or liceens) to plant corn, they must present themselves as one singular
unit, much like a person. Much as McCallum (2001: 91) notes with regard to the
Amazonian Cashinahua, a Q’eqchi mode of conviviality, and thus personhood,
derives from people blending into each other. Sociality, then, signifies that people
interact with one another and mutually influence the development and constitution
of each other. The transformations of personhood and corporeality are moreover
largely based on the frequency, intensification, and importance of the interaction
between different persons.

121
The Logic of Sociability

The ideal way of life for Q’eqchi’ people is to adhere to ethical and moral values of
goodness (usilal) and peace, harmony and tranquility (tuqtuukilal) which is accom-
plished mainly by treating and using everything that exists according to its specific
nature (cf. Haeserijn 1975: 50; Estrada Monroy 1993: 356). This implies that in
order to treat other beings appropriately and to interact with them in a correct
manner it is crucial to be aware of their specific natures, their dispositions, and
characters. Borrowing from Kohn (2007: 107) I refer to this social mode as the logic
of sociability, a set of social norms that govern relations among all beings. How
then, do people gain knowledge of the nature or disposition of a certain being, or
person? As Bird-David (1999: 77-78) holds ‘we do not personify other entities and
then socialize but personify them as, when, and because we socialize with them’.
Environmental knowledge is first and foremost relational and experience-based
which also holds true for the Q’eqch’ elders. To recognize beings as persons and to
become aware of their specific nature is something that primarily relies on a practi-
cal engagement (i.e. dwelling) in the world, a process of ‘learning by doing’ that
Ingold (2000: 416) alternatively refers to as ‘enskilment’. Don Manuel told me that
there was a time when the crops did not grow well in his community, which result-
ed in the people suffering severely from hunger and poverty. This made him con-
template over the reasons why they had come to experience this severe situation. He
decided to gather some fellow community members to perform rituals toward the
tzuultaq’as. They went to their local tzuultaq’as as well as to tzuultaq’as in the high-
lands close to Tactic and Cobán to petition them and offer them food. As it turned
out, a few nights later a tzuultaq’a visited Don Manuel in his dreams and told him
that he had heard their cry for help and promised that from now on their crops
would grow and Don Manuel assured me that this was also what came to happen.
Another incident that serves as an example of this ‘learning by doing’-experience is
when a person scurries about in the forest and suddenly finds him or herself close to
a river (winqul li ha) that takes the opportunity to seize the muhel of that person.
Hopefully, the person manages to recuperate the muhel and based on this experi-
ence, he or she would certainly think twice and take caution in the future before
getting too close to bodies of water. Thus, from observing and experiencing how
certain subjects act and where this takes place, one can learn much about the nature
and way of life of other beings. Accordingly, as Jean Lave (1991) has observed,

122
learning and knowledge about the world is a ‘situated social practice’ that emerges
in, with, and from a socially constructed world

As I have mentioned earlier, people interact with non-human beings in several ways.
For example, they interact and communicate with tzuultaq’as in dreams (see the
following chapter). However, this tends to be a privilege elderly people have and
frequent interaction with tzuultaq’as over a long period of time eventually leads to
them becoming good friends. Thus, in dreams different subjects learn about the
nature and identity not only of the tzuultaq’as but also of a great many persons.
Likewise, as mentioned earlier, there are stories relating how humans have come to
socialize with ch’olwinqs to the extent that they eventually begin to intermarry and
live together. Thus, the social interaction and relational experiences that occur dur-
ing a person’s life affect the nature of a being.
Thus while a subject’s nature and dispositions to some extent are determined
by bodily diversity, it serves at the same time to differentiate and distance one sub-
ject from the other. Sociality is what binds them together and sociality is what blurs
these borders. While one person considers winquls to be malicious, another person
may say that they are benevolent, while a third person holds them to be ambiguous
and therefore able to behave both in a good and bad manner depending on occasion
and experience. Indeed, even though the manifestations of the mu in combination
with bodily affordances to a certain extent determines dispositions and behavior of
human and non-human subjects, they are simultaneously individual and unique
persons and can therefore sometimes be understood to act irrationally and erratical-
ly. Thus, what counts as correct moral and rational behavior is in the end only in
the eye of the beholder.

123
 5
Encountering the Tzuultaq’a:
Cosmological Maintenance and
Revitalization

This chapter examines various modes in which Q’eqchi’ people interact with tzuul-
taq’as and associated implications. Human and other-than-human persons are im-
mersed in a world constituted by (at least) two open-ended and interpenetrating
dimensions that I call ‘ordinary reality’ and ‘extraordinary reality’. Ordinary reality
is the everyday physically constituted reality while extraordinary reality is occupied
and perceived exclusively by a person’s spiritual components, which in a sense ren-
der it as a spiritual dimension.49 As shown earlier, to dream is (mostly) a nocturnal
process where a spirit component of one’s being (the muhel) becomes detached from
its physical abode to roam freely in the spirit dimension, or the extraordinary reality,
of the world. Diurnal encounters occur mainly in two ways: either when a spirit
being manifests physically to encounter humans in the waking reality (the ordinary
world) or when a person haphazardly and unintentionally crosses over into the spirit
dimension (the extraordinary world). While accounting for these modes of interac-
tions I establish what factors that catalyze them and the effect that these encounters
have for people, individually as well as collectively. I argue that these encounters
contribute to maintain and re-create a Q’eqchi’ cosmology and ritual practices. I
also examine more clearly the role and functions of the tzuultaq’as as moral and

49 I use the concepts of extraordinary reality and spiritual dimension interchangeably.

125
socio-ecological regulators and deemphasize earlier notions of them as being unpre-
dictable and malevolent.

Dreams as Factual Experiences

When we dream at night the muhel does not remain in the body. It leaves and goes out
wandering throughout the world and because of this we learn a lot of good and bad
things. The dream leaves us messages and tells us the truth […].

As Don Manuel indicates in the quote above, in essence dreaming is caused by the
intentional action of one’s muhel possessing the ability to detach itself from its bodi-
ly abode and thus being afforded mobility in space and time. Within the spirit
dimension the muhel is able to operate independently of the human physical body.
According to what one elder says, ‘the muhel never rests, only the body rests and
during sleep the muhel discloses in our dreams what it is experiencing’.50 Thus, what
the muhel experiences is what is being dreamt. The process of dreaming grants ac-
cess to the spirit dimension, or, what I term, the extraordinary dimension of the
world, which otherwise is difficult to gain insight into. The cheekal winq perceive
dreams to be real and factual experiences comparable in kind to events taking place
when awake. This does not mean that the spiritual world is more ‘real’ compared to
the ‘illusive’ waking world. The Q’eqchi do not seem to perceive of these two di-
mensions as opposite. Rather, the extraordinary dimension and the ordinary dimen-
sion are complementary parts of one and the same reality. The spirit components of
a human being are what enable them to continually experience the world in its
entirety and therefore neither of these two dimensions is ‘acquiescent to prioritiza-
tion’ (Willerslev 2004: 410).

Barbara Tedlock (1992: 30) suggests that instead of focusing on dreams as mere
texts it would be more fruitful to direct attention towards dreaming as a psychody-
namic process, that is, as a communicative and interactive event. Dreams, dream
sharing, and the interpretation of dreams are considered true, valid, and authorita-
tive sources of information and knowledge. Whenever Q’eqchi’ elders tell of having

50 There are those who state that dreams do not have any meaning whatsoever. They tend, however, to be

few and exclusively Evangelicals.

126
encountered and communicated with certain spirit beings in dreams, for them this
is considered hard factual-evidence difficult to ignore. Accordingly, dreams are
considered authoritative and valid sources of information leading to knowledge and
wisdom. Thus, by understanding dreams of peoples we get a glimpse into their
ontology (cf. Glaskin 2005).
Dreams are, moreover, the principal means of communication between hu-
mans and spirit beings. Just as the cheekal winq interact with tzuultaq’as in their
dreams, other Mayan peoples, such as, for example, the Tzotzil, the Tzutujil, and
the Ixil, have Earth Lords appearing to them within dreams (Tedlock 1992: 454;
Colby and Colby 1981; Laughlin 1996). The cheekal winq assert that tzuultaq’as
communicate with the human beings primarily through their muhels. In most cases
it is the tzuultaq’as who seek out the muhel for a variety of reasons rather than the
other way round. Among Evangelicals, it is God rather than the tzuultaq’as who
commonly comes to the fore in dream encounters. Consequently, as one Evangelist
claims, ‘dreams are given by God to those who believe in God while other dreams
are given by the Devil to those who do not believe in God’.

Spirit and Matter

According to the cheekal winq, events and objects present within the spirit dimen-
sion precede those of the physical dimension, a notion that harks back to ancient
Maya ontologies where ‘the physical world is a manifestation of the spiritual and the
spiritual is the essence of the material’ (Schele and Freidel 1990: 65). Thus, accord-
ing to the Popol Vuh, the physical Earth was conceived by the words and spiritual
essences of the creator deities. The physical and the spirit dimensions are comple-
mentary and inextricably interlocked which not only means that the spirit dimen-
sion influences the physical dimension but that it works both ways in that events
taking place in the physical dimension influence the spirit dimension. The spiritual
component of something or someone exists prior to its physical counterpart. Corn,
and other foodstuffs exist within caves in the spirit dimension before being allowed
by the tzuultaq’a to grow in the milpa into physical crops that people may enjoy as
sustenance. This does not mean, however, that objects in the spirit dimension are
etheric and impalpable. On the contrary, physicality is a matter of perception. Both
dimensions are perceivable by a person’s five senses. This is in line with animistic

127
ontologies where spirit and matter are not placed in a distinct dualistic relation. No
matter how subtle a spiritual component may be, according to animist conceptions
it is still a ‘substance’ (Descola 2013: 130). Spirit beings are therefore not contour-
less ethereal beings but rather entities in possession of a coherent substantialized
spirit body. Accordingly, when, for instance, a human being crosses over into the
extraordinary reality what s/he experiences is just as physically constituted and pal-
pable (real) as in the ordinary reality. Likewise, knowledge and information attained
by the muhel from the spirit dimension exist prior to having entered into the ordi-
nary dimension of reality. Cross-dimensional sociality is moreover made possible
mainly because all living beings share the same spiritual force. Humans are thus
capable of interaction with other kinds of persons through the spirit component
that is part of their Self – a spirit Self. Hence, the spiritual dimension exists beyond
time and space enabling the muhel to travel wide and gather knowledge from places
far away. Moreover dreams can be prophetic, which demonstrates that events taking
place in the waking reality are already known about in the spirit dimension. Don
Victoriano explained that the muhel gains access to knowledge that is not yet known
to the human mind, or consciousness, in the waking reality and, in this sense, the
muhel ‘filters’ this knowledge into the minds of people (down to the consciousness
of the human mind). Thus, experiences had in the spirit dimension may generate
knowledge that is otherwise unattainable.
I would also like to build on my earlier suggestion that physicality regulates
the perception of the world. Through the means of the unified and shared spiritual
force of mu, all beings have the potentiality to visually perceive and know a great
many things. However, when the mu merges with physical bodies, vision and
knowledge is obstructed and limited. You only see and know what the body affords.
The Tzuultaq’a, as people say, is omniscient and knows and sees everything that the
people do. Nothing escapes the Tzuultaq’a’s gaze. The main difference between the
perception of the tzuultaq’as and humanity is that they experience and perceive the
world from different perspectives. This is a result of the fact that the Tzuultaq’a as a
spirit being is devoid of a physical body that obstructs visual perception of the
world. This goes also for the muhel when detached from the physical body. Hence,
when a person acts in the world through his or her spirit form, the world lies open
in its entirety. Thus, physical matter is what obstructs and limits perception.

128
Sharing and Interpreting Dreams

While all people dream, most people of Chisec claim that it is primarily the privi-
lege of shamans, or seers (aj ilonel), specialized dream interpreters (Qawa Q’ox), or
elderly people in general, who have the ability to interact and communicate with the
tzuultaq’as. Still, most people tend to have dreams in which they encounter other
beings and the muhel of other humans or their deceased ancestors from whom they
may receive valuable information. Often this information is considered symbolic or
prophetic and therefore in need of interpretation. Since dream experts and elderly
people are often perceived as possessing both the wisdom and experience to inter-
pret even the most complex dreams correctly some people feel the need to go and
visit them in order to reveal the meaning of their dreams. However, some people
claim that they have the ability to interpret their own dreams. This suggests that
dream interpretations within a certain society are considered universal. If a sufficient
number of a people in a common social setting have dreamt the same dreams and
which have subsequently manifested in a similar manner there may, in turn, develop
a general agreement concerning the meaning of certain dreams (cf. Kohn 1995: 53).
To dream about a snake, for example is generally interpreted by the Q’eqchi’ to
symbolize the foretelling of disease or, worse, the foretelling of an imminent death.
A general rule seems to indicate that, to dream of animals that are active during the
night is associated with the Devil (winqul of the night), signifying danger, while to
dream of rabbits and other animals that belong to God does not signify any danger.
To dream about a louse or blood signifies failure or loss of something. To dream of
eating chicken soup (kaq ik) means that something good is going to happen. To
dream of an angel is a stimulus to live well and repent one’s sins; it also denotes
good news and increased reputation and authority. To dream of a saint is a comfort
at the same time as it could be a warning that one should live well and honestly.
Moreover, when something is experienced at the beginning of a dream, it usually
entails that whatever might be interpreted as happening in the waking reality will
occur rather soon in one’s life. Concurrently, if something occurs late in the dream
this is bound to manifest at a later stage in life. However, even though people inter-
pret certain dreams in a similar manner, they may still understand the meaning of
their dreams idiosyncratically.

129
The cheekal winq assert that, traditionally, people frequently shared their dreams
with one another. Even if you are not destined to become a shaman, healer,
daykeeper, or a midwife, public dream narration and interpretation have been and
are commonly practiced throughout the Maya area. It is routine, for instance, to
wake one’s spouse in the middle of the night in order to narrate a dream experience.
Sharing one’s dream is to transmit knowledge and if the receiver of a particular
dream has experienced or heard of the same kind of experiences this functions to
validate what is being narrated. The process of communication with tzuultaq’as and
access to information through dreams can also be a collective experience. I was told
of a man who dreamt that a particular tzuultaq’a asked him for food. The tzuultaq’a
was hungry and asked for four turkeys. The people of the community then set off to
conduct a mayejak for the hill and later another man dreamt that a man arrived in
the community telling him that he was very satisfied with the people living there.
This man was none other than the tzuultaq’a. Furthermore, as the elders of Chisec
explain, after having woken up after a dream it is important to get down on your
knees and pray. If it is a bad dream they pray for it not to come true and if it is a
good dream they pray for it to be realized. Don Sebastián Ical Cú relates a dream he
had in which a woman embraced him but when he woke up he forgot to pray and
later when he was working in the milpa a branch from a tree fell on him hurting his
head affecting his hearing. Don Sebastián claims this happened because he did not
pray that he would not come to any harm. Don Rosario Caal had a similar experi-
ence. One day when he was working in Cubilhuitz he dreamt during the night that
two beautiful women were approaching him. They spoke to him telling him that
they wanted to marry him. When he woke up he immediately went to an elderly
man who interpreted his dream as a sign that death was foreboding. Don Rosario
was sad and upset because he did not want to die so he started to pray to Jesus. A
few days later Don Rosario went to San Benito to look for work and when he ar-
rived a woman approached him offering him work. On the first day he went to
bring corn from the hill and when he came back with his load the daughter of the
patrón for whom he was working told him that he needed help to stop a fire in his
parcela (allotment). He went to help the patrón but as he was putting out the fire a
heavy tree branch fell down just beside him. According to Don Rosario the tree
branch would have killed him had he not prayed to God and Jesus. ‘Dreams are
good’, he says, ‘because, if someone wants to kill you, God shows us this in our
dreams and we are therefore able to prevent it’.

130
Fig. 5.1. Don Felix and Don Crisanto, Rubel Ho (photo: Scott Rowland).

While the cheekal winq continues to openly share dreams with each other they
complain that other people are paying less attention to the significance of dreams
today. A common complaint is that many youngsters and those who have converted
to Evangelism are abandoning belief in the Tzuultaq’a and therefore do not place
any value on such dreams. As noted by Tedlock (1992: 453, 460), Mayan dreaming
and dream interpretation have been under heavy attack since the 1950s when mem-
bers of both Evangelical churches and the Catholic Action made serious attempts to
eradicate this ‘pernicious paganism’. Concordantly, as Foster (1973: 110) writes
regarding dream sharing in Tzintzuntan in Mexico, since many dream experiences
seem to be drastically different from what is possible to occur in waking reality
(such as flying or walking on water) it is believed that God did not intend for them
to be experienced by, and the abilities within them to be performed by, human

131
beings. Indeed, to allow for such dream experiences would be considered bad or
even heretical in kind. In Chisec, this has resulted in many elders tending to keep
their dream experiences private since they would otherwise run the risk of being
laughed at and ridiculed by younger members of their communities. When the
opportunity arises, however, as was highly evident during my stay in Chisec and due
to my interest in these matters, the elders opened up and spoke freely of their dream
experiences.

The phenomenological approach to dreams holds that things experienced during

dreams ‘are just as much part of autobiographical memory as are experiences when
awake’ (Ingold 2000: 101). To supplement this view on dreams, cognitive psychol-
ogy suggests that dreams are highly organized processes, employing the same sys-
tems of ‘mental representations and mental processing as are exhibited in the wak-
ing phenomena’ (Cavallero and Foulkes 1993: 144). Memory organization when
dreaming and awake is fundamentally the same and therefore comparable. The
manner in which the cheekal winq remember their dreams with such clarity and
richness of detail has amazed me many times. Seemingly the elders have no problem
maintaining in their memory bank colorfully detailed dreams going as far back as
early childhood and they speak of them as though they were important parts of their
autobiographical memory from many apparently unforgotten years. This is not to
say, however, that dreams are in any way confused with events taking place in the
waking reality. During conversations with the elders which, could be about every-
thing from everyday activities to ontological notions, without me noticing they
could easily slip into a dream narrative when responding to a question or trying to
explain something. Thus at times it has been somewhat of a struggle to follow the
conversations and understand if what is being said is stemming from experiences in
the waking state or from dreams.
Even though I focus largely on dreams and dream narratives of the cheekal
winq even young people are sometimes prone to engage in conversations regarding
their dreams. A young woman who frequently worked as my interpreter shared with
me her dreams and one day when we were going to the community of Rubel Ho to
visit Don Felix, she took the opportunity to ask if he could interpret some of her
dreams. Even if not all Q’eqchi’ people believe in, or dream about the tzuultaq’as
(or at least pay them any attention), many people still recognize symbolic and pro-
phetic dreams, which they argue stem from the experiences of their muhel. Several

132
people state that people’s muhels meet in the spiritual dimension where they engage
in conversations and trade information otherwise hidden and unattainable from its
physical counterpart. Thus, the muhel of a person is in possession of a great deal
more knowledge than one is normally aware of in the waking state.

Nocturnal Encounters with the Tzuultaq’a

Although Q’eqchi’ people consider the information and knowledge attained from
their muhel to be valuable, when the muhel leaves the body during night it is con-
sidered as potentially dangerous. People say that they have no control whatsoever
over the muhel when it is detached from the body. ‘We cannot govern it,’ says Don
Felix, ‘therefore the muhel is left to its own devices’. This implies that the spirit
dimension is ultimately the domain of spirit beings out of reach of their physical
counterparts. When one’s muhel has left its bodily dwelling to roam the spiritual
dimension the person’s body is not only resting but considered to be more or less
dead and if the muhel were for some reason not to return the person sleeping would
die. Thus, even though dreams are a source of knowledge and wisdom they pose a
threat to the dreamer’s health and life. Here we can again see the logic of xiwak, or
susto shining through. Since xiwak in the waking-state of reality causes loss of the
muhel in order not to die it is necessary to recuperate it. The difference here is that
in dreams the muhel detaches itself voluntarily and in most cases it returns without
any problem. When roaming the world, the muhel may meet and interact with
other people’s muhel, which more often than not is harmless, but they may also be
targets of evil sorcerers (aj tuul) who roam the night in search of victims. When
dreaming, one’s muhel may also encounter the winqul of the night or the Devil
himself. As previously mentioned, the concept of the Devil was introduced by Span-
ish colonial missionaries and subsequently incorporated into Maya religious beliefs.
The Q’eqchi’ Maya of today conceive of the Devil as a malevolent spirit potentially
present everywhere. Don Sebastián says:

The Devil does his evil doings by using people, by making them do bad things. The Dev-
il is an enemy of the human being and his main objective is to win over people’s muhels.

133
Fig. 5.2. Don Cesario on top of the tzuultaq’a Juan Secumun.

Whenever a tzuultaq’a appears in a person’s dream this is considered a socially inter-

active encounter enabling communication. Prior to planting or hunting, people are

134
ideally required to feed and petition the tzuultaq’as. To ask for permission is to
initiate a conversation with the tzuultaq’as. Whereas the tzuultaq’as in general do
not respond directly to requests while people are in a cave they may nevertheless
take part of the conversation by answering at a later stage, at night when people are
asleep and begin to dream. It is during these nocturnal dream encounters with a
tzuultaq’a that people gain an opportunity to communicate properly with them and
to receive answers to their questions and petitions as well as receiving other im-
portant messages. Moreover, these encounters reveal the identities of the tzuultaq’as.
Consequently, in dreams people have the chance to get to know the tzuultaq’a, to
learn their sex, their names and so on and forth. Elders have told me that tzuultaq’as
appear in their dreams for a number of different reasons and these encounters can
be divided into both positive and negative ones on the part of humans.
On the positive side tzuultaq’as may actively seek out people in dreams to give
notice that they have been chosen to, for example, become healers or midwives or to
inform them about suitable dates for planting or harvesting, as well as how to best
lead a moral and ritual life. Moreover, tzuultaq’as also appear in people’s dream to
grant requests for hunting or planting on their properties.

Negative encounters are often triggered by breaches in moral and ritual codes. Of-
tentimes, tzuultaq’as appear in people’s dreams when they have committed wrong-
doings of some kind. In these instances, people commonly state that a tzuultaq’a
appears first and foremost in order to deliver a warning as a reminder of a person’s
faults and that one needs to better oneself and behave in a correct manner. Since
tzuultaq’as are considered owners and custodians of nature, human misconduct
usually revolves around failures in the conduct of rituals and of moral transgres-
sions. If these errors are not corrected after having been reminded of them, the
tzuultaq’a does not delay in showing them the consequences of their misbehavior
and disobedience. I have been told of several instances where people are captured by
a tzuultaq’as inside a hill or where a tzuultaq’a snatches away a person’s muhel.
There are also instances when a tzuultaq’a strikes first prior to informing people in
their dreams of their wrongdoings. Don Cesario relates such an event:

There was a time when I sowed beans in Utzleb’al, on the tzuultaq’a called San Juán
Secumun. All of a sudden animals kept coming and coming and ate whatever grew. Then
one night I had a dream in which Don Juán appeared and talked to me. He told me that
the reason why animals had eaten my crops was because I hadn’t asked for his permission

135
 to do so, and I had not conducted any of the required rituals either. Had I done so, Don
Juán said, I would have been able to enjoy a good harvest. All this he told me in my
dream. Afterwards I began doing everything that Don Juán had asked me to do and since
then everything has been fine.

In this case the tzuultaq’a chose to act with vengeance prior to warning the offender.
He appeared only after he had let out the animals from his cave to eat the crops
planted by Don Cesario to inform him of the wrongdoings he had committed. One
positive outcome of this encounter, however, was that Don Cesario was informed of
how to behave in order to secure future crops.

The tzuultaq’as approach people in order to help them lead a life devoid of hunger.
People have on several occasions told me that the tzuultaq’as appear in dreams ask-
ing people why they do not simply ask in the proper way for that which they want
and so often desperately need for their own sustenance. As Don Domingo states,
‘the tzuultaq’a appear in our dreams and ask us why we are dying of hunger when all
we have to do is simply to ask for food’. ‘Ask and you shall receive’, he says. There
was a time when people in the neighboring community of Pecuilix experienced bad
crops which caused many of them to starve since they had very little to eat. All they
had to eat was what they could afford to buy, but since this is one of the poorer
communities within the municipality of Chisec, they could not afford much. This
led Don Manuel to ponder upon the severe situation they found themselves in. He
began to think about what they had done wrong in order for this to happen and
soon came to the conclusion that they had all forgotten about the tzuultaq’as – they
had not been acknowledged, respected and fed. He then gathered other people from
the community in order to conduct a mayejak (a collective ritual) to ask for for-
giveness for not respecting their tzuultaq’as. Afterwards, a group of people set out on
a pilgrimage to visit and pay their respects to other powerful tzuultaq’as in the high-
lands around the towns of San Pedro Carchá and Cobán. Two days later, a tzuul-
taq’a called Qaawa’ Cajcan appeared in a dream of Don Manuel. ‘He had listened
to us’ Don Manuel says, ‘and he was now ready to give us food again’. In the dream
Don Manuel was led by Qaawa’ Cajcan deep inside the hill where he was shown all
sorts of crops, such as corn, beans, bananas etc. He was then told that this is the
place where he from then on would have to conduct his rituals, ‘because now’,
Qaawa’ Cajcan said, ‘I have shown you what I have and what I can give you’.

136
Fig. 5.3. Don Manuel holding on to this Bible.

Apparently, as this case shows, the tzuultaq’a interact with people not to punish, but
rather to avoid (further) punishment. Don Manuel asserts that they would not be
here in this community if it were not for the tzuultaq’a. Thus, even though it ulti-
mately lies in the hands of the tzuultaq’as when and where a nocturnal encounter is
to take place, people can, as evidenced by the example above, influence the tzuul-
taq’as to come forward and reveal themselves in people’s dreams.

Regarding people suffering from hunger due to not having followed the required
ritual procedures, the tzuultaq’as often seem to withhold crops and prevent people
from enjoying bountiful harvests, either by keeping the seed locked up inside the
hill or by sending wild animals to eat the crops before they are ready for harvest. In
dreams they may appear to remind or warn people of their misconducts and inform
them about how to correct their behavior and thus gain access to the food they
desire. If one does not repent and change one’s way, there is most certainly a price
to be paid. Tzuultaq’as may continue to send out animals to continue eating their
crops or they may decide to permanently withhold the seed so that nothing is al-

137
lowed to grow in their fields. Transgressors might also be victims of accidents (xi-
wak) such as falling down cliffs, or into a river, being bitten by a poisonous snake,
which is one of the tzuultaq’as messengers.
There also exist misconducts so gruesome that one runs the risk of losing one’s
life. Don Victoriano Coc, an eighty-six year old man from Chisec narrates a rather
long and extensive dream experience he had as an adolescent man when he had been
invited to go hunting for jaguars with a hunter named Don Domingo.

When I was young and had just started a family a man invited me to go hunting with
him. I gladly accepted the invitation because I always like to go hunting. So we set out to
hunt in the hills close to the San Simon River within the premises of what is now the
community of Semuy located just south of Chisec. During this time, one could encoun-
ter many wild boar in the forests. You normally didn’t have to go far into the forest to
find them. You could spot them as close as in the community of Las Ruinas. Anyway, I
was feeling very happy that Don Domingo had invited me on the hunt and I brought
with me some tortillas for the trip since it might take a while before we found any ani-
mals to kill, even though Don Domingo said he knew where we would find them. What
I didn’t know at the time, however, was that Don Domingo had done bad things to the
tzuultaq’a there. Still we went along feeling very content.

At the time, the jungle was very dense and thick and it was a grand jungle. But after little
more than a day had passed we were not able to find any game to hunt whatsoever. This
came as a real surprise to Don Domingo because, as he said, he always succeeded in hunt-
ing animals. The only thing we could find were animal tracks. We couldn’t even find
turkeys or snakes. By the time we had grown very tired of not finding any animals we
reached Río Chiquipúr where we came upon a little hunting cabin. Don Domingo then
decided that ‘it is better that we rest here because I am really tired’. ‘It is alright with me’,
I said, and we sat down to rest. ‘We don’t seem to find anything here’, Don Domingo
told me, ‘but we will have to sleep here for now and tomorrow we can take another better
route that will lead us towards the communities of Las Ruinas and Chaquiguiché’ be-
cause we have to find some animals’. Don Domingo was really tired and fell asleep al-
most immediately after we had reached the cabin. Since we were just by the river I decid-
ed to try to catch some fish and I managed to catch some fish, which I later would cook
while he was still sleeping soundly. I prepared the fish with ingredients that I had
brought with me. When out hunting you have to be prepared with ingredients for food,
such as onion, hierba buena, garlic, tomatoes, salt, and a small pot. As I was sitting by the
river it began to grow dark and when I could only see little of the sun going down behind
the hills I suddenly heard jaguars roar from somewhere close by. Then I began to hear
noises from other animals as well. It sounded like large animals, like cattle, perhaps, and

138
they kept crying and whining constantly. I woke Don Domingo and told him about all
the noises I had heard and that the jaguars were roaring somewhere close to us in the
jungle. I asked him what we were supposed to do if they came to attack us. Don Domin-
go could also hear the animals crying in the jungle but told me not to worry since he had
his gun with him. I was afraid that maybe all the animals that we heard would come and
eat us alive. Don Domingo reassured me that it would be no problem at all and told me
that the animals would probably pass by us. But I could hear that this was not the case at
all. They would not leave. It seemed to me as if they all wanted something.

It must have been around 9 pm and it was dark. We decided to eat the fish that I had
caught and cooked for us and then we went to sleep inside the cabin. Still, however, we
could hear all the animals crying in the jungle. Don Domingo told me that we shouldn’t
do anything. We shouldn’t pay them any attention. In fact, he said, ‘we should hope that
they come forward because I have something for them that is theirs’, referring to the bul-
lets in his gun. ‘Oh my god!’, I said to him, ‘Do not talk like that! We’d better not shoot
those poor animals’. Then, after having fallen into a deep sleep and because of a dream I
had that night I could no longer hear the crying of the animals in the jungle.

I dreamt that I was back at my house when all of a sudden a couple of comisionados (mili-
tary commissioners assigned by the army to maintain military control in communities
during the civil war) showed up telling me that they had been sent by the alcalde, the
principal authority, who wanted to see me. At first I said I was busy and couldn’t make it
just then but they persuaded me saying that it was a matter of urgency and that it would
only take a short while since all their boss wanted was to have a quick word with me,
nothing else. So I agreed to follow them but I was still wondering what the alcalde want-
ed since I knew that all my papers were in order. ‘You have nothing to worry about’, they
said, ‘you will return in no time and you won’t be put in jail if you are afraid this might
be the case’. So I went along with these men down a road that took us deep into the thick
jungle. When we finally stopped I could see that I was standing in front of a door to a big
house. The men told me to open the door and enter. When I came inside I could see that
it was a clean and beautifully decorated house. I could see a lot of precious and valuable
things and many lights that were illuminating the interior of the house. However, even
though it looked very much like a house, it was in fact a cave. Then I was introduced to
the alcalde [i.e. the tzuultaq’a] and I could see that he was a man of very large stature with
blond hair and he wore very nice clothes. He had many fine jewels on both his hands and
around his neck. It was like looking at a foreigner, a gringo, and he was seated behind a
desk writing something in a book. After I was introduced to him he spoke to me and
asked me to sit down on a chair. I noticed that he spoke to me in Q’eqchi’ and not in
Spanish or any other language. ‘So, the man I sent you to bring to me has arrived’, the

139
tzuultaq’a said to the comisionados. Then he told me why he had asked me to come to his
abode saying that he felt sorry for me and that it truly was a pity that I had come to his
place in the company of this hunter. ‘He has a problem here with me’ the tzuultaq’a said,
‘he has committed serious sins and because of this, I am probably going to kill him to-
day’. Then he said again that he felt sorry for me for having come here to this hill with
this man since this inevitably meant that I would not escape experiencing things that
were going to happen to the hunter. I told the tzuultaq’a that I had no idea of what kind
of wrongdoings the hunter had committed here but since I came here with him on this
particular day I knew that I was already partly involved. As the tzuultaq’a explained to
me, he had been waiting some time for the hunter to return here and when he saw two
people walking in front of him this day he immediately recognized the hunter as being
Don Domingo, the man who had committed grave sins in this place. Then the tzuultaq’a
arose and went towards a door in the back of the room. He opened the door and said to
me ‘come here, I want to show you something. Look, here I have a pasture (corral) that
has been left empty for some time now’. I followed the tzuultaq’a inside and could see
that there indeed were no animals at all in the pen. ‘This is what the hunter has done to
me,’ the tzuultaq’a said in anger. ‘This pasture is empty because he has killed off all the
mothers of all the animals and he hasn’t even paid me a single centavo! He has been steal-
ing from me and I feel a lot of pain! I wonder how he would feel if I came and killed all
of his animals. Because of this he has many debts that he owes me and this is the reason
why I have been waiting for him to return’. The tzuultaq’a went on to show me other
fincas that he had where there were still a lot of animals such as horses, pigs, chickens,
ducks, turkeys, etc. ‘I have many corrals and pastures here’ the tzuultaq’a continued,
‘look here at my fincas and all of my animals. Here I have wealth!’ He then told me that
the whole territory of Petén was in fact in his possession and there he has twelve daugh-
ters just as he has seven daughters in the hills of La Ventana in Chisec. ‘But thanks to the
hunter who has been stealing from me, one of my pastures is now empty of animals. My
riches are diminishing’. The tzuultaq’a told me that I had to return to the hunter and ex-
plain the situation to him and tell him to stop robbing the tzuultaq’a of all his animals
and that he must leave immediately. ‘But if he does not wish to leave or if he does not be-
lieve what you say’, the tzuultaq’a continued, ‘then I am going to fetch my horsewhip
and crack it very hard three times because what I have been saying here is not a lie’.

When we woke up in the cabin, I immediately told him of what had happened in my
dream and that he had committed a serious crime here by killing all the animals of the
tzuultaq’a’s pasture and that we had therefore been ordered by the owner of the hill to
leave this place immediately, otherwise we would probably end up dead. Don Domingo
simply laughed at me and said that since it was only a dream he did not believe what I
said. Nonetheless, I kept insisting that we had to abandon the hills and return home as

140
 quickly as possible but Don Domingo gave me no notice and we packed our stuff and set
out again into the thick vegetation. Don Domingo took the lead cutting our way
through the dense jungle with his machete. It didn’t take long until all of a sudden a
dense darkness started to fall over us. I told Don Domingo that because the day had
darkened we are surely going to die. But we kept on cutting our way through the jungle
in the midst of the darkness. Suddenly I could see the leaves move and within a few se-
conds a big snake, a barba amarilla, launched itself down on us from a tree branch. It fell
on my chest but I managed to jump to the side and avoided getting bitten by the snake.
Instead I fell and hit my head on the ground. Don Domingo wanted to kill the snake but
I told him that if you do this we will definitely die. Afterwards we continued through the
jungle into the darkness. Later, out of nowhere, a strong wind began to blow and the hills
began sinking down over us. A heavy rain began to fall, which was followed by a fright-
ening thunderstorm. It was like all this only came down on the two of us, like it was
aimed specifically at us. Because we were only carrying our backpacks we had nothing to
protect us from the thunderstorm. We endured three hard thunderstorms like this and I
kept complaining to Don Domingo that we were going to die. Eventually, however, the
rain passed and the light of the sun came back to shine on us. Although it felt as if we
had been walking for a whole day we ended up at the same place by the cabin were we
had spent the previous night. I told Don Domingo that we are going to get lost in these
hills because he didn’t listen to me and only laughed at me again. Then we set out again
down the hills and it was already late by the time we managed to find a granary. Then
the rain came down once again. ‘Here, at this granary’, Don Domingo said ‘is where I
have killed all the animals that I have hunted. I used to bring some men with me to carry
the meat back home’. I wished only that he had returned here afterwards to burn two
libras [0.92 kg] of copal pom for the tzuultaq’a. ‘This is the error you have committed’, I
said to him, ‘because the tzuultaq’a told me that you needed only to pay him a little, that
is only what he wanted. Later, we both managed to return to our houses and I was feeling
a little bit sad when I said goodbye to Don Domingo.

In this extensive narrative we are presented a dream account that for the protago-
nist, Don Victoriano, is evidence of the existence of the tzuultaq’a in Chisec where
he lives. To hunt animals, or to use any of the tzuultaq’as resources, requires asking
for permission first and to ritually reciprocate in a proper manner. As the tzuultaq’a
explained to Don Victoriano in his dream, the hunter had not done this and the
tzuultaq’a was complaining that he had killed all of his animals in a particular pas-
ture. Thus, the hunter was guilty of overhunting. At the same time it is potentially
hazardous to the transgressor who may sooner or later expect to reap the conse-
quences one way or another. As this narrative testifies, encounters with a tzuultaq’a

141
revolve around being reminded of one’s failures and shortcomings, and how one
should act to make amends and make the necessary corrections in one’s ritual and
moral life. Such instances instill shame and embarrassment on behalf of the trans-
gressor and the tzuultaq’as offer the transgressors advice and guidance so that they
recognize their faults and ask for forgiveness.

Fig. 5.4. Don Victoriano Coc and his wife, Chisec.

142
Diurnal Encounters with the Tzuultaq’a

Within Q’eqchi’ lifeworlds, people do not only interact with spirit beings through
dreams when one’s muhel roams freely but also in the waking state.51 Diurnal en-
counters with tzuultaq’as are often heard of too. In some instances the process of
dimensional crossing is reversed enabling spirit beings to cross over into the physical
reality, i.e. the ordinary world, and appear as beings made of flesh and blood.
Stories of people encountering tzuultaq’as in the ordinary reality abound in
Chisec. As opposed to dream experiences, to encounter and be ‘seen’ by a tzuultaq’a
(rilomil tzuul) in a waking state signifies that one has committed a grave error in life
such as moral transgressions, disrupting social harmony, or incorrect ritual behavior,
breaking the reciprocal relations between humans and tzuultaq’as, or between one’s
fellow humans. Any person affected by rilomil tzuul usually shows signs of distress
such as vomiting, fainting, depression, memory loss, headache, a pale or dark com-
plexion, and if the proper cure cannot be found in time (at least within a few days)
one might eventually die. Don Victoriano told me:

If I were to see a tzuultaq’a in [waking] reality I would not be able to tell anyone about it,
without my family having to say farewell to me. This is why they only reveal themselves
in our dreams. To see a tzuultaq’a means that your death is imminent. It is not necessari-
ly the case that this is a decision made by the tzuultaq’a. He is only the helper or messen-
ger that notifies you that death awaits you.

To encounter and be seen by a tzuultaq’a may lead to xiwak, the loss of one’s muhel.
Worse yet, this often spreads and produces xiwak of family members, especially
children who often suffer for the actions and behavior of their parents. The curande-
ros know when a child has been seen by a tzuultaq’a because his father or mother
has failed in conducting the correct ritual procedures or if they have been speaking
ill of the tzuultaq’a. In the community of Serraxquen, a little boy who was ‘seen’ by
the tzuultaq’a died a tragic death because no cure could be found for him. However,
as Don Sebastián states when commenting on this incident:

51
Don Hermelindo Caal explained to me that dreams occur when one is sleeping but one may also
encounter and communicate with tzuultaq’as in visions which occur ‘when people who have God within
their heart are praying or thinking about something good or God. Then they may see a vision that can
give you messages’. Regretfully, I have not heard people talking about these visions occurring in a waking
state.

143
 To die after having been seen by a hill (rilomil tzuul) is not solely restricted to children.
This could happen to anyone because the hills are alive and they have authority over us
all. Hence, it is very difficult for us to cure someone who is suffering from a disease pro-
voked by the tzuultaq’a.

Another incident of rilomil tzuul told by the elders of Serraxquén concerns a young
couple who had two children. It turned out the man had lost his affection for his
wife and had fallen in love with another woman. One day the man came down with
a fever but they were out of firewood so his wife asked him to go and fetch some on
a small hill nearby the house. The man went and when he came up on to the hill he
began to think about this other woman. The tzuultaq’a of this particular hill became
aware of this and transformed into the woman and went to seek out the man and
when they met they began to kiss and hug one another. Later, when the man ar-
rived back at the house he had not brought any wood back with him and he felt
even more feverish and went straight to bed asking his wife to bring him some wa-
ter. Due to his illness he decided to go to the hospital of San Juán de Diós in Gua-
temala City but they could not cure him so he died. The elders in the village ob-
served that the man had been seen by the tzuultaq’a and therefore he died. Had he
chosen to do a mayejak instead of going to the hospital, they say that he probably
would have survived. The tzuultaq’a had recognized this man’s adultery and, as one
of the elders says, ‘it is not good to think of something bad while up in the hills
because if we do, we do not know what might happen. We could fall and hurt our-
selves, a snake might scare us, or we might be seen by the tzuultaq’a’.

To further demonstrate the actual risk of losing one’s life after having encountered a
tzuultaq’a I again turn to Don Victoriano. According to him, the following story
illustrates the punishing effects of neglecting one’s responsibilities within one’s
community and for not respecting one’s friends or the tzuultaq’a. This account
revolves around a religious fiesta involving the entire community. A friend to Don
Victoriano had been given the privilege of assisting one of the principal priests dur-
ing the ceremony but, as it turned out, he did not recognize his responsibilities
thinking instead that it was not worth his while. He did not want to work together
with the rest of his friends either and instead thought it better to leave for his milpa
to carry out some work. Don Victoriano comments:

144
 When one doesn’t accept these responsibilities it is an indication that one does not have
respect for God, which is a sin. Sometimes it does not take much to go against God be-
cause in his hands lies our lives and he is the one who decides what happens to us.

Here the impact of Catholicism in Q’eqchi’ beliefs are recognized. For Don Victo-
riano, as for many other Q’eqchi’ people, God is omnipotent and the creator of
everything. The tzuultaq’as are god’s ‘governors’ here on Earth, its protectors, and
they function as mediators between God and humanity. Thus while the rest of the
community members were busy celebrating, this man went to his milpa to swidden
the fields. When he arrived, standing in the middle of his field, he suddenly heard
someone approaching from behind. He turned around and saw a well-dressed man
standing in front of him. Although Don Victoriano’s friend was not aware of this he
was actually standing in front of and talking to a tzuultaq’a ‘in the appearance of a
foreign person’. The tzuultaq’a addressed the man asking him what he was up to.

‘I am going to burn the fields because it is going to rain soon and I do not want it all to
become too wet’, the man answered. ‘And where is this place where you are going to do
your burning?’, the tzuultaq’a asked. ‘Well’, the man said, ‘It is right here, right here on
this hill’. The man was still not aware that he was talking to a tzuultaq’a because the
tzuultaq’as wishes that one addresses them as either Qaawa’ or Qana’, which the man did
not do. ‘And why are you going to do your burning now? Is today the day to burn your
fields? Why aren’t you at the fiesta today? It seems to me that you do not respect this par-
ticular day very much. Why do you think that I came even though it is very far for me to
get here? I’ll tell you, I came here because the people invited me and you should also be
there. I hope you understand this because I want all things in life to be good for all those
who behave well and who are grateful’. Upon hearing this the man felt accused and an-
swered: ‘Why do you talk to me in this way?’ Perhaps you think you know me? Who are
you to think that you can talk to me in such a way?’ The tzuultaq’a then asked him, ‘why
didn’t you accept the invitation and go and celebrate and enjoy the fiesta with the others?
You you think that this would only be a waste of time. This is not good. They invited me
and therefore I went. It seems that you think too much of yourself and I do not appreci-
ate you acting in this way. I do not know if you are aware of what might happen to you
in your life if you do not recognize and appreciate what you have done here today. You
have too much pride, don’t you? But I tell you, it is not worth anything, and who told
you that it is going to rain today? The man responded, ‘look at Don Victoriano’s milpa, a
strong wind is already starting to blow. ‘Don’t you even dare to mention this man’s name
because he is at the fiesta celebrating together with the rest of the people. They are eating
and drinking and they served me today and for this I am very grateful because they are

145
 very good people. The table was prepared for me and I went there to share with them
what they had to offer. They gave me a bottle of drink but you, my dear friend, you are
too proud and care only about yourself. You always go and steal from descent people.
You humiliate the humble and feed on them and take what is not yours. This is not ac-
ceptable. I want you to be aware of all the bad things you have done and the bad things
you have caused some of these humble people. The man wanting to defend himself re-
plied, ‘But I went with one of the elders of the church and I have also participated in
many activities. I think that I have done what was required of me. I also assisted in the
construction of the church and I have done a lot of other things’. But the tzuultaq’a ar-
gued that this was not enough ‘because your ancestors have always cultivated the earth
and they worked from the time they were only children until they died and it is the same
with you. The work you do in cultivating the earth you will continue doing until you
die. You needed to be at the fiesta today. You broke the law, the authority, which you do
not bother to care about and humiliate. When the tzuultaq’a had finished talking, the
man said: ‘Here, I have a bottle of b’oj for you’. The tzuultaq’a then said: ‘If you are go-
ing to give me this drink, you better do it with all of your heart, and I will not drink it
alone but only together with you’. ‘That is alright with me’, the man said and the tzuul-
taq’a told him: ‘Wait for me in the shadow of the two trees by the edge of the milpa that
you have cut in order to swidden your field. Wait for me there while I go down to Don
Victoriano’s house to have a look because thieves have suddenly broken into his house,
thieves like you. Soon they will have taken everything. His turkeys, chickens, and ma-
zorcas.’ The man did as he was told and went to sit and wait in the shadow underneath
the trees. There he sat feeling embarrassed, ashamed, and saddened by the truth that the
tzuultaq’a had told him. Soon afterwards, the man’s son and son-in-law showed up and
he asked them if they had seen the man that was recently there but they told him that
they had not seen anyone at all.

A short while after this incident took place, the man went to confront Don Victori-
ano and asked him:

‘Tell me one thing, Victoriano. Who was the person who told me all those things while
you were at the fiesta and as I went to swidden my milpa? Before I had the chance to do
so he showed up telling me that I was a thief and that he was going to your house and to
your milpa to see if there were any thieves there like me. Please tell me why he said all
these things to me. Do you have a pact with this person perhaps? Why does he love you
so much? Why does he protect your belongings? Please, give me a reason because I ha-
ven’t been stealing from you or from anyone else. I feel very sad about all the things this
person has accused me of and when I offered him something to drink he told me that I

146
 should wait for him to come back. He said nothing more to me and later on when my
children came to see me they said they hadn’t seen him at all.

Don Victoriano answered that he had no idea who his friend was talking about but
the man kept insisting that it indeed must have been a friend of his, which Don
Victoriano kept denying. According to Don Victoriano, the man later became
chronically ill and suffered until he died two years later. According to Don Victori-
ano, the man died because he had seen the tzuultaq’a in real life. The tzuultaq’a had
recognized the immoral behavior of the man and encountered him in his milpa.
Don Victoriano states that ‘the person he had been talking to made him pay for all
the bad things he had done throughout his life towards other people’.

Don Juán Rax, another elder from Chisec, spoke of a sick neighbor whose suffering
was the result of having encountered a tzuultaq’a. He said:

This man was previously a follower of the Catholic faith and always used to participate in
mayejaks, giving offerings to the tzuultaq’as. Later, however, he converted to the Evangel-
ical faith. On one particular day, an old woman appeared in front of him while he was
walking down a path. She spoke to him and said that there is a tzuultaq’a here that wants
you to mayejak, to burn copal pom, bring candles and also do a wa’tesink (a house-feeding
ritual).

Since the man no longer belonged to the Catholic Church he was not obliged to
respect the tzuultaq’a. Consequently, he chose to ignore the old woman’s wishes
thinking that she was only lying to him. A few days passed and the man became
very ill and his condition was getting worse by the day. Not knowing the cause of
his illness he looked for a number of different people who he thought might cure
him. But no one could cure him. Finally, he went to see a curandero who immedi-
ately understood what had happened and told him that it was the tzuultaq’a located
in front of his house that had punished him and taken away his muhel. Even though
it was normally his job to recuperate people’s muhels, in this particular case it was
beyond his power. Because the neighbor had not respected or believed in the hills
and neglected to perform the rituals that he had been asked to, he saw the tzuul-
taq’a, and this resulted in xiwak as a punishment. ‘When someone does not respect,
nor value the tzuultaq’a’, Don Juán continues, ‘they will always suffer the conse-

147
quences, be it illness or xiwak. No matter where you are you always have to respect
the tzuultaq’a.

The curandero then gathered a group of elders who knew how to conduct the prop-
er rituals required.

The curandero invited us to participate in the ritual that he was going to perform on the
tzuultaq’a [that is, on the hill in front of the sick man’s house] in order to recuperate the
muhel of the sick person. On that day there were seven elders who went with the curande-
ro to bring back the muhel of this sick man. He told us that we were invited as witnesses
before the tzuultaq’a and that we wanted to bring back the sick man’s muhel.

As it turned out, the sick man had a dream in which the tzuultaq’a told him that
both he and his wife (who was still a Catholic) had been invited to come and do the
mayejak but that the man had not listened and refused to do so. The tzuultaq’a told
him that in order for the tzuultaq’a to be able to cure him he had to go and
wa’tesink. Thus, by seeing a tzuultaq’a face to face in a waking state is often cata-
lyzed by disrespect toward the tzuultaq’a followed by dire consequences. This time,
however, the afflicted man was able to recuperate his muhel and thus managed to
escape death.

A second mode of diurnal interaction with the tzuultaq’as occurs when people are
brought inside hills where they meet with tzuultaq’as. As the house of a tzuultaq’a
within a hill is a spirit place, to encounter a tzuultaq’a in such a manner implies that
it occurs in spirit form. I was told of one man who had been out hunting on the hill
of Qana’ Itz’am. Before setting out to hunt, the hunter made the required rituals
and had petitioned Qana’ Itz’am for permission to hunt on her territory. Regretful-
ly, however, this was something that had managed to slip under the radar of other
tzuultaq’as residing in the vicinity. As a result, these tzuultaq’as decided to kill the
hunter. While the hunter was up in the hills he suddenly got lost and was eventually
locked up inside a cave by the tzuultaq’as. At the last minute, however, Qana’ Itz’am
arrived and asked the other tzuultaq’as why they were about to kill this man. She
told them that the man in question had burnt his copal pom. ‘He always makes his
mayejak’, she said and upon hearing this the other tzuultaq’as decided to set the man
free and to allow him to continue his hunting trip. This story builds on the notion
of the sociability of tzuultaq’as as accounted for in chapter 4, revealing not only

148
their ability to communicate but that they, like humans, also are capable of making
mistakes, recognizing them and making amends. The sharing of stories of this kind
emphasizes the importance of correct ritual behavior to be allowed to make use of
the tzuultaq’as resources.
Common among many stories such as the one above is that a person encounters
a little boy stating that the tzuultaq’a wishes to see him or her and then asks the
person to close his/her eyes. On opening them again the person suddenly finds him
or herself in the house of the tzuultaq’a inside the hill. As Tedlock (1992: 464)
posits, in order for a Mayan visionary narrative to be credible requires this child as a
guide or a messenger and an old person as the tzuultaq’a. Tedlock refers to this
encounter as a ‘vision’ and indeed this is what some of the elders do as well.
Q’eqchi’ people refer to these vision encounters with the tzuultaq’a as sa’ santil
musiq’ej and as I suggested in chapter 4 these waking encounters with the tzuultaq’a,
are generated through the musiq’ of a person, which, indeed, is a medium of com-
munication between humans and spirit beings. It seems clear then that these en-
counters occur mainly through one’s spiritual components, and perhaps more so
with the musiq, rather than the muhel as in the story below:

Five years ago there was a man who lived very close to a big hill that had not yet
been touched by any man. No trees had been cut down on this hill. Now, this
man enjoyed hunting and he had a dog that was very good at tracking wild
game. The man had a rifle but to his dismay it did not aim very well. Whenever
his dog hunted for a wild animal the man would be ready to shoot the rifle but
since it didn’t aim well, he always ended up wounding the animals who escaped
into the jungle. On one particular day, the man went with his dog to check on
his milpa but when he arrived he noticed that his corn was in really bad shape. It
was not growing well at all, which made the man sad. While the man inspected
the corn he suddenly heard his dog bark at the edge of the milpa by the forest
line. Instantly he reached for his rifle but realized that it wasn’t hanging on his
shoulder and that he had left it at home. He worked up the courage and went to
see what was going on and when he came up to his dog that was still barking
away he could see a glimpse of a jaguar hiding in the bushes. The jaguar imme-
diately set off into the jungle with his dog following it close behind. Soon the
man could no longer see or hear the dog or the jaguar. He kept calling out for
his dog but it would not return. Saddened, he was left there all alone thinking

149
his dog was gone forever. Then all of a sudden a child appeared in front of him.
The child spoke to him asking him what had happened and why he was so sad.
‘I am sad because my dog has disappeared’, the man replied. ‘Well, now’, the
child said, ‘look here. I want you to come with me for a little while. It is urgent
and it will only take a short while. Come now, just follow me’. The boy pointed
out the direction that led right into the thick jungle. ‘But there is no path here’,
the man replied. ‘Do not worry about that, I am going to lead the way’, the boy
said, and the two of them set off into the jungle.

After having walked for quite a long time they suddenly stopped and the boy
turned to the man saying ‘Okay, listen here. Now I want you to close your eyes
for me, just for a second’. The man did as the boy asked and when he opened
his eyes again, to his surprise he found he had left the jungle. He was now inside
what looked like a beautifully decorated house and he could see a fair-skinned
man with blonde hair seated behind a large desk. The boy approached the man
[the tzuultaq’a] behind the desk informing him that he had brought the person
who he had been sent to bring. The tzuultaq’a welcomed the man to his house
and asked him why he had been yelling and screaming so much in his milpa.
The man told the tzuultaq’a what had happened and that he had been calling
for his dog that had gone missing in the jungle. ‘So, where do you think your
dog is?’, the tzuultaq’a asked. The man responded truthfully that he had no idea
where the dog might be. ‘Well, I’ll tell you where he is’, the tzuultaq’a said,
‘your dog is here right underneath my table. Who do you think is the one to
blame for you both being here at this time? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s not the dog’s
fault, that’s for sure. He’s not to blame for any of this at all. No, truth be said, it
is your fault that this has happened. You really do not know anything, do you?
You are good for nothing! Tell me, how is your cornfield doing? The man an-
swered that it was in bad shape. ‘That is true’, the tzuultaq’a said ‘but you must
understand that you are committing some grave errors in your life. You only do
what pleases you and never pay attention to other things. Today, however, all
this is going to end because I do not want this to go on anymore. Today it’s
Sunday, right? And you consider yourself a true believer, uh? Still you do not
recognize the fact that it is Sunday. You always sing in church on Sundays but
not today, why is that? Why did you leave your church to come here to work in-
stead?’ The man replied that he knew very well that it was Sunday but that he

150
only wanted to go and check his crops. ‘Well,’ the tzuultaq’a said ‘since you have
chosen to come to work here on a Sunday you will also leave on a Sunday’.

Then the tzuultaq’a told the man to follow him into another room that looked
like a corral. When he entered the corral he could see all sorts of animals lying
around on the floor. He could see that all of them were wounded and there were
maggots in the open wounds. The wounded animals could neither stand up on
their own four legs nor drink or eat by themselves. The tzuultaq’a spoke to him
and made it clear that all this was his fault. The tzuultaq’a then asked the man
why he hadn’t conducted the proper rituals and asked permission to hunt, be-
cause then, as the tzuultaq’a said, he would have received all what he wanted.
‘You do not even need to pay me a lousy centavo, all you need is to believe’, the
tzuultaq’a explained to the man.

Because of what the man had done to the animals the tzuultaq’a informed him
that he had to cure all the animals he had wounded. The tzuultaq’a went to
fetch a bottle of medicine containing the remedy that would help to cure them.
He told the man to clean the wounds, take out all the maggots and put a band-
age over the wounds. First the man was led to the jaguar that was in desperate
need of curing but as the man got closer the jaguar roared loudly and scratched
his face with its sharp claws. The tzuultaq’a then grabbed hold of the jaguar,
stroked it gently until it began to doze off and eventually fell asleep so that the
man could give the medicine to the jaguar and heal its wounds. Having finished
curing the jaguar the man was told to go over to the deer and as he got closer
the deer tore up his shirt with its antlers. After having managed to cure the deer
the man went on to cure all the other wounded animals in the tzuultaq’a’s cor-
ral. When finished the tzuultaq’a told him that he had to remain and sleep with
the animals for three days to see whether they recuperate. Only then would he
win his freedom back. After three days the animals felt better and they could
stand up by themselves. When the tzuultaq’a returned he could see this and said
that he had done well and that the man had won his freedom back. ‘I think that
you will be back at your house soon’, he said. ‘I told you before that you didn’t
possess any wisdom and that you didn’t understand, right? But by now I hope
that you have learnt something and that you must be sure that I will give you
what you ask for from now on as long as your offerings are made with all of

151
 your heart. When you do this I will give you all that you want. Only then will
you be able to enjoy all of my goods. When you go and burn copal pom you
have to burn a lot. Not like you used to do before when you only gave me a lit-
tle. If you only offer me small amounts you cannot expect to receive much in re-
turn. Now, you are soon to return back home but before you do so I want you
to tell me the name of the place where you found my house’. The man answered
that he had no idea what this place was called but learned later from the tzuul-
taq’a that this place was called Xukaneb’. After a week, on the following Sunday
the man was released from the hill and was free to return home. Although he
did not look very well he did not die afterwards.

Cosmological Maintenance and Revitalization

Encounters with tzuultaq’as occur for several reasons. People look to meet and
communicate with tzuultaq’as prior to planting, hunting or to make use of other
resources of the tzuultaq’as. Encounters are often warnings of failure in ritual and
moral behavior too and usually one receives information on how to correct this
behavior in order to continue using the tzuultaq’as resources.
Encounters with tzuultaq’as function on the one hand to maintain and vali-
date an ontological continuity in space and time. On the other hand they serve to
catalyze cosmological revivalism. Through the means of crossing dimensional bor-
ders humans encounter and experience other life-forms which they normally cannot
perceive and by doing so their world is fully opened up. By crossing dimensional
borders people are given access to information and knowledge otherwise not attain-
able and they get to know the world, not by representing it in their mind, but by
being able to move around in their environment and to experience it directly – be
that in waking life or in dreams. By watching, feeling, and hearing, the world is
revealed to them. Ingold (2000: 99-100) argues that experiences of this kind are
formative and contribute to the shaping of a person’s sense of self and of his or her
attitudes and orientations towards the world. Experience is intrinsic to the genera-
tive process wherein persons (humans and non-humans) come into being and pur-
sue their respective life trajectory, each within the field of their relations with others.
The Self exists in its ongoing engagement with the environment: it is open to the
world. As I have shown in this chapter the capacity to partake of the extraordinary

152
dimension of reality contributes to gaining access to hidden information and
knowledge otherwise unattainable in waking reality.

As pointed out by Barbara Tedlock (1992), encounters with tzuultaq’as are im-
portant for the recent Mayan cultural and religious revivalism (at both a national
and local level) occurring throughout Guatemala. In one Q’eqchi’ community
people used to be afraid of entering their local cave partly due to its large size. Then
one day the resident tzuultaq’a appeared in a dream to one of the elders in which he
was told to enter the cave and start conducting the required rituals. The tzuultaq’a
appeared as a white-skinned priest who had brought with him a large ear of corn to
demonstrate what the outcome would be if they began doing rituals again. Three
days later six elderly men from the community went to the cave and held a ritual.
After a couple of days the elderly man had another dream in which the tzuultaq’a
appeared saying that they had conducted the ritual in the wrong place and that they
needed to go further inside the cave. The six elders went back inside the cave to
perform the ritual again. The great harvest that followed this proved to them that
they no longer needed to be afraid of the cave and the following year twelve men
ventured into the cave to perform the required rituals before planting their crops.
They built an altar inside the cave and since then they have held rituals every year
and increasingly more people come every year to join in the rituals.
Don Santiago claims that one of the primary objectives of the group cheekal
winq is to ‘revive what is being forgotten and abandoned. We want to teach our
children that if we do not respect the earth it will produce nothing’. The Tzuultaq’a
stand at the core of Q’eqchi’ cosmology and culture and as such it takes center stage
in acts of cultural revitalization. D. E. Sapper reports of an incident taking place in
the early twentieth century of a Q’eqchi’ diviner (Aj Q’e) who appeared in the
mountain of Xukaneb’ and announced that the German coffee fincas would be
destroyed and that the world was coming to an end. Salvation was promised to
those who chose to embrace a traditional way of life in poverty and nakedness (Villa
Rojas 1995: 381). Moreover, Tedlock (1992) reports of an incident from Living-
ston by the Caribbean coast at the beginning of the 1990s where a charismatic
Q’eqchi’ catechist experienced an encounter with a tzuultaq’a. As is customary to
such incidents, the man had met a little boy who asked him to close his eyes and
when he again opened them he found himself inside a hill where the tzuultaq’a, a
131-year old man was waiting for him. In this encounter, the man was asked if he

153
was willing to undertake a mission. Agreeing to this the man was sent out to travel
around visiting villages in order to see how crops and animals were being mistreat-
ed. Subsequently the man was taught songs meant to be sung in celebration of the
tzuultaq’a and the precious corn. He was also taught to properly care for animals
and crops and how to properly conduct the required rituals. He learned that the
tzuultaq’as are the custodians of the crops and the wildlife that provide food and
therefore people must worship and make offerings to them. All these songs and
instructions were recorded on a tape recorder and subsequently spread widely
throughout the area. The protagonist himself said that he had only been given seven
years to spread the word and that he would from then on regularly be joining the
tzuultaq’a for his meals. He also went around teaching his wisdom in many com-
munities and said that after the seven year period he would leave for an unknown
destination and that another person would be taken inside the hill in order to con-
tinue his work. He also said that even though people learn Spanish they should not
forget their true mothers and fathers and that they must remember that they are
Maya.
Thus, while narratives of encounters with the tzuultaq’a validate the existence
of the tzuultaq’as and their roles in Q’eqchi’ life-worlds as well as lend credibility to
their cosmology, these same narratives also support Maya revitalization movements.
This all lends its voice and gives meaning to the reconciliation between Catholic
Action and traditional Mayan religion (Pacheco 1981).

154
Fig. 5.5. Elders from Cajcan.

155
Fig. 5.6. cheekal winq.

156
 6
To Feed and Being Fed:
Existential Exchange and Cosmic
Equlibrium
‘Today we are dying along with our harvests that don’t yield’
- Mariano Pop Caz

While the previous chapter foused on social interaction between tzuultaq’as and
human beings the present chapter addresses the ritual as well as moral relationship
between humanity and the Tzuultaq’a. According to the Catholic elders God as-
signed the Tzuultaq’a to be the owner and custodian of the Earth, an obligation that
demands taking responsibility for all life that exists on this planet. Human wellbe-
ing and sustainable livelihood is dependent on granted access to the tzuultaq’as’
resources (crops, wild game, trees etc.) attainable only through a proper ritual and
moral behavior. In this chapter I describe first how the tzuultaq’as managed to gain
access to corn and subsequently how humanity, through a correct ritual and moral
behavior, are granted access to these resources. I examine the morality of everyday
behavior as well as ritual practices as part of a protective and reciprocal bond (that I
term existential exchange) with the tzuultaq’as based on a shared mutual responsibil-
ity not only to sustain and protect one another but also to maintain cosmic harmo-
ny and equilibrium. I address also failures to maintain such a relationship and what
implications this have, or may be expected to have, in the elders’ lifeworlds, espe-
cially concerning social and ecological wellbeing and sustainment.

157
Fig. 6.1. Preparing the precious corn.

The tzuultaq’as and the Discovery of Corn

According to Don Victoriano God created all sorts of corn. For some reason, how-
ever, it was hidden away locked inside one of his hills. There exist several stories
about how the corn was discovered by the tzuultaq’as so that they, themselves, ani-
mals, and by extension humans too, could have access to it as food. Below follows a
number of stories of how corn was initially released from within a mountain so that
it could be consumed by beings dwelling upon the Earth. Then I go on to discuss
how they are related. Several elders in Chisec know of myths concerning the discov-
ery of corn and how it is intimately connected with the tzuultaq’as. Below I present
one version told by Don Pedro Caal during a meeting with the cheekal winq.

In ancient times there existed twelve tzuultaq’as. They were not only ancient
men but also our ancestors. During this time there was a great famine through-
out the world during which both animals and tzuultaq’as suffered immensely.
The tzuultaq’as were forced to subsist only on fruits (such as, avocado, banana,

158
 mango, etc.), which they had grown extremely tired of eating and one of them
even fell ill under these severe conditions. They did not have corn, beans, salt, or
anything else. Eventually, however, the tzuultaq’as had a vision that there existed
corn somewhere but to their dismay they did not know where it could be found.
At this time there existed a creature by the name of Santiago who, while appear-
ing in human form, walked as a yak (gray fox). 52 One day when the ancient
tzuultaq’as were out walking they encountered Santiago and they could see that
the excrement that he left behind consisted of pieces of corn. They approached
Santiago and asked him where he had found the corn he had eaten but he re-
fused to reveal the place to them and went away. The tzuultaq’as decided to fol-
low Santiago’s trail that eventually led them to the foot of a mountain. There
they saw leaf cutter ants carrying corn coming out through a small crack at the
base of the mountain and immediately they understood that the corn must be in
there somewhere. Suddenly, an angel appeared and spoke to them telling them
that in order to gain access to the precious corn enclosed within the mountain
they would have to work very hard and if they did not succeed in breaking the
mountain open the whole world would die of hunger. Immediately, the twelve
tzuultaq’as set out to try and break the mountain. The first two tzuultaq’as failed
and then the sick tzuultaq’a called Qaawa’ Tiwuan was asked to try. At the same
time a woodpecker happened to fly by and the Qaawa’ Tiwuan asked the bird if
it could help them find a suitable place where they could break the mountain
open. The woodpecker agreed to help them and found a soft spot in the moun-
tain with his beak and then Qaawa’ Tiwuan sent a lightning bolt to that particu-
lar spot to open a hole in the mountain, which caused the enclosed corn to
sprinkle out so that it could be collected by the tzuultaq’as.53 They could see
that the corn was beautiful in its yellow and white colors but due to the light-
ning bolt that had been sent to break open the mountain some of the corn had
been burnt black and considered worthless by the tzuultaq’as.

Commenting on this story some elders concluded that ‘if we, the Q’eqchi’ people
do not work as hard as the tzuultaq’as did we will all die of hunger’. A similar myth

52 This animal/human creature is most likely a wild cat, or a gray fox (Sp. gato de monte), or a yak as it is

called in Q’eqchi’, which, in several Q’eqchi’ myths is said to have found maize inside a hill. The Chol
and Yucatec Maya refer to this animal as ch’amak (Akkeren 2012: 48).
53 In a similar myth it is related that Qaawa’ Ton Juan is the one who found the corn so that humanity

can get sustenance (Cruz Torres 1978: 81-97, in Estrada Ochoa 2006b).

159
was told to Hernando Gonzalo (1999) about twelve stupid tzuultaq’as and one
clever man. The clever one discovered that corn was kept inside a hill and later he
found out how to release it and now these men were the thirteen great hills circum-
scribing the Q’eqchi’ territory. Mary H. Preuss (1993) was told yet another version
of this myth:

After the tzuultaq’as had managed to break open the mountain, the weak and
sick tzuultaq’a (here called San Pablo), who was the smallest tzuultaq’a, was left
only with the burnt and ugly corn. Afterwards, when the other twelve tzuul-
taq’as went to plant their corn, San Pablo did the same even though he thought
his corn to be no good. San Pablo talked with his wife and they began to organ-
ize the appropriate rituals before planting. First he soaked the corn overnight so
that the corn would germinate. He did not sleep with his wife throughout the
night; instead they prayed and burned candles and copal pom. San Pablo was the
poorest of the tzuultaq’as. While the others had plenty of land to plant, San
Pablo only had enough land to plant necessary for his and his wife’s needs. Hav-
ing planted the corn all the other tzuultaq’as saw that San Pablo’s corn was
growing well while the rest of them had failed. They sent a wild cat to San
Pablo’s milpa to dig up some seeds and upon examining them they understood
that they had been soaked in water. They were not satisfied though and went to
San Pablo in order to ask him what else he had done in order to be so fortunate
with his crops but San Pablo would not tell them. Thus, the other tzuultaq’as
began to spy on him to learn what he had done but they failed to discover any-
thing more. In the end, the other tzuultaq’as went to visit San Pablo and
brought him many gifts among which there was a bottle of liquor. The tzuul-
taq’as persuaded San Pablo to drink of the liquor and when he got really drunk
they managed to make him reveal all of his secrets about preparations for plant-
ing.

There was yet another myth told to Robert Burkitt (1920) by a man named Tibur-
tius Kaál from Cobán in the early twentieth century. In this myth we get a clearer
understanding of why the tzuultaq’as were starving and why they did not have any
corn to feed on. According to the myth:

160
The tzuultaq’a Xukaneb’ rose early one morning only to find that his daughter
Suqk’im (Basket Grass) was missing. He asked his servants if they had seen her
but they had not. They searched for her but could not find her anywhere. Angry
at the loss of his daughter, Xukaneb’ sent for his worthy councelours (aj taktxía),
Tzuul Pansúh, Tzuul Kekwah, Tzuul Puklúm, Tzuul Chitsuhay, Tzuul Chi-
chén, and Tzuul [Tzimaj] T’óq’ in order to assist him in finding her. Eventually
they found out that she had been kidnapped by a hill called Aj Q’ixmés.
Xukaneb’ then told the xaalamjé (a small bird) and the k’utx (hawk) to go to the
hill Saq’lech’ and ask if he would temporarily store all of Xukaneb’s goods, first
and foremost the corn seed, while he tried getting his daughter back. Then
Xukaneb’ told all his animals who fed on the corn to remain by Saq’lech’ until
he could have them back again. Saq’lech’ agreed to store Xukaneb’s corn seed.
Now, Saq’lech’ was the first suitor of Suqk’im but he had not yet learned that
she had been kidnapped by Q’ixmés. Xukaneb’ sent his younger brother Ch’ina
Xukaneb’ (Little Xukaneb’) to try and force Q’ixmés to let her go but he failed.
Xukaneb’ then commanded the wise old hill Xa’an Aba’ás (Doña Aba’ás), wife
to Puklúm and a neighbor to Q’ixmés, to bring his daughter back by any means
necessary. She succeded but instead of punishing Q’ixmés for having abducted
his daughter, Xukaneb’ forgave him and allowed the couple to be engaged to be
married. Xukaneb’ then asked Saq’lech’ to return his corn but since Saq’lech’
was the first suitor to Suqk’im, and after having heard of the marriage, he felt
betrayed and refused to give back the corn. He proclaimed that it would be bet-
ter to die cut into pieces than to deliver the corn. Thus he would hide the corn
forever and let all of Xukaneb’s animals die of rage and famine. On that same
day a great famine ensued among all the animals. One day, though, some ani-
mals found out that the fox had managed to acquire some corn from the hill of
Saq’lech’. The fox had seen how leafcutter ants were coming in and out of the
hill through a crack in the cliff carrying corn seeds. As the ants carried the corn
to their nest the fox snatched it away from them. Having discovered this, the
other animals went to report it to Xukaneb’. As a result, Xukaneb’ sent three
bachelor hills called Chitsek to force Saq’lech’ to return the corn. They sent
flashes of fire against the cliff but were not able to crack a hole into it. Then
Xukaneb’ ordered the old hill Puklúm to break open the hill. Puklúm agreed
and went towards Saq’lech’ in the company of Master Flint (T’oq) and a wood-
pecker. Having arrived at the hill of Saq’lech’, the woodpecker began to tap at

161
 the cliff with its beak until a shollow pot was found and then Puklúm struck the
area with the full-force of his fire and thunder. The mountain broke and corn of
five different colors came out like a spout of water. Having retrieved the corn,
Puklúm in the company of many animals brought the corn back to the main en-
trance called the cave of the ch’olwinq that led to Xukaneb’s dwellings. The
corn was left inside a magnificent room were it remained forever. Xukaneb’ gave
corn seed to all of his counselors to be scattered over the woodlands so that it
could be consumed by all the animals.

There is a striking resemblance between the stories presented above and the creation
story accounted for in the Popol Vuh and the Memorial del Sololá (see above, p. 81).
In the latter accounts, animals help the creator gods to find corn hidden away inside
a mountain called Paxil, which translates as ‘split’ and this account may implicitly
refer to it being struck open by an axe or a lightning/thunderbolt (Bassie-Sweet
2008: 8; Tedlock 1996: 288, 357). Chronologically, however, since humans are not
mentioned as existing in the Q’eqchi’ corn discovery myths they probably predate
human creation.

Following the stories above on the discovery of corn it is the tzuultaqa’s that the
Q’eqchi’ have to thank for the precious corn as they are the ancestral cultural heroes
who found it and made it available for human consumption. This does not mean
that corn and other foodstuffs are just up for grabs. On the contrary people need to
seek permission for disturbing and using all that which belongs to the tzuultaq’as.
Below I account for the ritual and moral behavior that has to be observed in order
to gain access to the tzuultaq’as resources. This is a ritual that is very much central
to an extended ritual event called mayejak.

162
Fig. 6.2. Don Pedro Caal and his wife.

Mayejak

The mayejak began with our ancestors crying out and asking how to increase their crops.
They began to investigate who was in charge of the Earth. When they received the an-
swer through dreams they also found out that the tzuultaq’as were responsible for the
harvest and that they wanted us to perform a mayejak in order to enjoy bountiful har-

163
 vests. Since then they perform the mayejak everyday in order to increase their crops (Don
José Cacao).

Mayejak can be translated as ‘to offer’ or ‘to give and to receive’ (Preuss 2000: 7)
and a mayej is an ‘offering’. The mayejak is primarily spoken of as a collective ritual
event consisting of several sequences ideally conducted in relation to the planting of
corn and other crops. It is necessary to conduct the mayejak prior to planting crops
since, as Don Santiago says: ‘it allows people to work with no worries and by doing
so we know that God and the tzuultaq’as will give us permission to plant’. ‘What
you ask for you shall receive’, Don Manuel declared, which is very much what it
comes down to, but as simple as it may sound, to ‘ask’ a tzuultaq’a is a complex
issue regulated by a number of rules of conduct and behavior.

While land in the highlands of Alta Verapaz affords only one planting of corn each
year the climate in Chisec generally allows people to plant corn twice. The initial
planting begins in March or April while the second takes place in October or No-
vember. Irrespectively, the corn planting cycle begins in February with all the neces-
sary preparations. First it is required to observe k’ajb’ak.

K’ajb’ak: Ritual Observances of Fasting

Before one begins planting it is necessary to observe k’ajb’ak, a ritual fasting period,
which basically means that those involved in the planting ideally ought to abstain
from certain foodstuffs, sexual intercourse, and immoral behavior. The number of
days required during which the k’ajb’ak needs to be observed varies between
Q’eqchi’ communities, spanning from three to six to nine, thirteen and forty days.
While I focus mainly on Catholic performances, Evangelicals fast too which
they say is to ‘follow the doctrine of Jesus Christ’ who fasted for forty days and forty
nights. Similar to the Catholics they too abstain from certain foods and sexual activ-
ities during the fast but because they reject the belief in the tzuultaq’as they direct
their prayers directly to God, Jesus, and his apostles. The Evangelical fasts are not
restricted to the planting of maize but can and should be conducted whenever they
feel it is necessary. The main objective of fasting according to one person who be-
longs to the Iglesia de Diós de la Nueva Jerusalen, is ‘to enrich and strengthen oneself

164
both spiritually and physically, as well as to enhance one’s chances of gaining eco-
nomic and material wealth’. He says that their fasts last for three days without eat-
ing or drinking anything except olive oil. They do so because the prophet Jonah
fasted for three days and three nights inside the belly of the whale.

During the Catholic fast the consumption of corn, beans, salt and chile pepper is
allowed and similar to pre-Columbian customs eating meat, manioc, sweet potatoes,
wheat-bread and all kinds of fruits is prohibited (Carter 1969: 74; Wilson 1995:
67). However, It should to be noted that what one is allowed to eat and what food
one should abstain from varies between communities. With regard to sexual absten-
tion during the fasting period, those involved in the planting rituals are strictly
forbidden from engaging in sexual intercourse for approximately one week prior to
planting and one week after planting, and in order to avoid any temptation men
and women should sleep separately. Often the man sleeps alone in a hammock and
it is forbidden for anyone else to touch or use the hammock at this time. Q’eqchi’
people consider the actual act of planting corn to be similar to sexual intercourse
and Parra Novo (2004: 10) notes that ‘the semen of the man is like the seed of corn
that is being put into Mother Earth’. Regardless of whether the tzuultaq’a upon
which they plant their seed is considered male or female, when the time for planting
has come, the land is always female. Consequently, to insert one’s seed into the
earth connotes a sexual act. If a man were sexually active with another woman dur-
ing planting he would not only be committing adultery but would also be impeding
his ability to impregnate the tzuultaq’a. To refrain from sexual intercourse for a
distinct period of time lends itself to charging the internal sexual force, or energy,
that should be directed and transferred to the earth so that a bountiful crop may be
born and grow strong. Thus, the male farmer who plants seed for an instant be-
comes the lover of the female Earth, and as such he contributes to the procreation
of corn.
To engage in ritual fasting, whether by abstaining from food or sex, is a means
by which to purify and replenish oneself before planting corn and enables interac-
tion with the tzuultaq’as. The term k’ajb’ak, for example, is used to illustrate the
cyclical life-process of trees and plants. Thus, to abstain from sexual relations and
certain foodstuffs is similar to the process of leaves falling from trees and plants.
Deciduous trees and plants have entered a period of low activity in order to con-
serve energy that gives them the opportunity to rest and gather energy to grow fresh

165
and strong new leaves. The abstention from certain foods and sexual activities al-
lows one to replenish and gather up a strong spirit.

Yo’lek: The Vigil in the Church

The actual mayejak begins with a collective all-night vigil (yo‘lek) in the local
Church. The participants begin early in the morning to prepare for the vigil. Wom-
en and men pray and prepare the offerings, which vary from community to com-
munity but may consist of copal pom, candles, beeswax, cacao, corn tamales, turkey
meat, animal blood, flowers, b’oj, and pottery to carry and burn the offerings in. In
November 2005 I attended a vigil in the community of Sepoc II, a community
located in the hills to the east of Chisec. When I arrived in the evening it had just
turned dark and all the preparations were finished. The church was crowded and
long wooden benches took up most of the space in front of the altar stage. Probably
consistent with the rules of fasting and sexual abstinence, women and men sat sepa-
rately, women to the left and men to the right. Although the church was decorated
with lighted candles and palm leaves it was sparsely furnished. The elders were in
charge of the events of the vigil throughout the evening. Prayers were said and di-
rected to the patron saint, God, Jesus, and the Tzuultaq’a, as well as to the four
cardinal directions. Tzuultaq’as are always invited to partake in these all night vigils,
when they show up in their spirit form. Then music was played. First by some men
on the right-hand side of the church, who, after a while, stopped playing in order to
let other musicians on the left-hand side take over. The music was very monotone,
almost hypnotic and from time to time some women arose and danced individually
in circles in front of the musicians. At the same time, contrasting with the ‘tradi-
tional and sacred’ feel of the moment, at the back of the church, some youths were
playing around with their cell phones, trying out different ring tones. As the even-
ing went by, all participants were given a candle and then bent down on their knees.
Everybody prayed aloud for quite a while and when they finished they placed the
candle onto the altar (mayejb’aal). Soon after, all the men were given a ball of copal
each wrapped up in a banana leaf and then they went outside the church and gath-
ered around an old oil-barrel fire. The men put their copal inside the barrel and the
air was at once filled with the thick sweet smelling smoke of the copal pom. Simulta-
neously, they launched fire rockets up into the dark sky, which produced a squeak-

166
ing sound. Around midnight the night was punctuated by a communal meal inside
a house next to the church and at dusk a selected group of men would set out on a
pilgrimage to visit both local as well as more distant tzuultaq’as. Women are tradi-
tionally excluded from this particular event but to conceive of them as not partici-
pating is misleading. While the men are away on their pilgrimage to the hills, wom-
en, and the rest of the community, remain in the community preparing the food for
their return. Likewise, the women participate in prayers at the vigil before the pil-
grimage where they also ask the Tzuultaq’a for permission to plant.

Fig. 6.3. The Catholic Church in Sepoc II.

The Pilgrimage

In some communities where they still conduct the mayejak the pilgrims divide
themselves into small parties and set out to travel to more than one tzuultaq’a locat-
ed in the vicinity of their communities in order to pay their respect and to ask for
permission to plant. Subsequently the pilgrims may decide to continue to travel to

167
more distant and more powerful tzuultaq’as belonging to the thirteen great tzuul-
taq’as resident in the highlands of Alta Verapaz. Travelling to more distant hills and
mountains in the highlands is not only a way of seeking out the most powerful
tzuultaq’as but also a way of confirming their roots in the area from which they
migrated a few decades ago. In the communities in which I have worked, the major-
ity migrated from communities around the towns of San Pedro Carchá and San
Juan Chamelco and to visit tzuultaq’as in these regions restates their relationship to
their places of origin. Many pilgrims also travel to Cobán to leave offerings at the
calvary mountain, which many people believe is one of the thirteen most powerful
tzuultaq’as (see figure 6.3.).

In order to be able to enter the house of the tzuultaq’a, the pilgrims, as well as those
who stay behind, are required to observe the rules of fasting and to be in a state of
unity (junqalil), possess a content heart and lead a morally good life. While fasting
is seen as a means to become spiritually purified it is just as important to uphold
bodily cleanliness. Prior to entering the house of the tzuultaq’a, it is crucial that one
has taken a bath and that one’s clothes are clean. ‘We have to dress like we are to see
Jesus Christ himself’, Don Felix says. Ideally, the pilgrims need to remove any ‘for-
eign’ objects that they wear, such as objects of metal, belts, perfume, lipstick,
combs, hats, mirrors, etc. (Siebers 1999: 67; Adams and Brady 2005: 310). The
ritual paraphernalia, candles, pom, and b’oj should be of local origin to a large extent
and not store bought. To remove foreign objects underscores that what is going to
take place is an event exclusively between hills and people belonging to the Q’eqchi’
Maya. Recall that the Q’eqchi’ of today emphasize the mayejak as central to their
Mayan culture and is perceived to be a customary ritual inherited from their ances-
tors. If these requirements are not fulfilled they run the risk of the tzuultaq’a deny-
ing them the opportunity to properly carry out the mayejak inside the cave. In a
worst case scenario, people may get caught or get lost inside the caves.

168
Fig. 6.4. Offerings left at a cross, the Calvary Church in Cobán.

169
To act as one unit is important since this gives the members of the community
greater consolidated power to more easily receive what they ask for. ‘When we go
together we all share the same force and power’ says Don Francisco. Likewise, Don
Felix states that it is important that the mayejak is led by five elders, as leaders of the
ritual event, and the entire mayejak needs to be done collectively ‘because when we
petition God and tzuultaq’as we petition for the entire community, not only for
ourselves’. He likens this to a petition to the government: ‘If a person were to peti-
tion the government they would not listen but if an entire community comes to-
gether with demands they will have to listen’.

Some two kilometers from our community of Cajcan, close to Setzí, lies the cave of
Qaawa’ Yoypec, or Kaqitul. To enter it we have to hike into the cave for some fifty me-
ters before we reach a large room, like a house. Here we have our ceremonies, our
mayejaks, before we cut down trees, plant corn, or before inaugurating a newly construct-
ed house (Don Manuel Tiul Coc).

Upon entering the cave the pilgrims enter the actual house of the resident tzuul-
taq’a. While the pilgrims only see a cave with stone altars inside, were they able to
visually perceive this place as their muhels do they would witness a magnificent
palace richly decorated with the tzuultaq’a seated either on a throne or behind a
large desk. Even though the pilgrims cannot perceive this directly, this is neverthe-
less a place many people have experienced and seen in dreams and with this in mind
they feel overwhelmed and in awe since they know that they are in the presence of
something sacred. They begin speaking to the tzuultaq’a asking him or her for all
that they wish for, which usually revolves around health, prosperity, rain, sun,
wealth, good luck, and above all, a successful harvest. Speaking to the tzuultaq’as
occurs fundamentally through and with one’s heart, which is another reason for
them to have a good and pure heart The pilgrims address the tzuultaq’as as ‘my
Mother and Father’ and they make sure that they not only address the tzuultaq’a
that resides in the hill where they find themselves but all other tzuultaq’as they
know and remember the names of, especially those who belong to the thirteen great
tzuultaq’as (Carter 1969: 71-73).
Having asked for what they want the pilgrims begin the wa’tesink, the ritual
feeding which usually takes place on a stone altar deep inside the cave. The pilgrims
place their offerings on the altar. Formerly, Don Juan Rax states, the candles were
very tall measuring up to over two meters and weighing some twenty-five libras
(11.5 kilograms). The size of the candles is associated with the crops because Don

170
Victoriano says ‘if one is using very tall candles one will receive large mazorcas’.
Cooked food may be offered but only in the form of pure corn, either as ground
corn, gruel, or poch (corn flour cooked in banana leaves) (Wilson 1995: 57). Today,
the primary nourishment for the tzuultaq’as, is, however, copal pom and candles,
which they consume in huge amounts. As Carter (1969: 73) has observed, were the
tzuultaq’as to consume too much copal pom, it would create so much heat and the
milpa would turn yellow before it was ripe.
Having finished the rituals in the cave the pilgrims return home where the rest
of the community has been preparing for a feast inside the Church. Again they burn
copal pom and candles and at midnight they pray. By dawn, as people say in Cajcan,
they go from each household go one by one to leave their individual offerings to the
local tzuultaq’a.

Other Reasons to Mayejak

Although the performance of mayejak primarily is associated with the collective

ritual that takes place prior to planting corn, people perform mayejak for a number
of different reasons, collectively as well as individually. Besides the planting of corn
it is also common to perform mayejak before planting other crops such as beans,
rice, chile pepper, cardamom, and coffee. In the past, people did not usually per-
form mayejak prior to planting cardamom and coffee since these were not looked
upon as native to Guatemala and therefore not a resource belonging to the tzuul-
taq’as. Today, however, even if many communities fail to perform the collective
mayejak, coffee and cardamom are increasingly looked upon as tzuultaq’as’ belong-
ings. People may also find it necessary to perform mayejak when their crops or vil-
lages are threatened by environmental disasters such as hurricanes, droughts, or
floods. In San Isidro, for example, people suffered a severe draught. It had not
rained for six months and all their crops were dying due to lack of rainwater. Then
they started to think about what they could do to stop this and came to the conclu-
sion that they needed to perform a collective mayejak. Some went down to the
riverbank while others went to the hills to pray and ask why this had happened,
telling the tzuultaq’as that people no longer could stand the heat. When they had
done this, it soon began to rain. ‘Because of this we pray to the hills’, Don Abelino

171
Choc says, ‘because they have shown us what they can do. They have shown us their
miracles’.
Likewise, the mayejak is very much associated with social life in the communi-
ties and therefore performed ideally prior to marriages, elections of communal lead-
ers, ordinations of ritual practitioners, installations of Catholic priests, etc. The
cheekal winq performed a mayejak to celebrate and ask for protection for a newly
established cultural center. Even I have been the subject of a collective mayejak.
When I had to leave for home, the elders gathered in order to perform a collective
mayejak to ask for my protection and safe journey until we meet again next time.
Don Santiago told me of an incident when a group of foreign tourists went to visit
the cave of B’omb’il Pek located two kilometers north of Chisec. In order to reach
the cave one can either climb down a steep wooden staircase or lower one self down
with a rope. A gringa chose the latter but got stuck somehow on the rope and was
left hanging in the air. In order to cut her loose the guide supposedly had to cut a
piece of her ear off. Later as Don Santiago states, ‘it was required that they perform
a mayejak in the cave to appease the residing tzuultaq’a’.

The mayejak need not to be performed collectively but could also be performed on
an individual basis as well. Whenever a person comes to a cross by the wayside, for
instance, he or she must perform mayejak by offering flowers, pom, pine boughs,
and candles to the tzuultaq’a and to cross a hills and mountains one must ask the
residing tzuultaq’a for permission and perform a mayejak (Carlson and Eachus
1977). As mentioned earlier, the tzuultaq’as expect that one perform a mayejak
before setting out to hunt for wild game. In general all mayejaks follow pretty much
the same sequences even if the collective mayejak performed prior to planting corn
is the most elaborate. People perform mayejak, furthermore, in order to remain
healthy and to prevent illness and accidents. Regarding accidents, the people of
Camposanto I claim that it is important to be in good stead with the Tzuultaq’a.
One example of this is being able to walk across their wooden bridge intoxicated by
alcohol without risking falling off. All in all, people may perform mayejak now and
then just in order to keep the tzuultaq’as content and happy because then they look
upon people as their children. Doña Emilia Chub states that she prays to the tzuul-
taq’a three times a day (at seven in the morning, at noon, and at seven in the even-
ing) in order to give thanks for everything they receive. It should to be noted here
that the mayejak described above is how people think it ought to be done and not

172
necessarily how it is done. As mentioned earlier many people have ceased perform-
ing the mayejak, even though many try to make amends and revive the ritual.

Wa’tesink: The Feeding of Non-Human Beings

A central part of the mayejak, whether it is being done collectively or individually, is

the actual feeding, or wa’tesink (give to eat), of the tzuultaq’as. However, people do
not only feed the tzuultaq’as but also a range of other non-human beings such as
houses, bridges, trees, corn, etc. In general, the wa’tesink is a means by which to feed
and ask for protection and permission to use the services of certain persons. The
offerings usually include copal pom, candles, cacao, b’oj and blood and flesh from
animals such as turkeys, chickens and hens. Below I present three cases of when
wa’tesink is required. The first two examples are associated with the mayejak.

Prior to planting it is important to ritually prepare the corn seed in order for it to
grow well. This ritual performance occurs in households and is rather idiosyncratic
in its performance. As Wilson (1995: 94) observes, it is crucial to feed the corn seed
to ensure that they ‘are happy in their hearts’ and according to Siebers (1999: 70),
the seeds are fed with pieces of flesh or blood from a turkey, and b’oj, which is said
to ‘heat’ the seed and to reactivate the life or spirit of the corn to make it grow well.
It seems thus that the mu of the corn rests latently (but with full potency) within
the seed and the feeding allows it to regain life, or to be born and grow. When it is
time to plant corn people rise early in the morning and head to their milpas. In the
middle of the field they place a cross and pray to God and the tzuultaq’as to bless
their work and sowings and to ask that animals do not come and eat their seeds.
Copal pom and candles are burnt and a hole is dug in front of the cross where blood
from a turkey or a piece of raw meat is buried. Sometimes b’oj and cacao is poured
on the ground. This is how the tzuultaq’as are fed parts of what the planters will
consume back at the house after the planting. This is an example of when tzuul-
taq’as and humans are in communion through sharing and eating the same food.
When the cheekal winq talk of wa’tesink they do so more often than not in the
context of a ritual feeding, or an inauguration, carried out after the construction of
a building, such as a new house, church, school, bridge, well etc. When a house is
constructed people need to feed it before being able to move in. This inauguration

173
is usually done by slaughtering a turkey, the bodily parts of which are buried in the
center of the house and its blood splashed on the walls and on the ground in each
room of the house. The blood is sometimes also poured over a cross that is placed
by the entrance of the house. Candles are lit and offered to the house. This feeding
of the house is performed in order to keep the house and all of its constituent parts
content. The stone and wood that the house is made from are considered animate
persons intimately connected with the tzuultaq’as. If people were to fail to feed these
beings they would become angry and scare the inhabitants. At worst, failure to feed
the house would even anger the tzuultaq’as who would punish the people for such
transgressions. So by feeding the house one may count on the protection of the
tzuultaq’as.

The Constitution of Food

When people in Chisec feed non-human beings they usually offer copal pom, can-
dles, flowers, cacao, as well as blood and meat from turkeys, chickens, pigs, etc. In
ancient times it was customary also to offer human blood. When the Spanish mis-
sionaries arrived in the sixteenth century they were appalled by the ritual blood-
letting (blood drawn from the tongue, ears, temples, and the penis) and it did not
take long until they waged a war on this ‘pagan’ behavior (Thompson 1938: 594).
However, apparently, the ritual use of blood and flesh from animals alongside copal
pom was accepted by the missionaries and is to a certain extent still used today.
Thus, from the period of the contact with Europeans up to the present, copal pom
and blood offerings of turkeys, chickens and pigs has been a fundamental element
in Q’eqchi’ ritual, religion, and culture.54 This may, however, be subject to change
in the time to come. Demarest and Woodfill (2011: 137) observe that the most
recent powerful external influence on Q’eqchi’ religion and ritual life derives from
‘institutions and individuals sympathetic to the Q’eqchi’ and their struggles’.
Among these they list national and international NGOs who explicitly discourage
blood sacrifices since such offerings do not go together well with the image of the
environmentally sensitive Maya people.

54 In the face of suppression by the church, Evangelicals, and, especially, the government, such offerings

actually became a form of resistance in the 1960s–1980s (Demarest and Woodfill 2011).

174
 Ostensibly, human blood was probably the primary source of food offered to
spirit beings in Pre-Columbian times. According to Demarest and Woodfill (2011:
132) blood is the essence of life in both ancient Maya and modern Q’eqchi’ practice
and it is even more sacred than cacao and corn. Therefore, it is only natural that
blood would be the primary sustenance required by the tzuultaq’as. Due to the
prohibition to offer human blood, the Maya were allowed to continue offering
animal blood. Today, however, it seems as though animal blood becomes less used
in ritual performances. While most communities in Chisec continue to offer animal
blood as food people frequently refer to copal pom as the primary nourishment for
tzuultaq’as and other non-human beings, of which they consume huge amounts. It
should be noted, nevertheless, that there is a critique aimed at the use of copal pom
as well. In particular, young people and evangelicals complain about the use of copal
pom claiming that it is not necessary and that it smells bad. Due to the apparent
importance of blood, one might suspect that the lack of human and animal blood
would somehow impact negatively on the relationship between humanity and tzuul-
taq’as. However, there is a blood constituency associated with copal pom too
through, for example, Q’eqchi’ people referring to it as the sweet-smelling sap or
‘blood’ of the copal tree.
While blood seems to be of the essence when it comes to feeding the spirits,
arguably it is the essence of blood that matters. The copal balls offered to the tzuul-
taq’as during the vigil the night before the pilgrimage is said to symbolize the heart
and the heart is an organ filled with blood. Thus blood is intimately associated with
the heart. One technique used by curanderos to diagnose illnesses is to take the pulse
of the patient. While the pulse is blood flowing through the veins, people refer to it
as the muhel or ch’ool speaking. Moreover, when the pilgrims speak to the tzuul-
taq’as in the cave they speak primarily through their heart. The heart is the seat of
the ch’ool, and like the muhel it extends its presence in the blood. Thus, to speak
with one’s heart is also to speak with one’s blood, which, in turn is to speak with
one’s spirit.

B’oj, the local homemade, fermented corn and sugarcane-liquor was previously
commonly used in social gatherings and ritual events as an offering to the spirits.
According to the cheekal winq, b’oj signifies joy, communion, and celebration.
However, both the social and ritual use of b’oj is seen to disappear as it is looked
upon as moonshine liquor and therefore forbidden by law. People are also discour-

175
aged to drink b’oj since, as several people have claimed, it increases the risk of be-
coming an alcoholic and for Evangelicals it is prohibited to drink b’oj. Don Mar-
celino Caal, an Evangelical from San Isidro, states that even though he appreciates
the customs of his ancestors, he nevertheless considers many of those who use it
today to be drunkards. ‘They cannot handle it, they do not know how to drink and
always end up in trouble’. Don Miguel Quib states similarly that:

One should not play around with the mayejak because it is sacred and to perform mayejak
under the influence of b’oj is not appreciated by God and therefore there are no good
harvests. My father performed the mayejak without drinking b’oj out of respect for the
tzuultaq’as.

With regard to the feeding of the tzuultaq’as, Doña Petrona Cacao says moreover:

The tzuultaq’as feed on the smoke (aawu) of the copal pom and candles and the smell (sik
‘sik’) of the b’oj and therefore we use a lot of copal pom and tall candles so that the tzuul-
taq’a can enjoy the aroma of what we burn.

Thus, it is not the actual materiality of copal resin, candles, and b’oj that provide the
nourishment for the spirit beings but rather the smoke and smell emanating from
them. Taube (2001: 271) notes for both the ancient and contemporary Maya that it
is not the blood per se that forms the conduit between the physical and spiritual
aspects of the world but rather its inherent ‘rarefied essence’ (mu) or ‘breath’ (mu-
siq’). Spenard (2006: 6) observes furthermore that in Pre-Columbian times, the
Maya offered smashed ceramic vessels and incensarios to their ancestors and spirit
beings. The ritual destroying of the physical representation of an object is significant
because its destruction activates and releases the spirit components of the object
allowing it to be used in the spiritual dimension (Taussig 1993: 135; Coggins and
Shane 1984). As living beings share the same vital force of mu it is this essence that
constitutes nourishment in the feeding rituals.

I want to add a final note regarding the ritual use of blood. According to Q’eqchi’
myths, the tzuultaq’as were originally human beings who subsequently transformed
into spirit hill-valley lords. Findings in archaeology and iconography suggest more-
over that manifestations of spirit beings into physical forms could be associated with
ritual feeding. According to Schele and Miller (1986:183), the ancient Maya be-

176
lieved that their gods and ancestors could incarnate into physical existence within
human space and time through the power of bloodletting rituals directed towards
them. In chapter 5 I accounted for the tzuultaq’as ability to manifest physically in
the ordinary world and perhaps this ability is linked to the their consummation of
blood/food offered to them by humans? Furthermore, in relation to food and shape-
shifting, Cabarrús (1998: 61; 1979: 51) reports of an interesting myth in which a
tzuultaq’a used to breastfeed all children belonging to a specific community. One
time, however, when a mother had left her child upon a stone inside the cave of the
hill she hid behind a rock to see when the tzuultaq’a appeared to breastfeed the
child. The tzuultaq’a noticed the woman and immediately returned into the hill.
After this incident people never again left for the hills to breastfeed and nurture
their children. Had the woman not seen this, it is told, all inhabitants of this partic-
ular community would still be able to transform themselves into whatever they
wanted.

Mayejak: Harmony, Unity, and a Correct Moral Behavior

As described above, the collective mayejak serves primarily to attain bountiful har-
vests. It is also essential for all involved to be in a state of harmony and unity during
the entire ritual as well as during the planting. Harmony and unity within a com-
munity rests to a large extent on the observance of correct moral behavior, which, in
turn, is based on trust and mutual respect for one another. Central to this collective
relationship is the sharing and reciprocation of goods and services with one another.
While sharing is mostly associated with certain chores taking place in the household
it is also expected that people share the mutual responsibility of taking on certain
communal assignments (such as during civil festivities and religious ceremonies).
Moreover, a preparatory requirement for the collective mayejak is that all participat-
ing households contribute with what they can afford in terms of financial means to
enable the community to purchase the required offerings such as fireworks, copal
pom, turkeys, cacao and candles. Furthermore, after having completed the mayejak
when it is time to plant corn, as a rule community members do not hire day labor
to plant corn. Owners of milpas exchange labor reciprocally usually drawing on
their kin, be they consanguineal, affinal, or spiritual (i.e. godparents or godchildren)
from a network of friends and neighbors from their own community. It is not unu-

177
sual for the same group of men to plant together year after year. Siebers (1999: 70,
143) defines this reciprocal labor as group-wise labor where community members
help each other out when planting their corn. One day one neighbor helps the other
to plant his corn and the next day the other reciprocates. Not choosing to recipro-
cate in this manner may incur a fiscal payment. Ideally to ensure that the crops
grow well the actual planting should be conducted in a relaxed manner full of joy
and happiness which is easier to do when people know each other. Having finished
the planting, the owners of the field reward the laborers with food and drink, which
the women have prepared collectively. To give and share food reaffirms good and
equal relations with other members of the community. Whenever I was invited to a
household it was customary to eat together and if people were visiting from other
communities they were always allowed (and expected) to bring home leftovers (xeel)
home to their families. As Kistler (2007: 91) notes with regard to Q’eqchi’ people in
San Juan Chamelco:

For the Q’eqchi’, the xeel, embodies the way the Q’eqchi’ families sustain family relation-
ships. Sharing is the basic principle underlying the xeel and the way in which the
Q’eqchi’ negotiate, maintain, and fortify kin relationships.

178
Fig. 6.5. Ready to serve Kaq Ik (a spicy chicken soup).

Commensality, has long been recognized by anthropologists to be a powerful means

for establishing and maintaining reciprocal social relationships (Bloch 1999;
Watanabe and Smuts 1999), which, with regard to this study, includes human as
well as non-human beings. For example, people share food and eat together with
their deceased ancestors on All Saint’s Day on November 1st. when, as one Q’eqchi’
elder put it, ‘the dead arise and eat’. Moreover, as I described in chapter 5, tzuul-
taq’as are invited to fiestas where they are offered to share in food and drink with the
people.

Moral Transgressions and the Internal Logic of Cosmos

Moral breaches associated with the mayejak and the planting of corn is considered
maak (culpability) and is a cause of disharmony within the collective, which in turn

179
cancels the fulfillment of the mayejak. A failed mayejak results, furthermore, in
failed harvests. As mentioned earlier, in relation to the pilgrims’ arrival to the cave
of the tzuultaq’a it is essential that they act as one unit otherwise they risk being
denied the opportunity to complete the mayejak. Furthermore, similar to food pro-
hibition during pregnancy, if rules of fasting during the k’ajb’ak are transgressed it
produces awas. While awas is primarily spoken of in relation to transgressions made
during pregnancy that affect the child post-natally it is equally applicable to the
procreation of corn. When the corn sprouts it is referred to as being born (yo’laak)
and when they grow into young, small plants (kok’al) they are synonymous to and
referred to as children or babies. Accordingly, if people were to eat food that is
prohibited to consume during the planting this could seriously affect the outcome
of the crops. Since awas is the result of some sort of homeopathic inversion where
‘like causes like,’ depending on what is being eaten, this will affect the form and
health of the corn. If people were to eat, among other things, manioc, sweet pota-
toes, bread and tree-borne fruits, the corn would fill with worms since these food-
stuffs are worm-prone (Carter 1969: 97). Sexual transgression during planting is
equated with adultery and involves the vindictive reaction of the tzuultaq’as. They
might send out their animals from within the hills to destroy and eat the crops, or
send strong winds and hard rain to damage the tender plants, or they may withhold
rain altogether.
However, even if a community manages to attain a sense of harmony and
unity during all stages of the mayejak as well as when planting, this may not be
sufficient in order to enjoy a bountiful harvest. As noted in chapter 4 regarding the
logic of sociability, correct moral behavior should ideally be observed on an every-
day basis throughout one’s life. Indeed, the ideal way of life for the cheekal winq is
to lead a life of harmony and with respect for all beings, be they fellow human be-
ings, spirit beings, animals, or ‘natural’ phenomena such as trees, plants, etc.

Moral breaches within a collective include among many things, envious behavior,
arrogance, adultery, jealousy, murder, choosing not to partake in commensurable
acts, as well as accumulation and excessive displays of wealth. Moral transgressions
are thus clear marks of social distance and enmity and looked upon as something
that goes against the will of God and the Tzuultaq’a. Individual beings (humans as
well as non humans) to varying degrees are capable of retaliating if they are mis-
treated or disrespected in any way. As mentioned earlier, if people fail to ritually

180
feed a newly constructed house the winqul li che’ (the winqul of the wood) may
avenge being disrespected and scare people by causing a racket. However, there are
also other forces at play. If for some reason a being does not retaliate due to mis-
treatment, it falls on the tzuultaq’as to do so. Recall that the tzuultaq’as were placed
here on Earth not only to control and protect its ‘natural’ resources but also as su-
pervisors of human beings. As Don Victoriano says: ‘the tzuultaq’as see and know all
things we do and to lead a morally correct life is what they require of us’. If people
behave immorally and disrespectfully towards their environment there will be con-
sequences which may negatively affect both the preconditions of ritual behavior as
well as the expected outcome of these rituals. What is more, immoral behavior may
lead to individual punishments. Accordingly, a tzuultaq’a may pay the transgressor a
visit either in a dream or in waking reality to let him or her know that his or her
wrongdoings have been recognized and that the transgressor needs to reflect on
what he or she has done. Should any of these breaches not be corrected the wrong-
doer will face the consequences of either bad harvests or, in worse case scenarios,
loss of the muhel, which may lead to death. I have shown earlier that in certain
instances the tzuultaqa’s may choose to transform into physical beings seeking out
the transgressor with lethal results. This is not to say, however, that it is the tzuul-
taq’a who decides whether one should die or not, rather, as Don Victoriano says,
‘they are merely the messengers, the helpers.’ This does not render the tzuultaq’as
passive without a will of their own. Rather, if I understand Don Victoriano correct-
ly, it means that the tzuultaq’as only act in accordance with what Viaene (2010)
refers to as the ‘internal logic of the cosmos’. Any misdeeds towards another being,
be they humans or non-humans, are always met with retributions of some kind.
This is how the Q’eqchi’ universe works. While transgressions associated with the
reproduction of humans or corn always produce awas, the mistreatment of other
beings inevitably produces q’oq. Q’oq translates as ‘pain (PLFM 2003) ‘burdened
conscience’, ‘retribution,’ ‘punishment,’ or ‘payment’ for wrongdoings (ALMG
2004). Accordingly, similar to awas, Victor Caal from Chisec refers to q’oq as the
act when someone does something bad to another person, as well as the pain or
suffering felt by the person being mistreated and, finally, the retributive punishment
of the causer of the pain. Wrongdoers and causers of q’oq may suffer a variety of
punishments. One may, for instance, lose one’s muhel (xiwak), fall ill, or become
the victim of a serious accident. The concept of q’oq is obviously not only valid for
the maltreatment of humans. If a hill is destroyed or if the resources inside it are

181
extracted without permission this may result in landslides or other disasters. If corn
and tortillas are wasted and disrespected this may result in future shortage of corn,
which in the long run can lead to famine. To experience the punishment of q’oq is
not restricted only to the transgressor. As shown in the previous chapter with regard
to rilomil tzuul it is not uncommon that such punishments diffuse and affect the
members of one’s family.
Just as awas is produced by the vital force of mu, people in Chisec tell me that
q’oq is generated by and through, the muhel of the afflicted person. Likewise, when
the wingul of a being avenges mistreatment this is an act generated by the muhel.
The underlying cosmic logic is, arguably, that an inherent part of the spiritual force
of mu (i.e. the bodily manifested mu) acts in concert with and through all living
beings that it endows. In other words, the mu aspires to act in accordance with the
nature (xlok’al) of all beings that it endows. It seems as though the entire cosmos is
ultimately governed by this internal logic essentially equated with the spiritual force
of mu that encompasses and penetrates all living beings. However, individual beings
do possess the ability to act of their own free will, which may or may not, be in
congruence with the will of the mu, i.e. the cosmic logic, but in the end, any
wrongdoings are preordained to be rectified by the mu.
Both awas and q’oq constitute a moral and ethical code that to a large extent
helps to regulate sociality. With regard to awas, (as well as to q’oq) Haeserijn (1975)
argues that it bestows a ‘pedagogic effect’ rendering juridical laws, police and pris-
ons superfluous. This logic of the cosmos further substantiates the logic of sociabil-
ity as I accounted for in chapter 4. In order not to offend, disrespect, or mistreat
any person (i.e. to be guilty of maak) it is crucial that people treat other persons
(whether they be humans or non-humans) according to their nature, their ways of
being. If this logic of sociability is not adhered to, q’oq or awas is produced by the
mu of the one being hurt or mistreated and the transgressor will inevitably have to
face the consequences. Apparently, irrespective of whether these consequences in-
clude the punishment of the tzuultaq’as or by another human being, it is unavoida-
bly an outcome of the logic of the cosmos. Thus, if the main goal of any analogic
regime is to strive for balance and equilibrium, awas and q’oq are two clear indica-
tions that this rule of engagement has been violated.

182
External Influences Disturbing Unity and Harmony

While both moral and ritual transgressions can be traced to internal affairs within a
community there are also strong indications that the underlying root of unbalance
and disharmony in a collective stems from external elements. Below I present three
examples of foreign, or external, elements affecting the unity and harmony within
Q’eqchi’ communities, which, in turn, may disrupt the belief and ritual relationship
with the tzuultaq’as. First I account for the effects of the civil war that lasted for
approximately forty years, second, I briefly describe the situation of religious affilia-
tion and, finally, the effect of monetary problems.

The 36-year long civil war was detrimental to the relationship between humans and
tzuultaq’as. 55 Due to the guerilla presence in rural Alta Verapaz in the early 1980s,
the Guatemalan army ruthlessly terrorized Q’eqchi’ villages in order to cut off the
rebels from any potential food supply as well as from potent Q’eqchi’ sympathizers.
The army raided villages, set fire to their houses, burned or cut down their crops
and killed the livestock. Worse still, massacres were routine policy carried out by the
Guatemalan army and with Chisec being a ‘red zone’ it was targeted hardest of all.
Q’eqchi’ people were left with only a few choices: either to flee the village for a
nomadic life in the hills, join the guerilla movement, remain in the village risking to
be murdered or to be forced to join the Civil Defense Groups that were institution-
alized by the army to hunt down and kill rebels and refugees. In effect this meant
that those who came to belong to the Civil Defense Groups ended up killing their
neighbors and friends. Many people chose to escape and life as a refugee in the hills
of Alta Verapaz was hard. They had constantly to be on the move, treading un-
known territory away from the army who was chasing them with great fervor. Since
Q’eqchi’ religious life is dependent on interaction with their local tzuultaq’as this
meant that rituals directed towards them were virtually impossible to uphold while
being on the run. Moving from one area to another the refugees knew neither the
names nor the character of the hills they were crossing. Without any prior relation-
ship with a tzuultaq’a it would take years of dreaming to initiate new relations (Wil-
son 1991: 44). Some, however, managed to uphold a rudimentary ritual relation
with the tzuultaq’as. Don Marcos recounts how when he was part of the guerilla

55
For more detailed information on the Maya and the civil war, see, for instance, Carmack 1992; Stoll
1993; Wilson 1995; Perera 1995; Jonas 1991; Manz 2005; REMHI 1999; CEH 1999.

183
movement he learned that ladinos and people with money were oppressing him and
that he had been abandoned by the tzuultaq’a. To make amends it was necessary to
find copal in order to ask for forgiveness. ‘It was there [in the guerilla] where [the
guerilleros] opened my eyes and the hills helped us to keep the soldiers away. It was
there I realized that the hills bless us if we just petition them’ (Mendizábal García
2009: 113-114). Similarly, while hiding from the soldiers, a group of people from
Chisec found copal pom and performed mayejaks every day for a month asking the
tzuultaq’a to help them get through this alive (CEH 1999: 127/1502).
The harsh life in the hills created even more problems. It is primarily the el-
ders who possess the ritual and cosmological knowledge and it is they who have the
ability to communicate with the tzuultaq’as through their dreams. Due to scarcity of
food during this nomadic life on the run from the Guatemalan army the first ones
to pass away from malnutrition and disease were the elders, which in the long run
meant that knowledge concerning ritual procedures and cosmological notions
would be forgotten. Although some groups remained hidden in the hills for as long
as seven years most returned in 1983, at approximately the same time as the guerilla
movement was defeated and moved out of Alta Verapaz. The refugee groups were
resettled by the army in roughly 100 new communities, some on their original
lands, others in new model villages. People were spatially reorganized with the aim
of changing indigenous identity and thus destroying social cohesion and collective
action (CEH 1999: 1090). The army’s plan was to re-educate the indigenous popu-
lation; to turn them into Spanish-speaking citizens devoid of history (Schirmer
1998: 113-117). One example of this reorganized settlement is the community of
Yalmachac, which is populated by people from several different places originally.
Indeed, a broad band runs from San Cristobal de las Casas to Playa Grande where
none of the communities are in their original state. While collective unity and har-
mony is required in order to complete the mayejak as well as the participants being
‘happy in their hearts’, this was difficult (if not impossible) to sustain during and
after the war. Having been displaced and forced to live in the newly established
model villages that were organized by the army meant that some people came to live
in new and unknown places together with people from different areas, with differ-
ent customs, accents, social networks, political affiliations, and sometimes also be-
longing to different ethnic groups. Doña Manuela Choc from Carolina recognizes
this problem stating that it is a problem when people from different places have
different customs. For those from Carolina this meant that they had never per-

184
formed a mayejak that involved the entire community. Some may even have partici-
pated in the civil war, either in the army, the guerilla or the civil patrols and it is no
secret in Chisec who did what during the conflict. Today, there are certain commu-
nities populated by ‘exguerrilleros’ who overtly support the political party of URNG
(García 2007: 277). Unity, harmony, and trust constitute critical fundaments upon
which collective rituals rests. As Wilson (1991: 52) notes, ‘ritual minutiae must be
perfect, or it is better to not do it at all’.

Fig. 6.6. People from Carolina.

Even if the Catholic Church since the Spanish Invasion in the sixteenth century
have made serious attempts to hinder Maya people from continuing their native
religious practices, they have to a large extent failed and the mayejak is a ritual event
exclusively carried out by Catholic Mayas. Today, however, the Catholic elders
complain that many people, especially the younger generations, have abandoned the
Catholic faith and converted to one of the many Evangelical churches present in
Guatemala (for further information on local schisms between Protestantism and
Catholicism see Schackt 1986). Generally, the Evangelicals reject all beliefs and

185
practices involving the tzuultaq’as, not least the mayejak. Therefore, in some com-
munities, not all people participate in the mayejak, this has split Q’eqchi’ communi-
ties disturbing collective unity and harmony. In some communities of Chisec only
the elders come together still to perform the mayejak. Worst of all scenarios is that
no one wants to perform mayejak anymore. At times, as elders complain, they are
being ridiculed for still believing in the tzuultaq’a and Catholics from some com-
munities say that when they set out to perform their mayejak the Evangelicals of
their communities ridicule and harass them stating that it is all in vain. In these
cases they might choose to do it in secrecy or not do it all. Doña Manuela Choc
came to live in Carolina in the early 1990s. There is a tzuultaq’a in the neighboring
community of El Paraíso where they perform their rituals but she has only done it
three times, mostly due to the fact that non-Catholics bully them. To avoid prob-
lems in the community, many of have stopped performing the mayejak.

As mentioned earlier, in the days immediately before the mayejak the participants
begin to assemble the necessary elements for the ritual. Households contributed
with what they could afford to the community and its collective rituals. Today,
however, due to economic poverty people complain that they cannot afford to per-
form a mayejak. Poverty is partly a consequence of the devastating civil war and
Don Juán Rax notes that:

Today we live in extreme poverty and it is partly due to the fact that we lost all of our
properties and belongings during the armed conflict. [The army] burned down our hous-
es and everything leaving us with nothing and this is why we are very poor.

Guatemala is a poverty-stricken country and has the highest level of poverty in

Central America. In 2003, Guatemala reported that 56,2 percent of its population
lived below the national poverty line and 16,2 percent lived on less than US$ 1 a
day (UNDP 2004c, in Jose Perez 2005: 17). In Chisec, 92,96 percent of the total
population lived in a state of general poverty between 1994 and 2002 while 52
percent lived in extreme poverty (SEGEPLAN 2010). To be able to perform a
mayejak requires having access to financial means. If all members in a community
partake in the mayejak it would obviously be easier to assemble sufficient funds to
buy the required offerings and food. In communities where only some of the mem-
bers partake this is much harder. To lessen the economic burden and to be able to
gather sufficient financial means to perform a mayejak, one solution is for several

186
communities to come together in a joint mayejak. Thus in the fall of 2006, three
communities in Chisec decided to perform a mayejak jointly. In one of these com-
munities they had not performed a mayejak for several years but felt that it was
necessary to perform it in order to better their crops and general living standard. As
one elder says regarding the mayejak:

We have decided to perform a mayejak on 15th of October because it is an obligation to

our spiritual life. Soon we will plant corn and therefore we have to ask for permission to
cut down trees and to ask for a successful harvest. Luckily for us we do not have to travel
elsewhere to conduct a mayejak since we have a tzuultaq’a close by here called Qaawa’
San Marcos, a cave where we perform our religious rituals.

Together these neighboring communities had decided on a date to perform the

mayejak even though they still did not have the financial means to go through with
it. According to the elders who were in charge of the ritual event they were too old
to work in order to earn enough money that could help pay for the mayejak. As they
said, they needed 6,000 quetzales in order to be able to buy the necessary parapher-
nalia and food in order to perform the mayejak. Eventually, however, they managed
somehow to assemble sufficient funds and completed the ritual.56
Thus, due to several factors, such as war, poverty, religious divergences, migra-
tion, and forced displacement, interest in maintaining the mayejak has diminished
for the Q’eqchi’ people in Chisec. However, even though the performance of this
ritual event was threatened as early as the sixteenth century when the Spanish mis-
sionaries did what they could to stamp out indigenous religious beliefs and practic-
es, it still lingers on and is practiced to this day and the aim of the Q’eqchi’ elders is
to preserve and revitalize the mayejak along with other traditional practices and
beliefs.

The Ecological Implications of a Failed Mayejak

According to Descola (2013: 229), sacrifices offered to appease deities are prevalent
in analogical ontologies where it establishes links or relations of contiguity between
two parties initially unconnected. Similarly, Hubert and Mauss (1964: 100) note

56
Since I had left for home only a week before the mayejak I could not attend the ritual.

187
that ‘there is perhaps no sacrifice that has not some contractual element’ and
Taussig (1980) assumes that reciprocity is the central social linch pin of all indige-
nous economics and cultures. Likewise, when Q’eqchi’ people ritually feed the
tzuultaq’as it functions to uphold a relationship of reciprocal exchange. By meeting
the needs of the tzuultaq’as’ hunger, Q’eqchi’ people are allowed usufruct of the
tzuultaq’as belongings (such as to plant and to cut down trees), which, is a prerequi-
site for human wellbeing and survival. It is necessary to feed the tzuultaq’as in order
to enjoy bountiful crops and to be allowed to hunt wild game.
Failing to maintain this reciprocal exchange with tzuultaq’as and other beings
can be devastating on many levels. To lead an immoral life and to not ritually feed
the tzuultaq’as may result in the tzuultaq’as sending out animals to eat the crops of
the transgressor or to withhold both corn and game animals inside the hills. In
Chisec, stories abound with animals invading people’s milpas to eat the crops before
they are ready for harvest. Regarding the withholding of crops an elder tells of an
incident that took place in 2004:

There was a young boy who always used to perform mayejak together with his
father but one day when they went to their milpa his father noticed that their
milpa was not in better condition as those belonging to other people who did
not perform mayejak. As a result, he stopped performing the ritual, thinking it
was no longer worth his while. Some time later when he went to work in his
milpa he suddenly felt warm and weak. He decided to eat something and after-
wards he began to work but all of a sudden it grew dark very quickly. He imme-
diately returned home and his wife asked him what had happened. He told her
that he had to go home because it was so late in the evening. His wife thought
this was very strange since it was only three o’ clock in the afternoon. The man
said that he saw the sun go down and that it began to turn dark. He decided to
rest a while in his hammock where he felt feverish and after dinner he went to
bed but could not sleep because of the heat he felt inside. At midnight they
came to get him and when his wife woke up he was no longer in his bed. It was
the tzuultaq’a that had come to get him in order to ask him why he had aban-
doned the mayejak. The man denied having abandoned the mayejak but the
tzuultaq’a knew he had. The tzuultaq’a said that if the man wanted to abandon
the mayejak then he would withhold all of his crops. The tzuultaq’a showed the
man what he would miss out on. They went further into the house of the tzuul-

188
 taq’a where the man was shown his mazorcas. ‘Well, this is what you have aban-
doned, the tzuultaq’a said. ‘You will not enjoy this because you say that the
mayejak doesn’t do you any good’. Then the tzuultaq’a told the man that he
could allow for the corn to grow again in the milpa but that he would not be
able to harvest as much as he used to. In order for this to happen, the man had
to gather the elders in the community to reestablish the mayejak and ask for
permission to plant.

Don Victoriano states moreover:

If people stopped performing the mayejak the tzuultaq’as would not allow us to produce
bountiful harvests. They would simply not allow for corn and beans to grow in the earth
and they would not allow people to hunt wild game either. This is very sad for us hu-
mans since we suffer immensely from lack of food.

Several members of the cheekal winq have told me about dreams they have had in
which tzuultaq’as complain that there are no longer any animals left in their corrals
inside the hills. The Grandfather of Don Tomas Caal once told him of a man who
liked to hunt. The tzuultaq’a was very angry with him because he was hunting
without permission and was killing all the animals. As a result, the tzuultaq’a cap-
tured the hunter inside the hill for three days. The village sent out a search party but
they were not able to find him. After three days he was let out of the hill but feeling
very ill. Thus, if people neglect to perform the mayejak this gravely affects their
chances of obtaining food in the form of crops and game animals. There are other
things at stake as well that seriously affect the wellbeing of both humans and non-
humans.

Deforestation and climate change are increasing problems in Chisec and while the
elders realize that much forest is being cut down by industrial companies, logging,
expansion of plantations and cattle ranches they nevertheless see themselves as a part
of the problem. Don Felix relates:

Both the large industrial companies and we are cutting down large portions of our forests
and therefore it is much hotter and there is less rain here in Chisec. If we continue doing
this, in the end it will be like a desert here and our children will not longer have a future.
Today we no longer hear the thunder as often as we used to and some say that this is a

189
 sign that the tzuultaq’as are angry with us for not performing the mayejak. We have to be
careful today. We are awaiting our deaths; this is the end of days.

Deforestation is a real threat acknowledged by the elders and as the forest disappears
this not only results in fewer animals but also seriously affects the climate. Thus
Don Felix expresses fears that the landscape may turn into a desert.
If a hill has no trees it follows automatically that it has no tzuultaq’a. Some
people say that a hill with no forest growing on it is a dead hill, which is the same as
a dead tzuultaq’a, while others say that it seriously weakens the power of the resi-
dent tzuultaq’a. A hill that has been untouched where no trees have been cut down
is spoken of as being fresh and vital with a powerful and strong tzuultaq’a residing
within it. Irrespective of whether a tzuultaq’a dies or if their powers are diminished
by deforestation, Don Felix is not alone in thinking that to cut down the forest on a
hill seriously affects the climate. Don Júan Rax states, for example that:

God created the hills with all of his powers and if there were no tzuultaq’as we would no
longer have rain and wind and our land would become a desert. Therefore we cannot
continue to cut down our forests like we are doing today because one day, the hills will
not give us rain anymore.

Don Victoriano, agrees with this view stating that:

If we do not continue practicing the costumbre of our ancestors we will all die of hunger
and thirst because if we no longer believe in the Tzuultaq’a and continue to cut down our
forests we will no longer have air or water. Everything depends on what we people want
to do in the future.

In the 1950s, when there was still a lot of forest in Chisec Don Santiago recalls a
time when the people of Chisec had trouble finding water. Then the people came
together to perform a mayejak in local caves and travelled to Qaawa’ Kojaj in order
to ask for water. The tzuultaq’as had heard their pleas and subsequently, as Don
Santiago claims, water was to be found in many places, in streams, lakes and rivers.
Similarly, Jon Schackt (1984) shows how Q’eqchi’ people from Crique Sarco in
Belize felt the urge to revive the mayejak as a response to threatened living condi-
tions caused first by a great famine followed by a violent hurricane.

190
Many people claim that it is impossible for the tzuultaq’as to die. While their pow-
ers may be affected due to deforestation, it may also result in them abandoning their
hills. Don Juán Rax mentioned that a friend of his from the community of Cojaza
in Carchá was out walking one day when all of a sudden the muhel of Qana’ Itzam
appeared in front of him. Qana’ Itz’am approached him and said that she was going
to leave because people no longer wanted her there:

While people come here to pray and do rituals they no longer come here to wa’tesink [to
feed me]. Therefore I have to change location. I am going further down to the river
where there are people who need me. They want me there because they come and feed
me and those people haven’t treated me badly. Over here I feel that people no longer re-
spect me. But it’s all right if they choose to do so. I do not need more than three pochitos
(Sp. tamales de masa) to eat.57 If they give me this I will continue to live here but if they
do not, I have to leave this place and go where people want me.

Fig. 6.7 Working the milpa

57
Don Juán Rax explained that the pochitos craved for by the tzuultaq’a in reality was copal pom.

191
That a tzuultaq’a deem it necessary to leave his or her homeland is no isolated event.
As Hernando Gonzalo (1997: 217) notes, Q’eqchi’ elders complain that since the
youth of today no longer respect ancient rituals the tzuultaq’as will not only leave
their hills but also the corn and animals that they tend and care for. Adams and
Brady (2005: 305) report moreover that due to intolerant missionaries (both Catho-
lic and Evangelical) and the civil war, people in the highlands of Alta Verapaz have
forgotten about their rituals and have abandoned the tzuultaq’as. This resulted in
several tzuultaq’as leaving the highlands in the 1970s and immigrating to the low-
land Franja Transversal del Norte. They later returned, however, when they realized
that people began to remember the tzuultaq’as and began performing their rituals
again.

Below I account for how the Tzuultaq’a approaches people to scold them for im-
proper behavior that relates to shifting cultivation and an unsustainable environ-
ment through soil degradation, deforestation and uncontrolled fires. I begin here
with a narrative presented by Don Mateo Choco’oj who said that in the village of Se
Volcan, where he grew up, there was once a terrible storm.

At night, when it was raining terribly, a young boy went outside to urinate when all of a
sudden an old man with white hair appeared telling the boy to close his eyes. The boy
did as he was told and when he opened his eyes he found himself inside a great cave. The
old man told the boy that he was not happy at all with how the people in his village be-
haved: ‘they burn the corn, the beans, and coffee. They waste it! If they continue burn-
ing everything on the tzuultaq’a…, if they do not change their ways the tzuultaq’a will
not bless them and give them what they need. After three days the boy appeared in the
village again and all the elders gathered at his house and he told them what had hap-
pened. Already the next day the entire community gathered to perform a mayejak on the
hill where the boy had been incarcerated and after that the people no longer burnt the
corn and afterwards they could enjoy bountiful harvests. One single tarea (ca. 440 square
meters) could produce two quintales (appr. 100 kilograms), and today where people do
not perform the mayejak one tarea produces only fifty libras (23 kilograms).

According to this narrative, the tzuultaq’a criticized people for burning their crops
on the tzuultaq’as (i.e. hills) and if they continued to do so, they would not be able
to receive good harvests. This is by no means an isolated story. I have heard several

192
similar stories told by the elders. Based on these narratives it seems as though the
tzuultaq’sa criticize the way people practice swidden cultivation, especially the clear-
ing of land by setting it on fire before planting crops. Why would the Tzuultaq’a
critizice the Q’eqchi’ practice of swidden cultivation which has been central to their
subsistence for many centuries? Swidden cultivation is exclusively present in tropical
and subtropical regions such as Chisec. Accordingly, it has been generally acknowl-
edged that indigenous communities who inhabit these tropical regions have devel-
oped their own extensive experience-based knowledge on local environments, which
has resulted in a conserved and even enhanced biodiversity (Laird 2000: 348). Ac-
cordingly, regarding the Q’eqchi’ Maya in the Izabal region Carter (1969: 57) wrote
that the burning of vegetation has in general been understood as beneficial since it
clears the slash, loosens the soil, lowers the rate of herbaceous and ligneous plants,
reduces animal pests, and produces nutrient-rich ash. Shifting cultivation as con-
ducted by indigenous peoples in tropical regions has, nevertheless, in recent times,
come to be a hotly debated issue. Informed by an environmental and developmental
rhetoric, governmental agencies and NGOs throughout the world argue that shift-
ing cultivation has been a major cause of deforestation, soil erosion, threat to water,
sedimentation of waterways, and loss of wildlife in tropical forests (IWGIA 2005).
In accordance with this view, recent studies on Q’eqchi’ migrants in the lowlands
ends up painting a picture of Q’eqchi’ Maya as having a great impact on environ-
mental degradation through deforestation caused by corn farming and clearing large
plots of land (cf. Atran 1993; Atran et al. 2002; Castellon 1996; Carr 2004). The
greatest threat to the tropical forests in Chisec is, according to Kirschner, Pielemeyer
and Tzi (2003), escaped fires due to careless and uncontrolled milpa preparation. In
Chisec, the cheekal winq also complain about how some people exhaust the soil by
not letting it rest in fallow. Don Sebastián Gualna observes that some people plant
two or maybe three times in a row at the same place. One reason for this is, he says,
that many communities in Chisec do not have sufficient land to plant in order to
sustain an increasing population. Therefore, many people have started using fertiliz-
ers, which they consider to be very effective since the work can be done faster. An-
other consequence of milpa burning is the smoke it produces that virtually covers
the entire sky for almost a month at a time. According to Don Santiago, ‘when
someone burns their corn, the fumes from the burnt corn reach the hills which is
not appreciated by the tzuultaq’as and God and because of this we are not allowed

193
to harvest any corn’. Don Mariano Pop Caz notes moreover that people in Chisec
are not harvesting nearly as much as they used to. As he says:

The Earth does not yield because a lot of people continue to cut down a lot of trees in
order to clear ground for the milpa. Because of the burning and the clearing we have to
live with the consequences today. We are the ones to blame for this. Today we plant chile
peppers, beans, corn, banana, and other crops but they do not grow well. Before, people
did not burn the Earth, before people protected the Earth because it was considered more
sacred than today. Of course, I am not saying that Earth is not sacred because it is. But
many people do not look at it the same way as we Catholics do who still perform the
mayejak and burn pom and flowers. This is the way we Catholics show that the Earth is
sacred to us. The critical question today is that of passing on our knowledge to our chil-
dren on how to properly use the Earth and how to plant without burning the Earth. But
there are many who do not bother to teach their children these important things.

We need to be taught how to treat the Earth in a better way and stop cutting down our
forests and I think this is a problem throughout Guatemala. We need the government to
supply us with organic fertilizers instead of the chemical fertilizers that we use now for
this will not bode well for us in the future. We have noticed that organic fertilizer is bet-
ter and this is what we want for our harvests. As we are well aware of, our population is
increasing by the day while the soil is getting worse and poorer. If we do not eat we won’t
live and if we do not work we cannot live. Therefore, we have to educate our children on
how to use the Earth in the proper manner because if we do not, one day it will not pro-
duce anything and our grandchildren will suffer immensely. From now on we will have
to make good use of the Earth and the most important thing is to perform mayejak in
front of the hills.

In relation to the critique of burning corn, during my stay in Chisec I watched a

video produced by a local NGO called SANK on how to properly prepare the milpa
without burning (and using chemical fertilizers). The film starred Don Ejidio Rivas,
one of the elders I have worked with. Much in line with the wishes of Don Mariano
Pop Caz, the video teaches that it is not necessary to burn the milpa in the summer
before planting. Rather, by thoroughly cleaning the milpa a few weeks prior to
planting and allowing all of the weeds to decompose it creates a layer of decaying
organic matter at the top of the soil that retains moisture and keeps the soil softer
(which, opposed to rock-hard soil is more favorable) and acts accordingly as a natu-
ral fertilizer (Kirschner, Pielemeyer, and Tzi 2003). This video has been shown to
farmers in several communities within the municipality of Chisec and perhaps has

194
sown a seed in the minds of many people about how they practice milpa burning.
Indeed, the elders are quite aware of the negative consequences of an insensitive
practice of swidden cultivation resulting in fires negatively affecting the environ-
ment. In relation to this negative trend Macz and Grünberg (1999; see also Carr
2004) suggest that destructive land use in the adjacent Petén lowlands, as practiced
by Q’eqchi’ colonists, may be inspired by their ladino neighbors who do not respect
the rules of good sustainable land use. In contrast, as they claim, new settlements in
the lowlands directed by the elders in the community seek to reestablish the rela-
tionship with the new local tzuultaq’as inhabiting the region resulting in a more
environmentally sensitive and responsible use of land.

As suggested in chapter 3, the tzuultaqa’s take on the appearance of powerful and

benevolent beings present in Q’eqchi’ lifeworlds. It may be the case then that, just
as a Swedish anthropologist has been incorporated into the identity of the Tzuul-
taq’a to some extent, the Tzuultaq’a also joins forces with the international commu-
nity (NGOs, government agencies, etc.) and those elders who acknowledge that
milpa agriculture, as it sometimes is practiced today, has negative effects on the
environment.
As shown thus far, a harmonious reciprocal relationship between humans and
the tzuultaq’as is crucial not only to ensure the wellbeing and sustenance of both
parties but it also functions to uphold a balanced and sustainable ecology.

Cosmic Equilibrium and Existential Exchange

According to Descola (1996: 94) the exchange of services, food, and vitality is cen-
tral to animistic systems and humans are indebted towards non-humans for the
sustenance they provide. Kahn (2006: 7) suggests in a similar manner that Q’eqchi’
people since Pre-Columbian times have been stuck in a cycle of debt towards tzuul-
taq’as. The Tzuultaq’ is the owner and keeper of the Earth and therefore in control
of all of the Earth’s resources. Humans are required to reciprocate in order to gain
access to these resources, be it corn, animals, trees etc. As shown, tzuultaq’as are also
supervisors of human beings and require of them to lead a morally correct life in
harmony with all creatures upon Earth. Moral transgressions are punished which

195
can lead to illness and in the worst case corporeal death. To make use of the tzuul-
taq’as resources without permission and neglect to observe a correct ritual behavior
are moreover detrimental to the local environment visible, for instance, in a dimin-
ishing wild life, deforestation, poor soils, and climate change. While many Q’eqchi’
people feel indebted towards the Tzuultaq’a for allowing them access to the Earth’s
resources which guarantee their sustenance and survival, this is only one side of the
story. While humans gain wellbeing and sustenance, this is also true of the tzuul-
taq’as who feel content when people feed them with copal pom and other substances
that they consume. To disrespect the tzuultaq’as by denying them food or cutting
down trees on their hills without permission will hurt them too. As a result they
may choose to leave or, as some hold, they may even die. Thus, both the Tzuultaq’a
and humanity share the mutual responsibility of sustaining one another as well as
maintaining peace, tranquility, wellbeing and a sustainable ecology.
The mythological account of human creation as it is described in the Popol
Vuh informs us too that the creator gods (spirit beings) were in critical need of
physically manifested beings to perform proper ceremonies necessary to maintaining
their life-generating power. Christenson (2009) points out that these deities are
neither omnipotent nor capable of sustaining themselves indefinitely. The creation
of humankind was therefore a means for the gods to survive. The authors of the
Popol Vuh say that human beings bear the burden of caring for the gods in much
the same way as a mother nourishes and cares for her newborn infant (Christenson
2009). This dependence seems furthermore to correspond to that of the tzuultaq’as.
While the Q’eqchi’ are the offspring of Mother Earth/Tzuultaq’a they are simulta-
neously the primary sustainers of the tzuultaq’as, In other words, humans and tzuul-
taq’as are both the sustainer and the sustained, which conforms to the logic of com-
plementary oppositions. With regard to Descola’s modes of relation the relationship
between the cheekal winq and the tzuultaq’as bears witness both of protection and
exchange. To feed one another is to care for and protect one another. According to
Descola’s (2013: 325-329) definition of a protection mode, however, it is constitut-
ed by a hierarchical non-reciprocal relationship. The dominating part gives protec-
tion and thus it is the protected party who benefits the most from this relationship.
Still, as Descola observes, protection is frequently mutually beneficial in that the
protected party displays gratitude towards the protector and the protector may at
times count on the help from the protected party. With regard to the cheekal winq
and the tzuultaq’as, however, there is mutual strife regarding reciprocating protec-

196
tion. The exchange of sustenance between humans and tzuultaq’as is essential for
both parties. Tzuultaq’as are particularly important in the local economy of the
Q’eqchi’ and while tzuultaq’as are understood as providers and protectors of hu-
mans, likewise, tzuultaq’as depend on humans to care for their survival. The
Q’eqchi’ animistic mode of protection is not only mutually beneficial to both par-
ties exchanging nourishment but also intrinsic to the protection of the environment,
i.e. a sustainable ecology. Thus, to draw on Descola’s modes of relation, the ani-
mism put forward by the cheekal winq is a mix of protection and exchange.

Fig. 6.8. Don Ejidio Rivas, Chisec.

Underlying this reciprocal and protective relationship, humans and tzuultaq’as are
mutually responsible for upholding the cosmic equilibrium. By feeding one another,
both humans and tzuultaq’as contribute to sealing and upholding a relationship that
stands at the core of contemporary Q’eqchi’ cosmology. While a harmonious rela-
tionship between humans and tzuultaq’as is crucial on a socio-ecological level, argu-
ably it forms part of a grander scheme that was set out at the beginning of time to

197
ensure the existence of the entire cosmos. In conformity with Mesoamerican cos-
mologies in general, food production, consumption, and rituals associated with
agriculture, hunting etc. are closely related to a covenant based on a reciprocal rela-
tionship between humans and non humans that ensures continual regeneration of
the world (Fischer 2001: 142; cf. Freidel, Schele and Parker 2001; Monaghan
1995;). Coincidently the account of humanity’s divine origin, the reciprocal rela-
tionship between the Q’eqchi’ and tzuultaq’as in which they feed each other goes
back to ancient times when blood sacrifices functioned to maintain cosmic harmo-
ny. The relationship between humans and tzuultaq’as is accordingly an existential
act of exchange; an expression of cosmic balance, and harmony constituted between
spirit and matter, or earthly and cosmic forces. Human and non-human existence
depends, according to Fischer (2001: 147), on cosmic equilibrium. However, not
only human existence is dependent on this balance: spirit and matter also nurture
one another in a complementary fashion enabling the constituted existence of Cos-
mos and all life that it encompasses. This way of viewing life and approaching the
world is moreover consistent with the concept of vivir bien/buen vivir (living well) as
it recently has been deployed in the struggle for indigenous rights among Maya as
well as other Amerindian people, such as e.g. the Miskitu in Nicaragua and the
Aymara of the Bolivian Andes (Choque 2006; Nuevo B’aqtun 2014). While the
concept of Living Well is termed by the Miskitu as Laman Laka, and as suma qama-
ña by the Aymara, the corresponding term for the Q’eqchi’ people is tuqtuukilal
that emphasizes the importance of living in harmony, peace and tranquility with all
living beings. Basically, Living Well means living in a balanced harmony with
Mother Earth and all elements existing on and within it. In congruence with the
analogical scheme developed by Descola, Mirna Cunningham (2010: 53) notes that
‘all forms of existence are given equal weight, all have a complementary relationship,
all are alive and all are important’.
If the reciprocal bond between humanity and spirits is broken the entire cos-
mos collapses. There is, however, one twist to this seemingly grave situation. While
some Catholics fight to preserve the faith in the Tzuultaq’a and revitalize the neces-
sary ritual practices, the abandonment of the Tzuultaq’a is often the result of con-
version to other religions such as Evangelism. In these cases, the role and function
of the Tzuultaq’a are generally transferred directly to the Christian God. It is to
God they pray for health and protection. It is to God they pray for a successful hunt
or harvest. For Evangelicals, God is thus a substitute for the Tzuultaq’a.

198
According to Meillassoux (1967: 103) for example, cultivating peoples such as the
Maya tend to treat nature as an enemy and an object while hunter and gatherers
look upon nature as a friend and a subject. In a similar manner, Bird-David (1990)
suggests that agriculturalists conceive of nature as an ancestor that yields its bounty
reciprocally in return for appropriate conduct while foragers see the forest as a par-
ent who gives up its resources for its children unconditionally. In agreement with
this reasoning, at first glance it would be easy to situate the Q’eqchi’ in the group of
cultivators. However, there are some obvious discrepancies within this model when
applied to the Q’eqchi’. There is undoubtedly a reciprocal scheme of exchange at
play between human beings and the tzuultaq’as: They feed one another in order to
be sustained and nurtured. Hence there is a ‘double’ hierarchy at play here where
both parts draw on the power of each other. Nevertheless, people also tend to talk
of these exchanges in terms of sharing items with one another. While the act of
sharing commonly has been associated with intimate and symmetrical relations
recent ethnographic evidence suggests that in certain contexts, sharing is also a
means to overcome inequality and balance out assymetrical relations (cf. Rosengren
2014). Tzuultaq’as are frequently invited to share food and drink at fiestas and when
it is somebody’s birthday people occasionally bring gifts to the Tzuultaq’a as well.
Nature moreover is considered to share with humanity the vital elements of wind
and air. Arguably they also share the mutual responsibility of feeding one another in
order to uphold cosmic balance. Furthermore, as shown in chapter 3, while the
cheekal winq occasionally refers to the tzuultaq’as as ancestral beings they do not
claim to be their descendants related by blood. This ancestral relation could perhaps
best be described as a metaphor and an example of fictive kinship. More often than
not, the elders refer to the Tzuultaq’a as a parental figure, a mother and father. It is
also common to refer to them as brothers and some claim that they are close friends
with particular tzuultaq’as, resulting from several years of dreaming. As a parental
figure, the cheekal winq considers the Tzuultaq’a to be an authoritative person, not
unlike a stern father. It is always the tzuultaq’as who have the last say in things;
good crops, health and wellbeing depend on the tzuultaq’as’ good will in the end,
even if this can be manipulated by correct moral and ritual behavior on behalf of
humans. The authoritarian relationship between humans and tzuultaq’as also char-
acterizes relations within the family, especially between fathers and their children
and between older and younger siblings. Parents sometimes physically punish their

199
children and they describe themselves as the owners of their children. Ideally, par-
ents are those who decide to whom their children should be married. Thus, parents
own their children much in the same manner as the parental tzuultaq’a owns hu-
mans (Kahn 2006: 77).

Fig. 6.9. Don Miguel Quib, Chisec.

Since Q’eqchi’ people look upon nature and the environment (i.e. the Tzuultaq‘a)
more as a parent than as an ancestor, according to the Bird-David’s argument, peo-
ple would receive all resources unconditionally since this is what a parent is sup-
posed to do for their children. This is not always the case, however. While they may
well share goods with one another, in order to use the tzuultaq’a’s resources people
are required to reciprocate and feed the tzuultaq’as and children do not uncondi-
tionally receive everything they want. Nor do people in Chisec look upon the tzuul-
taq’a as an enemy that has to be appeased and feared. Far from being an enemy, the
Tzuultaq’a is looked upon primarily as a benevolent person together with whom
humanity works in order to sustain one another as well as to uphold the cosmic

200
balance. As a consequence, neither a giving nor reciprocal environment can correct-
ly be applicable to how the cheekal winq relate to the Tzuultaq’a. I would under-
stand this rather grey-scaled reciprocal/sharing-relationship in terms of what I call
an existential exchange of goods and services; existential because the process of ex-
change between humanity and the tzuultaq’as ultimately rests on the foundation of
a mutually shared responsibility of feeding one another.

201
 7
Epilogue: Visions of the Future

‘We will all die of hunger and it is our own fault for not performing the mayejak towards
the tzuultaqa’s’
Don Santiago Cuc, Chisec

While I so far have accounted for the ontological beliefs of the cheekal winq and
how these beliefs are played out in practice with regard to ritual performance, social
interactions and moral behavior this chapter addresses the experiences and anticipa-
tions of the elders with regard to the future of their cosmological notions and cos-
tumbre. As such, this chapter continues the discussion initiated in the introduction
regarding how the elders experience their life today. The majority of the cheekal
winq still uphold a belief in the Tzuultaq’a and while they do not all perform the
required rituals expected of them, most of them feel an urgent need to revitalize and
re-enact them. In addition to the effects of the civil war, poverty, and religious
fragmentation, the elders also see the recent introduction of non-indigenous ele-
ments into society as a potential threat to what they consider their traditional way of
life. Failure in acknowledging the Tzuultaq’a and the accompanying rituals is al-
ready visible in poor harvests, increased deforestation, droughts, landslides, climate
change, gang violence, etc. As result to these negative experiences, some have already
begun to perform the mayejak anew. By reintroducing proper ritual behavior they

203
not only expect bountiful harvests but also increased health and wellbeing. Moreo-
ver, as shown in the previous chapter, a harmonious relationship with the Tzuul-
taq’a is vital for cosmic equilibrium. There are obstacles to overcome, however, and
they are all too well aware of them.
This chapter aims to account for how the cheekal winq feel that their way of
life is threatened by new external elements of modernity seeping into their society
and especially affecting the younger generations. The elders talk of a split between
generations where it is said that the younger generations turn their back on tradi-
tional knowledge and practices. If this split cannot be mended the elders fear that
the belief in the Tzuultaq’a will be lost forever. This current trend of lack of interest
in costumbre also impacts negatively on the social status of the elders as ritual spe-
cialists and legitimate keepers of vital knowledge. Part of the elders’ mission is thus
to restore their social positions and to reinvigorate the faith in the Tzuultaq’a into
the hearts of the youth. Should they fail they fear that it will wreak havoc in the
world.

Loss of Respect and Traditions

The concepts of respect and communal solidarity are essential to the Maya elders
who as a rule have been respected in their communities and consulted on issues
regarding marriage, the sale of land, religious ceremonies, dream interpretations,
communal histories, etc. (Oakes 1951; Carey 2001; 2005; Lovell 2005). Today,
however, the cheekal winq express concerns about the way they are linked to their
communities and to the rest of the world, and they paint a rather gruesome picture
of the future. Below follows an account of how they speak of the past, current
times, and the days to come.
Most elders testify that they are no longer as respected as they used to be.
When the elders themselves grew up they were taught to respect the elders within
their communities. They say that whenever they encountered elderly people they
were never supposed to make eye contact, instead they lowered their heads and
looked down to the ground while greeting the elders in the proper manner by ad-
dressing them either as ch’ona (madam), ch’owa (sir), na’chin (grandmother/older
female person), or wa’chin (grandfather/older male person). If children behaved
badly their parents often punished them. The elders also stress that when they were

204
young it was their parents who decided whom they should marry. Don Marcos Butz
remembers how his father arranged everything and early one morning when he and
his father went to ask for the hand of his future wife he was not allowed to utter
anything. His father had struck a deal with the father of the bride and a bridegift
was offered in front of the household altar. While in earlier times this offering
amounted to five or ten quetzals, Don Marcos suspects that it is closer to one hun-
dred quetzals today. In ninety percent of cases the father of the bride accepts the
request since his rejection is already communicated by the first visit. In total the
father and son make four visits to the household of the future bride and if all goes as
planned, the date for the marriage is set during the fourth and last visit. Today it is
more common that the young people find their own spouses and, as Don Marcos
regretfully notes, they do so most often without the consent and support of their
parents.
The elders are also accustomed to hard labor and they say that when they were
young they were expected to work hard from an early age. Don Felix says that he
has worked since he was a little child and that he is never afraid of hard work. To
this today, at the age of ninety-nine (in 2005), he still tries to work as much as he
can while at the same time he sees youths who are in their early twenties not used to
hard work. ‘Their bodies are not accustomed to labor’, he says, ‘because they ha-
ven’t been taught to work hard as young children’. This is not only Don Felix’s
prejudiced view, one of my assistants who is in his mid-twenties agrees and claims
that the majority of young people only want to hang out in the streets and find easy
work.
It is primarily the elders who encounter and communicate with the tzuultaq’as
in dreams and many young people do not believe that dreams mean anything.
‘When we say that we talk with the hills young people say that we are crazy and that
we have lost our minds’, says Don Felix. This has resulted in elderly people tending
only to share their dream experiences with each another since they otherwise risk
being bullied.

Thus the respect for the older generation and their ways is now lost, claim the el-
ders. Today the younger generations no longer greet them properly and they seldom
ask for their advice, instead they make fun of them and their costumbre. The elders
feel that the young people are poorly educated and therefore they do not respect the

205
elders. According to Don Victoriano it is the youth who want the elders to respect
them instead.

Fig. 7.1. The Elder and the young generation, Chisec.

Visions of the Future

When asked about the future prospects for the Tzuultaq’a and their ritual practices
several of the elders conjure up a grim and sad future. Don Santiago believes that
one day the mayejak will be forgotten and when this happens humanity will experi-
ence difficult times. When he speaks of this possible scenario it is almost as if he
prophesizes the return of mythical times during which ‘the harvests will yield noth-
ing, the animals will die, and people will starve’. Several elders share Don Santiago’s
grim view of the future. Don Juán Rax states, for example, that:

206
 It hurts me to know that in the near future, people will not have any corn because all that
we do today they will stop doing in the future. They will forget everything and therefore
people are going to suffer. It is a sad future because people do not want to believe in our
ways.

The elders commonly complain of the lack of bountiful harvests, moreover, stating
that in earlier times the earth yielded good harvests in comparison to present condi-
tions. They refer to the poor harvests as principally a result of people failing to per-
form the mayejak. Don José says:

The Earth is not fertile here anymore and therefore we harvest almost nothing. In the
past we produced a lot but today we produce almost nothing because people are not per-
forming the mayejak. Before, when people offered their mayej to the Tzuultaq’a, they en-
joyed bountiful harvests. In Cobán people still have abundant crops and animals because
they are blessed. Here in Chisec we are not blessed because we do not obey the natural
laws and we are therefore left in poverty.

According to several elders the present failure to maintain the relationship between
human and tzuultaq’as has also increased the violence in Guatemala. ‘In the Capi-
tal’, Don Felix says, ‘or in places where people no longer perform mayejak there is
much violence and little respect for life. Today we have a lot of maras (gangs) in
Guatemala’. According to Don Felix, these mareros have been possessed by demons
and work in close alliance with the Devil. They are like ‘nawales’ (sorcerers), doing
the Devil’s work and they do evil magic and perform necrophilia rites. He empha-
sizes that it is important to protect the youth from becoming involved with these
maras. Don Felix laments today’s lack of knowledge and beliefs in Q’eqchi’ costum-
bre complaining that the younger generation has turned its back on the tzuultaq’as.
‘If this continues’, he says ‘we will soon face Armageddon.’
Others are less certain of what the future will bring, however, since they do
not know how future generations will look upon the Tzuultaq’a. Thus there is hope
for the future but it rests upon whether future generations will maintain an active
belief in the Tzuultaq’a. Doña Matilde Tzí says:

You will receive everything you ask for in a mayejak. I have learnt about our costumbre
but many young people only make fun of what we elders do. I practice what I have
learnt. I will never abandon this costumbre because it has given me a lot and I always
share what I know. But I am not sure whether my children have learnt what I have

207
 taught and whether they will continue to practice and follow my advice. I hope that this
costumbre will live on in the future because there are few who bother to investigate how
our ancestors lived. Only people from other places come and investigate and it seems that
our own children who live close to the elders do not find it important.

Don Santiago believes that even if people come to experience times of misery they
will eventually realize that it is through the performance of the mayejak that human-
ity will be able to enjoy a good life with bountiful harvests and then they will take
up the practices again.

While many elders complain that the younger generations turn their back on cos-
tumbre centered on the Tzuultaq’a, it is important to acknowledge that not all
Q’eqchi’ elders are in fact accustomed to performing the mayejak. Don Juán Rax
makes this view explicit when he says that:

Earlier, we could enjoy bountiful crops of corn but today the earth does not yield and it
cannot produce our crops and I think that we are to blame for this because we no longer
perform the mayejak in front of the Tzuultaq’a.

There are several reasons for the failure of performing the mayejak. Firstly, many of
the elders admit that they have forgotten how to perform the mayejak and therefore
no longer practice it. As noted earlier, this has much to do with historical events,
not least experiences of centuries of displacements, such as during the civil war,
when people were forced not only to abandon their homes but also their local tzuul-
taq’as. Secondly, there are those elders too who were never taught how to properly
perform a mayejak. Poverty is a third factor for failing to perform the mayejak. A
collective mayejak requires the purchase of the necessary paraphernalia which can be
rather expensive. Thus, while lack of financial resources prevents people from per-
forming a collective mayejak, people simultaneously associate poverty with the non-
performance of mayejaks since it results in poor harvests. Poverty can therefore place
people in a vicious circle that in turn aggravates the poverty. A fourth reason is
rooted in religion. An increasing number of people are converting from Catholicism
to Evangelism which teaches that the belief in the Tzuultaq’a is an abomination.
Still, many of the elders are determined to overcome this religious gap claiming that
they, when push comes to show, pray to the same God. As Don Marcelino Caal
puts it:

208
 I cannot see who is Catholic or Evangelical by merely looking at people and, likewise, I
can’t say that this is bad and this is good because everything is created by our living God.

Lastly, (which brings us back to the young generations of today) while many young
people tend to join different Evangelical churches, the cheekal winq also claim that
an increasing number of young people are becoming more interested in ‘foreign’
cultures rather than our costumbres. With regard to the younger generations’ interest
in foreign, or ‘modern’ elements the elders mention that this has turned them away
from costumbre and made them lazy. According to Don Victoriano:

The youngsters are watching television today and they want to imitate what they see and
they are changing. They want to follow the customs of other peoples from other coun-
tries and towns. They no longer want to follow the costumbre of their ancestors. Today
the young know, for example, of the entire life of some singer or artist. They are no long-
er preoccupied with their health and do not use natural plants as herbal remedies that do
not cost anything. In earlier times, we did not have to buy expensive medicines. We only
needed to step out of the house to find curing plants that could keep us in good health.
But many of us elderly people are no longer interested in teaching them because they do
not want to know. If we elders, who have lived our lives according to our ancestors’ ways,
are not able to pass on our knowledge and wisdom and plant it within the young people’s
hearts, this knowledge will die with us.

The cheekal winq claim that it is the new foreign elements as well as the affiliation to
Evangelical churches that constitutes the greatest threat to their costumbre. They
admit, however, that it is not only the fault of the younger people that they have
gone astray. The elders realize that they are partly to blame since they themselves do
not always practice the required rituals and that they have failed to teach and edu-
cate the younger generations. Irrespective of the reason stated for young people’s
disinterest in the traditionial cosmological notions and costumbre the elders feel that
the responsibility of transmitting knowledge to the younger generations falls pri-
marily on them and many agree that they to a cerain extent have failed in this en-
deavor. While this failure of educating the young oftentimes is put on individual
parents some point also to the collective responsibility. For instance, some hold that
the Catholic cofradias are partly responsible for not having taught the Bible to the
younger generations. In the end, however, the elders feel that it is ultimately their
responsibility to maintain a harmonious relationship to the Tzuultaq’a and to pass
this knowledge on to future generations. Consequently, even though a number of

209
elders are not accustomed to perform mayejak today many of them have begun to
reintroduce it into their lives and they feel that it is imperative that they raise the
awareness of their costumbre also of the younger generations.

To follow in the footsteps of their ancestors, as well as conforming to moral values

shared by one’s fellow community members, are what to a large extent define many
elders’ identity as Q’eqchi’ Maya. If one strays too far away from this path of com-
mon expectations one may expect dire consequences such as the loss of an interior
spiritual essence. With regard to the younger generation turning their backs on their
ancestral heritage Don Santiago notes:

The same thing happened to the ch’olwinq. They were like Mayas but they diverted from
their way and because of this they are now invisible and we cannot make contact with
them that easily as they always live deep inside the forest.

Thus, according to the logic of sociability as discussed in chapter 4, mayanness and

humanness are quite volatile and therefore in constant danger of being lost. Just as
Q’eqchi’ people can transform into a ch’olwinq through frequent and intimate social
interaction, if people abandon traditional ways and live life according to non-
indigenous values and morals, people risk losing their Q’eqchi’ identity.

Tradition and Modernity: From Assimilation to Cultural Resurgence

While I am sure elders have bemoaned the younger generation’s unwillingness to

follow in the footsteps of their ancestors throughout the ages in all kinds of cultural
settings, it seems apparent that something happened in Chisec during the second
half the twentieth century that, according to the elders, had serious impacts on what
they see as the traditional Q’eqchi’ way of life.
Since the Spanish Conquest Maya people have been subject to internal coloni-
alism in which the indigenous population is situated at the lowest step of the ethnic
order. In general, Maya people are perceived as inferior by the dominant society and
as representing a backward culture not considered a resource for development and
modernization. Over the past five centuries the Spaniards, German coffee produc-
ers, Guatemalan army generals, and the ladino ruling class have held a dominant

210
position of power over everything from state politics and legislation to the annexa-
tion of territories. In the mid-twentieth century Guatemala experienced a wave of
new development projects that aimed to modernize the country. As described in
chapter 2, when the elders began to migrate from the highlands to settle the FTN in
the 1960s and 1970s it was in the company of a state supported development pro-
ject that sought to colonize and modernize the area. As the region became ever more
populated by farmers, cattle ranchers, finqueros, and companies in search of oil and
minerals, many efforts were made to enhance infrastructure and communication.
Thus, with time the relatively isolated rural region of Chisec saw a rapidly increased
access to electricity, telephony, Internet and banking services, television as well as
the influx of a variety of commercial enterprises, NGOs and foreign-based Evangel-
ical churches. In other words, from the 1970s and onwards, Chisec has opened up
to a globalized world to a degree never experienced before. As Guatemala developed
and modernized at an increasing rate the “underdeveloped low-grade culture” of the
Maya had to be dealt with somehow. As in earlier times, the standard solution was
ethnic assimilation (cf. Martínez Peláez 1994), which basically meant that indige-
nous people had to conform to ladino standards and cultural values. As noted by
Watanabe (1995) anthropology has approached the indigenous Maya in two domi-
nating ways; either through a romantic lens in which the Maya represent some
idealized and pristine lost civilization or as the tragic living relics of that same civili-
zation. Accordingly, while the former perspective is in line with how the ladino-
dominated state promotes Guatemala with the long lost high culture of the ancient
Maya, the assimilation policy correlates with the view of an indigenous population
with an underdeveloped culture on the verge of a major breakdown. Due to the
aggressive assimilation policy and thus becoming increasingly entangled with the
rest of the world they experience negative societal transformations in a number of
ways such as, for example, relocation from traditional lands, threats to the continui-
ty of their languages, and the reduction of political autonomy. This clash with
modernization and globalization has often been feared to result in cultural loss
(Kirsch 2001). The concept of ‘cultural loss’ however poses a problem as ‘culture’
today is understood as a dynamic process of continual change rather than something
that can cease to exist and disappear. In other words, culture is not disappearing
(Sahlins 1999) and even after five hundred years of colonization, oppression and
marginalization, a great number of indigenous cultural perspectives are indeed alive
and kicking throughout the Americas. This does not mean that these cultural un-

211
derstandings exist in the same way and form as they did in Pre-Columbian times.
Culture in its varied and manifold expressions is enduring – a pragmatic process of
engagement with internal and external factors that James Clifford (2013) refers to as
‘becoming’. Accordingly, anthropologists have increasingly (especially since the
second half of the twentieth century) approached the many Maya groups by focus-
ing on the nature of their identitites which includes acknowledging the formula of
continuity and change. An important part of the new ways of thinking about Maya
cultures and identities today is not only derived from the work of foreign scholars
but increasingly also by Mayan scholars (Raxché, Enrique Sam Colop, Demetrio
Cojtí Cuxil, Victor Montejo, to mention a few), many of whom are involved in the
recent pan-Maya movement.
Cojtí Cuxil (1999; see also Raxché 1999) observes that the ladino colonialism
of assimilation is built upon false premises that have received their fair share of
criticism. The Maya will not stop being Maya simply because they learn Spanish or
receive education. Neither will changes in external ethnic indicators automatically
turn indigenous people into ladinos. Furthermore, the denigrated notion that the
Maya people do not have culture, or perhaps worse, a barbarous one, is at odds with
how the Guatemalan state frequently promotes and makes use of Maya culture
within the tourist industry. Lastly, the idea of assimilation assumes that the Maya
are isolated from national life and must be forced to conform to ladino society. This
is simply not true because the indigenous population of Guatemala have for a very
long time been integrated into the national and international labor- and economical
markets.

The Maya revitalization movement is prevalent throughout Guatemala (cf. Warren

1998; Fischer and Brown 1999; Cojtí Cuxil 1999; Cook: 2000; Montejo 2005) and
seeks to develop an ideology that emphasizes self-determination, cultural and ethnic
pride, and a pan-Maya unity within a pluri-cultural nation. The Maya movement is
by no means a homogeneous project, but the main issue for many of its leaders is
the re-creation of their culture and identity by eliminating all foreign elements
which they see only as contamination (Fischer and Brown 1999). They wish to do
this in order to revitalize a pan-Maya identity founded upon autochthonous beliefs,
practices (rituals, calendars) and identity markers (dress, language). As mentioned in
the introduction, when I first arrived in Guatemala to commence my fieldwork in
2004, there were relatively little signs of a pan-Maya movement in Alta Verapaz in

212
comparison to the southwestern highlands. Jon Schackt (2001: 9) notes that it was
not until after the Peace Accords of 1996 when Q’eqchi’ people in the highlands
first began to be familiar with term Maya as an ethnic identification marker. In
accordance with the relatively heterogeneous character of the pan-Maya movement
there is room for local forms of revitalization processes. Even though the cheekal
winq constitute part of the current Maya cultural resurgence, their motive for or-
ganizing is not concerned primarily with the promotion of a pan-Maya ethnicity.
Rather, they aspire to meet material needs as well as to preserve local customs and
beliefs they feel are disappearing. This is much in line with Raxché (1999: 77) who
argues that:

‘one should not only think of and approach development in material terms but also focus
attention on ‘developing the potential of all peoples and their respective cultures so that
we may coexist in harmony with our Mother Earth and at the same time improve human
coexistence on the face of the planet’.

I think it is important to note here that in contrast to the spokesmen of the pan-
Maya movement, the cheekal winq do not as a rule make use of the word “culture”
when they talk about loss,58 continuity, and change. Rather, they tend to speak in
terms of costumbre that encompasses both inherited cultural traditions and customs.
While the elders wish to document, or in some way preserve their costumbre, it is
important to note that they do not imagine that the endeavor to maintain or con-
serve the ways of their ancestors will stand unchanged. As a result they really seek to
re-create, or revitalize their cosmological notions and ritual practices which involves
adjusting to how the world is constituted today. Don Santiago says:

We gather all necessary paraphernalia as our ancestors did but we also know that it will
never be exactly as it used to be. For example, we do not drink b’oj anymore as they did.
B’oj signifies joy, communion, and celebration. In earlier times we used to come together
discussing dreams and many other things and drink b’oj but today people do not drink as
much b’oj and therefore we do not talk as much and this makes us forget about commu-
nication.

58
Even though people may occasionally speak of culture, it is interesting to note that the Q’eqchi’ word
for culture is actually composed of two words: yehom b’aanuhom. While the former word translates as
’that which I say’, the latter word can be translated either as ’obligation’ or ’performance’ (ALMG 2004).
The term b’aanuhom is similar to the word b’aanuheem, which, as I reported in note 1, means ’custom’.
Arguably, these are but two different spellings of the same word that consequently may be translated as
either ’culture’ or ’custom’. Hence, in the Q’eqchi’ vernacular custom is equated with culture.

213
Indeed, ritual practices and cosmological notions have most certainly always been
subject to change. While it is more difficult to discern changes in Pre-Columbian
times, we know that much have happened since Colonial days. We know, for ex-
ample, that human blood sacrifices no longer exist but still traditions of sacrifice
lingers on. Today, people offer blood from animals along with copal pom and can-
dles. Moreover, the tzuultaq’as have since the influx of Christian missionaries re-
ceived epithets influenced by Catholic saints. Raxché (1999: 76) argues accordingly
that the continuity of Maya culture may change in its form but not in its essence,
meaning simply that whatever Maya culture is, has been, and will be, it is still Maya
and not something else. Thus, the rethoric of the cheekal winq and their ambitions
to preserve and transmit their inherited knowledge and practices is perhaps more
fittingly attributed to what Keesing and Tonkinson (1982) refers to as ‘the politics
of custom’ rather than that of cultural revitalization. To put it in another way, the
politics of custom can be defined as a politics of resistance; a resistance to alien
powers legitimated by native ancestral powers (Keesing 1982: 298-299). When
people experience pressure from powerful groups to adopt alien values and forms of
behavior and to abandon older forms they may opt to resist and they do so by stra-
tegically retain, revitalize, elaborate, or re-create the particular forms under attack.
Often, these values and forms of behavior are acknowledged (either literally or fig-
uratively) as the morally superior ‘way of the ancestors’ (Lepowsky 1991).

The cheekal winq do, however, not consider development, modernization, globaliza-
tion or Westernization as only negative in relation to a traditional Q’eqchi’ way of
life. In fact, they are often more than happy to incorporate and make use of new
influences in their society. For instance, rural communities that were previously
isolated have, in collaboration with NGOs, been able to gain titles to their land,
access to water tanks, and proper roofs to their houses as well as gaining income
from eco-tourism. The elders are also eager to get their hands on cell phones. Even
though many of the elders do not own a cell phone of their own they can certainly
see the advantages of owning one, since it would enable them to communicate with
people living far away. As Don Santiago says: ‘the elders will soon die and there will
be no one left to perform the mayejaks because today people learn about other
things, other technologies’. Technology is not bad in itself, he says, but if people

214
only focus on modern technology without having learned of the lives of their ances-
tors, things will turn bad. Don Felix agrees when he says that:

Before, life was very beautiful but today it is very different because many things are
changing fast. Sure, this brings us good things, but also bad things, because today there is
no respect for the elders.

Fig. 7.2. Internet center in Chisec.

Accordingly, the elders do not have anything against development and external
modern elements per se, rather they see that things in their society are changing
perhaps too rapidly and they are worried that these influences will take precedence
over their inherited traditional ways. Change can thus be considered beneficial to
society but it can also produce negative outcomes. In this way then they do not
swallow the introduction of modernity hook, line and sinker. People in rural com-
munities are generally grateful for NGO assistance but certain aspects of this they
see as unwelcome changes that may seriously affect their traditional way of life.
They see a potential threat to their costumbre and cosmological notions by way of

215
the younger generations’ interest in “foreign” things and values. This is also the
reason why they created their organization in order to pass on their knowledge and
wisdom to the younger generations.

The elders testify that external elements have resulted in social change detrimental
to their traditional costumbre. They are, however, not alone in thinking that social
change corresponds to an assumed process of modernization and development,
which may well lead to the jettisoning of older, native values and the adoption of
other alien practices and beliefs. This social change usually manifests unevenly creat-
ing a dichotomy between those who seek to benefit from wholesale change and
those who prefer the status quo. Modernity and globalization are thus a fourth
external element that threatens to disrupt the unity and harmony of traditional ways
of being. Still, as mentioned earlier, is rather common that elderly people through-
out the ages have complained that the younger generations are moving through life
following new and unfamiliar paths that rapidly lead away from the traditional ways
of the past that the elders deem necessary to preserve.
Besides the forming of the cheekal winq, there are other recent signs of an
emerging Maya movement in Chisec associated with sacred caves (Ybarra 2012) and
ancient ruins (García 2007). With regard to the former, Ybarra (2012: 585) reports
of an NGO that wanted to measure the Candelaria Caves with a GPS in order to
find out whether the sacred caves were within the boundaries of a specific commu-
nity. However, a Q’eqchi’ priest or spiritual leader argued that it would be impossi-
ble, since to measure a tzuultaq’a would disqualify their cosmological notions. This
affirms the Q’eqchi’ notion that caves are only the center of the tzuultaq’a. A tzuul-
taq’a is more than the cave, it is a living being and just as the name reveals, a tzuul-
taq’a encompasses both valleys and hills. Thus landownership cannot be resolved by
politics and with the help of technical measurements alone. While neoliberal multi-
culturalism demands that politics and religion be separated this fails to meet the
criteria of Q’eqchi’ animistic lifeworlds where “all are part of one”.
While there is no doubt that there among the youth are some who reject the
old ways, there are still those who never leave, or who stop halfway and double back
in order to pick up the trails of the old ways. This appears to be happening current-
ly in Chisec. Just recently, the local NGO SANK (Sa q’a chol nimla k’aleb’aal)
which translates as ‘harmony in our community’ is currently in the process of evolv-
ing into a Q’eqchi’ Maya movement with focus on Q’eqchi’ cosmology and rituals

216
and they seek to establish a Q’eqchi’ university in Chisec. SANK was founded in
2002 and was born directly out of the experiences and successes of the Youth
Movement of Chisec called MOJUCHI (Sp. Movimiento Juvenil de Chisec) which
was formed in the year 2000. SANK began working together with the American
Peace Corps volunteers stationed in Chisec. In time the organization will extend its
cooperation to include partners such as FONTIERRAS (Fondo de Tierras), the
University of Idaho, and USAID in programmes covering everything from educa-
tion, community organization, environmental and health issues, as well as conserva-
tion and land titling projects. Perhaps, this Q’eqchi’ movement sprung out of the
youth movement in Chisec is the fruit of the endeavors of the cheekal winq. Perhaps
the worst fears of the elders will not come true. Perhaps the tzuultaq’as will remain
in their hills looking after the coming generations of Q’eqchi’ people. If this will
occur this would perhaps secure the social status of elderly people as legitimate
keepers of cosmological and ritual knowledge that can guide the younger genera-
tions in their endeavor to establish a Q’eqchi’ revitalization movement – a politics
of costumbre.

Since I have situated the cheekal winq within the Maya movement it deserves to be
mentioned that this movement has been subject to critique due to the embracement
of essentialism (cf. Fischer 1999). As noted above, the Maya movement seeks to
decolonize themselves by re-creating a common autochthonous culture unfettered
from non-Mayan elements. It is, however beyond the scope of this study to engage
in this debate with regard to the pan-Maya movement as a whole. I limit myself to
deal with this issue with regard to the Q’eqchi’ in general, and more specifically, the
cheekal winq. Maya ethnicity and community have mainly been identified either as
essential (i.e. considered primordially Mayan in kind) or as relational (i.e. the result
of opposition to powerful external influences) (cf. Watanabe 1990b; Carmack 1990;
Smith 1990). Focusing on the Q’eqchi’ Maya, Wilson (1993) argues that both
approaches should be accounted for. Within the context of a Q’eqchi’ cultural
resurgence, Wilson argues accordingly for a synthetic approach in which indigenous
peoples are actively forming their culture based on the internal content of past his-
torical processes as well as external influences stemming from interactions with non-
indigenous peoples. Based on the information collected among the cheekal winq I
agree with Wilson. As I have shown in this thesis, the costumbre the elders are com-
posed to a varied extent by both autochthonous and non-indigenous elements. Even

217
tzuultaq’as appear in the guise of non-indigenous persons in their pursuit to be
recognized by Q’eqchi’ people as powerful and trustworthy. It is, however, of minor
importance to this study whether the pan-Maya movement or the cheekal winq
display an autochthonous culture or not. What I do think is important to
acknowledge is that they all opt for an alternative way of meeting the future that
differs from the Western or modernist view of development that rests on a natural-
istic ontology. Instead they develop kind of an indigenous modernity that rests on
an animistic ontology. Thus, when the cheekal winq see certain alien elements of
Western modernity as incompatible with their own way of leading their lives, this is
fundamentally a reflection of an ontological disagreement. Hence, what I earlier
referred to as the politics of custom can in a sense be stated more specifically as the
‘politics of animism’ (Clammer 2004). Furthemore, with regard to the re-creation
of Q’eqchi’ cosmology centered on the Tzuultaq’a this facilitates moreover with
what Marisol de la Cadena (2010) refers to as indigenous cosmopolitics and with
what indigenous movements call Living Well: An ontological struggle in which
humans are in alliance with non-humans; a struggle in which the rights and actions
of non-humans count; a struggle for an alternative development that take into con-
sideration all living beings that inhabit Mother Earth.

Concluding Remarks

In collaboration with the cheekal winq the overall aim of this study is to document
their cosmological notions and costumbre. The underlying reason of this endeavor
rests on that the cheekal winq fear that their ways of approaching and understanding
the world stand the acute risk of being forgotten. Would people cease to believe in
the Tzuultaq’a and stop leading a morally and ritually correct life in accordance
with the inherited ways of their ancestors, they fear this will wreak havoc in the
world; crops will fail, animals will die, people will starve, and violence will escalate.
Don Felix anxiously states that if nothing is done to hinder this negative develop-
ment this will eventually lead to Armageddon. Of primary concern is the current
lack of interest in traditional beliefs and practices demonstrated by the young gener-
ation. The elders are aware of the fact that they soon will be gone and that there
have to be those who can carry on with their work. Thus, the elders feel an urgent

218
need to reinstate the respect for the elderly generation, both as social actors and as
keepers and transmitters of vital knowledge.
However, as shown in this study, the elders are not late in recognizing that
they are partly to blame for the current situation. Some of the elders assert that they
themselves lack essential knowledge of cosmological notions which has led to that
they do not perform the required rituals toward the Tzuultaq’a. There are several
reasons for this lack of ritual conduct. While some elders claim that they have not
been taught the correct way to perform certain rituals, others state that they have
forgotten the ways of the ancestors or that they simply cannot afford to perform a
collective mayejak. Lack of unity and social coherence within the communities is yet
another reason underlying the nonperformance of rituals. As I have shown, the
elders’ shortcomings with regard to ritual life can to a large extent be traced to the
consequences of the long lasting civil war, displacements, religious conversions, and
general poverty. Many elders are, however, determined to set the record straight and
begin anew to re-enact the ancient rituals in their life and share with them their
knowledge. With regard to their ambitions it should be recognized that the cheekal
winq constitute a rather hetereogeneous group of people concerning cosmological
notions and ritual practices. Besides the reasons accounted for above the elders
originate from different places which means that they have varied understandings
regarding cosmology and ritual practices.
Thus, the endeavor to document the elders’ cosmological notions and ritual
knowledge is not merely an act of preservation. Neither should the content present-
ed here be understood as a ready-made framework of the elders’ cosmological and
ritual knowledge but rather as something that is subject to negotiation. Conse-
quently, this thesis accounts for an early stage of the process of re-creating a
Q’eqchi’ cosmology and costumbre that is intended to set the scene for the elders’
ambitions to transmit their collected knowledge to future generations.

Theoretically, this study is inspired by how anthropologists recently have rethought

the concept of animism. It is therefore not only a way to try to explicate the episte-
mological organization of a Q’eqchi’ cosmology but also a contribution to the gen-
eral anthropological body of theory regarding indigenous ontologies. While Descola
probably would categorize the cosmology of the cheekal wing as an analogical mode
of identification I argue to the contrary that the mode is primarily animistic. This is
not to say that I think that Descola is wrong. In fact, I find his contribution to the

219
discussion on ontologies highly valuable and I can discern several similarities be-
tween analogism and the way the elders think of the world in terms of complemen-
tary opposites and correspondences. However, intrinsic to the cosmological notions
of the cheekal winq is that their world is fundamentally social and all aspects of the
environment are potentially alive, which in Descola’s own terms make it animistic.
Humans and non-humans are moreover animated by one single vital force even
though it may manifest differently when associated with certain beings. Learning
about the nature of one another is a matter of interaction and engagement, or as I
call it, a logic of sociability. Parting with Descola I team up with Sahlins who de-
fines analogism as hierarchical animism. Since the mu manifests differently depend-
ing on the nature, or affordances, of the particular beings they differ in terms of
power. However, as I have shown with regard to the relation between humans and
non-humans, this dimension of power is not necessarily assymetric but can be har-
monized. Likewise, while tzuultaq’as in general are understood to be more powerful
than humans they are nevertheless dependent on humans for their sustenance. I part
moreover, from both Descola’s and Sahlins’s definition of animism according to
which humanity is the universal blueprint for personhood which is not the case in
Q’eqchi’ cosmology. Instead I join ranks with other scholars (Bird-David 1999;
Harvey 2005; Hallowell 1960; Howell 1989) who see humanity as only one of
many subgroups of persons. Again, in correspondence with an analogical regime, no
particular species within the Q’eqchi’ cosmos are prioritized as being the ‘original’.
Thus, by engaging with Hallowell (1960), from a human perspective there are both
human persons and other-than-human persons. Likewise, we may assume that from
the perspective of a tree or a tzuultaq’a there are, respectively, but tree-persons and
other-than-tree persons or tzuultaq’a persons and other-than-tzuultaq’a persons.

In my account of a Q’eqchi’ animism I conclude that all beings consist of the merg-
ing of matter and spirit. The forming of persons is however a continual process
informed to a certain extent by bodily affordances, ritual procedures, social interac-
tion, and moral behavior that render personal identity relatively unstable. With
regard to the identity of the tzuultaq’as I argue moreover that their ability to appear
in various human forms primarily is an act of transformative mimetics, which basi-
cally means that they draw on the identity of other powerful, but benevolent actors
present in Q’eqchi’ lifeworlds. I make a point arguing that the tzuultaq’as, as well as
most non-humans, generally are considered (at least by Catholics) as benevolent

220
persons. What at first sight may be perceived as malevolent or vindictice acts on
behalf of nonhumans are merely reactions following the logic of the cosmos. All
beings act according to their specific nature in order to fulfill their respective life
trajectories and if anyone should hinder this process this is a legitimate cause for
action. Accordingly, if a human mistreats or disrespects any other being there are
dire but justifiable consequences to expect. Thus, according to what I refer to as a
logic of sociability, one should treat each being according to its nature. Thus, ‘peo-
ple become animists by learning how to recognize persons and, far more important,
how to engage with them’ (Harvey 2005: xvii).

The cheekal winq inhabit a world constituted by two dimensions; one physical (or-
dinary) and one spiritual (extraordinary). Since all being are endowed with a com-
mon spiritual force they are able to interact in both realms. This study focuses on
human interactions with the tzuultaq’as as they both traverse these dimensions.
These encounters, I argue are important for the maintenance and re-creation of a
Q’eqchi’ cosmology and highlight the tzuultaq’as as moral and socio-ecological
regulators. People interact with tzuultaq’as also in ritual performances. Intrinsic to
these rituals is that humans and tzuultaq’as feed and sustain one another. It is a
shared mutual responsibility not only of caring for and looking after one another
but on a grander scale their feeding of one another functions to uphold cosmic
harmony and equilibrium. Should this fail, as the elders fear may happen, they will
soon face the end of the world. Therefore, they rely on the young generations to
continue their work. There is today an emerging youth movement in Chisec that
aims to promote a Q’eqchi’ cosmological perspective and whether or not this is a
direct effect of the work and ambitions of the cheekal winq they may nevertheless
get the opportunity to enjoy a social status where they again are respected members
of the communites in possession of essential knowledge in the process of re-creating
a Q’eqchi’ cosmology.

221
Svensk Sammanfattning (Swedish Summary)

Denna avhandling är en studie av kosmologi och rituella praktiker baserad på ett

elva månaders (2004-2006) långt fältarbete bland en grupp äldre Q’eqchi’ Maya
män och kvinnor i Chisec, Guatemala. Denna grupp kallas för cheekal winq (de
äldre) och består av hundratalet personer från sexton olika byar. Syftet med denna
organisation är att främja den materiella och sociala levnadsstandarden för dess
medlemmar samt att arbeta för ett bevarande och dokumenterande av traditionell
kunskap som de anser härstammar från deras förfäder. Det är i det senare avseendet
som denna studie tar sitt avstamp. Det bakomliggande syftet med cheekal wings vilja
att bevara traditionella kosmologiska uppfattningar är den oro de känner inför att
de snart kan gå förlorade. De äldre menar att dagens unga generation inte längre
respekterar den äldre generationen och deras kosmologiska och rituella kunskaper.
Cheekal wing anser att de unga viker av från den traditionella vägen och istället
följer nya främmande kulturer vilket kan ses som slitningar mellan tradition och
modernitet. De äldre fruktar att om traditionella kosmologiska och rituella kun-
skaper går förlorade kommer mänskligheten gå en dyster framtid till mötes och om
denna negativa utveckling inte stoppas i tid så menar de att det kan gå så långt som
att världen går under. Tecken på denna utveckling kan enligt cheekal winq redan ses
i undermåliga skördar, färre djur att jaga, avskogning, ökade naturkatastrofer,
klimatförändringar, ökad fattigdom, samt ett ökat våld i samhället.

Även om cheekal winqs oroar sig över att den yngre generationen inte ska följa den
traditionella vägen så visar studien att cheekal winq utgör en relativt heterogen grupp
i förhållande till kunskap om kosmologi och rituella praktiker. Medan vissa av de
äldre besitter djup kosmologisk kunskap så finns det de som uppvisar stor kun-
skapsbrist angående förfädernas läror vilket resulterar i att de inte heller utför viktiga
ritualer. Olika kosmologiska uppfattningar och nivåer av kunskap bland de äldre
härleds till olika påverkansfaktorer som till exempel, fattigdom, religiös fragmenter-
ing och sviterna av ett nästan fyrtio år långt inbördeskrig. Trots detta så arbetar
cheekal winq idag för att komma samman som en enhet och hitta gemensamma

223
nämnare i förhållande till kosmologi och rituella praktiker för att sedan sprida detta
vidare till den yngre generationen. Eftersom kultur i grunden är dynamisk och
därmed i ständig förändring samt att cheekal winq utgör en relativt heterogen grupp
människor med olika historier, ursprung och livserfarenheter så innebär det också
att ett försök till att dokumentera och bevara nedärvda kunskaper oundvikligen
leder till en process av ett återupptäckande och återskapande av deras kosmologiska
rötter och rituella praktiker: en kosmologi som de menar inte enbart är livsviktig för
människan och icke-mänskliga varelser, utan också för en hållbar ekologi och en
kosmisk balans.

Teoretiskt sett tar denna studie avstamp i hur man inom antropologin på senare tid
har omdefinierat begreppet animism (Descola 1992, 1996, 2012, 2013; Bird-David
1999; Stringer 1999; Viveiros de Castro 1992, 1998; Willserslev 2007; Clammer
2004; Harvey 2005; Sahlins 2014) vilket till stor del innebär ett avståndstagande av
e.g. Tylors (1920) tidigare definition av animism som något primitivt och irra-
tionellt. Kosmologiska uppfattningar och rituella praktiker är istället något som i
grunden tas på allvar och animism behandlas således som en av flera ontologier.
Trots att antropologisk forskning med utgångspunkt från nya teoribildningar kring
animism har bedrivits bland ursprungsfolk i stora delar av världen (e.g. Amazonas,
USA, Sydostasien) så saknas det mycket forskning bland folkgrupper i Centrala-
merika. Genom att analysera cheekal winqs kosmologier och rituella praktiker utifrån
animistiska teorier så ämnar denna studie inte enbart till att bidra till den generella
antropologiska forskningen kring animism och ontologier utan också till att
inkludera Mayaregionen.

Avslutningsvis, även om cheekal winq menar att många yngre idag hellre följer andra
främmande kulturer så har det i Chisec nyligen uppstått en ungdomsrörelse som
syftar till att lyfta upp lokala kosmologiska uppfattningar. Oavsett om denna rörelse
är ett direkt resultat av cheekal winqs arbete med att bevara och sprida deras kunskap
vidare eller inte så kan det bidra till att den äldre generationen kan åtnjuta en social
status där de åter igen blir respekterade samhällsmedlemmar i besittning av viktig
kunskap gällande processen av ett återskapande av en Q’eqchi’ kosmologi.

224
References
Adams, Abigail E. 2001. The Transformation of the Tzuultaq’a: Jorge Ubico,
Protestants and other Verapaz Maya at the Crossroads of Community, State
and Transnational Interests. The Journal of Latin American Anthropology 6(2):
198-233.

–––. 2011. Antonio Goubaud Carrera: Between the Contradictions of the Genera-
ción de 1920 and U.S. Anthropology. In Timothy J. Smith and Abigail E.
Adams (eds.) After the Coup: An Ethnographic Reframing of Guatemala 1954,
pp. 17-48. Chicago, Illinois: The Board of Trustees of the University of Illi-
nois.

Adams, Abigail E., and James E. Brady. 2005. Ethnographic Notes on Maya
Q’eqchi’ Cave Rites: Implications for Archaeological Interpretation. In James
E. Brady and Keith M. Prufer (eds.) In the Maw of the Earth Monster: Mesoa-
merican Ritual Cave Use, pp. 301-327. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Akkeren, Ruud van. 2000. Place of the Lord’s Daughter: Rab’inal, it’s History, it’s
Dance-Drama. Leiden: Research School CNWS, School of Asian, African, and
Amerindian Studies (CNWS Publications, 91).

–––. 2012. Xib’alb’a y el nacimiento del nuevo sol: Una vision posclásica del colapso
maya. Guatemala: Editorial Piedra Santa.

ALMG. 2004. Xtusulal Aatin sa’ Q’eqchi’: Vocubulario Q’eqchi’. Guatemala: Acade-
mia de Lenguas de Guatemala (ALMG).

Alonso Fradejas, Alberto. 2009. The human right to food versus the new colonizers
of agriculture in Guatemala: sugarcane and African palm. In Maria Silvia
Emanueli, Jennie Jonsén and Sofia Monsalve Suárez (eds.) red sugar, green de-
serts, pp. 229-245. FIAN International, FIAN Sweden, HIC-AL, and SAL.

225
Annis, Sheldon. 1987. God and Production in a Guatemalan Town. Austin: Univer-
sity of Texas Press.

Atran, Scott. 1993. Itza Maya Tropical Agro-forestry. Current Anthropology 34(5):
633-700.

Atran, Scott, et al. 2002. Folkecology, Cultural Epidemology, and the Spirit of the
Commons: A Garden Experiment in the Maya Lowlands, 1991-2001. Current
Anthropology 43(3): 421-450.

Avalos, Eugenio Maurer 1997. The Tzeltal Maya-Christian Synthesis. In Gary H.

Gossen (ed.) South and Meso-American Native Spirituality: From the Cult of the
Feathered Serpent to the Theology of Liberation, pp. 228-250. New York: The
Crossroad Publishing Company.

Bassie-Sweet, Karen. 1996. At the Edge of the World. Norman: University of Okla-
homa Press.

–––. 2008. Maya Sacred Geography and the Creator Deities. Norman: University of
Oklahoma Press.

Bastien, Joseph W. 1978. Mountain of the Condor: Metaphor and ritual in an Ande-
an Ayllu. Long Grove, IL: Waveland Press, Inc.

Bird-David, Nurit. 1990. The Giving Environment: Another Perspective on the

Economic System of Gatherer-Hunters. Current Anthropology 31(2): 189-196.

–––. 1999. ‘Animism’ Revisited: Personhood, Environment, and Relational Epis-

temology. Current Anthropology 31: 183-196.

Black, George. 1984. Garrison Guatemala. New York: Monthly Review Press.

Bloch, Maurice. 1999. Commensality and Poisoning. Social Research 66(1): 133-
149.

226
Boremanse, Didier. 1997. The Faith of the Real People: The Lacandon of the
Chiapas Rain Forest. In Gary H. Gossen (ed.) South and Meso-American Na-
tive Spirituality: From the Cult of the Feathered Serpent to the Theology of Libera-
tion, pp. 324-351. New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company.

Braakhuis, H. E. M. 2010. Xbalanque’s Marriage: A Commentary on the Q’eqchi’

Myth of Sun and Moon. PhD Dissertation, University of Leiden. Enschede:
Ipskamp Drukkers.

Brady, James E. 2001. Uncovering the Dark Secrets of the Maya: The Archeology
of Maya Caves. In Nikolai Grube (ed.) Maya: Divine Kings of the Rain Forest,
pp. 296-307. Cologne: Könemann.

Brintnall, Douglas E. 1979. Revolt against the Dead: the Modernization of a Mayan
Community in the Highlands of Guatemala. New York: Gordon and Breach.

Brockett, Charles D. 2005. Political Movements and Violence in Central America.

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Burkitt, Robert. 1902. Notes on the Kekchí Language. American Anthropologist,

N.S. 483: 441-463.

–––. 1905. A Kekchí Will of the Sixteenth Century. American Anthropologist, N.S.
7(2): 271-294.

–––. 1920. The Hills and the Corn. Philadelphia: University Museum.

Caal, Dario. 2000. Espiritualidad maya-kekchí. In Hacía une nueva espiritualidad,

Revista Alternativas 6(14). Managua: Editorial Lascasiana.

Cabarrús, Carlos Rafaél. 1979. La Cosmovision K’ekchi’ en Proceso de Cambio. San

Salvador, El Salvador: UCA/Editores.

–––. 1998. La Cosmovisión Q’eqchi’ en Proceso de Cambio. Guatemala: Cholsamaj.

227
Cambranes, Julio Castellanos. 1985. Coffee and Peasants in Guatemala. Stockholm:
Institute of Latin American Studies.

Campbell, Lyle. 2000. American Indian Languages: The Historical Linguistics of

Native America. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press.

Campbell, Lyle, and Terrence Kaufman. 1985. Mayan Linguistics: Where are we
now? Annual Review of Anthropology 14: 187-198.

Carey, David, Jr. 2001. Our Elders Teach Us: Maya-Kaqchikel Historical Perspectives.
Tuscaloosa and London: The University of Alabama Press.

Carlsen, Robert S., and Martin Prechtel. 1991. The Flowering of the Dead: An
Interpretation of Highland Maya Culture. Man 26(1): 23-42.

–––. 1994. Walking on Two Legs: Shamanism in Santiago Atitlán, Guatemala. In

Jane S. Day and Gary Seaman (eds.) Ancient Traditions: Shamanism in Central
Asia and the Americas, pp. 77-111. Niwot, Colorado: University Press of Colo-
rado.

Carlson, Ruth, and Francis Eachus. 1977. The Kekchi Spirit World. In Helen L.
Neuenswander and Dean E. Arnold (eds.) Cognitive Studies of Southern Meso-
america, pp. 38-65. Dallas: SIL Museum of Anthropology.

Carmack, Robert M. 1981. The Quiché Mayas of Utatlán: The Evolution of a High-
land Guatemala Kingdom. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

–––. 1990. State and Community in Nineteenth-Century Guatemala. In Carol A.

Smith (ed.) Guatemalan Indians and the State: 1540 to 1988, pp. 116-136.
Austin: University of Texas Press.

–––. (ed.) 1992. Harvest of Violence: The Maya Indians and the Guatemalan Crisis.
Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

228
Carr, David L. 2004. Ladino and Q’eqchi’ Maya land use and land clearing in the
Sierra de Lacandón National Park, Petén, Guatemala. Agriculture and Human
Values 21: 171-179.

Carter, William E. 1969. New Lands and old Traditions: Kekchi Cultivators in the
Guatemalan Lowlands. Gainesville: University of Florida Press.

Casas, Fray Bartolome de las. 1992. Obras Completas 8. Apologetica Historia Sumria
III. Madrid: Allianza Editorial.

Caso Barrera, Laura, and Mario Aliphat. 2007. Relaciones de Verapaz y las Tierras
Bajas Mayas Centrales en el siglo XVII. In J. P. Laporte, B. Arroyo and H.
Mejía (eds.) XX Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Guatemala, 2006,
pp. 48-58. Museo Nacional de Arquelología y Etnología, Guatemala.

Castellon, Michael Joseph. 1996. Dynamics of Deforestation: Q’eqchi’ Maya Colonists

in Guatemala’s Sierra de Las Minas, 1964-1995. PhD Dissertation. Depart-
ment of Geography, Madison, University of Wisconsin.

Cavallero, Corrado, and David Foulkes (eds.). 1993. Dreaming as Cognition. New
York: Harvester Wheatsheaf.

CEH (Comisión para el Esclarecimiento Histórico). 1999. Guatemala: Memoría del

Silencio, Vol. 1-12. Ciudad de Guatemala: Guatemala

Choque Quispe, María Eugenia. 2006. La historia de Movimiento indígena en la

búsqueda del Suma Qamaña (Vivir Bien). International Expert Group Meeting
on the millennium development goals, indigenous participation and good govern-
ance. New York: United Nations.

Christenson, Allen J. 2007. Popol Vuh: The Sacred Book of the Maya. The Great
Classic of Central American Spirituality, Translated from the Original Maya
Text. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

229
–––. 2009. ‘Who Shall be Our Sustainer?’: Sacred Myth and the Spoken Word.
Expedition 51(1): 9-16.

Clammer, John. 2004. The Politics of Animism. In John Clammer, Sylvie Poirier
and Eric Schwimmer (eds.) Figured Worlds: Ontologcial Obstacles in Intercul-
tural Relations, pp. 83-109. Toronto: Univeristy of Toronto Press.

Clifford, James. 2013. Returns: Becoming Indigenous in the Twenty-First Century.

Cambridge, Mass. & London: Harvard University Press.

Coe, Michael D. 2005. The Maya. London: Thames & Hudson.

Coggins, Clemency Chase, and Orrin C. Shane III (eds.). 1984. Cenote of Sacrifice:
Maya Treasures from the Sactred Well at Chichén Itzá. Austin: University of
Texas Press.

Colby, Benjamin N., and Lore M. Colby. 1981. The Daykeeper: The Life and Dis-
course of an Ixil Diviner. Cambridge, Mass. and London: Harvard University
Press.

Cojtí Cuxil, Demetrio. 1999. The Politics of Maya Revindication. In Edward F.

Fischer and R. McKenna Brown (eds.) Maya Cultural Activism in Guatemala,
pp. 19-50. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Cook, Garret W. 1986. Quichean Folk Theology and Southern Maya Supernatu-
ralism. In Gary H. Gossen (ed.) Symbol and Meaning beyond the Closed Com-
munity: Essays in Mesoamerican Ideas, pp. 139-153. Albany: Institute for Mes-
oamerican Studies, State University of New York at Albany.

–––. 2000. Renewing the Maya World: Expressive Culture in a Highland Town. Aus-
tin: University of Texas Press.

Cunningham, Mirna. 2010. “Living Well”: The Indigenous Latin American Per-
spective. Indigenous Affairs 1-2: 52-59.

230
DeChicchis, Joseph Edmund. 1989. Q’eqchi’ (Kekchi Mayan) Variation in Guate-
mala and Belize. Ann Arbor, MI: UMI. PhD Dissertation, University of Penn-
sylvania.

De la Cadena, Marisol. 2010. Indigenous Cosmopolitics in the Andes: Conceptual

Reflections beyond ‘Politics’. Cultural Anthropology 25(2): 334-370.

Demarest, Arthur. 2014. Ancient Maya: The Rise and Fall of a Rainforest Civiliza-
tion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Demarest, Arthur A., and Brent Woodfill. 2011. Sympathetic Ethnocentrism, Re-
pression and Auto-repression of Q’eqchi’ Maya Blood Sacrifice. In Richard J.
Chacon and Rubén G. Mendoza (eds.) The Ethics of Anthropology and Amerin-
dian Research: Reporting on Environmental Degradation and Warfare, pp. 116-
145. New York: Springer.

Descola, Philippe. 1992. Societies of Nature and the Nature of Society. In Adam
Kuper (ed.) Conceptualizing Society, pp. 107-126. London: Routledge.

–––. 1996. Constructing Natures: Symbolic Ecology and Social Practice. In

Philippe Descola and Gísli Pálsson (eds.) Nature and Society: Anthropological
Perspectives, pp. 82-102. London and New York: Routledge.

–––. 2005. Ecology as Cosmological Analysis. In Alexandre Surrallés and Pedro

García Hierro (eds.) The Land Within: Indigenous Territory and the Perception
of Environment, pp. 22-35. Copenhagen: IWGIA.

–––. 2012. Beyond nature and culture: Forms of attachment. HAU: Journal of
Ethnographic Theory 2(1): 447-471.

–––. 2013. Beyond Nature and Culture. Chicago and London: The University of
Chicago Press.

Dillon, Brian D. 1978. Tenth Cycle Sculpture from Alta Verapaz, Guatemala. In
John A. Graham (ed.) Contributions of the University of California Archaeo-

231
 logical Research Facility, No. 36. Studies in Ancient Mesoamerica, III. Berke-
ley: University of California.

Earle, Duncan, and Jeanne Simonelli. 2005. Uprising of Hope: Sharing the Zapatista
Journey to Alternative Development. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press.

Edmonson, Munro S. 1997. The Mayan Faith. In Gary H. Gossen (ed.) South and
Meso-American Native Spirituality: From the Cult of the Feathered Serpent to the
Theology of Liberation, pp. 65-85. New York: The Crossroad Publishing
Company.

Escobar, Padre Fr. Alonso de. 1841. Account of the province of Vera Paz, in Gua-
temala, and of the Indian Settlements or Pueblos Established Therein. Journal
of the Royal Geographical Sociity of London 11: 89-97.

Escuelas Sin Fronteras. 1999. Twaj Chik Xnawb’al Xkomon. Universidad Rafael
Landívar/USAID/Escuelas Sin Fronteras: Guatemala.

Esquit Choy, Alberto, and Víctor Gálvez Borrell. 1997. The Mayan Movement To-
day: Issues of Indigenous Culture and Development in Guatemala. FLACSO
Guatemala: Guatemala.

Estrada Monroy, Agustin. 1979. El Mundo K’ekchi’ de la Vera-Paz. Guatemala:

Editorial del Ejercito.

–––. 1993. Vida Esotérica Maya-K’ekchi. Guatemala: Impreso Serviprensa Centroa-

mericana.

Estrada Ochoa, Adriana C. 2006a. Los Hijos de la Tierra. Identidad Q’eqchi’ en la

Aldea Global. In José Alejos García (ed.) Dialogando Alteridades: Identidades y
Poder en Guatemala, pp. 83-124. Universidad Nacional Autónoma de Mexico.

–––. 2006b. Li tzuultaq’a ut li ch’och. Una vision de la tierra, e mundo y la iden-

tidad a través de la tradición oral q’eqchi’ de Guatemala. Estudios de Cultura
Maya. XXVII: 149-163.

232
Falla, Ricardo. 1980. Chisec: Tierras, Caminos y Petroleo en la FTN. Unpublished
document.

–––. 2001. Quiché Rebelde: Religious Conversion, Politics, and Ethnic Identity in
Guatemala. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Feldman, Lawrence, E. (ed.) 2000. Lost Shores, Forgotten Peoples: Spanish Explora-
tions of the South East Mayan Lowlands. Durham & London: Duke University
Press.

Fenner, Justus. 2013. Shaping the Coffee Commodity Chain: Hamburg Merchants
and Consumption of Guatemalan Coffee in Germany, 1889-1929. América
Latina en la Historia Económica. Year 20, No. 3 (Sep-Dec), pp. 28-55.

Fischer, Edward F. 1999. Cultural Logic and Maya Identity: Rethinking Construc-
tivism and Essentialism. Current Anthropology 40(4): 473-499.

–––. 2001. Cultural Logics and Global Economies: Maya Identity in Thought and
Practice. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Fischer, Edward F. and Robert McKenna Brown. 1999. Introduction: Maya Cul-
tural Activism in Guatemala. In Edward F. Fischer and R. McKenna Brown
(eds.) Maya Cultural Activism in Guatemala, pp. 1-18. Austin: University of
Texas Press.

Flores, A., Carlos Y. 2002. Apuntes sobre la dimension cultural del conflict armado
entre los Q’eqchi’ de Guatemala. Descatos 10: 167-178.

–––. 2001. Bajo la Cruz: memoria y dimension sobrenatural del gran sufrimiento entre
los qéqchi´´de Alta Verapaz. Textos Ak’ Kutan No. 21. Cobán: Ak’ Kutan,
Centro Bartolome de Las Casas.

Freidel, David, Linda Schele and Joy Parker. 2001. Maya Cosmos: Three Thousand
Years on the Shaman’s Path. New York: Perennial.

233
Foster, George M. 1973. Dreams, Character, and Cognitive Orientation in
Tzintzuntzan. Ethos 1(1): 106-121.

Fox, John W. 2008. Maya Postclassic State Formation. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press.

García, David. 2007. Territorio y espiritualidad: Lugares sagrados q’eqchi’es en

Chisec. In Santiago Bastos and Aura Cumes (eds.) Mayanización y vida cotidi-
ana. La ideología multicultural en la sociedad guatemalteca, Vol. 2: Los estudios
de caso, pp. 273-306. Guatemala: FLACSO, CIRMA, Cholsamaj.

GHRU (Guatemala Human Rights Update) Vol. 19, No. 19 / Oct 1-15. 2007.

Glaskin, Kate. 2005. Innovation and Ancestral Revelation: The Case of Dreams.
Journal of Royal Anthropological Institute (N.S.) 11: 297-314.

Godoy Prado, Waldemar. 2006. De la Historia de la Verapaz. Cobán, Alta Verapaz:

Casa del Arte.

Goetz, Delia, and Sylvanus Griswold Morley. 2003. Popol Vuh. The Book of the
Ancient Maya. Mineola, New York: Dover Publications, Inc.

Goldin, Liliana R., and Brenda Rosenbaum. 1993. Culture and History: Subre-
gional Variation among the Maya. Comparative Studies in Society and History
35(1): 110-132.

Grandia, Liza. 2006. ‘Unsettling: Land Dispossession and Enduring Inequity for
the Q’eqchi’ Maya in Guatemalan and Belizean Frontier Colonization pro-
cess.’ PhD dissertation, University of California-Berkeley.

–––. 2012. Enclosed: Conservation, Cattle, and Commerce among the Q’eqchi’ Maya
Lowlanders. Seattle and London: University of Washington Press.

234
Grandin, Greg. 2004. The Last Colonial Massacre: Latin America in the Cold War.
Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press.

Green, Linda. 1999. Fear as a Way of Life: Mayan Widows in Rural Guatemala. New
York: Columbia University Press.

Guereña, Arantza, and Ricardi Zepeda. 2013. ‘The Power of Oil Palm: Land Grab-
bing and impacts associated with the expansion of oil plam crops in Guatema-
la: The case of the Palmas del Ixcán company’. Oxfam America Research
Backgrounder series. http://www.oxfamamerica.org/publications/power-of-oil-
palm-guatemala. (Acc. 2015-01-20)

Guiteras Holmes, Calixta. 1961. Perils of the Soul: The World View of a Tzotzil
Indian. New York: Free Press of Glencoe.

Handy, Jim. 1984. The Gift of the Devil: A History of Guatemala. U.S.A.: South End
Press.

–––. 1990. The Corporate Community, Campesino Organizations, and Agrarian

Reform: 1950-1954. In Carol A. Smith (ed.) Guatemalan Indians and the
State: 1540 to 1988, pp. 163-182. Austin: University of Texas Press.

–––. 1992. Reforma y Contrareforma: La política agrarian en Guatemala 1952-

1957. In Julio Castellano Cambranes (ed.) 500 Años de lucha por la tierra. Es-
tudios sobre propiedad rural y reforma agrarian en Guatemala, Vol. 1, pp. 379-
400. Guatemala: FLACSO

Haeserijn, Esteban. 1975. Filosofía Popular de los K’ekchi’ de Hoy. Guatemala

Indígena 10(3-4): 44-54.

Hallowell, A. Irving. 1960. Ojibwa Ontology, Behavior, and World View. In Stan-
ley Diamond (ed.) Culture in History: Essays in Honor of Paul Radin, pp. 17-
49. New York: Columbia University Press.

235
Harvey, Graham. 2005. Animism: Respecting the Living World. London: Hurst &
Company.

Hatse, Inge, and Patrick De Ceuster. 2001. Cosmovisión y Espiritualidad en la Agri-

cultura Q’eqchi’. Cobán: Ak’ Kutan.

Hernando Gonzalo, Almudena. 1997. La identidad Q’eqchí. Percepción de la reali-

dad y autoconciencia de un grupo de agricultores de roza de Guatemala. Re-
vista Española de Antropología Americana 27: 199-220.

–––. 1999. The Perception of Landscape amongst the Q’eqchi’, a group of Slash-
and-Burn Farmers in the Alta Verapaz (Guatemala). In Peter J. Ucko and
Robert Layton (eds.) The Archaeology and Anthropology of Landscape: Shaping
your Landscape, pp. 254-263. London: Routledge.

Heyden, Doris. 2005. Rites of Passage and Other Ceremonies in Caves. In James E.
Brady and Keith M. Prufer (eds.) In the Maw of the Earth Monster: Mesoameri-
can Ritual Cave Use, pp. 22-34. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Hill, Ribert M., and Edward F. Fischer. 1999. States of Heart: An ethnohistorical
approach to Kaqchikel ethnopsychology. Ancient Mesoamerica 10: 317-332.

Holland, William R. 1964. Contemporary Tzotzil Cosmological Concepts as a

Basis for Interpreting Prehistoric Maya Civilization. American Antiquity 29(3):
301-306.

Howell, Signe. 1989. Society and Cosmos: Chewong of Peninsular Malaysia. Chicago
and London: The University of Chicago Press.

Hubert, Henri, and Marcel Mauss. 1964. Sacrifice: Its Nature and Function. Chica-
go: The University of Chicago Press.

INE (Instituto Nacional de Estadística). 2003. Cencos Nacionales XI de Población

y VI de Habitación 2002.

236
Ingold, Tim. 1992. Culture and the Perception of the Environment. In Elizabeth
Croll and David Parkin (eds.), Bush Base: Forest Farm. Culture, Environment
and Development, pp. 39-56. London and New York: Routledge.

–––. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays in Livelihood, Dwelling and
Skill. London and New York: Routledge.

IWGIA. 2005. Indigenous Affairs: Shifting Cutivation No. 2.

Jackson, Michael. 1996. Introduction: Phenomenology, Radical Empiricism, and

Anthropological Critique. In Michael Jackson (ed.) Things as They Are: New
Directions in Phenomenological Anthropology, pp. 1-50. Bloomington and Indi-
anapolis: Indiana University Press.

Jonas, Susanne. 1991. The Battle for Guatemala: Rebels, Death Squads, and U.S.
Power. Boulder: Westview Press.

Juárez, Miguel Sam et al. 1997. Diccionario del idioma Q’eqchi’. La Antigua, Gua-
temala: Proyecto Lingüístico Francisco Marroquín.

Kahn, Hilary E. 2006. Seeing and Being Seen: The Q’eqchi’ Maya of Livingston, Gua-
temala and Beyond. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Keesing, Roger. 1982. Kastom in Melanesia: An Overview. In Roger Keesing and

Robert Tonkinson (eds.) Mankind, Special Issue 13(4): 297-301.

Keesing, Roger, and Robert Tonkinson. 1982. Reinventing Traditional Culture:

The Politics of Kastom in Island Melanesia. Mankind, Special Issue 13(4):
297-399.

King, Arden R. 1974. Cobán and the Verapaz: History and Cultural Process in North-
ern Guatemala. New Orleans: Middle American Research Institute, Tulane
University.

237
Kirsch, Stuart. 2001. Lost Worlds: Environmental Disaster, ‘Culture Loss,’ and the
Law. Current Anthropology 42(2): 167-198.

Kirschner, Kelly, Jason Pielemeyer, and Ernesto Tzi. 2003. Through Q’eqchi’ Eyes:
Participatory Video-making that is Good for the Community. Paper presented at
the 102nd Annual Meeting of the American Anthropological Association, No-
vember 22nd, Chicago.

Kistler, Sarah Ashley. 2007. The House in the Market: Kinship, Status, and Memory
among Q’eqchi’ Market Women in San Juan Chamelco, Guatemala. PhD disser-
tation, Florida State University, College of Arts and Science.

Kockelman, Paul. 2007. Inalienable Possession and Personhood in a Q’eqchi’ Ma-

yan Community. Language in Society 36: 343-369.

–––. 2009. Inalienable Possession as Grammatical Category and Discourse Pattern.

Studies in Language 33(1): 25-68.

–––. 2011. A Mayan Ontology of Poultry: Selfhood, Affect, Animals, and Ethnog-
raphy. Language in Society 40: 427-454.

Kohn, Tamara. 1995. She came out of the field and into my home: reflections,
dreams and a search for consciousness in anthropological method. In Anthony
P. Cohen and Nigel Rapport (eds.) Questions of Consciousness, pp. 41-59. Lon-
don and New York: Routledge.

Kohn, Eduardo O. 2007. Animal Masters and the Ecological Embedding of History
among the Ávila Runa of Ecuador. In Carlos Fausto and Michael Hecken-
berger (eds.) Time and Memory in Indigenous Amazonia: Anthropological Per-
spectives, pp. 106-129. Gainesville: University of Florida.

La Farge, Oliver. 1947. Santa Eulalia: The Religion of a Cuchumatán Indian Town.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

238
Laird, Sarah. 2000. Forests, Culture, and Conservation. In Darrell Addison Posey
(ed.) Cultural and Spiritual Values of Biodiversity, pp. 347-358. London: In-
termediate Technology Publications/UNEP.

Laughlin, Robert M. 1996. Mayan Tales from Zinacantán: Dreams and Stories from
the People of the Bat, [ed.] Carol Karasik. Washington D.C. and London:
Smithsonian Institution Press.

Lave, Jean. 1991. Situating Learning in Communities of Practice. In Lauren B.

Resnick, John M. Levine, and Stephanie D. Teasley (eds.) Perspectives on So-
cially Shared Cognition. Pp. 63-82. Washington, DC: American Psychological
Association.

Lepowsky, Maria. 1991. The way of the Ancestors: Custom, Innovation, and Re-
sistance. Ethnology 30(3): 217-235.

López-Austin, Alfredo. 1988. The Human Body and Ideology: Concepts of the Ancient
Nahuas. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press.

Lovell, W. George. 2005. Conquest and Survival in Colonial Guatemala: A Historical

Geography of the Cuchumatán Highlands, 1500-1821. London: McGill-
Queen’s University Press.

Manz, Beatriz. 2005. Paradise in Ashes: A Guatemalan Journey of Courage, Terror,

and Hope. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Martínez Peláez, Severo. 1994. La patria del criollo: Ensayo de Interpretación de la

realidad colonial guatemalteca. Mexico D.F.: Ediciones en Marcha.

MCRA (Museo Comunitario Rabinal Achi). 2003. Oj K’aslik: Estamos Vivos. Recu-
peración de la Memoría Histórica de Rabinal (1944-1996). Rabinal, Baja Vera-
paz: Mueso Comunitario Rabinal Achi.

McCallum, Cecilia. 2001. Gender and Sociality in Amazonia: How Real People Are
Made. Oxford and New York: Berg.

239
McCreery, David. 1994. Rural Guatemala 1760-1940. Stanford, California: Stan-
ford University Press.

Meillassoux, Claude. 1967. Recherche d’un niveau de determination dans la société

cynégetique. L’Homme et la Société 6: 95-105.

Mendizábal García, Sergio Estuardo. 2009. Nima’ Tjaq’ Tx’ootx’: Colisión en lo

Profundo. PhD dissertation, Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana, Unidad
Iztapalapa, Mexico, D.F.

Milián, Bayron, Georg Grünberg and Mateo Cho Botzoc. 2002. La Conflictividad
Agraria en las Tierras Bajas del Norte de Guatemala: Petén y la Franja Transver-
sal del Norte. Guatemala: Flacso, Munigua & Contierra.

Monaghan, John. 1995. The Covenants with Earth and Rain: Exchange, sacrifice, and
Revelation in Mixtec Sociality. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

–––. 2000. Theology and History in the Study of Mesoamerican Religion. In Eth-
nology Supplemement, Johan Monaghan (ed.). Handbook of Middle American
Indians, Victoria R. Bricker (general editor). Austin: University of Texas Press.

Municipio de Chisec. N.d. Monografía del Municipio de Chisec. (Mimeo.)

Montejo, Victor. 2005. Maya Intellectual Renaissance: Identity, Representation and

Leadership. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Nash, June. 1970. In the Eyes of the Ancestors: Belief and Behavior in a Mayan Com-
munity. Prospect Heights, Illinois: Waveland Press, Inc.

Neuenswander, Helen L., and Shirley D. Souder. 1977. The Hot-Cold Wet-Dry
Syndrome among the Quiche of Joyabaj. In Helen L. Neuenswander and
Dean E. Arnold (eds.) Cognitive Studies of Southern Mesoamerica, pp. 94-125.
Dallas: SIL Museum of Anthropology.

240
Nolin, Catherine, and Jaqui Stephens. 2010. ‘We Have to Protect the Investors’:
‘Development’ & Canadian Mining Companies in Guatemala. Journal of Ru-
ral and Community Development 5(3): 37-70.

Nuevo B’aqtun. 2014. El Utziläj K’aslemal: El Raxnaquil K’aslemal “El Buen Vivir”
de los Pueblos de Guatemala. Guatemala: Cooperación Vasca & Instituto HE-
GOA.

Nygren, Anja. 1998. Struggle over Meanings: Reconstruction of Indigenous My-

thology, Cultural Identity, and Social Representation. Ethnohitsory 45(1): 31-
63.

Oakes, Maude. 1951. The Two Crosses of Todos Santos: Survivals of Mayan Religious
Ritual. New York: Pantheon Books.

Overing, Joanna, and Alan Passes. 2000. The Anthropology of Love and Anger: The
Aesthetics of Conviviality in Native Amazonia. London and New York:
Routledge.

Pacay, Eduardo. 1989. Aproximación a la Cosmovisión Maya y la Concepción

K’ekchi’ del Mu. Memorias del II Coloquio Internacional de Mayistas, pp. 897-
904. Mexico: Unam, IIFL, Centro de Estudios Mayas.

Pacheco, Luis. 1981. Religiosidad Kekchí Alrededor del Maíz. Guatemala Indígena
16(3&4): 1-157.

–––. 1988. Tradiciones y costumbres del pueblo Maya kekchi: Noviazgo, matrimonio,
secretos, etc. San José, Costa Rica: Editorial Ambar.

Parkin, David. 2007. Wafting on the Wind: Smell and the Cycle of Spirit and
Matter. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (N.S): 39-53.

Parra Novo, José C. 2004. Persona y Comunidad Q’eqchi’: Aproximación Cultural a

la Comunidad Q’eqchi’ de Santa Maria Chahabon. Cobán: Ak’ Kutan.

241
Pedersen, Morten A. 2001. Totemism, Animism and North Asian Indigenous On-
tologies. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 7(3): 411-427.

Perera, Victor. 1995. Unfinished Conquest: The Guatemalan Tragedy. Berkeley:

University of California Press.

Perez, Francisco Jose. 2005. Effects of Land legalizations in the Agrarian Dynamics of
the Indigenous Communities of Alta Verapaz, Guatemala. Thesis of Master of
Arts, the Center for International Studies of Ohio University.

PFLM. 2003. Diccionario Q’eqchi’. Guatemala: Proyecto Lingüistico Francisco

Marroquín.

Pitarch, Pedro. 2010. The Jaguar and the Priest: An Ethnography of Tzeltal Souls.
Austin: University of Texas Press.

Preuss, Mary H. 1993. The Origin of Corn and Preparation for Planting in
K’ekchi’ and Yucatec Mayan Accounts. Latin American Indian Literatures
Journal 9(2): 120-134.

–––. 2000. Mayejak: K’ekchi’ Preservation of Customs and Beliefs. Scripta Ethno-
lógica, 12: 7-19.

Pugh, Timothy W. 2009. The Kowoj and the Lacandon: Migrations and Identities.
In Prudence M. Rice and Don S. Rice (eds.) The Kowoj: Identity, Migration,
and Geopolitics in Late Postclassic Petén, Guatemala, pp. 368-385. Boulder,
Colorado: The University Press of Colorado.

Queíros, Symngía, Milly Mittelstaedt, and Juan Lamborelle. 2000. El espíritu ino-
cente de la madre tierra. Li xtuulanil xch’ool li qa loq’ laj na’ ch’och’. Guatemala:
Imaginacion.

Raxché (Demetrio Rodríguez Guaján) 1999. Maya Culture and the Politics of De-
velopment. In Edward F. Fischer and R. McKenna Brown (eds.) Maya Cul-
tural Activism in Guatemala, pp. 74-88. Austin: University of Texas Press.

242
Recinos, Adrián. 2006. Memorial del Sololá: Anales de los Cakchiqueles/Título de los
Señores de Totonicapán. Mexico, D.F.: Fondo De Cultura Económica.

Reiche Pop, Julio. 2005. Costumbres la Grandeza de Pueblo Jolom-Ha’. Verde

Verde Verapaz. Year 4, No. 10: 6-7.

Reina, Rubén E. 1966. The Law of the Saints: A Pokomam Pueblo and Its Communi-
ty Culture. Indianapolis & New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc.

–––. 1988. The sacred World of the Maya: Costumbre and Religión in Guatemala.
Expedition 30(2): 41-52.

REMHI (Recovery of Historcial Memory). 1999. Guatemala Never Again!

Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books.

Rosengren, Dan. 2014. Sharing, Sociality, and Stratification: Exchange and God-
parentage in the Amazon. Anthropos 109: 485-497.

Rubel, Arthur J, Carl W. O’Nell and Rolando Collado-Ardón. 1991. Susto: A Folk
Illness. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Sahagún, Fray Bernardino de. 2009. Historia General de las Cosas de la Nueva Espa-
ña II. Barcelona: Linkgua ediciones S.L.

Sahlins, Marshall. 1999. What is Anthropological Enlightenment? Some Lessons of

the Twentieth Century. Annual Revew of Anthropology 28: i-xxiii.

–––. 2014. On the ontological scheme of Beyond nature and culture. HAU: Journal
of Ethnographic Theory 4(1): 281-290.

Saler, Benson. 1965. Religious Conversion and Self-Aggrandizement: A Guatema-

lan Case. Practical Anthropology 12(3): 107-114.

243
Sandoval, Julieta. 2005. Deutschland en la Verapaz. Revista D fondo (vol. 18) La
Prensa Libre (July 24).

Santos-Granero, Fernando. 2009. From Baby Slings to Feather Bibles and from Star
Utensils to Jaguar Stones: The Multiple Ways of Being a Thing in the Ya-
nesha Lived World. In Fernando Santos-Granero (ed.) The Occult Life of
Things: Native Amazonian Theories of Materiality and Personhood, pp. 105-
127. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press.

Sapper, Karl. 1985. The Verapaz in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries: A Con-
tribution to the Historical Geography and Ethnography of Northeastern Guatema-
la. Los Angeles: Institute of Archaeology, University of California.

–––. 2000. Religious Customs and beliefs of the Q’eqchi’ Indians. In Marilyn
Beaudry-Corbett and Ellen T. Hardy (eds.) Early Scholar’s Visits to Central
America: Reports by Karl Sapper, Walter Lehman, and Franz Termer, pp. 29-40.
Los Angeles: University of California.

Schackt, Jon. 1984. The Tzuultak’a: Religious Lore and Cultural Processes among
the Kekchi. Belizean Studies 12(5): 16-29.

–––. 1986. One God, Two Temples: Schismatic Process in a Kekchi Village. Oslo:
Department of Social Anthropology.

–––. 2001. The Emerging Maya: A Case of Ethnogenesis. In Ueli Hostettler and
Matthew Restall (eds.) Maya Survivalism. Germany: Verlag Anton Saurwein,
Markt Schwaben.

–––. 2004. Savage Other or Noble Ancestor? The Ch’olwinq of Q’eqchi’ Maya
Folklore. Journal of Latin American Lore 22(1): 3-14.

Schele, Linda, and David Freidel. 1990. A Forest of Kings: The Untold Story of the
Ancient Maya. New York: Quill.

244
Schele, Linda, and Mary Ellen Miller. 1986. The Blood of Kings: Dynasty and Ritual
in Maya Art. Fort Worth: Kimbell Art Museum.

Schirmer, Jennifer. 1998. The Guatemalan Military Project: A Violence Called De-
mocracy. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Schwartz, Norman B. 1990. Forest Society: A Social History of Petén, Guatemala.

Philadelphia: University Press of Philadelphia.

SEGEPLAN (Secretaria General del Consejo Nacional de Planificación Económi-

ca). 2010. Plan de Desarollo, Chisec, Alta Verapaz: 2011-2025. Guatemala.

–––. 2011. Plan de Desarollo, Departamental 2011-2025: Alta Verapaz. Guatemala.

Sharer, Robert J., and Loa P. Traxler. 2006. The Ancient Maya. Sixth Edition. Stan-
ford, California: Stanford University Press.

Siebers, Hans. 1996. Creolization and Modernization at the periphery: The Case of the
Q’eqchi’es of Guatemala. PhD Dissertation, Katholieke Universiteit Nijmegen.

–––. 1999. ‘We Are Children of the Mountain’, Creolization and Modernization
among the Q’eqchi’es. Amsterdam: CEDLA.

Siegal, Morris. 1941. Religions in Western Guatemala: A Product of Acculturation.

American Anthropologist 43: 63-76.

Silverblatt, Irene. 1988. Political Memories and Colonizing Symbols: Santiago and
the Mountain Gods of Colonial Peru. In Jonathan D Hill (ed.) Rethinking
History and Myth: Indigenous South American Perspectives on the Past, pp. 158-
194. Urbana & Chicago: University of Illinois Press.

Smith, Carol (ed.). 1990. Guatemalan Indians and the State: 1540 to 1988. Austin:
University of Texas Press.

245
Spenard, Jon. 2006. The Gift of the World for the Gift in the Cave: An Economic
Approach to Ancient Maya Cave Ritual in the San Francisco Hill-Caves, Cancuen
Region, Guatemala. Thesis of Master of Arts, College of Arts and Sciences,
Department of Anthropology, The Florida State University.

Stocks, Anthony. 2002. The Struggle for Q’eqchi’ Community Conservation and
Management of Mayan Sacred Cave Sites: The Case of Candelaria and
B’omb’il Pek in Guatemala. Paper presented at the conference Protecting Cul-
tural and Natural Heritage in the Western Hemisphere: Lessons from the Past;
Looking to the Future. December 5th–7th, Harvard University Graduate School
of Design.

Stoll, David. 1993. Between Two Armies in the Ixil Towns of Guatemala. New York:
Columbia University Press.

Stoll, Otto. 1888. Die Maya-Sprachen der Pokom-Gruppe. Erster Teil: Die Sprache
der Pokonchí-Indianer. Wien: Alfred Hölder. K. K. Hof- und Universitäts-
Buchändler.

Stringer, Martin. 1999. Rethinking Amimism: Thoughts from the Infancy of Our
Discipline. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 5(4): 541-555.

Taube, Karl. 1992. The Major Gods of Ancient Yucatan. Washington, D.C.: Dum-
barton Oaks Research Library and Collection.

–––. 2001. The Classic Maya Gods. In Nikolai Grube (ed.) Maya: Divine Kings of
the Rain Forest, pp. 262-277. Cologne: Könemann.

Taussig, Michael. 1980. The Devil and Commodity Fetishism in South America.
Chapel Hill: The university of North California Press.

–––. 1993. Mimesis and Alterity: A Particular History of the Senses. New York:
Routledge.

246
Tedlock, Barbara. 1992. The Role of Dreams and Visionary Narratives in Mayan
Cultural Survival. Ethos 20(4): 453-476.

–––. 2000. Time and the Highland Maya. Revised Edition. Albuequerque: Universi-
ty of New Mexico Press.

Tedlock, Dennis. 1996. Popol Vuh. The Definitive Edition of the Mayan Book of the
Dawn of Life and the Glories of Gods and Kings. New York: Touchstone/Simon
& Schuster.

Termer, Franz. 1957. Etnologia y Etnografia de Guatemala. Guatemala: Editorial del

Ministerio de Ejercito.

Thompson, J. Eric. 1930. Ethnology of the Mayas of Southern and Central British
Honduras. Chicago: Field Museum Press.

–––. 1932. A Maya Calendar from the Alta Vera Paz, Guatemala. American Anthro-
pologist, (NS) 34(3): 449-454.

–––. 1938. Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Reports on the Chol Mayasr. Amer-
ican Anthropologist (NS) 40(4), Pt. 1: 584-604.

–––. 1990. Maya History & Religion. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

Tylor, Edward B. 1920. Primitive Culture: Researches into the Development of My-
thology Philosophy, Religion, Language, Art, and Custom. Vol. 1. London: John
Murray, Albemarle Street, W.

Wagley, Charles. 1949. Social and Religious Life of a Guatemalan Village. American
Anthropological Association Memoir 71.

Wagner, Elizabeth. 2001. Maya Creation Myths and Cosmography. In Nikolai

Grube (ed.) Maya: Divine Kings of the Rain Forest, pp. 281-293. Cologne:
Könemann.

247
Wagner, Regina. 1987. Acividades empresariales de los alemanes en Guatemala,
1850-1920. Mesoamérica 13: 87-123.

Warren, Kay B. 1978. The Symbolism of Subordination: Indian Identity in a Guate-

malan Town. Austin: University of Texas Press.

–––. 1998. Indigenous Movements and Their Critics: Pan-Maya Activism in Guatema-
la. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press.

Watanabe, John M. 1990a. From saints to shibbolets: image, structure, and identity
in Maya religious syncretism. American Ethnologist 17: 129-148.

–––. 1990b. Enduring but Ineffable Community in the Western Periphery of Gua-
temala. In Carol A. Smith (ed.) Guatemalan Indians and the State: 1540 to
1988, pp. 183-204. Austin: University of Texas Press.

–––. 1992. Maya Saints & Souls in a Changing World. Austin: University of Texas
Press.

–––. 1995. Unimagining the Maya: Anthropologists, Others, and the Inescapable
Hubris of Autorship. Bulletin of Latin American Research 14(1): 25-45.

Watanabe, John, M., and Barbara Smuts. 1999. Explaining Religion without Ex-
plaining it Away: Trust, Truth, and the Evolution of Cooperation in Roy A.
Rappaport’s ‘The Obvious Aspects of Ritual’. American Anthropologist (NS)
101(1): 98-112.

Weeks, John M. 1997. Subregional organization of the sixteenth-century Q’eqchi’

Maya, Alta Verapaz, Guatemala. Revista Española de Antropología Americana.
27: 59-93.

Wikan, Unni. 1989. Illness from Fright or Soul Loss: A North Balinese Culture
Bound Syndrome? Culture, Medicine and Psychiatry 13: 25-50.

248
Wilk, Richard. 1997. Household Ecology: Economic Change and Domestic Life among
the Kekchi Maya in Belize. Dekalb, Illinois: Northern Illinois University Press.

Willerslev, Rane. 2004. Spirits as ‘ready to hand’: A phenomenological analysis of

Yukaghir spiritual knowledge and dreaming. Anthropological Theory 4(4): 395-
418.

–––. 2007. Soul Hunters: Hunting, Animism, and Personhood among the Siberian
Yukaghirs. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Wilson, Richard. 1991. Machine Guns and Mountain Spirits: The Cultural Effects
of State Repression among the Q’eqchi’ of Guatemala. Critique of Anthropolo-
gy 11(1): 33-61.

–––. 1993. Anchored Communities: Identity and History of the Maya-Q’eqchi’.

Man 28(1): 121-138.

–––. 1995. Maya Resurgence in Guatemala: Q’eqchi’ Experiences. Norman: University

of Oklahoma Press.

Wisdom, Charles. 1940. Chorti Indians of Guatemala. Chicago: University of Chi-

cago Press.

Woodfill, Brent. 2010. Ritual and Trade in the Pasión-Verapaz region, Guatemala.
Vanderbilt Institute of Mesoamerican Archaeology, Vol. 6. Nashville: Van-
derbilt University Press.

Woodfill, Brent, and Chloé Andrieu. 2012. Tikal’s Early Classic Domination of the
Great Western Trade Route: Ceramic, Lithic, and Iconographic Evidence. An-
cient Mesoamerica 23: 189-209.

Woodward, Ralph Lee. 1990. Changes in the Nineteenth-Century Guatemalan

State and Its Indian Policies. In Carol A. Smith (ed.) Guatemalan Indians and
the State: 1540 to 1988, pp. 52-71. Austin: University of Texas Press.

249
Viaene, Lieselotte. 2010. The internal logic of the cosmos as ‘justice’ and ‘reconcili-
ation’: Micro-level perceptions in post-conflict Guatemala. Critique of Anthro-
pology 30(3): 287-312.

Villa Rojas, Alfonso. 1995. Estudios Etnologicos. Los Mayas. México, D. F.: Univer-
sidad Nacional Autónoma de México.

Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 1992. From the enemy’s point of view: humanity and
divinity in an Amazonian society. Chicago: University Press.

–––. 1998. Cosmological Deixis and Amerindian Perspectivism. Journal of the Royal
Anthropological Institute 4: 469-488.

Vogt, Evon Z. 1976. Tortillas for the Gods: A Symbolic Analysis of Zinacanteco Ritu-
als. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

–––. 2003. The Zinacantecos of Mexico: A Modern Maya Way of Life. Belmont, CA:
Wadsworth.

Vogt, Evon Z., and David Stuart. 2005. Some Notes on Ritual Caves among the
Ancient and Modern Maya. In James E. Brady and Keith M. Prufer (eds.) In
the Maw of the Earth Monster: Mesoamerican Ritual Cave Use, pp. 155-185.
Austin: University of Texas Press.

Ybarra, Megan 2012. ‘You Cannot Measure a Tzuultaq’a’: Cultural Politics at the
Limits of Liberal Legibility. Antipode 45(3): 584-601.

250