Thursday, March 28, 2024

An Account of the Antiquities of Peru

 

Although far shorter and featuring cruder artwork, Juan de Santa Cruz Pachacuti-Yamqui Salcamayhua's "An Account of the The Antiquities of Peru" is a fascinating historical source on the Incas. Written from the perspective of an elite Indian Christian, it offers an interesting perspective on the precolonial past with some similarities and differences from Guaman Poma's more detailed chronicle. Unlike Guaman Poma, there is no indication that this Indian writer had an obvious political motive for writing his brief account, except perhaps as a Christianized indigenous perspective on the rise and fall of the Incas. Indeed, the author's Christianity has profoundly shaped and perhaps distorted the history of the Incas who, at various times, were presented as opponents to the huacas, idolatry and demons which had plunged Peru into heathenism before the Spanish conquest. 

It would appear that our chronicler hear believed Viracocha may have been St. Thomas, the apostle, an idea also found in Guaman Poma's work. According to this Christianized interpretation of Viracocha, the apostle promoted the worship of the Creator or universal Creator while opposing idolatry and the worship of huacas throughout Peru. This Tonapa, another name reported for this figure Juan de Santa Cruz merges with St. Thomas, is attributed an important role in the origin of the Incas since it is his staff that is inherited by Manco Capac. In other words, the Incas were, early on, at least, exposed to some ideas of a single God or Creator. The chronicler, however, appears to consistently mistake the worship for the Sun with the worship of the Creator, causing a number of problems in his portrayal of this or that Inca ruler as an enemy to the huacas. Nonetheless, some of his reports of Incas opposed to huacas from one province or another may reflect historical moments in which the religious policy of the Inca state opposed those of other peoples or provinces. Other moments in the lives of the Inca seem a little questionable or perhaps of Biblical inspiration. For instance, the report of Manco Capac sacrificing his son to receive a sign from the Creator bears an uncanny resemblance to the Judeo-Christian Abraham. 

Overall, this brief account provides the usual overview of the lives and deeds of the Incas, with some occasionally rich detail, report of a miracle or exceptional event. The Incas were occasionally corrupt and unjust, abusing, exploiting and promoting idolatry. Others, however, established good laws and supported the worship of the Creator. By the end of the Empire, Huascar, portrayed as more sinful and incompetent than Atahualpa, is presented as so corrupt as to allow men to have their way with the virgins in the square of Cuzco. The Spanish conquest, therefore, helps to reestablish monotheism and the "true faith" as the "Viracochas" return with the Bible. Perhaps the believe that Tonapa was St. Thomas was a way to reconcile the brutal shock of two different worlds when Pizarro arrived? By accepting Christianity, they were just returning to the ways of Tonapa that they had deviated from under the Incas. Does this also help to understand what the sources are indicating when they claim Tonapa carried a book with him during his travels? Was this mysterious "book" in precolonial Peru a reference to what they would later know as the Bible? Or some other type of holy text and writing besides the usual records in khipu? 

Wednesday, March 27, 2024

Aji Caribe


An amazing salsa number from a Venezuelan group, Septeto Karibe, this song includes some irresistible percussion.

Tuesday, March 26, 2024

Bam pam san douce


A classic mereng recorded by Dodof Legros. Trying to find the origins of this song is difficult, but a song of the same name was published by Fernand Frangeul. If so, this means the song probably dates back to the early 1900s. Did Legros sing an altered or modernized arrangement of it? All we learn from Constantin Dumerve is that the piece was a popular tune.

Monday, March 25, 2024

Polo de Ondegardo's Report

The unfortunately brief report of Polo de Ondegardo, included in Markham's Narratives of the Rites and Laws of the Yncas in a probably problematic translation, is an interesting read on the Inca Empire and colonial Peru. Written by one who had traveled and benefited from close observation of Inca records (quipu), monuments, shrines and traditions, Polo de Ondegardo's report and lost writings must have been a major source of information for subsequent Spanish chroniclers. While too brief to offer a full breakdown on the Incas, de Ondegardo reasonably traces the origin of the Incas back 350-400 years before his time. Relying on their memory of their history as preserved in their quipus, he traces Inca expansion to the successes of Pachacuti and his successors. Indeed, according to him, the wars of expansion of the Incas were recorded in the registers of the Incas, presumably the quipu. What is somewhat unique, at least from what we can recall of our readings of the chronicles on the Incas, is the allusion to the mother of Pachacuti. In Polo de Ondegardo's retelling, Pachacuti's mother had a dream in which the initial success of the Chancas against the Incas was due to the Incas showing greater veneration to the Sun than the universal Creator. Thus, in this version of that pivotal moment in Inca history, Pachacuti's mother was important for her dream which led to the Incas showing greater dedication to the Creator. 

The rest of the brief report offers a number of observations on the Inca system of taxation, tribute, land ownership in ayllus, and the administrative success of the state. Polo de Ondegardo clearly was describing these things since the Spanish Crown succeeded the Incas as the legitimate rulers of Peru, and borrowing from the Inca system offered a model for creating an orderly colonial system. Instead of, say, taxation that ignored the precolonial system, which led to an unjust burden, following the Inca practice could pave the way for a more stable colony. Indeed, the Inca system of tribute was, in some ways, less onerous and more favorable to the common good. In fact, those who worked the lands for the service of religion or the Inca, ate and drink at the cost of the Inca. In addition, the impressive efficiency of the Inca postal system and their custom of preserving forests, hunting grounds, and protecting the population of their livestock all seemed like excellent practices the Spanish should adopt. One cannot help but detect some admiration for the Inca when de Ondegardo reports that the Incas sometimes received fish from the coast of Tumbez via their roads and postal system. 

Sunday, March 24, 2024

Jean Fouchard and the Meringue

Fernand Frangeul from Histoire de la musique en Haïti by Constantin Dumervé

Jean Fouchard's La méringue, danse nationale d'Haïti is another one of his interesting and infuriating works on Haitian history and culture. In this work, Fouchard focuses on the méringue as a national dance intimately linked to the history and culture of Haiti since the colonial period. Tracing its development from the chica, calenda, and the fusion of sorts that occurred between the chica of African origin (probably of Central African provenance) and the menuet (and contredanse), the early antecedent of the méringue, the carabinier, was likely born by the late 18th century. Surely, the carabinier was around before its earliest written attestation in 1824. Furthermore, Fouchard's deconstruction of the legendary story of the carabinier's creation during the 1805 siege of Santo Domingo is quite persuasive. The campaign was brief and while that particular mistress of the Emperor was likely present for the campaign, other sources point to the popular dance resembling the contredanse already popular in the balls attended by Dessalines in 1805. In other words, Dessalines, an avid dancer and man with many mistresses in various towns across the nation, was indeed fond of the carabinier. But the carabinier appears to have already been in existence before the 1805 campaign and was, based on descriptions of its rhythm and movement, a creolized descendant of the chica with European menuet or contredanse influences. The voluptuous, sensuous chica and its fusion with dances and instruments of European origin mastered by some slaves and free people of color were popular, alongside with the sacred and profane Vodou and other forms of African dance. 

Thus establishing the origin of the earliest méringue by the end of the colonial era, Fouchard posits that the meringue developed from the carabinier Fouchard associates the early carabinier with the bal or balanced rhythmic version particularly popular with Henri Christophe's court and the carnaval version that was used by the carnaval bands, for coundialle, and the type of music commonly heard in the streets. Rejecting theories of a significant Spanish influence, at least before the 1920s with the invasion of jazz, Cuban music, and Dominican merengue, Fouchard more reasonably asserts a Haitian origin of the Dominican merengue. Indeed, citing Dominican sources, which trace the origin of their merengue to the 1820s, and appearing as merengue after 1844, Fouchard believes the Haitian carabinier was the basis for the méringue and merengue. Like the later méringue of Haiti, carabinier was also associated with popular songs and satires lampooning politicians, mistresses of powerful politicians, or others. Fouchard cites a few examples of these poking fun at the Haitian president in 1844 as well as others poking fun at various late 19th century or early 20th century presidents. In addition, some carabinier-méringue may have melodies that originally developed from French berceuses that possibly traveled to Cuba and Louisiana with the exodus of Saint Dominguans during the Haitian Revolution. Fouchard mentions a few interesting examples of this that traveled to Cuba with Saint Dominguans then later returned to Haiti.

By the 1840s, Haitian meringue and merengue were taking form. In Haiti, carabinier was still used to describe the dance in the 1860s by Ducas Hyppolite and Spencer St. John. Nonetheless, Fouchard postulates that the introduction of new instruments by the 1840s and the suspicion around the word carabinier after Izidor Gabriel's conspiracy favored the use of the word meringue. The clarinet especially became popular for bands playing meringue music. Indeed, an early example of a Haitian composition using the word meringue is a song composed by Occide Jeanty's father, Occilius, in 1860. As further evidence against the Dominican origin of the Haitian meringue is the Dominican versions's absence in the list of Dominican influences Ducas Hyppolite encountered in 1863 at Mirebalais. If the Dominican version was the origin of the Haitian meringue, why was it not present near the Haitian border in the 1860s? The Spanish influences, particularly from danza or the habanera, appear to actually have been limited to some of the salon pianists like Ludovic Lamothe, and not representative of the majority of popular meringues such as "Nibo" or the music of Candio. 

Therefore, the Haitian meringue was simply a modified version of the old carabinier dance already so popular since the end of the colonial period in Haiti. Its name, according to Fouchard, is not of French origin but may have derived from the mouringue dance of the Bara of Madagascar. Sadly, the evidence for this is not as strong as Fouchard wants us to believe, though there were enslaved Africans from Mozambique and Madagascar in Saint Domingue. Nonetheless, it is certainly possible that the name for the dance comes from Africa while its actual development was a local creation in Saint Domingue and early Haiti. The fact that by the mid-1800s a dance called meringue or merengue was found in Haiti, Cuba, the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico cannot be a coincidence. The name may indeed derive from the accepted French source, but became the name for similar dances based on the creolized contredanse that was already present around the Caribbean. 

The rest of Fouchard's observations on Haitian music are interesting yet perhaps limited by his nationalist bias. In his desire to construct Haitian music's legitimacy on the foundation of tradition, he sees the jazz, Cuban, and compas as deviations, especially the first two whose consumption spread in Haiti at the same time as the US Occupation and Jean Price-Mars's indigenism. That said, there is a kind of irony to this moment where just as some Haitians were looking to Vodou, folklore and what was considered traditionally Haitian, the youth were drawn to jazz, Cuban styles, and the spread of radio and recorded music favored this. The meringue, of course, stayed relevant throughout Haitian history. Indeed, even our elites with their bovarysme collectif still preserved it as the closer of concerts and dances while the masses never forgot it. Indeed, even the contredanse and carabinier are remembered in the countryside dances. Ultimately, our "national dance" is closely linked to the history of our people, but has not been static. One wishes Fouchard had been able to explore more deeply the various incarnations of the meringue since the mid-19th century until the 1970s, exploring how its popular and elite manifestations diverged and their relationship with other forms of dance in Haiti. 

Friday, March 22, 2024

Juan de Betanzos and the Incas

Juan de Betanzos's Narrative of the Incas is yet another chronicle by a Spaniard on the history of the Inca Empire. The advantage of this chronicle is that it was composed in the 1550s and its author was married to a woman who was a mistress of Pizarro and a wife to Atahualpa. Through her and her elite Inca relatives and connections, Betanzos undoubtedly received many traditions and narratives on the past of the Inca Empire. By and large, he provides what became the standard account of Inca origins beginning with Pacaritambo and the early Inca kings or rulers If one reads between the lines, there may be a story of conflict among the 4 brothers and their wives who left Pacaritambo since one of them, Ayar Cache, was tricked into returning to the cave and trapped.. He has less to say on the period preceding Pachacuti and that final century of imperial expansion. Basically, Pachacuti established all the greatest aspects of Inca civilization, laws and urban planning in Cuzco and beyond. Indeed, Betanzos credits him with rebuilding Cuzco, establishing storehouses, building the Temple of the Sun, and probably with the practice of reciting narrative poems on the exploits of past Inca rulers at their statues. His role in the creation of an Empire after the defeat of the Chancas is undoubtedly idealized. Indeed, according to Betanzos's informants, Pachacuti was so great that he applied the laws equally to nobles and commoners alike. 

The rest of the first part of the chronicle covers the conquest of Quito, wars and conflicts against rebel provinces or peoples, the Andesuyo campaign against Amazonian peoples, and Pachacuti's prediction of the Spanish conquest after the reign of Huayna Capac. The ethnographic details reported in the Andesuyo campaign are fascinating since the description of its people reveals similar customs with those of indigenous people in the Caribbean (storing the bones of deceased relatives on the top of the wall of one's home). Perhaps the Incas also saw the "naked" Amazonians as savage, too, since they were reported to be lazy cannibals. Yet from their region gold dust, jaguars, parrots, amaro snakes and Amazonian people were brought to Cuzco. I could be entirely wrong here, but I wonder if Guaman Poma de Ayala's reference to an Inca ruler who could transform into a jaguar was actually a reference to the brother of Topa Inca Yupanque. According to Juan de Betanzos, this brother was famous for killing a jaguar and then actually ate Amazonian enemies after their rebellion. Maybe there's some kinda mystical or shamanistic belief that this guy, Inca Achache, actually "became" a jaguar when he killed/ate enemies. And somehow Guaman Poma mixed him up with his brother? This leads one to think about the subtle changes in the portrayal of the Incas in the different oral traditions.

The rest of the chronicle covers the conflict between Huascar and Atahualpa and the Spanish conquest. Perhaps due to the bias of his wife, who was in Atahualpa's camp, Huascar is portayed as an alcoholic and incompetent ruler who triggered the disastrous war with his half-brother. Atahualpa, also apparently drunk at inopportune times, was more skilled and had excellent generals and warriors that defeated Huascar. The Spanish, of course, benefit from the confusion caused by the belief of some that they were viracochas and the recent war between Atahualpa and Huascar. The long, murderous section on this violent end of the empire largely ignores the conflict between Pizarro and Almagro but ends while describing the Vilcabamba Incas. Sadly, a black woman of Diego Mendez, who warned the Inca that his Spanish allies were about to betray him, was killed after the assassination of the Inca. Overall, some of Betanzos's account of this period is difficult to follow and certainly reflects the bias of his informants. But it is interesting to think about what would have happened if Atahualpa had not been captured by Pizarro. Would he have finished the move of the capital from Cuzco to Quito? Would the war-torn empire have been able to recover and survive longer into the 16th century?

Thursday, March 21, 2024

Tombouctou et l'empire Songhay

Sékéné Mody Cissoko's Tombouctou et l'empire Songhay is a fascinating yet problematic work. Originally published in the 1970s, and by an author who accepted the theories of Cheikh Anta Diop and believed in the need of connecting postcolonial African nation-states to their precolonial past, the Songhay Empire is presented as the apogee of Western Sudanese civilization. We are led to believe or accept a number of premises, including that the Songhay state was a modernizing one and that the pyramidal character of buildings and mosque construction in the region may be a reflection of connections with Ancient Egypt. Cissoko also asserts that the level of learning at Timbuktu was comparable to a university, despite his acknowledgement that the city lacked the madrasas characteristic of Egypt or the Maghreb and the decentralized nature of instruction which emphasized Islamic religious education or law. In addition, Timbuktu, as the intellectual and economic capital of the vast Sudanese empire, characterized the Islamic influence that was largely marginal or absent in the South and east of the Empire. Indeed, Cissoko's work reflects this dichotomous view of Songhay civilization as one torn between the "high" Islamic culture and literacy of the towns and western provinces versus the found of traditional beliefs and religions in areas like Dendi. In fact, Sonni Ali's infamous relations with the ulama of Timbuktu is presented as an example of anticlericalism while the Sonni were and are associated with magic or sorcery in the "traditional" Songhay culture. 

Despite it's flaws, perhaps Cissoko's synthesis is worthwhile as a testament to the methodology and value postcolonial African historians practiced with regard to the Western Sudan. Cissoko clearly sought to balance the usual written sources with oral traditions and ethnographic work based on his own work and that of scholars like Jean Rouch and Boubou Hama. While it was not especially successful in Cissoko's case, and perhaps he overstates the "clash" between "animist" traditional religion and Islam, Cissoko's study raises a number of relevant historical questions and contemporary dilemmas. For instance, is it true that the Songhay Empire, at its zenith under the Askias, created a modern state in which the rulership was independent and dissociated from the individual with a greater degree of political centralization? The evidence utilized by our author, mainly restricted to the Tarikhs, al-Maghili's responses to Askia Muhammad and Leo Africanus, do not suffice to adequately answer this question. Furthermore, if the masses of the population of Songhay were slaves, why was it not a slave society? Surely the lack of sufficient documentation makes the demographic analysis of Cissoko questionable, particularly in his high estimates for Timbuktu's population. 

Furthermore, one could ask if it is a fair portrayal of the bourgeoisie marchande in Cissoko's analysis? Was it true that they did not invest their profits locally into things like land, new enterprises, or industries that could have revolutionized the economy? If 16th century Songhay truly enjoyed such a prolonged period of commercial success and growth, is it fair to make Cissoko's generalization given our paucity of sources? One can see how Cissoko thought addressing that question would be rather relevant to 20th century postcolonial Malian or African readers of his work. As their postcolonial states sought economic growth or development with different models, perhaps Cissoko's critique of the alleged wastefulness of the Askias and Songhay elites had more to do with the modern political and economic elites in Mali. That said, Cissoko's study does offer a (dated) comprehensive overview of the Songhay Empire that raises a number of interesting questions. We shall endeavor to explore some of those questions with Michał Tymowski. Subsequent authors have perhaps more delicately sought a balance in the "traditional" Songhay worldview and the Islamic culture represented by Timbuktu and Djenne in the Western Sudan.