public archaeology, Vol. 14 No.

1, February 2015, 44–65

Memory as Archaeology: An Experience

of Public Archaeology in the Atacama
Desert
Fernanda Kalazich
Universidad Católica de Chile, Chile

Conducting archaeological projects in areas inhabited by Indigenous Com-

munities who dislike both excavations and archaeologists leads to an ethical
conundrum, one requiring a reconsideration of the research methodologies
utilized in these settings, and a turn toward Public Archaeology as a means
to find alternative pathways. This article describes a research project con-
ducted in the Indigenous Atacameño Community of Peine, in the Atacama
Desert, Chile, where, through a principal methodology of Participatory Action
Research, it became possible to explore the past of this community in ways
that were both meaningful and valid for its members. The results drawn
from this experience differ markedly from traditional archaeological
approaches (i.e. excavations, analysis of material culture), both in terms of
the nature of the knowledge recovered and the temporal depth achieved. In
this particular instance, collective remembrance and embodied memory fea-
tured prominently in accounting for the past of Peine.

keywords Atacameños, Public Archaeology, Participatory Action Research,

­collaborative archaeology, collective memory

Introduction
The Atacama Desert is regarded as the ‘archaeological capital’ of Chile due to the
numerous archaeological sites that span the Late Pleistocene to the Inka Period,
and the excellent state of preservation of these sites, which have yielded invaluable
knowledge about pre-colonial occupational patterns and the technologies developed
in this harsh environment. Alongside this, however, the Indigenous Atacameño peo-
ples that inhabit the desert have expressed acute discomfort with the excavation of
archaeological sites, on the grounds that it risks disturbing the final resting place of
their ancestors. This aggrievement was encountered through the literature (see Ayala,
2008; Spahni, 1967) and also through my own personal experiences participating in
archaeological projects close to the Atacameño Community of Peine.

© W. S. Maney & Son Ltd 2015 DOI 10.1179/1465518715Z.00000000086

 MEMORY AS ARCHAEOLOGY 45

The values that Atacameños have attached to these places are fundamentally differ-
ent to those of archaeologists. Whilst the former see sacred traces of their ancestors
that must be respectfully left untouched, archaeologists see scientific evidence of the
past that demands excavation and investigation. The problem lies in that colonial
relations have constructed a hierarchy between them: the occidental above the rest,
the archaeological above the Indigenous (Sheehan & Lilley, 2008).
Setting out from this point, and underpinned by a situated understanding of ethics
(see Hamilakis, 2007), which in this case involves respecting what Atacameños them-
selves think about excavation, the following research questions emerged:
Is it possible to access the past using alternative methods?
And in what ways would this past be different from the one recovered through traditional
archaeology?

I addressed these questions through Public Archaeology, and even more specifically
given the breadth of this field, through Community Archaeology and Indigenous
archaeologies, in an attempt to find a methodology that would enable researchers to
dig into the past whilst putting their trowels aside. In this sense, Participatory Action
Research (PAR) provided a valuable alternative research method, as it incorporates
community members within the research, and allows them to choose the techniques
they endorse as a means through which to access their past. This is part of a postco-
lonial and critical approach to understanding the past, where a community’s control
over their territory must be accompanied by their own historical and social meanings
of themselves, their resources and activities (Said, 1978). As Green, et al., (2003) have
noted, the contribution of these initiatives is to generate alternative research questions
and field practices that are enriching for both parties involved.
Consequently, the purposes of this article are manifold. It sets out to describe, inter
alia, the nature of the archaeological study conducted in the Atacameño Community
of Peine; the particularities of PAR, the methodology chosen for this investigation,
and the specific way in which it was operationalized within the field; and the type of
data generated through this methodology.

The Atacameños and the community of Peine

The Atacameños are one of the nine Indigenous Peoples recognized by the Chilean
state since the instantiation of Law 19,253 in 1993, which acknowledged for the
first time the existence of Indigenous communities in the republican history of Chile
(Corporación Nacional de Desarrollo Indígena [CONADI], 2011)). According to
the 2002 Census, 20,015 individuals described themselves as ‘Atacameños’, cor-
responding to 3 per cent of the Indigenous population and 0.13 per cent of the
total population. Within the current political-­administrative division of Chile, the
space inhabited by the Atacameños is circumscribed mostly to the Municipalities
of Calama and San Pedro de Atacama, Province El Loa, II Region of Antofagasta
(see Figure 1). In the Municipality of San Pedro de Atacama, of which Peine is part,
71.3 per cent of its 4969 inhabitants self-describe as Atacameños, of which 61 per
cent live in rural areas, with the remainder in urban centres (INE, 2005).1
46 FERNANDA KALAZICH

figure 1   Atacameño towns in the II Region of Chile.

Peine is one of the twelve Atacameño communities of the Atacama Basin. It is

the southernmost town of the area and immediately adjacent to the extreme desert
towards the south. It is located at 23° 38’ 20” south and 68° 04’ 45” west, at an
altitude of 2420 m. The vernacular language of the Atacameños, known as Kunza, is
extinct; this is due to the Spanish domination of the region, extirpation policies and
subsequent independence processes, which led to Kunza being replaced by Spanish.
Although the extermination campaign against Kunza was successful, place names
and expressions remain, as do chants performed in traditional ceremonies. Although
Peyró (2005) locates the extinction of Kunza in the early years of twentieth century,
when the Austrian researcher Grete Mostny (1954) visited Peine in the late 1940s, she
found elders who still spoke the language.
 MEMORY AS ARCHAEOLOGY 47

Peine is a highly organized community, with more than ten organizations and com-
mittees that gather Peineños together in communal activities. The most important
at a political level is the Atacameño Community of Peine, which assembles all the
Atacameños living in the town, and was created in 1995 (CONADI, 2009). It consti-
tutes the political organization of the community, reporting to the Municipality of
San Pedro de Atacama and national Indigenous organizations, such as CONADI.2 It
is followed by the Neighboring Council, which dates back to the 1890s, and is respon-
sible for organizing several communal activities and services ranging from drinking
water to electricity. In contrast to the Community itself, membership of the Junta is
not restricted to ethnic ascription, and, as such, it recruits more members than the
former organization.
Currently, non-metallic mining is the most important source of income for Peineños.
This line of work and the proximity of the mining activities from Peine have had an
important impact upon the life of Peineños;3 a significant number have abandoned
their traditional economic activities, such as agriculture and herding due to the bene-
fits of stable and paid labour. Consequently, agriculture and herding constitute minor
activities, undertaken merely for self-sufficiency or in order to exchange within the
towns of the Saltpan (Núñez, 2000).

Archaeological research in Peine and its surroundings

Travellers, naturalists, and amateurs
Archaeological reconnaissance in the Atacama Desert began in the mid-1800s, when
European explorers charted remote parts of South America, recounting the riches of
these lands. Later, in 1911, the Chilean government hired German archaeologist and
ethnologist Max Uhle to systematize the archaeological finds of the region — a terri-
tory recently acquired by Chile from Bolivia — after the War of the Pacific (1879–83).
In this context it was important for the Chilean State to generate an official history
that went beyond Spanish and Bolivian possession, in order to justify Chile’s rights
over these lands (Ayala, 2008; Romero, 2003).
From the 1940s, Peine became the subject of sustained anthropological and
archaeological curiosity. Due to its relative isolation from other towns and popu-
lated centres, it became a prime location for studying the remnants of the Kunza lan-
guage, as well as for experiencing and recording traditional ceremonies, such as the
Talatur and the Cattle Branding Ceremony (see Mostny, 1954; Spahni, 1967). Also,
sites covering an important time span motivated the collection of human remains
and ancient objects by foreign scholars or priests (e.g. Le Paige & Serracino, 1973;
Mostny, 1954; Spahni, 1967) as well as their subsequent study and transfer elsewhere
(Ayala, 2008).

The professionalization of archaeology

The professionalization of archaeology in Chile took place in the 1980s, in the con-
text of Pinochet’s military dictatorship (1973–90). During this period some archae-
ologists found a refuge and employment at the Archaeological Museum of San
Pedro de Atacama,4 which was not as closely monitored by the dictatorial regime
as most Chilean universities (Ayala, 2008). Prof. Lautaro Núñez was one of them,
48 FERNANDA KALAZICH

systematically studying sites of Peine since then, and introducing me to the archaeol-
ogy of the region.
This was an era of strong US influence in Chilean archaeology, characterized by
the adoption of positivistic theoretical and methodological approaches, particularly
ecological functionalism and processual archaeology. This influence began in the mid-
1960s, with projects that dealt with cultural ecology, subsistence economy, chrono-
logical sequences, and settlement patterns, focusing on problems closer to natural
than social sciences (Bate & Terrazas, 2006), and distancing itself from the socially
committed, Marxist perspective that had characterized archaeology in the 1960s–70s.
This coincided with the creation of the national research council (FONDECYT) in
1981, which to date supports scientific research with no funds for outreach programs
or dissemination initiatives (Ayala, 2011). All these events — US influence, the risks
of a socially engaged archaeology during a military dictatorship, and funding avail-
able for hard sciences only — resulted in the development of an enclosed discipline,
seldom interacting with society.
In more general terms, the archaeology that developed in the Atacama Desert was
one divorced from the local communities, which disregarded Indigenous claims con-
cerning their ancestors, excavated funerary sites, and was not supportive of local
heritage initiatives (Marcos, 2010). From the perspective of data collection, however,
the professionalization of archaeology and the increase in research projects in the
Atacama Desert resulted in a growing body of knowledge about its pre-Hispanic
processes and settlements, where sites in Peine’s territory, mostly along the Tulan
Quebrada, have been very important in the understanding of early pastoralism in
the central-southern Andes. In fact, Atacameño communities have often made use of
archaeological knowledge to support their territorial claims.

Tulan Quebrada
Within the desert and belonging to Peine’s territory, the Tulan Quebrada is a small
watercourse located 23 km south of the town, which runs c. 9 km from its origin
at 3000 m asl until it reaches the Tilomonte Oasis at 2300 m. Tulan concentrates
an important number of sites, amongst them open campsites, rock shelters, rock art
panels, ceremonial structures, settlements, and burials (Núñez, et al., 2010).
With regards to the history of the investigation at Tulan, the 1980s were charac-
terized by the presence of several foreign archaeologists and/or graduate students
(British and US Nationals) who conducted fieldwork there. Research topics revolved
around diet and zooarchaeological remains, where the general trend was a combina-
tion of ecological culture-history and processualism. After the return of democracy
in 1990, funding for research projects in Tulan continued through both national and
international bodies (see, for example, Pourrut & Núñez, 1995). Here, the studies
focused on the relationship between the chronology of occupational patterns and
the use that societies made of the different ecological levels in an altitudinal gradient
(see Núñez, 1995). From the turn of the century to the present, research at Tulan
has aimed to document the transition between the Late Archaic and Early Formative
periods, the nature, articulation, and dissolution of Early Formative settlements, and,
currently, characterizing in more depth a ceremonial centre located along the Tulan
stream. Although local, these projects have sought to insert the ancient history of
 MEMORY AS ARCHAEOLOGY 49

these territories into the broader scenario of the Andean World (see Núñez, et al.,
2006). It was in this context and as part of the archaeological team conducting the
research that I had my initial encounter with Peine.
My archaeological experience in Tulan began in 2003 as an undergraduate archae-
ology student. I returned to the project’s fieldworks for the following six years, exca-
vating different sites in the Tulan Quebrada, and staying in Peine from twenty to
thirty-five consecutive days each year. By 2005, I had begun analysing pottery, deal-
ing with the typologies and contexts of use at different Early Formative sites along
Tulan Quebrada. During the excavations, surveys, and sieving through the materi-
als, Peineños working with us provided insights of their knowledge; in the sieving,
some of the people felt uneasy about throwing away material that did not match our
conception of archaeological remains, but was meaningful to them. The Peineños
revealed the role of meanings, values, and quotidian practices in archaeological inter-
pretation, which more often than not goes unchallenged, and our experience enters
the field as an apriorism (Conkey, 2005). It was with this background of archaeo-
logical research and an interest in Peineños’ stories, memories, and experiences that I
engaged with Public Archaeology and Participatory Action Research.

Public Archaeology in the Atacama Desert

The impact that Latin American Social Archaeology had at the dawn of professional
archaeology in Chile was significant, and many archaeologists engaged in socially
meaningful research. In the Atacama Desert, one of the main experiences was that
of the Toconce Group in the 1970s in the Upper Loa Basin (Aldunate, et al., 2003),
which combined archaeology and ethnography, with a profound commitment to the
people of the village of Toconce. Yet, these experiences did not reach the southern
boundaries of the Atacama Basin; the experience of Peine was always with more
traditional archaeological research. This project was short-lived, however, as the sub-
sequent military dictatorship ended these initiatives, which were only resumed thirty
years later.
Although the Indigenous Law was instituted in 1993, archaeologists took some
time to incorporate the demands made by the Atacameños into their practice (see
below). One of the first actions in this regard was a meeting between archaeologists
and Indigenous representatives from Atacameño and Quechua communities from the
II Region in 2001 (see Figure 1) (Ayala, et al., 2003). This encounter was led by
archaeologists working in the area, constituting a response to the growing concern of
Atacameños regarding their heritage, and represented a historic instance that sought
a new type of relationship between the scientific realm and the Indigenous popula-
tion (Marcos, 2010). From this moment onward, many archaeological teams at least
partially incorporated Indigenous demands into their research agendas.
Regarding the research projects conducted in the Tulan Quebrada, for example, the
team led by Prof. Núñez began asking the Indigenous Community of Peine for their
permission to investigate, hiring members of the community to excavate and sieve
through materials, deliver the research reports, and also perform traditional offer-
ings to the sites before or after the excavations. In subsequent meetings and assem-
blies with the community, other demands have been raised, such as the delivery of
50 FERNANDA KALAZICH

inventories of materials after each excavation, running workshops for Peineños, and
disseminating the information obtained through the research, for which some team
members prepared manuals and booklets. Despite the complexities of this relation-
ship, it is possible to assert that it now constitutes a negotiation and not an imposition
on behalf of archaeologists.
On behalf of the IIAM (see note 5), an institutional effort focusing on action was
the creation of the Escuela Andina (Andean School) in 2002 — a formal education
programme with the aim of disseminating the scientific knowledge on Atacameño
heritage to the local community (Marcos, 2010). At the time, both Atacameños and
archaeologists saw this programme as a valuable and relevant instance whereby the
IIAM was engaging with the local community and coming out of its academic confine-
ment (see Ayala, 2011). However, more recent reflections on the role of the Andean
School have pointed out that this programme ultimately legitimizes historical power
relations between academic/occidental and non-academic/Indigenous discourses, as it
imposes upon the students a way of knowing and a way of learning (Marcos, 2010),
which ultimately serves only to ‘extend the boundaries of the foreign culture’ (Waiko,
1982, cited in Gilliam, 1994: 73).
Amongst the most recent initiatives within the field has been the work of Patricia
Ayala and Soledad Marcos. Ayala’s research constitutes the foremost contribution
to Indigenous archaeologies in the region, exploring the politics of the past in San
Pedro de Atacama, and the relationships between the state, archaeologists, and
Atacameños, categorizing the types of relationships established amongst these social
actors (Ayala, 2008). More recently, she has analysed the process of heritage-building
in the Atacama Basin and its relationship to neoliberalism and multicultural policies,
specifically the multicultural discourse found nowadays in archaeology and outreach
projects (Ayala, 2011; 2014). In both investigations, she makes use of ethnography
and interviews archaeologists and museum staff, Atacameños and state employees.
Marcos (2010), on the other hand, centred her attention on the Andean School, ana-
lysing the programme from the perspective of communication theory, and concluding
that, despite its good intentions, it continues to reproduce colonial relations between
museum scholars and the local population. These investigations highlight the impor-
tance of reflexivity in archaeological activities, be they research or outreach projects;
as it is, science has an impact upon people which needs to be accounted for implying
a responsibility from its practitioners as these can have negative consequences for
the former.
Thus, Public Archaeology initiatives involving local and/or Indigenous communi-
ties in the Atacama Desert primarily constitute individual attitudes of archaeologists
(mostly but not exclusively female) toward ancestral places and the peoples that live
close to them, more than an overall approach of the discipline. In this sense, and
despite these isolated yet important studies, scarce attention has been paid by archae-
ology to the Atacameño worldview, and the meanings that they themselves assign to
their ancestors, objects, and places.

The discomfort with excavations

The enactment of Law 19,253 of Indigenous Peoples in 1993 recognized for the
first time in Chilean history the existence of culturally differentiated groups, and
 MEMORY AS ARCHAEOLOGY 51

descendants of the pre-Columbian inhabitants of this territory. Subsequently, the dif-

ferent Indigenous peoples began a process of political, economic, and cultural vin-
dication and empowerment, seeking a reversal of the assimilation policies that had
hitherto prevailed, which culminated in the indio becoming visible within the nation
(Ayala, 2008; 2014). In doing so, the Atacameños were foremost amongst the plural-
ity of voices raising issues regarding their heritage, pertaining to the management of
archaeological sites, non-excavation of cemeteries, whether pre-Hispanic or other-
wise, and the non-exhibition of their ancestors in museums (Ayala, 2008; Endere &
Ayala, 2012), which in itself is related to the amount of archaeological work con-
ducted in the area. However, Indigenous peoples are not granted any explicit rights
over pre-Hispanic places and/or remains of significance to them either through this
law or Law 17,288 of National Monuments (Endere & Ayala, 2012), which ultimately
leaves them subject to the goodwill of archaeologists when it comes to sharing infor-
mation and respecting customs when disturbing the places of their ancestors.
From Ayala’s (2008) work in San Pedro de Atacama, and my own fieldwork in
Peine (Kalazich, 2013), it is evident that Atacameños have declared their concern
over the excavations of the places of their ancestors, or ‘archaeological sites’ as they
are better known within academia. Atacameños believe that their abuelos (grandpar-
ents) or the gentiles (heathens) must be left untouched and undisturbed. In the event
that they are disturbed without the proper offerings of alcohol and coca leaves, it is
believed that the excavators will suffer serious illness and even death. ‘To be caught
by the heathens’ is how they refer to this type of evil gaze, and it is the belief of many
Atacameños that priest Gustavo Le Paige — who lived in San Pedro de Atacama from
1955 until his death in 1980 and conducted extensive archaeological research in the
Atacama Desert — suffered this fate: ‘he died very thin, as if the heathens had sucked
the life out of him’ (Anonymous informant, pers. comm., 2010).
These concerns, although currently expressed as a politicized assertion of their
rights over their own cultural heritage, are neither recent nor solely related to this
new visibility. Certainly, it may have become visible recently, but it has long informed
their attitudes and relations with the dead. Indeed, Jean-Christian Spahni, a Swiss
ethnologist and archaeologist who visited Caspana and Peine, noted the relationship
that Atacameños had with the places of their ancestors in the 1960s (see Spahni,
1967: 131–32). This bears testament to the fact that it is not simply a political whim
produced by recent events, but rather reflects grounded cultural beliefs.
However, it has also been argued that this fear toward the heathens emerged with
the Catholic faith as a means to extirpate idolatries, whereby promulgating fear about
sacred places as well as the ancestors themselves was a way of disarticulating their
faith and their relationship with the dead (Ayala, 2008). On the other hand, most
archaeological sites or ancestral homes in the Atacameño territory have been found
in pristine condition, which suggests that these have remained untouched from the
very moment of their ‘abandonment’. There is little evidence, then, that pre-colonial
Atacameños interacted with older sites, thus seemingly ruling out the notion that this
attitude emerged as a direct consequence of Spanish rule in the region.
Having said that, and despite the undeniable historical significance of the belief in
the abuelos, it is important to highlight that, at present, there is not one single belief
among the Atacameños. The relationship with the dead within the Atacameño region
52 FERNANDA KALAZICH

is a complex and dynamic one; archaeological evidence from the Upper Loa Basin sug-
gests the use of funerary towers (chullpas) as ‘open contexts’ from ad 900 until quite
recently, where, together with the addition of newly deceased, the dead were taken out
for ceremonies, in a way similar to the Inkas with their own (Castro, et al., 1984). The
latter would imply a major interaction with their ancestors than the one seen nowadays.
However, having been exposed to archaeology for more than a century — some
Atacameños assisting the excavations of priest Le Paige and subsequent researchers in
the area, for the development of tourism and the use of archaeological sites in tour-
ism circuits — it is difficult to draw a precise line between scientific and Atacameño
discourses (Ayala, 2008; 2011). Nevertheless, Peine’s relative isolation in comparison
to San Pedro de Atacama, which has been far more impacted by archaeology, tour-
ism, and neoliberal capitalism in general, has kept it less impacted than the province’s
capital, and although there is an incipient use of ancestral places for tourism, the
belief in the abuelos is still quite grounded.
In any case, the historical processes that have led Atacameños to believe in the
sacrality of the places of the ancestors is not the central issue here; what is important
is that they believe this at present. And it is in these very ancestral places, whether
cemeteries or ancient settlements, that this clash of belief systems between Atacameños
and archaeologists takes place. Therefore, it is critical that we adopt approaches that
acknowledge Atacameños’ perception of the past, either by themselves, or to comple-
ment more traditional archaeological investigations.

Ethics in archaeological research

An ethic can be understood as a set of standards that guide particular types of human
action (Rigney & Worby, 2005; Wylie, 2003: 3), as is the case with a trade or profession.
From its inception, codes of conduct have formed an important part of professional
archaeology; therefore, it would be erroneous to refer to archaeology as somehow
lacking or having lacked ethics. However, in the majority of cases these codes have
been based on criteria of exclusiveness, in that they have sought to make explicit
the distinctions between professionals and non-professionals (Nicholas & Hollowell,
2007). That said, there have rarely been attempts to move beyond these ethics or
a general focus on avoiding harm in order to consider alternative questions, such
as who benefits from research (Atalay, 2012; Colwell-Chanthaphonh & Ferguson,
2008). Furthermore, archaeological ethics have tended to ground their accountability
in the archaeological record and scientific discourse (Zimmerman, 1998), regarding
these as universal principles of research (Hamilakis, 2007). Within this view, stew-
ardship of archaeological sites is considered one of the cornerstones of the discipline,
a process whereby archaeologists are self-appointed as authorities to produce valid
knowledge about the past (Hollowell & Nicholas, 2008; Smith & Waterton, 2009).
By regarding such principles as universal, the establishment of the discipline’s eth-
ics can be said to have been naive at best, as it fails to question the basic premises
under which it operates, or acknowledge the value of the past beyond the scientific
paradigm (Nicholas, 2008). This section describes briefly the ethics that have played
out in Chilean archaeological research, and that of ‘situated ethics’, which underlies
the general discourse of this paper.
 MEMORY AS ARCHAEOLOGY 53

Ethics in Chilean archaeology

In Chile, there are two bodies that regulate the archaeological discipline and its prac-
titioners, the Chilean Archaeological Society (SCHA), which operates as a scientific
association, and the Association of Archaeologists (CACH), operating as a profes-
sional trade body. The SCHA was founded in 1963, but its Code of Ethics was only
issued in the 1990s, mostly due to the increase of contract archaeology as source of
employment. In this code, section 3.2 makes reference to the archaeologists’ com-
mitment to society, suggesting that they request consent, or at least communicate
the archaeological project to the community(ies) in whose land the research will
take place (Endere & Ayala, 2012). The CACH was founded in 2008, and in 2013
it released the code of ethics for its members. In the section ‘Responsibilities of the
archaeologist(s) to the communities’, it lays out the duties of informing, disseminat-
ing both to academia and the general public, and involving local communities in its
activities (CACH, 2013). Thus, although both bodies consider accountability to the
public in their respective code of ethics, there is no special mention or treatment
toward Indigenous Peoples.
On the other hand, the National Monuments Council (CMN) — the governmental
institution that regulates all practices involving tangible heritage — has acknowledged
the relationship that Indigenous peoples have with the pre-Hispanic archaeological
heritage, through the creation of an Area of Indigenous peoples’ Cultural Heritage in
2001.5 However, in practice, Law 17,288 of National Monuments regards all archaeo-
logical finds on Chilean territory as state property; therefore, there is no legal instru-
ment or statute acknowledging Indigenous people’s rights over pre-Hispanic remains.
In this sense, some colleagues choose to only follow the law, which solely requires the
authorization of the CMN, and does not include matters of accountability towards
others (Endere & Ayala, 2012).
In recent years however, many archaeology teams are involving the local commu-
nities in their projects, mainly through the dissemination of results and educational
programmes, but direct participation of community members from the inception of
the projects themselves is still quite unusual. Further, more ‘controversial’ issues,
such as reburial, or the transferral of custody over ancestral settlements to Indigenous
communities are far from being discussed, accounting for a more conservative stance
of archaeologists in this regard (Endere & Ayala, 2012).

Situated ethics
Central to the critique of ethics are many disparate but interrelated arenas, which
range from the linguistic turn and its epistemological and theoretical effects over
social sciences, to social movements seeking to bring social equity and justice to
minorities (ethnic or gender-based) in a globalized context (Nicholas, 2010). Within
the former, the acknowledgement of the intimate relationship between knowledge
and power, and of the West as the hegemonic centre of knowledge production, laid
the foundations for subsequent attempts to question objectivity and monolithic rep-
resentations of the past (Sheehan & Lilley, 2008). Within the latter, the emergence of
Indigenous movements allied with a wider struggle over civil rights championed the
notion that descendant communities should be regarded as rightful stewards of mate-
rial remains and discourses of the past (Zimmerman, 1998; Zimmerman, et al., 2003).
54 FERNANDA KALAZICH

With this in mind, the ethics invoked herein are politically situated and historically
contingent (Hamilakis, 2007), meaning that ethics are considered to be ideological,
cultural, and ever-transforming (Tarlow, 2006). In relation to archaeology, this ethi-
cal stance at present implies responsibilities in three distinct spheres: the archaeologi-
cal record, among colleagues and, most importantly, towards the public interested in
the past (Zimmerman, et al., 2003). Concerning the latter, descendant communities
claiming historical and spiritual connections to sites and material remains constitute
a significant component in the inscription of a reformulated ethics, as they directly
challenge archaeologists about the material and symbolic appropriations that the
latter have made over ancestral places (McNiven & Russell, 2005). Their visibility
and claims over heritage present new ethical challenges to archaeology, grounded in
respecting other ways of constructing knowledge, struggling toward equity in power
relations (Hollowell & Nicholas, 2008; 2009), and moving beyond the maxim of ‘do
no harm’ to ‘do some good’ (Atalay, 2012).
Given that ethics are context-specific, they require an evaluation in the field, as ‘an
ethical product requires an ethical production’ (Silliman, 2008: 10). In fact, much of
the efforts to change the face of archaeology vis-à-vis ethics have focused on changing
practices, emphasizing the process of research itself as opposed to merely the product
of it. In this way, if archaeological practice were to be more democratic and inclusive,
then these principles would need to be incorporated not only within the rhetoric and
discourse of archaeological theory, but most importantly be embedded within quo-
tidian practices (Colwell-Chanthaphonh & Ferguson, 2008; Preucel & Cipolla, 2008;
Silliman, 2008).
Consequently, a vital aspect of embedding ethics within research is the introduction
of collaboration between archaeologists and the peoples who claim ancestry or other
types of interests in the past. In this particular case, ethics are considered in relation
to the sentiments that Atacameños have expressed about the homes of their ancestors.
Staying true to this position requires a turn towards methodologies and techniques
that provide access to the past without dishonouring these sentiments.

Participatory Action Research

One of the methodologies proposed by advocates of decolonizing and ethical
approaches is that of Participatory Action Research (PAR) (Fals Borda, 2001; Selener,
1997). PAR can be defined as a method, an epistemology, and a political statement,
which involves researchers working directly with the very communities who tradi-
tionally have been conceptualized as the subject of study (Fals Borda, 1987; van der
Riet, 2008). That is, it seeks to bridge the gap between researchers and the researched,
particularly when the latter comprise marginalized, disenfranchised communities, by
asserting that communities should actively contribute to the creation and interpreta-
tion of their own history, cultural context, and problems (van der Riet, 2008). In this
context, the researcher is thus not viewed as an expert or the bearer of truth; rather,
his/her role is that of a facilitator (Selener, 1997). Such a methodology can only be
successful when it is conceived as a holistic epistemology, as opposed to a mere set
of techniques. It is political insofar as it explicitly recognizes the relationship between
power and the creation of knowledge, and its aim is to reverse and recalibrate the
 MEMORY AS ARCHAEOLOGY 55

hegemonic structures and relationships which have traditionally governed research

by acknowledging the active role that local communities must have in the process of
knowledge creation (Fals Borda, 1987).
By having participation as a central tenet, this methodology seeks to re-balance
power relations between researchers and the researched, foreground and construct
local knowledge, with the distinct aim of producing beneficial outcomes for those
involved in the research. The antecedents of this method can be traced back to
the mid-twentieth century in developing countries, where researchers realized that
contextual knowledge and local language were ultimately more effective in solving
local problems; this was especially the case if local people were also involved in the
process of research (Fals Borda, 2001; Selener, 1997). This process sought benefits
for the specific communities being addressed, and signalled a departure from scien-
tific colonialism and principles such as the ‘greater good’, which merely ameliorate
those already in a hegemonic position (Bradbury & Reason, 2003; Selener, 1997).
PAR was subsequently introduced within Western academia, and is currently, albeit
variably, utilized by development agencies and foundations across the globe as a
means through which to address local issues across several fields, such as health
sciences, agriculture, resource management, and social sciences. It is only recently
that archaeology has begun to incorporate its principles under the new wave of
collaboration and participation of local and Indigenous peoples in heritage-related
projects (see Atalay, 2012; Colwell-Chanthaphonh & Ferguson, 2008; Pyburn, 2009;
Silliman, 2008).
It is precisely these forms of knowledge with which PAR grapples, which Fals
Borda and Mora-Osejo (2003: 30) call ‘endogenesis’. This is the empirical, common
sense knowledge held by people at a grass-roots level, which constitutes part of their
cultural heritage. Moreover, this knowledge has its own rationality and its own struc-
ture of causality that is not necessarily codified in ways accepted by science; hence it
is often denigrated and excluded from scientific domains. Consequently, the starting
point of PAR is the assumption that all people may construct the requisite knowledge
to guide their actions for their own benefit. Certainly, a synthesis of the knowledge
provided by the people and the one contributed by the outsider would lead to a
more holistic and contextual interpretation of social reality, one which includes his-
torical, social, political, and economic dimensions (Fals Borda, 2001; Freire, 1972).
Accordingly, PAR represents a more democratic form of enquiry, as it contends that
those being studied have the right to benefit from the research process; therefore,
research is not conducted abstractly to ‘benefit science’ but, rather, aimed directly at
alleviating the problems of a particular community.

Grounding the theory: the reality in the field

The fieldwork that informs this study took place between January and October 2010,
with a two-month follow up one year later, during which time I lived in Peine per-
manently. The execution of the project involved the implementation of PAR toward
an objective of study set out jointly with community members, and the use of applied
ethnography and interviews as principal techniques to gather information. This sec-
tion narrates the paths the research took, the difficulties faced in the process, and the
decisions made at the different stages of this lived experience.
56 FERNANDA KALAZICH

The process of negotiation and approval

Starting off the research was not a straightforward process. Given that the pro-
ject involved community members, I held meetings at first with the Board of the
Community6 to explain the nature and objectives of my project. They stated that
precisely because the study involved people from the community, the project was
subject to final approval from the Community Assembly, and I would have to wait
for one to take place.
Five weeks later I presented my project in front of the Community Assembly, with
around forty community members in attendance. Having explained my objectives and
the ways in which the community would be involved, three people, all of them in their
forties to fifties, expressed their wariness about the excavation of archaeological sites,
the conditions in which they were left, and the destination of archaeological remains.
Although I had not mentioned excavations in my presentation, by introducing myself
as an archaeologist some of the members assumed that this was what I would be
doing. I explained that there would only be excavation if they deemed it necessary, but
it was not mandatory for the aims of the study, as this was to be mutually decided.
Five further people, most of them in their late twenties to early thirties, spoke in favour
of my project. They drew attention to the potential benefits of the research for the
community, which they believed could be expedient for tourism or educating children
about the past, and stressed that they wanted this type of project to be conducted.
We discussed the conditions that formed the basis of the agreement that I would have
to make with the community, which consisted of returning any information I recovered
from the fieldwork, such as photographs, voice recordings, providing them with a copy
of the dissertation (including a Spanish translation), as well as also suggesting that I
would avoid excavations. I agreed to the terms and signed the agreement. In a vote of
raised hands the project was approved and registered in the minutes of the Assembly.
After getting approval from the Assembly of the Community I then had to seek the
approval of the elderly, who constituted my main group of interest. I met with the
president of the Club of the Elderly, once again outlining my project, and a meeting
with the Club was arranged for the following week. In the meeting, of which twelve
of the twenty-six members attended, I reiterated the purpose of my research, and I
provided examples of potential avenues for studying the past, ranging from conduct-
ing archaeological research of any site(s) that they wished to know more about, to
the study of a specific group or period, such as that of the herders of the community.
At the meeting, the elders decided they wanted to talk to me about their own
personal experiences, what they remembered, and what they had learned, without
focusing the attention on any specific activity or memory. They also decided that
they preferred individual interviews as opposed to group interviews, since in the latter
‘there are always people that talk more than others’ (Anonymous informant, pers.
comm., 2010).7 After setting the agenda, the members of the club provided me with
various insights into their past and the changes within the community.
Simply put, the aim of the research set in conjunction with the Club of the Elderly
was as follows:

To explore the personal memories of Peineños through the use of individual interviews
and to a lesser extent group interviews, in order to account for the past of the Community.
 MEMORY AS ARCHAEOLOGY 57

Not all of the elders of Peine are members of the Club of the Elderly; therefore,
although I had established the objective of the research through collaboration with
the latter group, I also interviewed other seniors who belonged to the Community as
part of the fieldwork.

Knowledge of Peine
In line with the principles of PAR, the techniques chosen for data collection in the
Atacameño Community of Peine constituted overt approaches to the data, where the
participants are informed of, and contribute towards, the objectives of the research,
the information generated, and the intended outcomes. Different methods and tech-
niques were used, which were consistent with the general methodological framework,
adapting them to suit particular situations. This allowed both space for improvisation
and to allow life to continue as normal whilst the research took place. Such a position
acknowledges the fact that the more structured a methodology, the more the control
remains on the side of the researcher, all of which are counterproductive to the aims
of decolonizing research (Kovach, 2009).
I made use of Applied Ethnography, which in broad terms is defined as the collec-
tion of culture-specific information serving particular means, that is, it is problem-
oriented. Also, conventional forms of ethnography are conceptualized and designed by
the researcher, and have little or no practical application, being more concerned with
theoretical implications (Chambers, 2000). Thus, the aim of my work was to describe
and put to work the cultural description in conjunction with the aims generated jointly
with the community. Applied ethnography is informed by participant observation and
interviews. The former positively affects the interpretation of the interviews by pro-
viding the context and frame within which activities take place. Interviews, on the
other hand, allow access to information that would be impossible to collect otherwise
(Hammersley & Atkinson, 2007). The interviews I conducted were formal or scheduled
and informal or spontaneous, following an open-ended approach; that is, asking broad
questions with the intention that research participants expand on a particular subject.
Memory-work (see Onyx & Small, 2001) was stimulated through an array of
means, depending on the situation and the person/people I was speaking with at that
time, and included such things as walking through the town or agricultural fields,
or conducting interviews during fieldtrips to places within Peineño territory. Also,
showing pictures of the town in books from the mid-twentieth century (e.g. Mostny,
1954; Spahni, 1967) allowed people to remember specific situations, and comment on
the differences between what they perceived in the pictures and the present. In cases
where interviews or conversations took place during the development of a specific
activity, it was this scenario that provided the impetus for remembrance.
During both periods of fieldwork, a total of seventeen elders were interviewed on
numerous occasions from anywhere between thirty minutes to two hours. Of these,
six were men and eleven were women, all between the ages of fifty-five and eighty.
The interviewees chose the place, date, and time, as well as the method of record-
ing the interviews; that said, only three people allowed the use of audio recorders,
whereas the majority preferred that I took notes or just used my memory. I did not
make participants sign consent forms; consent was requested by word of mouth at the
preliminary stage. However, this changed in the second fieldwork period.
58 FERNANDA KALAZICH

Besides the formal, scheduled interviews, I held frequent conversations with nearly
fifty other people in Peine, consisting of females and males aged between twenty and
fifty-five. Indeed, they explained a wide variety of topics to me, albeit without ever
considering them as interviews as such. Since community members knew the nature of
my work, some would approach me and tell me about their personal experiences, the
specific meaning of words within their vocabulary, the importance of particular cer-
emonies, amongst other things. Even if only casual conversations, they were informed
that the information provided could be useful, and were thus asked if I could make
use of it, to which all agreed.

Feedback and consent

In October 2011, I returned to fieldwork for a further five weeks for the purpose
of gathering feedback from community members about the chapter concerning the
memories of Peineños. As I had left Peine before any serious writing had started and
was thus not able to show the results to the research participants, returning to learn
their comments and suggestions to the draft was the appropriate thing to do within
the framework of PAR. With this in mind, I translated the draft of the chapter into
Spanish and distributed copies to the elders.
In general, the elders were happy with the layout, the maps and pictures that were
included, and thought that the division of their memories into four areas (see below)
was representative of what they remembered and how they remembered it. The mem-
bers of the Club of the Elderly and elders outside of the Club were not the only ones
to read the draft and make suggestions, however; as extended families tend to live
together, the draft was shared and read by other members of each household, from
whom I also got positive feedback.
In addition to the feedback, it was also important to get the consent of research
participants to use their names in the investigation. It is not customary to cite word
of mouth in academic writing, which favours published and authorized material.
One of my main concerns in this regard was that PAR be participatory not only in
terms of how the research is conducted, but also in the way in which it acknowledged
those participants. It would make no sense whatsoever to attempt ‘voicing’ a perspec-
tive of the past only to simultaneously silence the people who articulated it. Neither
would it make sense to cite the scholars referred to herein, but not the informants
who shared with me their stories and experiences.
Disclosure of names is associated with the validity of oral stories; within
Indigenous methodologies, validity cannot be assessed scientifically since the
underlying epistemologies are different (Smith, 1999). Rather, validity is located
within the storytellers themselves; people are accountable for their own words, and
it is difficult to honour this mode of validation when the names of participants
do not appear in the research (Kovach, 2009). This was noted in the interviews,
in which Peineños started their sentences with ‘this is what I saw’, ‘this is what
I lived’, or ‘this is what I heard’, which was a means through which to validate
their stories. Above all, the community members wanted the story to be theirs, for
their grandchildren and beyond; for them to be able to read this document and
recognize themselves and their relatives in it. In some of the pictures from books
I showed to community members (see above), the elders realized they could not
 MEMORY AS ARCHAEOLOGY 59

recognize all of the people in them and their names did not appear anywhere in
these books.
In a meeting held with the Club of the Elderly during the second bout of fieldwork,
we discussed this matter in particular, with the majority being of the opinion that
the disclosure of their names would guarantee that they would remain true to their
stories and experiences; that they would not be ‘inventing or lying’, as they joked
about; an approach Kovach (2009) notes when she talks of honour in the spoken
word. Of the seventeen elders formally interviewed, only two declined to disclose
their names. Thus, in the final version of this study, after textual quotes, the name
of the person and the year of the interview appear between parentheses; in the case
of quotes from the undisclosed informants, Anonymous informant appears between
parentheses, with the year of the interview (see Kalazich, 2013).
In summary, I used an open methodology in every possible sense; given that the
initial objective was very broad, and that the subsequent objective, although more
specific, was subject to what Peineños wanted to investigate or compile about their
own past, it was simply not feasible to design any other aspect of the project before
the start of the fieldwork. Instead, I relied on informed improvisation whereby I
applied techniques and solved problems based upon the experiences of others whose
work I have read, my own experience, and most importantly through the participa-
tion of community members, which, ultimately, was the main strength of the project
and the very reason for it.

Memory as archaeology
Returning to the questions that stimulated this research in the first place (Is it pos-
sible to access the past using other methods? How is this past different from the one
recovered through traditional archaeology?), it is now possible to assert that the past
may be accessed through other means than excavations and/or the interpretation of
material culture. It was accessed through the memories and remembrance of the lived
experiences of the Atacameños of Peine between the 1930s and 1980s.
Narrative analysis was used to interpret the knowledge derived from interviews
and description of activities. This analysis implies the search for common themes,
metaphors, and plotlines to identify general themes or concepts, in a process of ‘sto-
rying stories’ (Clandinin, 2007: xv). These selected events and the ways that they
are remembered or transformed into a narrative constitute deep expressions of iden-
tity, as decisions of representation are unavoidable, and may account for disruptions
between the ideal and the real, the present and the past, the self and society. Thus,
the value of narratives lies precisely in their rootedness in time, space and experience,
giving insights into culture-specific notions about reality and conveying an idea about
how people relate to others and their environment (Herman & Vervaeck, 2001).
In this way, and following the main plots of conversation, the memories of Peineños
can be said to be organized around four main topics: Territory and Economic
Activities; Foodways; Ceremonies and Rituals; and Climate Change. The latter was
not so much a theme of conversation as it was a trigger for it, giving way to one of
the other three areas of memory. In their stories, Peineños remembered how things
used to be, the broad territory they used for herding, hunting, and gathering, the
60 FERNANDA KALAZICH

foods they used to prepare both in town and on their journeys, and the ceremonial
activities, some of which continue to be celebrated. It is important to note that land-
scape, foodways, and ceremonies constitute the foremost elements of a collective
identity, as they convey a sense of belonging and a way of doing things, a habitus
in Bourdieu’s (1977) terms, that is distinctive to any given group. Climate change,
by way of contrast, incarnated the general process of change, and in some cases rep-
resented the idea of loss; in other words, that which makes the past different from
the present.
Through this approach Peineños described a scenario of which they were and still
are part, addressing the changes and continuities that have taken place in Peine. It is
specifically this continuity that scientific archaeology is so often accused of breaking
by studying only the remote past (see Benavides, 2011). It is important to stress that,
while Peineños engage more actively with the remembered past, this does not mean
they do not engage with a remote past. The distant past for Peineños is not a gradated
time; once the memories of a given ruin or any other cultural creation are forgotten
(i.e. go beyond the times of the living), they enter the realm of lugares de los abuelos
(places of the ancestors). It matters not whether these lugares are 200 or 2000 years
old; they have exactly the same status and powers over the living. Resultantly, the
distant past is not so much temporal as it is spatial; Peineños engage with it insofar
as there are remnants of it within the landscape, which is to say that it is also part
of the present.
One salient finding in this respect was the importance of embodied memory in
accounting for a remote past. During fieldwork, I became fixated with gestures,
and how something that came so naturally to Peineños, such as pouring a drink to
Pachamama (Earth Mother) before drinking themselves, was so hard to remember
for me and other outsiders to do (i.e. when the practice was not inscribed in the
body). In the stories of Peineños, there was no reference to mythological, or deep time
memories; the latter was not talked about but rather acted out; it was expressed as
‘bodily practices’ (Connerton, 1989: 72) whereby memory pervades in gestures, body
language, and habits. Performance theorists assert that the values and categories that
a social group is most eager to maintain are the ones which will be entrusted to
bodily automatisms, whilst also removing them from conscious criticism (Bourdieu,
1977; Connerton, 1989). The habits of making libations to the mountains, waters,
and places of the heathens, as well as performing traditional ceremonies and rituals
would most possibly account for a pre-Columbian memory, one that continues to be
re-enacted and performed in the present.
This methodology quite evidently provided information and forms of knowledge
that stand in contradistinction to traditional archaeology. Through conventional
archaeological approaches it is possible to access a past that is no longer part of living
memory by analysing and interpreting its material remnants; therefore, it can reach
a more distant past, or even a traumatic one that was forgotten or not addressed by
official history. In turn, through the approach undertaken in this research it became
possible to access the past that the Atacameños of Peine regarded as more relevant in
the present, both through stories that connect them with moments, performances, and
objects, and by using techniques that they themselves collectively validated, namely,
the interviews and ethnography. On the other hand, through sharing everyday
 MEMORY AS ARCHAEOLOGY 61

experiences it was possible to observe body language, and how it carried memory
beyond words. Therefore, PAR allowed a systematic engagement with social mean-
ings and values, as opposed to addressing the scientific accuracy of the evidence per
se. In this way, it is possible to assert that this approach constituted a contribution
to the archaeology of Peine; their own archaeology, bringing them closer to what is
relevant, meaningful, and valuable from their own perspective.

Final remarks
Peoples around the world have different ways of engaging with their past. The Western
perspective has privileged the excavation and interpretation of material remains as a
means to know about the times and peoples that preceded us. However, this is not
the only way to engage with the past, or the most significant one for a given com-
munity. This is the case with the Atacameños of Peine, who have chosen to delve
into the past through their memories. It is often the case with public archaeology
experiences, when working with Indigenous or local communities, that they choose
to explore their more recent past, as it provides a sense of continuity between the
past and the present (see Greer, et al., 2002). The fact that peoples engage with the
past differently should lead to archaeologies (understood as enquiries into the past)
that are culture-specific.
However, despite the ‘good intentions’ of conducting culturally situated research
and being wary of the colonial legacy of our discipline, it is always necessary to
maintain a reflexive approach. As La Salle (2010) has pointed out, these collabora-
tive efforts and the ethics behind them seem to equate with the principles of cor-
porativism, a form of neo-colonialism by which exploitation continues in disguise.
This opens a whole new line of enquiries, questions, and problems: does this type
of research only reaffirm the appropriation of Indigenous ancestral places, by also
appropriating other mechanisms of knowing? Is it really possible to conduct research
that is not at all colonial in nature? In the last instance, it comes down to how far we
are willing to move away from our traditional archaeological methods and our place
of enunciation, to the type of relationships we want to establish, and the willingness
or not of the communities we work with to build horizontal relationships, breaking
what seems to be the endless us–them dichotomy.

Acknowledgements
To the Atacameño Community of Peine for allowing me to explore this line of work,
and for being so generous in sharing their knowledge with me. To Beca Presidente de
la República Chile — CONICYT for financing my doctoral degree, which allowed
me to conduct this research. To the Institute of Archaeology and the Graduate School
at UCL for financing my second fieldwork. To the team of Projects FONDECYT
1020316 and 1070040 through which I got to know Peine and the Atacameños of
this town. To Tim Schadla-Hall, Ulrike Sommer, and Bill Sillar who supervised my
doctoral research. To Mariana Ugarte for elaborating the map included herein. To
Catalina Gobantes for pointing me in the right direction. To the anonymous review-
ers for their comments and suggestions to improve this paper.
62 FERNANDA KALAZICH

Notes
4
This paper is being published with the full knowl-
edge and authorization from the Comunidad Ataca-
meña de Peine (Atacameño Community of Peine).
1
The largest concentration of the Atacameño popula-
tion is found in big cities such as Calama with 8747
people living in its urban area, and 911 in the rural
part, and in Antofagasta with 1194 and 9 in the ur-
5
ban and rural areas respectively (Imilan, 2007).
2
CONADI is the acronym of the National Corpora-
tion for Indigenous Development (Corporación Na-
cional de Desarrollo Indígena).
3
This region of Chile has been renowned for its
mineral riches from the first pre-Hispanic settle-
ments in the area. From the 1830s, within the con-
text of emerging South American nations and a
6
growing capitalist economy, the discovery and ex-
pansion of mines grew both intensively and exten-
sively. By the 1900s, it gave way to a large-scale
mining industry, generating an impact hitherto
unknown for the local population, and triggering a
massive migration from the towns of origin to the
different mining centres (copper, silver, saltpetre,
sulphur) (Núñez, et al., 2010). From 1981 onwards,
7
different mining companies exploiting lithium, sul-
phates, and boron established in the Atacama Salt-
pan, making use of local labour employing nearly
42 per cent of the active population of Peine
(Núñez, 2000).
The Museum was renamed as Instituto de Investiga-
ciones Arqueológicas y Museo R. P. Gustavo Le
Paige (henceforth IIAM), after its transferal to Uni-
versidad Católica del Norte (UCN), retaining cer-
tain independence from the ruling dictatorial
­regime, at least as long as archaeological research
was scientific research (Ayala, 2008).
The duties of this area within the CMN are not
specified, nor does the ‘Area of Indigenous Peoples’
Cultural Heritage appear individualized in the
CMN’s organization chart (see <www.­monumentos.
cl>). Ayala (2014) indicates that it seeks to register
archaeological sites in the national heritage ­cadaster,
and support Indigenous development initiatives
­involving the use of their cultural heritage.
An Indigenous Community is a legal entity under
the Indigenous Act 19,253, which groups people
from the same ethnic background in one or more of
the following situations: a) belong to a single family
branch; b) recognize a traditional chiefdom; c) pos-
sess or have possessed common indigenous lands,
and d) belong to a single ancient village (CONADI
2011: Art. 9, p. 16).
Compliant with data protection laws and institu-
tional ethical codes, I did not use personal names in
my research, unless I had the signed consent to do
so. In this article, I only use quotes from anonymous
research participants.

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Notes on contributor
Fernanda Kalazich is Post-Doctoral Research Fellow in Archaeology at the
Interdisciplinary Center for Intercultural and Indigenous Studies (ICIIS), Pontificia
Universidad Católica de Chile. She is currently investigating Atacameño perceptions
of heritage. Her interests are directed toward the values of cultural heritage and the
past for different types of communities, their use in the present, and participation/
collaboration mechanisms of research within the field of public archaeology.
Correspondence to: Fernanda Kalazich, ICIIS, Instituto de Sociología, Pontificia
Universidad Católica de Chile. Av. Vicuña Mackenna 4860, Macul, Santiago 7820436,
Chile. Email: ferkalazich@gmail.com