Besides Columbus and his son, the only other sources are the standard cronista accounts of the pacification of the island after Ovando's destruction of Xaragua. Rodrigo Mexia Trillo was sent north of Xaragua where he presumably clashed with Hatuey and other caciques in northern Haiti, ultimately defeating them and establishing Lares de Guahaba. Hatuey fled to Cuba and later resisted that island's conquest when Diego Velazquez arrived in 1511. According to Las Casas, about 50 years earlier Haitians had migrated to Cuba. Oliver has suggested this connection between eastern Cuba and Haiti can be seen in Taino complexes at Pueblo Viejo, Baní, Maisí, and Bayamo (161). It is thus more likely that migrations and cultural influence between peoples of Cuba and Haiti extended much further back in time. This contact must have facilitated the ability of Hatuey to establish himself in Maisí with his followers from Haiti. But besides passing references to Guahaba or Guahava in the campaign of Rodrigo Mexia Trillo and mention of Hatuey's flight to Cuba, little else is known.
Of course, one could not end the tale of Guahaba without following up on Hatuey's political career in Cuba. Established in Maisí, the heroic struggle of Hatuey was repeated by Las Casas. Las Casas, who may have deviated from historical truth to assign to Hatuey a special areito in which the god of the Christians was condemned (gold) and his epic refusal to become a Christian before his execution, is the best known source on this. However, whether or not this areito occurred or if Hatuey truly refused to go to heaven because Christians would be there, is not the point. Hatuey's resistance, which only lasted about 3 months in a guerrilla-styled conflict according to Mira Caballos, failed. But in a letter possibly from 1509 (or closer to 1511), Hatuey was described as "señoreaba la media Cuba" (330). To what extent this was hyperbole is also unclear, but Hatuey may have risen to a position of much greater authority than Maisi, easternmost Cuba. Indeed, his authority may have been more than that of a war-chief as speculated by Loven (504). This could have been reinforced by longstanding ties between eastern Cuba and Haiti with earlier alliances between caciques of the two islands that are not recorded in the Spanish sources. This may have made Hatuey an attractive figure for Cubans to support, particularly if he was a higher-ranking cacique in Guahaba before his flight from Haiti.
Lamentably, his leadership did not coalesce into a larger anti-Spanish front. Yet despite his death by 1512, Hatuey's anti-Spanish movement was carried on by Caguax, who had served under him. Ultimately, the fate of Hatuey's followers is revealed only by 1514, in a letter by Velazquez. In his letter, he alluded to the Indians of "Yacahuey" or "Yahatuey" working for the Spaniards on estancias near the Toha river. Some were even "free Christians" tied to the church of San Salvador. Indians still living in the region in the second half of the 16th century possibly include descendants of Hatuey's people. Lopez de Velasco mentioned "indios" living in Baracoa, Santiago, and Baracoa in the 1570s. To what extent Hatuey was remembered or the links to Guahaba is unanswerable, though Hatuey later became a symbol of Cuban nationalism and anti-colonial struggle.
In conclusion, Guahaba remains yet important chiefdom in the indigenous past of Haiti. The early sources that describe northwestern Haiti are often vague or difficult to correlate with the limited archaeological evidence. It is possible that Hatuey, the legendary cacique from Guahaba, was a paramount chief of the area before fleeing to Cuba. One of the largest known settlements in Haiti was also likely in the territory of Guahaba, though it is impossible to say this was the capital of the province. Similarly hard to answer is the relationship of Guahaba to Marien, its eastern neighbor. If Spanish sources describing Guacanagari as a paramount chief are accurate, Guahaba may have fallen under Marien's sphere of influence. Nonetheless, a very large settlement within Guahaba, possibly a fishing settlement, suggests it was a densely populated area. Guahaba's location in northwestern Haiti also made it ideal for exchange with Cuba and the Bahamas. This factor likely explains why Hatuey was able to lead followers to Cuba and find support from indigenous people there. In the future, archaeologists should revisit the Manigat and Cadet sites studied by Barker. Additional surveys in northwestern Haiti may reveal other sizable settlements in this part of the island.
Bibliography
Arranz Márquez, Luis. Repartimientos y encomiendas en la isla Española: El Repartimiento de Albuquerque de 1514. Madrid: Ediciones Fundación García Arévalo, 1991.
Anacaona's Gift: Cotton and the woven arts of the 11th to 17th century Caribbean by Joanna Ostapkowicz is a must-read for anyone interested in the material culture and history of the indigenous peoples of the Caribbean. Despite the paucity of extant materials made of cotton, the archival sources, Spanish chronicles, ethnographic analogies with South American peoples, and close analysis of ceramics and indigenous sculpture reveal often neglected aspects of Taino textile production and weaving traditions. Ostapkowicz presents compelling evidence for cotton production and weaving as one of great importance for the indigenous peoples economically, socially and politically and religiously. Cotton, as a source of material for wrapping cemis or for making hats, caps, naguas, masks, crowns, belts, capes, arm and leg bands, hammocks, burial shrouds, was undoubtedly a specialist activity for the most elaborate and best products. This made it an extension of cacical power or authority, particularly if the caciques controlled the storehouses where cotton was stored before redistributing it through their families, communities or other caciques. It is possible that elite women may have been the ones responsible for producing the best quality cotton goods, such as those using gold, shell, stone, feathers, and other products to produce refined cemis, belts, or elite regalia. Indeed, their elite status likely freed them from some of the other daily domestic duties of women who likely wove most of the cloth used by the indigenous societies of the island.
Much of the book analyzes closely each example or type of item made with or using cloth in so-called Taino and Kalinago cultures. This close analysis includes basketry, too, for additional examples of weaving use fiber materials. But the bulk of the analysis focuses on types of clothing and the application of cotton materials for wrapping or constructing materials like belts or cemi materials. The artistic and labor skills required to have produced some of the best examples must have been astonishing, which suggests there were specialized textile workers. Similarly, the production of the most elaborate stools (duhos) and platters or wooden objects similarly required experienced workers. Their close association with caciques, especially in the production of items and goods that, at their most refined level, were for elites, attests to a degree of power and hierarchy in the indigenous Caribbean chiefdoms more complex than many realize. Perhaps interpreting too literally Columbus and other chroniclers who often emphasized the nudity of the Taino, scholars have truly missed another dimension of the complex material culture. Indeed, some of these elaborate works featured thousands of beads, different weaving patterns, complex geometric patterns, and skillful use of gold or feathers. The arm bands, caps, skirts, and hammocks, sadly, have not survived, but the level of skill required to produce them (and in quantity) are a testament to the relatively high level of production.
An area not fully explored however, and this is due to our limited sources in terms of surviving artifacts, is the extent to which the entire population of the cacicazgo had access to certain goods, like hammocks. Moscoso, for example, seemed to think hammocks were not universally used by all Taino. Similarly, the shortages of hammocks and the importation of cloth from Europe (not enough in the early colonial period, but a source for hammocks for settlers who took to the hammock) deserves further inquiry. To what extent were indigenous weavers in Jamaica learning to make European-styled clothes? Was there an increase in the scale of production for the "market" during European colonial rule, despite the lack of interest by Spaniards for cotton plantations in places like Hispaniola? What about Xaragua, when its tribute to Columbus was in cotton and included extra cotton treasures give by Anacaona? In other words, what were the mechanisms for the increase in textile production before colonialism? Was Xaragua, already noted for its cotton, producing a surplus for trade with other parts of Hispaniola, Cuba, and Jamaica? And to what extent were Taino products possibly exported south to the Lesser Antilles or the South American mainland for items like guanin?
Lewis Hanke's The First Social Experiments in America is a problematic yet fascinating account of the attempts to "reform" an Amerindian population to live liked "civilized" 16th century Spanish peasants. Since it is a dated work originally written in the 1930s, the author draws interesting analogies between these early attempts at "civilizing" a colonized people with 20th century attempts in Africa and elsewhere. In addition, the author seems to also have accepted theories of racial difference in intelligence or mental development. Consequently, he assumes the experiencia and attempted reforms in which Taino Indians were an experiment to see if Indians were capable of living "politically" like people with reason, were perhaps doomed to failure. However, in the most detailed example of the author, the experiencia in the 1530s near Bayamo, Cuba, the social experiment largely failed due to the corrupt administrator, Guerrero, who abused, exploited, and neglected the Indians placed under his supervision and failed to live up to his end of the arrangement. So, can one truly say from that experience that the Indians of the Greater Antilles lacked the ability to live as people with reason?
Sure, perhaps the ultimate aim of these social experiments, which was to turn the Indians into peasants of Castile, was likely impossible in the colonial conditions of its era, but some of the colonists interviewed by the Jeronymites in the 1510s were able to acknowledge that the indigenous people of Hispaniola were capable of agriculture, living in communities, and having political order before the Spanish conquest. Where Hanke's book is more useful is in its references and the occasional commentary. While later historians such as Guitar and Anderson-Cordova have used similarly sources on the Taino response to Spanish conquest and the encomienda system in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, Hanke uses these sources from a slightly different perspective. Since he was not interested in the social experiments from the perspective of the Indians themselves, his lens was quite different. But intriguingly, even he found evidence of resistance among the indigenes of the Spanish Caribbean. For instance, Miguel de Pasamonte's opposition to freedom of Indians due to the danger of them being friends with the black population illustrates the severity of Spanish fears of Indian and African alliances at the time of the Jeronymite Interrogatory.
Similarly, the experiment of Ovando, which began in 1508 when he granted repartimientos to 2 educated caciques, Alonso de Caceres and Pedro Colon, only to see that these Western-educated Taino caciques failed to uplift or turn their charges into civilized Indians. Instead of viewing them as failures, perhaps these literate and educated caciques understood and knew how their authority was based or rooted in pre-conquest norms and kinship, thus they could not or would not force their assigned Indians to live like Spaniards. Even the cacique Don Francisco of Bonao and the "doctor" of Santiago acted similarly, which may illustrate again how some Taino elites sought to use their Spanish knowledge and education to protect their communities. One wonders similarly about the 3 villages of free Indians in the "experiment" of Rodrigo de Figueroa in Hispaniola. Of course, like the later experiencia in Cuba, Figueroa was accused of corruption and the villagers were almost certainly exploited and abused by the Spanish administrators assigned to watch over them. Perhaps even the Francisco de Figueroa who received 16 Indians as experimental gold miners, to see if Indians were capable of mining for gold without being coerced to do so by the Spanish, could be an example of Indian resistance since they only produced a paltry amount of gold and chose to organize their time and labor in a manner closer to preconquest patterns.
Although Fernando Ortiz's La musica y los areitos de los indios de Cuba is rather outdated, it still offers some very interesting insights on the areito and Cuba's indigenous musical influences. Written after his also dated essay on hurricane as a god to the Taino or indigenes of the Antilles, Ortiz sets out to establish the character of the areito, its social, religious and economic functions, and the weakness or general absence of indigenous influences in Cuba's music today. A large part of this is demolishing the wrong-headed notion of a surviving areito by Anacaona, which is nothing but a song or chant of Kikongo origin and which was sung in colonial-era Haiti. Interestingly, Ortiz sees the maraca as a possible example of indigenous influence on Cuban music but otherwise, Cuba's music is largely of European and African origin. The areito itself is demonstrated in its various facets, including drawing upon accounts of it we are not familiar with (such as one describing Indians in Trinidad, Cuba, singing and dancing during a hurricane). Ortiz, drawing from the Spanish chroniclers and ethnographic analogies with other indigenous people, sees the areito as something which was associated with war, divination, genealogies, history, and cemis. And, perhaps, like Moscoso once wrote, as "forced" redistribution that helped prevent the accumulation of too much wealth for the elites.
That songs were taught to the sons of caciques suggests the rise of rank and status as important parts of the areito, particularly for those who hosted them due to the exorbitant costs involved (in providing food and drink). The areito's religious associations, particularly with the prominence of behiques and the association with decisions that affected the collective were particularly important. What we found interesting however, was the notion of some areitos as rites of passage, an idea substantiated by indigenous cultures in other parts of the Americas. Sadly, we lack any real notion of what the music really sounded like, but since it was mainly based on voice and rhythm, Ortiz rejects notions that see fine melodies in Cuban music as a legacy of the indigenous past. For him, Cuba's musical and dance heritage is of European and African origins. One wonders what he would make of the theory of the ceremonia del cordon being partly influenced by the areito? After all, indigenous Cubans did survive for a long time in Cuba, perhaps retaining aspects of the areito dance long after the dissolution of Taino communities.
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Similarly important for understanding Taino society is the prominence of anthropomorphic features of several duhos. For Ostapkowicz, this emphasis is likely linked to ancestors and or cemis, as past cacique ancestors could also become cemis. By incorporating them into the duho, they literally and symbolically act as the foundation or support for the sitter. The sexual genitalia, linked to procreation, may have further supported this view. Moreover, the symbolism of trees with roots, trunks and branches associated with stages of life and connections to the subterranean world was likely linked to spirits, or seen as embodying or housing a spirit or being. Ostapkowicz, though skeptical of drawing too heavily on Pané, cites numerous episodes involving trees, wood, or, in one case, fruit. A tree moving on it own, and speaking with a behique through cohoba, can direct the shaman/carver into cutting it. Moreover, cemis carved of wood were also believed to be able to move on their own and escape from caciques or communities they were not interested in staying with. If ancestors were similarly venerated and could become cemis, their representation in a duho would become a powerful numinous quality that justified the sitter's right to office. Through sitting on the duho that was explicitly linked to powerful ancestors, and using the same duho in cohoba rituals or placing it in caves, the owner asserted their power to intercede between the human and other worlds in the Taino cosmos. In other words, elaborate duhos can be "read" as powerful texts of rulership.
Jalil Sued Badillo's essay, "The Theme of the Indigenous in the National Projects of the Hispanic Caribbean", published in Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology and History in Non-Western Settings should be required reading for anyone and everyone interested in Taino revivalism, Puerto Rican cultural identity, the rise of the mixed-race Creole culture of the peasantry by the 17th century, and nationalism in the Spanish Caribbean setting. Sued Badillo makes a convincing case for the survival, persistence and cultural reproduction of indigenous Puerto Rican and Caribbean peoples well after the mid-1500s. But, over time, this social and cultural reproduction became something new that people of European and African origin also participated in, leading to the distinct Creole identities of Puerto Rico, Cuba, and the Dominican Republic. This, in turn, became a central theme for the construction of national identities, as the peasantry best represented the continuity with the indigenous past and the ""national" character. As illustrated in Sued Badillo's article, 19th century Puerto Rican nationalists called the jibaros of Borinquen the children of Agueybana.
For our interests, Sued Badillo's documentation of "Indian" communities after the middle of the 16th century was most important. It was not solely in Cuba, where "Indian" pueblos and barrios existed long after 1600. For instance, on Hispaniola, he mentions the "Indian" pueblo of Boya, an attempt by Hispaniola encomienda "Indians" to form another town, and the prominence of "Indians" and "mestizos" in western Hispaniola, where smuggling and contraband with other Europeans was common, leading to some mestizos and "mulatos" becoming wealthy. Indeed, this probably explains why Samuel de Champlain, writing in 1599, mentions "Indians" in Hispaniola who trade with the French. These "Indians" and mestizos who continued to trade with Europeans and develop their own contraband economy were also part of the creation of a new creole identity on Hispaniola as "Indians" and mestizos were joined by people of African descent that resisted the colonial government in Santo Domingo. One can see the rustic "monteros" of the 19th and 20th century Dominican Republic emerging from these forebears.
Moreover, something similar occurred in colonial Puerto Rico just as colonial officials were proclaiming the disappearance of "Indians" and mestizos. Some did so, as pointed out by Sued Badillo, to mask the fact that they continued to purchase and exploit enslaved "Indians" from other lands long after the New Laws of 1542. Such an honor appears to apply to the governor of Puerto Rico in the 1560s. Sued Badillo points out the persistence of "Indian" and mestizo communities such as the Quebrada de Dona Catalina, near San Juan. Other "Indians" and mestizos were scattered and pushed onto marginal lands and shifted into the piedmont overlooking the coastal area. These communities, joined by people of European and African origin, gradually increased in population, engaged in subsistence agriculture and commercial exchange for local and foreign markets, and continued to influence colonial society.
Sued Badillo's analysis of the "Indians" of Mona is likewise enlightening, for it points to indigenous survival on an island which engaged in smuggling, food production (cassava) for other Spanish colonies, and their eventual relocation to the hills of San German and nearby regions sometime before 1685. Unfortunately, Sued Badillo does not explain or speculate on what happened to the "Indian" pueblo of Cibuco, but we are of the opinion that Mona "Indians" and the former residents of the 16th century Cibuco settlement must have both ended up in the region that would eventually be named La Indiera. Perhaps the reappearance of "Indians" on censuses in the late 18th century in the San German area is related to descendants of Cibuco, Mona, and "Indian" or mestizo laborers and convicts transported to Puerto Rico from Venezuela and Mexico in the late 1600s and 1700s, but the censuses do not provide adequate information to ascertain this. An alternative and equally speculative theory could be related to land control and access, as mestizos" and people who may have had distant "Indian" ancestry in western Puerto Rico tried to defend their property or local autonomy in the late 18th century and early 19th century.
Overall, Sued Badillo's persuasive article demonstrates not only "Indian" survival" in the Spanish Caribbean, but significant "Indian" contributions to the rise of the "mestizo" creole culture. He does not seek to romanticize it, as it was not egalitarian and suffered from some of the same racial hierarchies and problems inherent to its colonial setting. Nor does Sued Badillo seek to exaggerate the population of "Indians" or mistakenly equate jibaros with "Indians" as some Taino revivalists argue. But the indigenous population and its racially mixed-progeny provided much of the basic structure of the nascent creole identity, even as officials denied the existence of "Indians" and even "mestizos" disappear. This perspective was adopted by historians who failed to see how the social and economic conditions of the Spanish Caribbean in the late 1500s and early 1600s favored "Indians" and mestizos through contraband trade, migration away from colonial towns, and a degree of autonomy that allowed for population growth. As for the fate of "mestizos" in the region, Schwartz's article suggests it is very likely that many mestizos became whites (or perhaps even "blancos de la tierra), while others were lumped into the "pardo" category in a process seen for much of Puerto Rico by Abbad y Lasierra in the 18th century. More works remains to be done on this process, as well as the experiences of "Indians" in La Indiera during the late 18th century.
Works Cited
Castanha, Tony. The Myth of Indigenous Caribbean Extinction: Continuity and Reclamation in Borikén (Puerto Rico). New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011.
Schmidt, Peter R., and Thomas C. Patterson, eds. Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology and History in Non-western Settings. Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press, 2003.
Schwartz, Stuart B. “Spaniards, ‘Pardos’, and the Missing Mestizos: Identities and Racial Categories in the Early Hispanic Caribbean.” NWIG: New West Indian Guide / Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 71, no. 1/2 (1997): 5–19.
