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Imperial Subjects: Race and Identity in Colonial Latin America
In colonial Latin America, social identity did not correlate neatly with fixed categories of race and ethnicity. As Imperial Subjects demonstrates, from the early years of Spanish and Portuguese rule, understandings of race and ethnicity were fluid. In this collection, historians offer nuanced interpretations of identity as they investigate how Iberian settlers, African slaves, Native Americans, and their multi-ethnic progeny understood who they were as individuals, as members of various communities, and as imperial subjects. The contributors’ explorations of the relationship between colonial ideologies of difference and the identities historical actors presented span the entire colonial period and from early contact to the legacy of colonial identities in the new republics of the nineteenth century. The volume includes essays on the major colonial centers of Mexico, Peru, and Brazil, as well as the Caribbean basin and the imperial borderlands.Whether analyzing cases in which the Inquisition found that the individuals before it were “legally” Indians and thus exempt from prosecution, or considering late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century petitions for declarations of whiteness that entitled the mixed-race recipients to the legal and social benefits enjoyed by whites, the book’s contributors approach the question of identity by examining interactions between imperial subjects and colonial institutions. Colonial mandates, rulings, and legislation worked in conjunction with the exercise and negotiation of power between individual officials and an array of social actors engaged in countless brief interactions. Identities emerged out of the interplay between internalized understandings of self and group association and externalized social norms and categories.Contributors. Karen D. Caplan, R. Douglas Cope, Mariana L. R. Dantas, María Elena Díaz, Andrew B. Fisher, Jane Mangan, Jeremy Ravi Mumford, Matthew D. O’Hara, Cynthia Radding, Sergio Serulnikov, Irene Silverblatt, David Tavárez, Ann Twinam
- GenresHistoryRaceNonfiction
320 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2009
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May 17, 2020
I thoroughly enjoyed this book – not only do the chapters cover a broad range of issues relating to race and identity in colonial Latin America, but the fact that there are 11 authors means that there are 11 different areas of expertise and writing styles. These authors explore how various colonial subjects understood and navigated their role in the world, focusing on the creative adaption of identity.
Chapter 1 explores the relationship between native kurakas and Spanish encomenderos in the Andes – basically, how did the Spanish Crown deal with two separate claims to lordship over the native peoples? Both groups presented their separate legal claims (and offers of payment) to the Emperor Charles V, and neither fully got what they wanted. What is especially interesting is that even though legally the kurakas were demoted to the status of Indians, they still held de facto power – even attaining posts within the Spanish administration – for centuries to come.
Chapter 2 focuses on female merchants in Potosí, Bolivia, and the intersection of class, language, dress, perceived ethnicity, etc., in how different groups of indigenous women were viewed both socially and legally.
Chapter 3 focuses on several cases from the Mexican Inquisition. As Natives and non-Natives were treated differently for legal and religious purposes, the author examines several cases were people considered to be mestizo claimed Indian status. How could a court legally determine someone’s racial status? The author explores the evidence of lenguaje, calidad, sangre, and crianza (language, social status, blood, and upbringing) to demonstrate that the apparently firm racial castes of New Spain were actually rather fluid and subjective. In the end, there is no definitive answer – the Inquisition ruled that for lack of contrary evidence, it would have to accept their claims to Indian status. If it was impossible centuries ago, it is certainly impossible for us to determine if these three persons were Indians passing as mestizos or mestizos passing as Indians – and more to the point, it is irrelevant.
Chapter 4 explores the complex ethnogenesis of various Indian communities in two widely separate bodeland regions – Nueva Vizacaya, roughly corresponding to northwest Mexico, and Charcas, a region that was primarily in Bolivia but contained bits-and-pieces of several modern nations. Similar to Chapter 3, there comes the issue of who is a “real” Indian. On the one hand, many Indians were uprooted from their ancestral pre-Columbian lands and served as proletarian workers or minor peasants – similar to the masses of mestizo and free black populations throughout the Spanish Empire. Speaking of which, on the other hand it was common for mestizo and free black people to congregate and integrate into “Indian” pueblos. Both of these situations added tremendous complications to the social and legal project of the casta system.
Chapter 5 focuses on free Africans in Minas Gerais, in Brazil, in particular how they negotiated their role and privileges within broader society. The author first looks at marriage, using both case studies and data to examine what social/racial groups people could/did marry into. The author then looks at lay brotherhoods, cofrarias, and how they served as spaces where minority men could form a legitimate community, create a support structure, and advocate for their interests as a collective.
Chapter 6 is directed towards purchasing whiteness. Spanish law valued limpieza de sangre – ancestry “clean” of any “bad blood” – and officially discriminated against pardos and mulatos, banning them from university, prestigious trades, the priesthood, and various civic offices. These instutitions often required proof of “limpieza de sangre”, meaning that many pardos pursued a document called “gracias al sacar” which legally reclassified them as white. Through the enormous amount of paperwork that each petition generated, the author was able to explore the semantic field around natureleza, limpieza, calidad, and defecto, in how people argued for/against membership in a racial category. Meanwhile, even legal whitening still met with social resistance, with the author taking a special focus on the white establishment of Venezuela. The author explores the continued issues of local discrimination, even for pardos and mulatos who had obtained “gracias al sacar”, and the novel arguments around “color” at the close of the colonial period.
Chapter 7 looks at the development of creole nationalism in the Andes, not through an ideological lens, but rather through the “the study of political practices and collective action” (171). The original social divide was between patricians and plebians, with American-born and European-born whites banding together. Following the Tupac Amaru rebellions of the 1780s, the subsequent imposition of Spanish imperial garrisons in the Andes, and the absolutist Bourbon reforms, the divide shifted towards American vs. European. While not losing their distinct visions of class and prestige, creole elites began to act collectively with the non-white inhabitants of the region. The new garrison of Blanquillos from Spain robbed castas and used them as forced labor, made advances on the wives and daughters of the patricians, and frequently committed acts of violence against all classes in the city. This challenged the personal honor of the creole elites, and furthermore threatened their legitimacy by weakening both public order and the food supply, prompting a riot in 1782. In 1785 the last mestizo militia from La Charca was disbanded, depriving the militiamen and the community at large of both a source of income and of the honor and recognition for having served on campaign. When a new Spanish garrison began committing violence against the people, this sparked an even greater riot than the one in 1782. These disturbances marked unrest, not so much at economic and or political policy, so much as a question of identity – “was the city in essence a hidalgo city primarily structured along Hispanic and non-Hispanic sectors, or was it a colonial society divided into peninsulares and vecinos?” (183).
Chapter 8 explores the paradoxical and hybrid identify of El Cobre, Cuba – an abandoned copper mine that was confiscated – along with its slaves – by the Crown in 1670. Upon learning in 1677 (bureaucracy was slow) that they were to be sold, the slaves fled into the mountains and sent a petition to the judge, asking that, as “the black creole natives of said mines and slaves of His Majesty”, that they be permitted to stay, pay tribute, and eventually pay for their freedom. This petition was radical, in that it went past the sale by arguing that slaves possessed territorial rights by virtue of being natives of that community – or in other words, that the community was socially and legally real. Interestingly, the Crown accepted this petition, under the logic that the community would render services as both construction workers and militiamen. I had not realized before reading this essay that Cuba was on a frontier, because I tend to imagine it as just the island. However, in the context of a Caribbean full of French, English, Dutch, Swedish, etc. colonists, this really was a frontier that needed guarding. By the 1700s, El Cobre had acquired its own cabildo and magistrates, which horrified many colonial officials. In 1792 the Crown planned to restore the town to its original owners, and the people to slavery. In response, the town initiated litigation in Madrid and composed a memorial history, claiming that the town originated in an Indian cacique named “El Cobe” who had peacefully submitted to Spanish rule. Eliding the period as mining slaves, the town was effectively equating this mythic Indian settlement to the present African community, arguing that as a community that had peacefully accepted Spanish hegemony they were entitled to the possession of land and limited sovereignty. In 1800, the case concluded – not only would the people not be re-enslaved, but the town was collectively freed from slavery and granted status as a villa.
The final chapter, Chapter 9, explores indigenous citizenship in post-colonial Oaxaca and Yucatán. While both states were overwhelming indigenous in population, there were key demographic differences. Oaxaca was 90% indigenous, and the non-indigenous population exclusively lived in Oaxaca City itself. Yucatán was 70% indigenous, and the non-indigenous population was often scattered among all the cities and villages of Yucatán. The newly-independent Mexican state legally abolished its racial laws, and furthermore established some form of cabildo/alcalde/juez de paz (depending on the time period) in every community. This had the effect of enhancing indigenous power in Oaxaca (by confirming self-sovereignty in the entirely-indigenous towns) and threatening indigenous power in Yucatán (by allowing all citizens to participate in politics, this gave more of an edge to the non-indigenous population).
Chapter 1 explores the relationship between native kurakas and Spanish encomenderos in the Andes – basically, how did the Spanish Crown deal with two separate claims to lordship over the native peoples? Both groups presented their separate legal claims (and offers of payment) to the Emperor Charles V, and neither fully got what they wanted. What is especially interesting is that even though legally the kurakas were demoted to the status of Indians, they still held de facto power – even attaining posts within the Spanish administration – for centuries to come.
Chapter 2 focuses on female merchants in Potosí, Bolivia, and the intersection of class, language, dress, perceived ethnicity, etc., in how different groups of indigenous women were viewed both socially and legally.
Chapter 3 focuses on several cases from the Mexican Inquisition. As Natives and non-Natives were treated differently for legal and religious purposes, the author examines several cases were people considered to be mestizo claimed Indian status. How could a court legally determine someone’s racial status? The author explores the evidence of lenguaje, calidad, sangre, and crianza (language, social status, blood, and upbringing) to demonstrate that the apparently firm racial castes of New Spain were actually rather fluid and subjective. In the end, there is no definitive answer – the Inquisition ruled that for lack of contrary evidence, it would have to accept their claims to Indian status. If it was impossible centuries ago, it is certainly impossible for us to determine if these three persons were Indians passing as mestizos or mestizos passing as Indians – and more to the point, it is irrelevant.
Chapter 4 explores the complex ethnogenesis of various Indian communities in two widely separate bodeland regions – Nueva Vizacaya, roughly corresponding to northwest Mexico, and Charcas, a region that was primarily in Bolivia but contained bits-and-pieces of several modern nations. Similar to Chapter 3, there comes the issue of who is a “real” Indian. On the one hand, many Indians were uprooted from their ancestral pre-Columbian lands and served as proletarian workers or minor peasants – similar to the masses of mestizo and free black populations throughout the Spanish Empire. Speaking of which, on the other hand it was common for mestizo and free black people to congregate and integrate into “Indian” pueblos. Both of these situations added tremendous complications to the social and legal project of the casta system.
Chapter 5 focuses on free Africans in Minas Gerais, in Brazil, in particular how they negotiated their role and privileges within broader society. The author first looks at marriage, using both case studies and data to examine what social/racial groups people could/did marry into. The author then looks at lay brotherhoods, cofrarias, and how they served as spaces where minority men could form a legitimate community, create a support structure, and advocate for their interests as a collective.
Chapter 6 is directed towards purchasing whiteness. Spanish law valued limpieza de sangre – ancestry “clean” of any “bad blood” – and officially discriminated against pardos and mulatos, banning them from university, prestigious trades, the priesthood, and various civic offices. These instutitions often required proof of “limpieza de sangre”, meaning that many pardos pursued a document called “gracias al sacar” which legally reclassified them as white. Through the enormous amount of paperwork that each petition generated, the author was able to explore the semantic field around natureleza, limpieza, calidad, and defecto, in how people argued for/against membership in a racial category. Meanwhile, even legal whitening still met with social resistance, with the author taking a special focus on the white establishment of Venezuela. The author explores the continued issues of local discrimination, even for pardos and mulatos who had obtained “gracias al sacar”, and the novel arguments around “color” at the close of the colonial period.
Chapter 7 looks at the development of creole nationalism in the Andes, not through an ideological lens, but rather through the “the study of political practices and collective action” (171). The original social divide was between patricians and plebians, with American-born and European-born whites banding together. Following the Tupac Amaru rebellions of the 1780s, the subsequent imposition of Spanish imperial garrisons in the Andes, and the absolutist Bourbon reforms, the divide shifted towards American vs. European. While not losing their distinct visions of class and prestige, creole elites began to act collectively with the non-white inhabitants of the region. The new garrison of Blanquillos from Spain robbed castas and used them as forced labor, made advances on the wives and daughters of the patricians, and frequently committed acts of violence against all classes in the city. This challenged the personal honor of the creole elites, and furthermore threatened their legitimacy by weakening both public order and the food supply, prompting a riot in 1782. In 1785 the last mestizo militia from La Charca was disbanded, depriving the militiamen and the community at large of both a source of income and of the honor and recognition for having served on campaign. When a new Spanish garrison began committing violence against the people, this sparked an even greater riot than the one in 1782. These disturbances marked unrest, not so much at economic and or political policy, so much as a question of identity – “was the city in essence a hidalgo city primarily structured along Hispanic and non-Hispanic sectors, or was it a colonial society divided into peninsulares and vecinos?” (183).
Chapter 8 explores the paradoxical and hybrid identify of El Cobre, Cuba – an abandoned copper mine that was confiscated – along with its slaves – by the Crown in 1670. Upon learning in 1677 (bureaucracy was slow) that they were to be sold, the slaves fled into the mountains and sent a petition to the judge, asking that, as “the black creole natives of said mines and slaves of His Majesty”, that they be permitted to stay, pay tribute, and eventually pay for their freedom. This petition was radical, in that it went past the sale by arguing that slaves possessed territorial rights by virtue of being natives of that community – or in other words, that the community was socially and legally real. Interestingly, the Crown accepted this petition, under the logic that the community would render services as both construction workers and militiamen. I had not realized before reading this essay that Cuba was on a frontier, because I tend to imagine it as just the island. However, in the context of a Caribbean full of French, English, Dutch, Swedish, etc. colonists, this really was a frontier that needed guarding. By the 1700s, El Cobre had acquired its own cabildo and magistrates, which horrified many colonial officials. In 1792 the Crown planned to restore the town to its original owners, and the people to slavery. In response, the town initiated litigation in Madrid and composed a memorial history, claiming that the town originated in an Indian cacique named “El Cobe” who had peacefully submitted to Spanish rule. Eliding the period as mining slaves, the town was effectively equating this mythic Indian settlement to the present African community, arguing that as a community that had peacefully accepted Spanish hegemony they were entitled to the possession of land and limited sovereignty. In 1800, the case concluded – not only would the people not be re-enslaved, but the town was collectively freed from slavery and granted status as a villa.
The final chapter, Chapter 9, explores indigenous citizenship in post-colonial Oaxaca and Yucatán. While both states were overwhelming indigenous in population, there were key demographic differences. Oaxaca was 90% indigenous, and the non-indigenous population exclusively lived in Oaxaca City itself. Yucatán was 70% indigenous, and the non-indigenous population was often scattered among all the cities and villages of Yucatán. The newly-independent Mexican state legally abolished its racial laws, and furthermore established some form of cabildo/alcalde/juez de paz (depending on the time period) in every community. This had the effect of enhancing indigenous power in Oaxaca (by confirming self-sovereignty in the entirely-indigenous towns) and threatening indigenous power in Yucatán (by allowing all citizens to participate in politics, this gave more of an edge to the non-indigenous population).
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