Topic 6: Gender Empowerment and Family in a global context… (perception/acts of gender equity, double shift, home-host dichotomy); 2. Topic 7a: Understanding Migration and Incorporation (push-pull and structural perspectives); 3. Topic 7b: Nationalism, Nativism, and Acts of Exclusion (Nativism); 4. Topic 8: Transnationalism and Nepantla (identity and community formation in-between worlds); 5. Topic 9: Empowerment (Challenging unfair borders and privileging the margins as a site of justice). Elaborate the main themes/concepts for three weekly topics (see topics above: “6–9”); and discuss how the topics relate to each other. [Each topic discussed can cite 3 readings for the topic in attachment flies. and final . You can include other reading sources,. The paper must be about 5-6pages, have formal margins, double-spaced, 12-point font size, and in addition include a title page and bibliography (choose a style—e.g., ASA, APA, Chicago— and be consistent in listings). Remember to number your pages. Plagiarizing (copying/using others’ work without acknowledgment/quotes) will result in an automatic course failure and administrative discipline.
Topic 6: Gender Empowerment and Family in a global context… (perception/acts of gender equity, double shift, home-host dichotomy); 2. Topic 7a: Understanding Migration and Incorporation (push-pul
DRAFT Racial Spoils from Native Soils DRAFT DRAFT Racial Spoils fromNative Soils How Neoliberalism Steals Indigenous Lands in Highland Peru Arthur Scarritt LEXINGTON BOOKS La nham • Boulde r • Ne w York • London DRAFT Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com Unit A, Whitacre Mews, 26-34 Stannary Street, London SE11 4AB Copyright © 2015 by Lexington Books All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data TO COME. Aesthetics and modernity : essays / by Agnes Heller ; edited by John Rundell. Te st test test test test test test test test test test test test. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7391-4131-1 (cloth : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-7391-4132-8 (pbk. : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-7391-4133-5 (electronic) 1. Aesthetics. 2. Postmodernism. I. Rundell, John F. II. Title. BH39.H445 2011 111′.85–dc222010037457 TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992. Printed in the United States of America DRAFT To Margo, Luther, Fred, and especially Jill who has been there since thebeginning. DRAFT DRAFT Contents Acknowledgments ix 1 Introduction: How Does Racism Impoverish Indigenous People? 1 Huaytabamba In the Village Neoliberalizing through Race Peru: Authoritarianism and Racial Splintering Institutionalized Racism Indirect Rule and Native Racial Subordination Andean Racism through Time Book Overview Book Cover Notes 2 Historical Arc: Centuries/Sentries of Contested Racism 19 Conquest and Colonization, 1532–1820 The Toledo Reforms Andean Insurrection Independence, Pacific, and Civil Wars, 1820–1895 Nation Formation and the Third Race, 1895–1968 The Agrarian Reform, 1969–1980 Note 3 Exploiting through the Guise of Helping 35 Exploitative Development The Developmentalist Indian Question Exclusion through Developmentalist Inclusion Institutional Racialization Cultural Racialization Institutionalized Cultural Capital Making Racism Normal Conclusion: The Racist Success of Failed Development Notes 4 Evangelical Ethnic Revitalization 59 Evangelical Social Change The Evangelical Rise The Evangelical Worldview Contents DRAFT The Evangelical Revolution Evangelism Takes Change Evangelical Impact Creative Resistance Notes 5 Racially Reinventing Privatization 75 The Neoliberal Indian Question Privatization’s Strategic Lie Why Lie? Mustering the Urbanites Land Law Promoted Coercion Comunidad Resistance Notes 6 The Privatization Battle 93 Alienating Villagers from the City Cutting Urban Socioeconomic Support Undermining Villagers from Within Severing Political Support The Fall of the Church Racism Conquers Democracy Coup d’Etat, Coup de Grâce Neoliberalism as a Ritual of Subordination Notes 7 The Localities and Globalities of Racism 113 The Political Economy of Global Racism Creative Resistance Note Bibliography 125 About the Author 133 DRAFT Acknowledgments [B02.0] In its long gestation, this book has amassed many debts. I first need to thank everyone in the village. I hope I was at least mildly entertaining and not too much of a burden. Special thanks go to the man I call Pedro here. Tercero and Consuela initially invited me to the village and gener- ously hosted me, opening up not only their home but also the complex village history to me, thank you. I am much obliged to all the folks at CEDAP who provided such incredible openness and my initial connec- tion to the village. Rómula Haritza and Max Carrasco in particularly eased the daily toils of living. Thanks to Edilberto Jimenez Quispe who I thank in more detail in chapter 1. Jaymie Heilman and Caroline Yezer were fantastic roommates in Ayacucho, sharing peanut butter, debating perspectives, and otherwise dealing with the traumas of fieldwork. I blow you a wet supi siki. [B02.1] Undertaking an ethnographic study through the Wisconsin Sociology Department proved a strange and perhaps unwise experience. I would not be the first or nearly the most prestigious person to say it is a place one has to survive rather than embrace. I had many good folks in my corner, though. Thanks go out especially to my advisor Gay Seidman and my committee Jane Collins, Karl Zimmerer, Jess Gilbert, and Phil Gorski. Is it odd to say that my dissertation defense was one of the best experi- ences I had in graduate school? My greatest resources were—and contin- ue to be—my peers. Special thanks to Mark Harvey and Brad Manzolillo. When are we going to New Orleans again? Jeff Rickert: I will never forget those early years of struggle, and your shaking hand bombing the coffee all over the keyboard in our windowless computer lab. I am still mad at you for dying. Susie (née McDermott) Mannon, you were incredibly gen- erous with that big old brain of yours. Thanks for everything. Steve McKay, Molly Martin, Gary Chinn, Dimitri Kessler, Spencer Wood, and Cliff Westfall really helped make graduate school a good place. Brian Dill, thanks the Wisconsin soiree. I feel lucky for our ongoing friendship. Diana Toledo and Scott Barnwell were amazing Madison friends—we will see you and the girls soon. Blake Gillespie and Joy Elizando should get a full paragraph at least—I will just say thanks here and fill in the details when I see you and your family next. [B02.2] Since Wisconsin, I want especially to thank Eduardo Bonilla-Silva for encouraging me in my work. Thank you so much for reaching out. Tony Lucero and Maria Elena García have been unbelievably generous and Acknowledgments DRAFT positive. You have really helped me keep going. Thank you, too, David Stoll for your very positive words and critical readings of my works. And thank you for reviewing this book. Thanks to my editorial team at Lex- ington Books: Joseph Parry, Sarah Craig, Jana Hodges-Kluck, and Jay Song. Speaking of reviewers: I am glad for all the critical input from my anonymous reviewers throughout the years. You have made my work much stronger. But I have unfortunately experienced too much lack of professionalism with peer review as well. “Haters gonna hate,” my stu- dents tell me. But editors at least should reject reviews that do not back up their condemning criticism. Yes, the work may be controversial. The litmus is whether it is original and well argued, not whether you agree with it. [B02.3] I am so happy with my job at Boise State. I love my department and everyone in it. The students are incredible: open minded, passionate, smart, and dedicated. I only wish you were freer to pursue your educa- tions. I have learned a lot from you. I hope this is mutual. In this, I would love to see the upper administration become more enlightened and be- holden to the core concept of shared governance instead of seeing faculty as the problem and students as income. And speaking of imagining the impossible, I want to thank Slavoj Žižek whose works have taught me, among other things, of the tawdry cynicism that has bankrupted my generation. [B02.4] And of course, my greatest thanks goes to my family. Thanks to James Scarritt for way more than I can even mention, but especially in this context for my entrée into the privileged world of academia and all the help with navigating its fierce, low stakes battles. We’ve got to figure out the Scarritt and Scarritt publication. Thank you Prudence Scarritt for all you have done, particularly your steadfast critical and radical mind that I hope to do some justice to here. Thanks to Mimi and Eddye Lawley for making me part of your family and taking such good care of mine. As everyone knows, Jill Lawley has been and continues to be amazing. I am loving this journey with you. And I am lucky to be with you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Margo, Luther, and Fred: I love hanging out with you and watching you grow. I do not want to miss any of your antics. You bring me nothing but joy. Thank you. DRAFT ONE Introduction How Does Racism Impoverish Indigenous People? [1.0] “ . . . the farce is more fearful than the tragedy it follows.” [1.1] —Herbert Marcuse, Epilogue to Marx’s Eighteenth Brumaire, 1969 [1.2] When Damian1 mysteriously vanished from Huaytabamba, fellow villag- ers thought—even hoped—that someone had killed him. His swindles had robbed them of their wealth and left the village in shambles. Six years later, he returned unannounced and penniless. During his absence, residents had employed the unlikely means of converting to Evangelical religions to rebuild the trust and village institutions that Damian’s machi- nations had shattered. And their new faith converted their wrath away from violent revenge and towards forgiving. Nevertheless, once home this same man again succeeded in cheating the villagers. Only this time it was for their lands, the core resource on which they depended for their existence. [1.3] This is not a story about hapless isolation or cruel individuals. Rather, this is a story about racism, about the normal operation of society that continuously results in indigenous peoples’ impoverishment and depen- dency. This book explains how the institutions created for the purpose of exploiting Indians during colonialism have been continuously revitalized over the centuries despite innovative indigenous resistance and epochal changes, such as the end of the colonial era itself. The Huaytabamba case first shows how this institutional set up works through—rather than de- spite—the inflow of development monies. It then details how the turn to advanced capitalism—neoliberalism—intensifies this racialized system, thereby enabling the seizure of native lands. Comparing these two in- stances reveals what is central to this form of domination. Contrasting Chapter 1 DRAFT them addresses the changing nature of domination under global capital- ism. [1.4] HUAYTABAMBA [1.5] “It is hard to believe we are so close to the city with all this poverty.” [1.6] —NGO visitor to Huaytabamba [1.7] This statement typifies the reactions of the few urban visitors to Huayta- bamba, surprised at impoverishment despite such geographic proximity to the urban core. Other studies in the Andes share such sentiments, looking at remote locales and concluding that such conditions result from neglect and abandonment. 2 The poor Peruvian infrastructure hobbles the wellbeing of the many far-flung villages. And, indeed, the ideology of social neglect pervades the villages themselves—mixed in a rich cocktail of distrust, resentment, and fatigue with all things urban. While remote- ness and poverty do correlate, they fit only weakly with the record of colonialism. Thus, in looking at the highly proximate village of Huayta- bamba, I investigate how poverty persists because of—not despite—its articulation with the city. In this way I can speak beyond the experiences of a single village to the complex social web of institutions and cultural practices—of which the village is but a single organization—that heavily bind community and villager experiences. [1.8] While I initially came to Huaytabamba to look at other issues, the domination of local life by a small group of men quickly became the most pressing concern. Adding complexity, villagers regularly denounced these men for malfeasance, yet continued to entrust them with policy decisions, labor, and money. Explaining their power became the obvious focus of my work. Where does it come from? How is it so extreme? Why did villagers continually support them despite open acts of corruption? And, perhaps most importantly, how does it speak to the integration of indigenous populations into national and global society? [1.9] Huaytabamba is a one-hour, twelve-kilometer bus ride from the city of Ayacucho. The main, paved highway to the coast makes up half of the route, while poorly maintained narrow dirt roads more typical of the contemporary Andes cover the rest. Though villagers had built a road all the way to the community, cars almost never visited. Yet villagers regu- larly made the trip to the city, as it was the hub of socio-economic activ- ities. Villagers therefore did not overly suffer from geographic isolation; but the ability to visit the city did not readily translate into access to its institutions. [1.10] At 9,000 feet above sea level, the city of Ayacucho itself is literally the end of the paved road, boasting a population of 100,000. The macadam ribbons its way from the coast, over the Andes and back down to Ayacu- cho, a bus trip of over eight hours. The central highway passes through DRAFT Introduction Ayacucho from Huancayo in the north on its way to Cuzco to the south. This gravel highway narrows to one lane in places and is frequently washed out in the rainy season. The climate is arid and moderate except when the rainy season brings torrential downpours flooding the city. [1.11] The economy is almost exclusively agricultural. Huanta just to the north, lower in elevation and hotter in temperature, is a major production area, particularly for tropical and semi-tropical fruit. But the most lucra- tive connection runs over a 15,000 foot pass and down the Andes to the east to the lush coca growing areas at the edge of the Amazon basin, what they call the ceja de la selva , the eyebrow of the jungle. A variety of small towns and villages spread in all directions from Ayacucho. Higher eleva- tion locales can easily get frost and focus more on cattle and Andean tubers while more fertile inner montane valleys grow a variety of fruits and vegetables. [1.12] The city is known for its high amount of Catholic churches, one for every year of Christ’s life. Though many residents say this lavish outlay was required to quell the rebellious indigenous groups of the area. Elab- orate Carnival and Holy Week celebrations give the normally sleepy city a lively party atmosphere. As the departmental capital of one of the poor- est regions, Ayacucho holds the dubious honor of birthing the extremist Maoist guerrilla group Sendero Luminoso—and being a primary victim of the army’s ruthless counterinsurgency campaign. Now a battle rages between nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) who struggle to access international funding, especially as the government has dramatically re- duced social spending. Indeed, city workers covet NGO positions more than any other, both in terms of prestige and income. [1.13] The road westward climbs to Huaytabamba after passing through its small provincial capital. This sports a large cement main square sur- rounded by a grid of gravel streets for three blocks in all directions. The small bus or combitrudges up beyond the provincial seat, passing the turn off for two villages until it stops on a ridge. Huaytabamba villagers have to walk uphill from this point, following the road until a footpath cuts up a small drainage to more directly reach the village. The commu- nity itself has two parts separated by this drainage. The upper section hosts the central square, communal house, elementary school, and most of the houses. The village sits at 12,000 feet in a crescent shaped bowl of patchwork hills climbing to over 14,000 feet. [1.14] Villagers primarily speak Quechua, the indigenous language spread by the Incan Empire. No electrical services come to the village, though a power line passes directly through. Villagers live in small compounds of three or four squat adobe buildings. Each has a living quarter, a kitchen, and then dedicated farming buildings for storing potatoes, grains, and tools. Cooking takes place over an open fire of eucalyptus, filling the small kitchens with eye burning smoke. The women cook and then clean the dishes in small plastic basins. I ate with a family once whose little Chapter 1 DRAFT lamb “Bebito,” that the children carried around like a doll, trod all over the clean dishes after a meal much to everyone’s amusement. [1.15] The drinking water system, installed through a grant from the Ayacu- cho hospital but using villager labor, runs pipes down from the high pastures. While passing through purification tanks, the system is actually creatively patched together. Villagers creatively use any material to in- sure water flow—though what is delivered desperately needs boiling to purify. Most people have spigots at or near their houses. People have access to outhouses. And, together, the water and latrines mean that the village meets the minimum standards for elevation above dire poverty. [1.16] IN THE VILLAGE [1.17] The average villager holds three acres of lands in diversified plots, though there is a range from the landless to over ten acres. Only about ten percent of the land, in the lowest corner of the village, has irrigation. The remainder relies on rain so sit idle in the dry season. A large stand of eucalyptus crowns the hill immediately above the village. Pastures spread beyond that, with only a few high fields employed for hearty tubers. Villagers practiced several forms of mutual labor exchange, pre- dominantly the faena, in which all families worked on village projects (such as cleaning irrigation canals), and the ayni, where some mutuality (including limited paid labor) regulated groups working in fields con- trolled by individuals. [1.18] The comunidad generally governed itself, periodically electing a pres- idential junta, though was also connected to a district mayor and district governor. Villagers served as representatives of each system. And no external funding came to any of the bureaucracies. The comunidad guar- antees access to land, safeguarding against taxation and expropriation through requiring participation in labor parties and regular meetings—or compensating in cash or kind. Until the 1960s, a hacienda occupied this spot. Four main families—workers on the hacienda—established the vil- lage by gathering sufficient people together to purchase the land from the hacienda. The patriarchs of those families are known collectively as the cabecilla , a title that comes with high local influence. Though all four cabecilla members are illiterate. The terrible violence of the 1980s civil war touched but did not radically alter the village, pushing many villag- ers to spend more time in the city and commute to their lands. [1.19] The median villager income floated below US$300 a year, well less than the requirements for caloric reproduction. But this is not a fully cash economy. Barter existed with villages in different production zones. And villagers paid no taxes so incurred no running costs on their houses and lands. Wages and market sales were more about accessing cash for pur- chases. Villagers needed money for basics like clothing and school sup- DRAFT Introduction plies. But they also bought a host of farming inputs such as fertilizer, pesticide, and tools. There were also many sociocultural practices requir- ing money, such as festivals, soccer tournaments, and weddings. [1.20] Accessing cash was one of the major struggles for villagers. While dedicating much of their harvests to self-reproduction, they also sold to wholesalers in Ayacucho. They marketed some of their livestock, though these served more as a form of long-term savings. Income mostly came through wage work. Sometimes aynis paid in cash or kind, so people did not have to leave the village. But people generally had to travel to work. Short term, people bussed to Ayacucho to seek manual labor. This paid the minimum wage of US$3.50 per day, with transport to and from the village sucking up twenty percent of this. Especially in the dry season, people migrated to other areas for paid wages, such as the jungle areas or where there were ongoing large infrastructure projects. Families sent members to different places to diversify their income streams and miti- gate risk. Though migration incurred risks and costs of its own. [1.21] I lived in both the village and the city of Ayacucho, as did several of the residents themselves. In the village, I stayed in a small extra room belonging to one family with which I shared many meals. My lack of working Quechua made immediate, intimate communication difficult. But my alien presence created just as many difficulties, both in learning what was going on in the village and by increasing the hardships in- volved with conducting my work and generally getting by day to day. I was happy I could curl up into my sleeping bag when the sun went down at six and not wake until it returned in twelve hours. As the weeks wore on, I continued living and working in the fields alongside villagers. With this stability, my position became less of a curiosity, with villagers calling me a yerno (son-in-law) of the community, but still regarding me some- what as a mascot they could be proud of. [1.22] While I always felt a deep sense of alienation, my relationship with villagers changed dramatically once I became directly embroiled with Damian’s struggle to privatize everyone’s fields. I cannot overemphasize how successful this interventionist or activist method proved in terms of quality and quantity of information (Hale 2008). Leaders on both sides of this polarized debate began seeking me out and explaining their actions and perspectives. Almost all of the other villagers similarly desired or were willing to discuss this major issue with me, and to tie it to other events in the community’s history. While some of the more astute players, Damian in particular, plied me with an overabundance of infor- mation, they strategically kept things from me. But Huaytabamba is a small village, with all residents sharing some form of kin relation. Secrets did not stay secret long. While my role in these events proved of little significance, the sheer quantity of information made triangulation re- markably straightforward. This not only allowed me to tell a coherent story. It enabled me to read deeply into my various sources, such as Chapter 1 DRAFT actions by urban personnel, interviews, and the community minutes largely written by the elite sons of the village. [1.23] Overall, my strangeness, persistence, and interference helped me gain a relationship with villagers sufficient to dialogue with them about their lives. But, really, it was the continued generosity and humor of villagers that enabled whatever achievement I have gained. To my knowledge, I acquired several nicknames. The most persistent one was pala chaki, a Quechua-Spanish amalgam meaning shovel foot, a nice reference to my relatively towering size. I hope this at least testifies to villagers humor- ously enduring my presence. Though I was in pretty good physical shape when conducting my research, my hands blistered under the toils of farming. And when otherwise “reciprocating” with my free labor, people could not help but make comments such as: “so large but so little strength.” Hopefully, though, the strength of my training will shed light into Huaytabamba’s place in the larger world. [1.24] NEOLIBERALIZING THROUGH RACE [1.25] The global capitalist system has always had populations superfluous to its functioning, but neoliberal reforms have dramatically increased these numbers. William I. Robinson (2004) estimates these as up to half of the people in some third world countries, and up to a third of the global population. These populations have been reduced to what social scien- tists term bare life conditions. In cases like those of native peoples, capi- talist interests “covet the dowry, but not the bride” as Israeli Prime Minis- ter Levi Eshkol said of the Palestinians. Lands no longer serve as holding grounds for relative surplus labor, but as potential areas of resource ex- traction in which the populations only worthy of removal. Further, these outcomes prove highly racialized, with the mechanisms of expulsion dis- proportionately targeting darker complected peoples (Robinson 2013). [1.26] At the same time, the financial capital that dominates global ex- changes exerts an ever-increasing demand for public resources to convert into private profits. Before financial deregulation, capitalism made prof- its through the production process adding value to the sum of the overall inputs. Manufacturing therein generated an unprecedented abundance. In contrast, financial capitalism centers on rent collection. Rather than paying for the value added through production, profit comes from mak- ing people pay to access things that have become privately owned and operated. Advanced capitalism has therefore innovated a wide range of mechanisms to expropriate all manner of goods into its circuits. This includes services like education and health care, but also converts a varie- ty of former rights and regulations into moneymaking ventures, such as windfalls from currency speculation. With the financialization of the economy, previously protected areas have become increasingly subject to DRAFT Introduction raw material extraction, generating booms in countries like Peru. Open- ing resources to privatization and speculation creates spectacular though short-lived growth—bubbles. But overall economic growth stagnates. David Harvey (2005) terms this accumulation by dispossession because it is about taking rather than making things. [1.27] Advanced capitalism therein invigorates the age-old practice of land expropriation through providing titles. Regularizing documentation may seem like a process of protecting land holdings. But titling amounts to powerful interests imposing a new system onto an old. Though there are some exceptions, this makes titling the archetype of primitive accumula- tion, of taking rather than making. In England, as Karl Marx (1867) fa- mously recounts, centuries of such processes, written only “in letters of blood and fire,” robbed people of their land, eventually generating enough funds to underwrite capital-intensive industrialization while supplying factories with powerless workers. In the United States after the Mexican-American War, the government imposed private titles on Span- ish and Mexican communal land grants, initiating a rapid process of land loss. And Tania Murray Li (2010) describes a huge variety of such pro- cesses stretching from colonialism to the present day. This dynamic, now expanded into a wide range of goods and services beyond land, allows capital access to cheaper inputs for increasing profitability and lowering risks (Harvey 2003, 139). [1.28] The rentier economy also enables an unprecedented concentration of wealth and power. Elites can easily capture and hoard the windfall prof- its now not attached to the costs of production. Further, rentiers have incurred no obligation to redistribute wealth to the general population. With production deemphasized, compliant middle and working classes become peripheral. The elites of financial capital therein do not face the old issues of how to reliably exploit populations. Instead they confront issues of how to control them. The managers of global capitalism therein face a double-sided question: (1) how to make more resources renderable to the needs of financial capital, and (2) how to control the growing population of the dispossessed. [1.29] Especially as manifest in highland Peru, this book argues that this neoliberal question is actually a colonial question, in fact, theColonial Question, also termed the Indian/Native Question/Problem: how does a small foreign minority dominate a much larger and potentially hostile indigenous majority? Much more forcefully than previous works, this book argues that the answer is race, particularly the way it has been historically institutionalized, practiced, and contested. In other words, rather than this being a neoliberal process with racial outcomes, this is a process of colonial racial domination vitalized through neoliberal re- forms. As such, this book can help more deeply theorize the racial role in neoliberalism, particularly how this colonial legacy enables the rapid and broad spread of the class project for the restoration of elite power. Chapter 1 DRAFT [1.30] The beginning insight for my argument is that the neoliberal challenge has long been the primary ruling conundrum of elites in peripheral capi- talist countries like Peru. Lacking any real industrial base, such elites depend for their economic wellbeing and their means of social control on selling natural resources on the global market, a traditional form of rent collecting. Instead of raising standards of living, elites used the profits gained under the rationale of comparative advantage to police the popu- lace, preserving their ability to collect rents and their monopoly on pow- er. Extraction generates popular alienation that needs policing. But ex- traction inherently involves ever increasing costs of production as the goods do not become replenished but rarer with each shovel full. The volatility of the global markets in raw materials exacerbates this precari- ousness. Maintaining any kind of consistent income, let alone increases, presses elites to ever expand the territory dedicated to extraction and thus their policing activities. Hence the traditional ruling conundrum of peripheral capitalism: how to simultaneously increase resource extrac- tion (rents) and control over the increasingly alienated population. Elites have most robustly answered this colonial question through creating and exploiting stark racial divides. [1.31] PERU: AUTHORITARIANISM AND RACIAL SPLINTERING [1.32] “Peru, today and in the past, is best characterized by the presence of islands of governmentality in a sea of sovereignty.” (Drinot 2011, 186) [1.33] Over twenty years of intellectual common sense insists on the inherent unity of native communities and the irrelevance of race in their social dynamics. At its best, the unity claim asserts patrimonial rights about indigenous self-determination, offering protections to some of the most vulnerable populations. But this holds the people who have experienced some of the worst traumas up to the highest expectations, with the corol- lary that a lack of unity forfeits native rights, a racial trope that too fre- quently has disempowered indigenous interests. Further, in obscuring local divisions this idea can enable the most ruthless and exploitative to speak on behalf of natives. At their best, the anti-race claims attempt to counter essentialist thinking about the inherent inferiority of natives. This denial, however, sweeps up the social category of race, negating the real group experiences of oppression and the cumulative socio-economic out- comes of existing systems of subordination. Race truly has no biological basis. But denying its social reality is a classic colorblind racist trope that leaves a whole host of deleterious outcomes only explained by the fail- ings of individuals, further disempowering the racially marginalized. [1.34] Against this grain, Rudi Colloredo-Mansfield (2009, 13) finds that “old racial markers did not so much disappear as metastasize . . . have become acknowledged internal differences of native communities.” Indigenous DRAFT Introduction spaces are riven by difference and conflict. In the epigraph above, Drinot says that the islands of urban inclusive citizenship are surrounded by an authoritarian-run sea of the rural. In his larger argument, Drinot moves beyond the limits of his metaphor to argue that the capitalist project of the central state relies on fostering a racist “essentialist fear” of native populations. This marks natives as hostiles in need of being controlled rather than governed, and without legitimate claim to the various natural resources over which they inconveniently reside. [1.35] While showing the local importance of race, Colloredo-Mansfield also indicates that the village is not the primary race-making institution even as these dynamics get played out here. What then are the institutions that make race matter and how are they related to the village? Drinot shows the state as a primary race-making institution and its ideological role in perpetuating authoritarian rule. “García’s capitalist revolution,” he finds, “ultimately, is an attempt to overcome indigeneity, to de-Indianize Peru,” and as such is a highly racist attack on natives, justifying the continuance of disciplinary rule (Drinot 2011, 183). This model represents an intensification of state mestizaje, or the assimilation of Indians into the improved mestizo race—or their destruction if unwilling or unable. He therein further stresses the colonial aspect of such rule. In this, however, he insinuates but in no way specifies the means through which sovereign rule is actually exercised. He establishes solidly that urban mestizo real- ity depends on authoritarian rule of the native countryside and that the state empowers it. But he leaves unspecified the actual processes through which native subordination is achieved. [1.36] Putting these analyses together insinuates a relationship between ru- ral authoritarianism and racial fracturing. Colloredo-Mansfield rhetori- cally asks as a major driving question of the age: “do indigenous commu- nities really challenge racism or replicate it, hoarding opportunities among prosperous sectors and isolating poorer ones?” To this Drinot’s analysis adds: how does the situating of villages within the larger rela- tions of rule work to reproduce or challenge the racist projects of the central state? In sum, these two quotes stress (1) the relegation of native spaces to authoritarian forms of control and (2) the racially splintered nature of local reality. But they leave the connections between these un- addressed. This book looks to specify these connections, highlighting cru- cial processes through which localized racial splintering brings about central state priorities for controlling indigenous populations through excluding them. [1.37] INSTITUTIONALIZED RACISM [1.38] One route for inquiring into these issues that is highly underdeveloped in the Latin American context entails investigating the racialized social Chapter 1 DRAFT structure: how society is organized so as to perpetuate racial disparities. Critical race theory emphasizes that racial inequality is not so much the result of disparaging attitudes or the holdover from historical events, but an evolving political system grounded in the initial European colonial project (Omi and Winant 1994; Goldberg 2004; 2009; Ansell 2006). Con- quest and colonization created the current concept of race and reshaped the world around it, operating through a “logic of circular and cumula- tive causation,” in which inequalities build further inequalities to create a durable system (Tilly 1998; Winant 2001). As such, race became a central defining aspect of modernity: global capitalism was built on trafficking African slaves; the nation-state depended on an uncivilized dark “other” for its coherence; and Enlightenment ideas championed and even scien- tifically proved wealthy European males inherently superior to all others (Winant 2001). This established a global system of European male privi- lege predicated upon the subordination of darker peoples, leading to the naturalization of a de facto “two-tiered, morally partitioned population divided between white persons and nonwhite subpersons” (Mills 1998,108). [1.39] These works emphasize that, once racialized, the normal organization and practices of society perpetuate racial subordination, engendering ra- cial contestation while simultaneously rendering it largely invisible (Bo- nilla-Silva 1997). Rather than a discreet variable, race permeates all as- pects of society so that the “mundane features of the social world that at first sight do not appear to be racialized but, when analysed within an inductive, theoretical framework, are found to be directly and indirectly relevant to the construction of race as a social phenomenon” (Holdaway 1997, 396). Racism, rather than an aberration or an individual psychologi- cal disturbance, largely entails perpetuating the system of inequality. The system ensnares the individuals it produces into perpetuating racial in- equality through their everyday actions. While troubling for well-mean- ing whites, this dynamic creates serious dilemmas for minorities who, in some way or another, must participate in their own subordination (Col- lins 1996). Overall, then, understanding durable racial inequalities re- quires investigating how the interacting structures and everyday prac- tices of society generate a historically emergent racialized social structure (Bonilla-Silva 2001, 48). [1.40] INDIRECT RULE AND NATIVE RACIAL SUBORDINATION [1.41] So what does the Peruvian racialized social system consist of and how does it subordinate native peoples? In exploring this question, my work continues the tradition of investigating the “Indian Question” or “Native Problem,” namely: how does a small minority of European descent domi- nate a larger and potentially hostile indigenous population? Throughout DRAFT Introduction Peruvian history, dominant groups have most robustly answered this question with indirect rule. Indirect rule provides a deeper key to under- standing indigenous subordination in that it elucidates a historically emergent structure through which localized authoritarian power is linked to urban citizenship regimes. In other words, this provides a means for understanding the articulation between Drinot’s islands and sea: how the self-government by free mestizo people in the city depends upon the arbitrary despotic rule over native people in the countryside. In this, indirect rule must be seen as the preeminent state form linking Fou- cault’s (2000) governmental and sovereign power, as the most efficient and effective way for a small minority to dominate a much larger major- ity regardless of the trappings of any explicit colonial leadership. [1.42] This system racially subordinates natives through dividing them eth- nically. This amounts to an institutional segregation of two distinct but hierarchical governing frameworks. While most obviously manifest in the geographic divide between the native countryside and the European town, it is the bifurcation of the state that causes this physical separation. Urban institutions operate through modern inclusionary forms of civil government, but with this civilization predicated upon the disenfran- chisement of the Indian Other. Rural governance, in contrast, consists of the (central authority defined) traditional practices of vesting all legisla- tive, administrative, executive, and judiciary power in single individuals. [1.43] Since its establishment at conquest, dominant groups have regularly revitalized this system, providing it with new resources to adapt it to changing circumstances and the diverse challenges pushed by native peoples (see chapter 2). Overall, the governance of native peoples amounts to a system of decentralized despotism (cf. Mamdani 1996). Dominant groups rule over native areas “on the cheap” by creating au- thoritarian local positions granted carte blancheto provide rural quies- cence. Natives in turn must depend upon these intermediaries for their personhood. The system generates its own resistance, though this tends to be focused on the local despots, therein exacerbating the ethnic splin- tering that undergirds racial domination. In all, the preservation of local authoritarian positions dependent upon native fragmentation, and upon whom natives depend for access to the urban core, ensures that the goals of the central state are achieved: a fractured and compliant peasantry. [1.44] Ethnicity, though, plays a much more complex and contestatory role, even as the bifurcated state skews it in favor of its fracturing function. Ethnicity, with all apologies to Stewart Hall, is the modality in which race is lived. In terms of socio-cultural practices aimed at group betterment, ethnicity in highland Peru assumes two forms: one of group mutuality and another of allegiance to the locally powerful. Local groups attempt to improve themselves either through enabling horizontal connections facil- itating working together for mutual interests, or through capitalizing on the privileges of the elite by concentrating power in their hands. These Chapter 1 DRAFT are qualitatively different but they are not mutually exclusive. In fact, local social stability generally requires the obscuring of their distinction. [1.45] Group mutuality lies at the core of ethnicity in general and in the Andes specifically. But such coordinated efforts work better with greater resources (see Lucero, 2008). This makes more privileged members more valuable and the mutuality asymmetrical. Elites can therein draw on local strictures against shirking in order to make people participate in the eth- nic projects they initiate, and potentially increase their power. At some point the asymmetry can shift to predominate so that group wellbeing depends mostly on elite wellbeing—meaning that the system turns large- ly exploitative. The opacity between these forms means that (1) the extent of both exploitation and group betterment can largely only be seen retrospectively, and (2) the system is highly enabling of exploitative ac- tivities by the elite—group mutuality is variously a tool of elite exploita- tion. The larger racialized state structure further biases these relations to favor the elite-centered version, making ethnicity a primary tool of domi- nation and exploitation. [1.46] The ethnic character of racial domination does not generally mean that ethnicity spans different races, but rather speaks to the hybrid char- acter of elite figures whose emphasized racial status shifts according to their institutional setting. These are contingent and contested grounds. But they are the primary terrain through which local politics occurs. Fur- ther, the contours and content enabling racialized indirect rule have made important changes across history. [1.47] ANDEAN RACISM THROUGH TIME [1.48] As I explore in chapter 2, the Peruvian system has endured despite crea- tive indigenous resistance and epochal transformations such as Indepen- dence and neoliberalism. Spanish colonialism racialized the natives in order to exploit them, classifying them ideologically and institutionally as inherently inferior beings. This ushered in draconian policies that deci- mated the population through degrading living and working conditions and cycles of genocidal violence (Wolf 1982; Klarén 2000; Postero 2006). But a simultaneous re-ethnicization splintered regional populations into highly localized identities based on the European-backed authorities who provided the only, albeit highly paternalistic, protection in this exploita- tive system. These local state proxies have had various names throughout history, including cacique,gamonal ,caudillo ,tinterio , andhacendado . [1.49] Patronage has long fueled this Peruvian variety of racialized rule. The Crown had to control a huge new territory and population dwarfing its home domain. Racialized patronage enabled it to do so. Spanish settlers enjoyed the unique rights granted only to the “civilized” people of Eu- rope, as established in the Régimen de Castasand other laws enforcing the DRAFT Introduction racial hierarchy (Morner 1965). Lavishing rewards upon these citizens, including land tracts larger than many current U.S. states, ensured a continual flow of goods and labor from the “primitives” in need of En- lightened European guidance (Klarén 2000). As their sole link to the out- side world, native wellbeing depended upon the success and beneficence of their local patron. The system thereby forced natives to provide trib- utes to the extremely powerful local individual whose own position de- pended upon continuing native fragmentation. Moreover, this extreme form of paternalism heavily enforced the racial hierarchy by forcing the native “sub-persons” to depend almost exclusively on their local Euro- pean citizen without the possibility of ever achieving this personhood themselves (cf. Mills 1998). [1.50] The preeminence of paternalist exchanges has thereby long enabled racialized governance. This system dominates through providing rather than denying resources. And it does so in order to enable an efficient if cruel means of control—rather than other ostensible goals such as saving souls, personal fulfillment, or raising standards of living. Further, the state structure made paternalist racialization the easiest path to follow— any deviation requiring tremendous effort—ensuring the continuation of racial inequality. [1.51] State policies have reproduced this racialized authoritarian model as an explicit part of the major transitions since colonialism—independence, nation-state formation, land reform, developmentalism, and globaliza- tion (cf. Mallon 1995; Thurner 1996). As van den Berghe and Primov (1977) found for rural areas in the 1970s: [1.52] The mechanisms for maintaining inequality are so solidly entrenched and so thoroughly routinized that unequal relations take place under a veneer of benevolent despotism on the part of the dominant group and ingratiating subservience on the part of the dominated group. (127–30) [1.53] While these historic disruptions presented major opportunities to shift to more inclusive models, the regular outcomes retrenched decentralized despotism through providing it with new resources and innovations. Further, as the above quote indicates, these exploitative relations have become thoroughly naturalized, understood as a normal aspect of daily relations and therefore not fully necessitating coercive enforcement. [1.54] Three important and intertwining changes altered this system during the last half of the twentieth century without changing its overall authori- tarian form. Throughout Latin America, governments and societies vari- ously turned from ideas of inherent racial superiority towards an all- inclusive model of the mestizo “Cosmic Race”—a sui generispeople emerging from the union of natives and Europeans (Vasconcelos  1979). Mestizaje (becoming mestizo) newly promised universal citizen- ship through a celebration of the native heritages of the Americas— though only as a mix with European stock. As it strove for inclusivity, Chapter 1 DRAFT then, state mestizaje simultaneously renovated racism, delivering “a dou- ble blow, denigrating the unassimilated while inciting the assimilated to wage an endless struggle against the ‘Indian within’” (Hale 2004, 17). Citizenship became more inclusive, but only through creating a new sec- tor whose rights depended upon continually proving their deservingness by denigrating natives. [1.55] Soon after mid-century, mestizaje became interwoven with the emerg- ing developmentalist ideas of progress through industrialization spear- headed by an interventionist state (Drinot 2011). The governments not only promoted a specific capitalist agenda, they tied it to novel assimila- tionist policies. This was evidenced most obviously when states, re- sponding to rural discontent, turned natives into peasants with a quick slash of their pens. While promising greater enfranchisement, these re- forms traded native patrimonial rights for the class rights to work the soil, effectively divorcing any local victories from demands for larger changes to the system of racialized rule. At the same time, state mestizaje created a new middle stratum that personified the developmentalist progress that promised to transcend the old governing ideas of racial degeneration. This group carried a powerful authority regarding modern progress. “Developing” meant becoming mestizo. Thus the contrast with indigenous peoples only became sharper, natives now denigrated as anti- modern barriers to economic advancement. Specific policies institutional- ized this, such as cheap food making the growing urban mestizo working class depend on the stagnation of rural indigenous agricultural produc- tion. Chapter Three details the key racialized processes through which the rural links to the urban core exclude indigenous people through mes- tizo developmentalist inclusion. [1.56] By the end of the twentieth century, rapid policy changes beginning with President Fujimori’s authorship of a new constitution in 1992, ushered in a transition from developmentalism to neoliberalism, and sig- nificantly altering the terms and resources for decentralized despotism. Worldwide neoliberal reforms simultaneously generated massive in- equalities, extractive commodity booms, and a dramatic increase in pop- ulations superfluous to capitalist production. Under these conditions, the controlling function of Peruvian indirect rule became ever more impor- tant (chapter 5). But these reforms also greatly exacerbated the major social divisions in Peruvian society. By removing the ideological cover of developmentalism, neoliberalism required much more open coercion. In some countries like Guatemala and Bolivia these reforms amounted to neoliberal multiculturalism, a hegemonic form of exploitation through (selective) inclusion. In Peru, however, the central state variously re- trenched indigenous racialization in order to advance neoliberalization, up to the point of marshaling a primitive fear of natives to leverage authoritarian state powers. DRAFT Introduction [1.57] While concerned with the longer-term and contested construction of decentralized despotism, this book primarily focuses on the how devel- opmentalism and neoliberalism unfurled in the village of Huaytabamba, and identifying how the enabling institutional and cultural practices per- petuated a system of racialized indirect rule. [1.58] BOOK OVERVIEW [1.59] The remainder of this book intertwines a narrative of village politics with an explanation of the social dynamics enabling them. Chapter 2 details the historic emergence, transformation, and continual renewal of racial- ized indirect rule from Conquest to 1980. This chapter argues that, rather than through path dependency, preserving this largely aristocratic sys- tem required tremendous resources and incurred considerable costs, such as contributing to Peru’s military routing and loss of rich nitrate deposits to Chile in the nineteenth century. Despite creative and diverse native resistance, inter-elite conflict, and large-scale social transforma- tions like the transition to a liberal state, mestizaje, and ostensibly pro- native agrarian reform, the ruling group regularly poured tremendous resources into predicating their own advantages on indigenous disen- franchisement. Through a narration of the contentious politics across the centuries, this chapter shows how the specifics of the Indian Question regularly changed as did the means of answering it. But the general an- swer preserved the key aspects of indirect rule: an authoritarian but con- flicted local leadership dependent upon fracturing and exploiting native peoples. [1.60] Chapter 3 spells out the different elements of the developmentalist incarnation of indirect rule through narrating how Damian employed multiple development projects to generate a cycle of increased villager exploitation until he “stripped all the community members of their mon- ey.” This chapter starts with a brief account of two large Damian-bro- kered projects that promised to increase village lands by 30 percent and triple local cattle holdings. After years of villagers investing money and labor, once “they sold their horses, cows, pigs, everything in order to supply money and have [the project] finally come out,” the projects final- ly ended with Damian disappearing with all their funds. [1.61] With Damian’s departure, villagers “lost all trust in the authorities then and . . . they didn’t even want to work together in the fields so the [later] authorities couldn’t do anything.” Over the next four years, how- ever, new leaders emerging from the local Evangelical church successful- ly revitalized comunidad institutions and ethnically based proclivities towards mutuality. Chapter 4 details the rise, characteristics, and village leadership of the local church, specifically focusing on the particularly Chapter 1 DRAFT Evangelical means through which the church revitalized the community, altering but not fully overcoming the dynamics of racialized indirect rule. [1.62] Chapter 5 addresses the Huaytabamba privatization struggle that be- gan at the height of Evangelical domination. It explores the myriad ac- tions of the pro-privatization group, the countermoves of the pro-com- munity faction, the interactions with urban institutions, and how these engaged with the legacy of indirect rule. As the privatization battle esca- lated, it infected all aspects of village life, polarizing them into dysfunc- tion. The chapter finishes by spelling out the implications of the eventual triumph of the privatizers, and the new authoritarian character this brought to indirect rule. [1.63] The concluding chapter reconsiders Huaytabamba’s developmentalist exploitation and its neoliberal authoritarianism as two different regimes of racialized indirect rule. Initially, this enables an analysis of how differ- ent globalizing forces leverage racism to achieve their localized out- comes, and therein alter the nature of racialized rule. Considering these together, I next draw the larger implications of these regimes for better understanding the racialized nature of the global political economy, not- ing that neoliberalism’s heightened emphasis on extractive logics only makes colonial divisions more empowered and important. All in all, ra- cial analyses need to assume much greater primacy for understanding social dynamics in Latin America (and beyond) and this book provides some key routes for doing so. [1.64] BOOK COVER [1.65] I never could have learned so much about Huaytabamba except through the help of my incredible research assistant, Edilberto Jimenez Quispe, whose artwork graces the cover of this book. I had gotten to know Edil- berto through his work with local NGOs. He was from a famous family of artists from another part of the department. But he had worked several times in Huaytabamba, with villagers knowing and liking him. I hired Edilberto once villagers and I began discussing more complex issues. Simply having another person in the field, who understood the research endeavor, proved a tremendous boon. Moreover, I was happy to see Edilberto as wiped out by fieldwork as I was. But Edilberto was extreme- ly talented at conducting interviews. He became intimate with the local issues I had been gathering information on. And his Spanish-Quechua bilingual skills fully enabled him to conduct penetrating interviews in which villagers could more fully express themselves. [1.66] He had recently honed his skills through working with the Truth Commission and other groups to document the violence of the recent civil war. This including toiling through the remote area of Chungui that had experienced such a “limitless violence” that the Commission itself DRAFT Introduction refused to enter for the lawlessness that still reigned. Edilberto developed his artistic pictures to document these atrocities, adapting to two-dimen- sional pen and ink the three-dimensional form ofretablosof which he and his family were renowned. Retablo literally means altarpiece, but has evolved from its syncretistic origins depicting local gods cum Catholic saints to depict a wide and frequently subtle picture of various social realities, generally amounting to a folk idealization of rural life. Edilber- to’s mixture of this comic styling with the excessively grim (scenes of torture, mass murder, and other) horrors of civil war portrays the kind of dark humor through which many Andeans both face and live through the hardships of their lives. I am eternally grateful that he agreed to turn his artistic eye to the issues of this book. [1.67] NOTES [1n1] 1. All names, including that of the village, are pseudonyms. [1n2] 2. See, for instance, the otherwise excellent Poole (1994) and Heilmann (2010). DRAFT TWO Historical Arc Centuries/Sentries of Contested Racism [2.0] Towards establishing a more systemic understanding of the racial domi- nation of native peoples, this chapter offers a retelling of Peruvian history with race at its core. 1 Such a broad sweep of history is necessarily provi- sional and cannot hope to account for variation. While later studies can address these issues, this chapter simply aims to demonstrate the histori- cal tenacity of indirect rule and its subordination of indigenous peoples. Continually facing native pressures for more inclusive forms of govern- ance in a radically diverse set of historical circumstances, the dominant sectors have consistently refashioned indirect rule to fit the changing landscape, providing it with innovative resources rather than diminish- ing or even dismantling it. The specifics of the Indian Question have changed dramatically through the centuries. But the dominant groups have persisted in asking it and providing it with new answers, consis- tently reinforcing the conflicted sentries that straddle the bifurcated state. [2.1] I argue that once the Spanish instituted the notion of racial superiority within the organization of society, maintaining racial dominance mainly required participating in the institutions as they were designed, and bol- stering them in times of crisis. Conquest and colonization deliberately created a complex institutional structure through which to maintain ra- cial domination. Once the society was racialized, racial subordination mainly occurred through the routine practices and organization of the core social institutions. Racial domination was the normal, desired, and easiest outcome of the way society had become organized. And racist ideologies arose as justifications for the perpetuation of this unequal sys- tem. But crises have wracked Peruvian history. These provided many opportunities to reshape society in much more inclusive ways. The tre- Chapter 2 DRAFT mendous scale and diversity of resources the dominant groups spent to close these opportunities demonstrates their great dedication to main- taining the racial hierarchy. [2.2] CONQUEST AND COLONIZATION, 1532–1820 [2.3] While conquest established the very racist economy of plunder, the later colonial project actually intensified racialized rule. More specifically, con- quest established the rough parameters of indirect rule that the Spanish accelerated in response to crises arising from a diversifying society. Grossly racist acts abounded under early Spanish rule, such as slaughter- ing, enslaving, and hunting natives with dogs for sport, a sadism Gonza- lo Portocarrero (1997) regards as still influencing contemporary social relations. Institutionally, the Spanish Crown granted lordly oversight to Spanish settlers. Theseencomiendasmade up the backbone of the econo- my of plunder, with Spanish encomenderosgranting indigenous villages corporate control over a set piece of land in exchange for tribute (Klarén 2000, 42; Wolf 1969; Wolf and Hansen 1972). Encomenderos centralized power through town councils, or cabildos, which provided the separate and authoritarian administrative apparatus necessary for indirect rule. A modified cabildo that still lacks any means of accountability continues to govern rural communities. Impunity and random violence characterized encomienda rule, making these figures reviled by the native populations, even inspiring massive gifts to the Crown to eliminate the encomienda system. [2.4] While bloody and exploitative, the Indian Question at this time actual- ly concerned the relatively simple issue of placing the new powers on top of existing systems in order to exact as much native wealth as possible and minimize discontent. Indeed, this early system relied almost exclu- sively on preserving the native socio-economic system. As Steve J. Stern (1992, 44) describes it, “the colonials remained foreign, extraneous ele- ments superimposed on an autonomous economy in which they served little purpose.” In particular, the colonials relied upon reciprocal relations with local native lords ( curacas) who controlled native labor and re- sources. The most successful encomenderos lavished gifts upon their cu- racas to assure both the continual flow of tribute and the safeguarding of their own positions. While many abuses occurred, the curacas, in turn, could legitimate their vaunted position as safeguarding native society, and even present themselves as liberators from Incan rule (Stern 1992; Klarén 2000, 45). Many native groups thereby entered into strategic—if uneasy—alliances with the colonials in order to preserve the integrity of local society and gain protection from rivals. From the start, though, highly powerful intermediaries maintained the social system largely through the back and forth flow of patronage. Little challenged by their DRAFT Historical Arc Spanish patróns or native constituents, contradictory impulses between protection and exploitation still characterized curaca rule. [2.5] While the initial conquest may have happened through the Spanish “taking advantage of [Indian] differences, whipping one against the oth- er,” the means of domination were subtler (Portocarrero 1997, 57). The Spanish ability to quickly divide the natives and rule them through the local native aristocracy was due in large part to pre-existing conditions and the nature of Incan rule. The Inca partially dominated through exac- erbating the divides between different ethnic groups and vaunting the local curacas to high positions of wealth and status (Spalding 1970, 655). When the Spanish removed the Inca, most natives gladly refocused their organization around their local group, particularly as their complex net- works of kinship ties were the primary means of accessing resources (Spalding 1970, 653). Under these conditions, alliance with the Spaniards became a route to social mobility due to the removal of Incan restrictions and the establishment of the new religious and political organizations through which the colonials sought to exercise control (Spalding 1970,656). [2.6] These overlapping Spanish and native routes to wealth and status began splintering native society, generating new sources for conflicting alliances and interests (Spalding 1970). The Spanish also exacerbated in- cipient class differentiation inherent in Andean social relations, and deepened ethnic rivalries, such as for the spoils of Incan imperial ware- houses and other resources. While the native cultures and economies preserved their overall integrity, internal discord grew, as did native recourse to Spanish intervention to solve local ethnic problems (Stern 1992). But the central governing dynamic of early colonialism hung on the contradictory position of the curaca who, backed by Spanish coercive power, preserved local society by providing a steady stream of labor and tribute to the colonists. [2.7] The Toledo Reforms [2.8] By the 1560s, however, Spanish rule faced serious crisis. As the white population grew and diversified, the shared desire to exploit native labor exacerbated competition and rivalry amongst colonials, especially as they lacked the institutional capacity to directly recruit labor. Rather than building the infrastructure for coordinated policy implementation, how- ever, they persisted in their self-splintering strategies of relying on their own patronage networks, increasing their dependence on and exploita- tion of the curacas. At the same time, colonials faced deteriorating eco- nomic output at the silver mines in Potosí, increased demand for labor from the entire mining sector, heightened threats of rebellion from the neo-Incas, and the debility of the encomienda system, inspiring ever greater extractions from the native populations. Chapter 2 DRAFT [2.9] In the countryside, meanwhile, the fracturing of ethnic relations in- creasingly made colonists the final arbiters in local disputes. Concomitant with this rise in political power and legitimacy, the Spanish continually increased their demands for labor and tribute. But such wringing eroded the local system of control. In particular, it dramatically sharpened the contradictory role of the curaca middlemen, threatening to turn them into agents of colonialism. The increased penetration and demands of Spanish authority undermined the motivation for natives to make strategic, autonomy-preserving alliances with the colonists. Instead, Spanish de- sires to consolidate natives into a more fully racialized “Indian” group for the strict end of colonial extraction became increasingly evident. Under these circumstances, appeasing Europeans came to resemble par- ticipating in ones own destruction much more than preserving native autonomy. [2.10] The overall colonial strategy still centered on fracturing native society in order to make them exploitable on the cheap, that is, without building a distinct colonial infrastructure requiring coordination from a dysfunc- tional colonial society. The Spanish grasped ever harder onto this model even as it unfrayed. Among other things, this meant the preservation of generally self-sustaining and autonomous indigenous spheres that ena- bled natives to construct widespread anti-colonial movements in the midst of colonial rule itself. Thus, an array of native groups responded in diverse manners to the heart of the matter: Spanish insistence on in- creased wealth extraction. Thousands joined Taki Onqoy, the dancing sickness movement that promised a total overthrow of the Spanish and their God through Andean ethnic unification. New rebellions sprouted up amongst the centrally located Huancas. The neo-Inca state in the jun- gle city of Vitcos continued regular guerilla incursions into Spanish areas. On a smaller but more widespread level, multiple forms of subversion accelerated encomienda decline, Indians creating many ways to undercut colonial obligations of wealth and labor. Rather than tempering extrac- tive demands, however, the Spanish responded by dramatically scaling up racialization. This not only severely exacerbating the multiple system- ic problems, it also cut into the revenues flowing to the Spanish throne. [2.11] Responding to this severe crisis and the obvious inability of colonials to address it, the Crown dispatched a new Viceroy to impose a dramatic remaking of social relations. Rather than somehow negotiating a more humane social system (of which there were several contemporary mod- els), the Toledo reforms of the 1570s refashioned the Indian Question to ask how colonial society could increasingly penetrate and exploit the Indian Republic to eventually break the back of the native economy and have its labor directly serve the Spanish. [2.12] To accomplish this, Toledo had to work on multiple fronts simultane- ously, confronting the natives militaristically, religiously, politically, and socially. The reforms sought a radical transformation of the native popu- DRAFT Historical Arc lations so they could be systematically administered and exploited by the Spanish while quelling resources for rebellion. He also had to discipline the colonial upper classes, aligning their interests into a civil society de- signed for native exploitation. This was a civil society largely forced upon the citizenry through strong state action. Toledo explicitly set it up in direct conflict with natives, predicated upon their disenfranchisement, and with the explicit goal of extracting as much labor and wealth as possible. In other words, the wellbeing of colonial society came to de- pend on the undermining of native society. Herein Toledo established the racial legacy of institutionalized segregation: distinct governing bodies for the colonials for the purpose of exploiting the distinct Indian institu- tions that engendering dependence. Perhaps not surprisingly, the archi- tect of these plans, Juan de Matienzo, justified them in unabashedly racist ways, finding that even after the decades of extracting huge quantities of material wealth, the natives still owed the Spanish for the gift of Christian civilization (Stern 1992). [2.13] Toledo unleashed a huge military expedition against the neo-Incas culminating finally in the public execution of the last Inca, Tupac Amaru, thereby completing the conquest project. Inquisition-like religious purges brutally rooted out the leaders and practices upon which millenarian uprisings had been based (Stern 1992). The Crown eliminated the reviled encomenderos but replaced them with state functionaries called corregi- dores de Indios who enjoyed much more direct control over and ability to exploit native populations, more systematically extracting tribute and la- bor recruitment (mita). To further profit from and offset the onerous costs of their office, the corregidores introduced the illegal but widespread forced “sale” of merchandise (reparto) upon natives. Corregidores also frequently usurped Indian reserves (caja de comunidad) for their own enrichment, many seeing the office as a way to enhance their own social and economic positions. [2.14] The reforms consolidated the patrimonial nature of the state with in- creased tributes enabling the Crown to appoint and maintain loyal and worthy subjects (Klarén 2000, 64). Additionally, corregidores could new- ly grant lands, thereby giving rise to the haciendas which would domi- nate social relations in subsequent centuries. As these reforms came to predominate, the 1633 move to sell imperial offices caused government corruption to become endemic, establishing the long-enduring practice of using such offices for personal gain rather than disinterested public ser- vice (Klarén 2000, 89). [2.15] As a result of the reforms, overall native wellbeing deteriorated pre- cipitously. To wrest control of the natives from the curacas—who had become more demanding and less willing to deliver tribute and labor— the reforms forcibly relocated indigenous populations onto concentrated land holdings. As one of the most brutal parts of the reforms, relocation to these “reductions” truncated traditional dispersed settlements, mas- Chapter 2 DRAFT sively displaced the native populations and generally uprooted them from the physical terrain through which they reproduced their local cul- tures. Natives lived in much more squalid conditions, reliant on external labor markets for their reproduction, and were much more susceptible to pathogens, both because of their population concentration and their dete- riorated living conditions. Malnutrition and famine spread. While earlier alliances with the Spanish may have staved off the demographic collapse witnessed in other parts of Latin America, Toledo’s breaking of native self-sufficiency now brought population collapse to the Andes. [2.16] Instead of creating a colonist-staffed colonial apparatus for ruling the natives directly, the corregidor system remade the native power structure so it was dependent on the benevolence of the state and served the inter- ests of the colonial authorities (Stern 1992, 92). Toledo set up Indian cabil- dos and other official positions that received direct remuneration, creat- ing a privileged native managerial class dependent upon reproducing the institutional arrangements of the colonial regime. These new native au- thorities undermined the demands of the “troublesome” curacas, and their ability to marshal native labor to serve these demands. In this way, the new corregidor system revitalized the position of the largely authori- tarian intermediary upon whom indirect rule depends, creating a new group more willing and able to serve Crown interests, while pushing the curacas towards more market forms of interchange rather than the kin networks of reciprocity through which they controlled native labor (Spalding 1973; Stern 1992). [2.17] The major contradiction of the Toledo reform era was that it sought to dramatically increase the amount of native labor available for Spanish exploitation at the same time that it eroded the ability of native labor to reproduce itself. But several other contradictions undergirded this central dynamic. While the Toledo reforms largely destroyed the basis of the self-reproducing native economy, they did not aim at undercutting na- tive self-sufficiency. The reforms were designed primarily to redirect na- tive labor from the Indian to the colonial economy, preserving native land access because viable local food production enabled the Spanish to pay wages well below the costs of labor reproduction. Indeed, most colo- nial prosperity was due to this ability to super-exploit native labor (Stern1992). [2.18] Nevertheless, much of the new system undermined native self-suffi- ciency. While the viability of the colonial economy rested on native sub- sistence production, individual colonists profited to the extent they ex- ploited native labor, thereby lacking incentives to guarantee native labor reproduction. Indeed, some figures became extremely wealthy through famously overworking their labor allotments. The monetization of tribute and the new labor draft system dramatically increased the capacity and geographic reach of labor conscription. But these practices also cut into the physical and social resources necessary for native self-sufficiency. DRAFT Historical Arc With locals either regularly drafted or migrating away as rootless forest- eros, combined with the rise in epidemics and disease, local food systems suffered major setbacks. The slowness of the erosion of local self-suffi- ciency, however, enabled natives to take advantage of rising commercial activities offered by a diversifying economy. In this way, many groups amassed wealth and became largely independent, and therefore much less willing to participate in labor conscription—though these Indian cof- fers made lucrative targets for rapacious corregidores. [2.19] Despite the draconian changes, natives still managed to find innova- tive means of resistance. These included competing commercially with the Spanish, filing lawsuits, and attempting to form closed corporate communities in area of little interest to the colonists (Grieshaber 1979; Stern 1992). Nevertheless, as indicative of a system of indirect rule, with these new tools also used against other natives, they provided more local- ized splintering effects than real challenges to the system of racial domi- nation. The system therein usurped the native “culture of resistance” to insulate the dominant group from enacting more inclusive changes. Rath- er than being passive victims of European racism, or agents able to trans- form the entire colonial system, natives found creative ways of challeng- ing and thereby shaping the colonial system so as to address some of their own interests. The point made by Stern, though, is that challenging the Europeans through the system made the overall system stronger and the natives much less able to overcome colonial domination as a whole. [2.20] In sum, the Toledo reforms were a bald coercive act, using multiple fronts of brute force to break the back of the native economy and recon- struct indigenous societies to more directly fit the diversified needs of the colonists. The multipronged attack on native societies transformed na- tives from independent socio-cultural groups into splintered dependents of colonial society. Through this coercion, though, the state established a revamped institutional structure of indirect rule that could stably main- tain Spanish domination. After the dismantling of the key resources of native independence, the reforms reinvigorated the institutional segrega- tion, conflicted leadership, and localized fracturing central to racialized indirect rule. Post-reform, the colonists regularly resorted to various forms of violence. But these actions were much more strategic than in the earlier period, and largely served to keep the institutional structure run- ning rather than the much more ambitious action of transforming it. All told, the reforms poured tremendous resources into honing the system of indirect rule, finally completely racialized the native peoples, so that “[b]y the end of the sixteenth century, in fact if not in law, native re- sources in land, labor, and goods were regarded as a reservoir upon which members of Spanish society could draw with relative impunity” (Spalding 1973, 589). That is, Toledo transformed the natives from di- verse, largely independent groups into a single group of Indians marked for full and open exploitation. Chapter 2 DRAFT [2.21] In the post-reform social reality, the new Indian Question came to ask: as labor supplies diminish, both from death and from out-migration as rootless foresteros , how can colonials maintain access to pools of power- less workers? The hacienda, existing alongside Indian villages and in direct cahoots with the state, emerged as the most robust answer. Hacien- das were relatively small landed estates producing largely for internal markets in Peruvian cities. But this system formally introduced the figure of the European “racial exception” living (some of the time) amidst In- dian territory for the purpose of social control and surplus extraction. As with other feudal-like social arrangements, these exceptions enjoyed the clearly spelled out special rights and privileges conferred to the landed aristocracy, while clearly exempted from any of the demeaning obliga- tions imposed on the native populations of the same geographic area. [2.22] Hacienda survival depended upon (1) paying below subsistence wages to a self-sustaining labor population that (2) was coerced to work on the haciendas (Spalding 1975, 116). A captured population on the haciendas, mainly of foresteros, provided some labor, and helped curtail the native strategy of flight. But the self-sustaining aspects of villages provided the most cost-effective and flexible answer. The state therefore protected the much altered traditional native landholdings as a reservoir of cheap labor, run by the new native authorities, such as privileged hacienda workers like caporales, whose social position increased marked- ly simply through representing the threat of violent state power. That is, the state deliberately, and in direct alignment with highland power hold- ers, institutionalized a space for natives so colonials could exploit Indians as Indians—rather than directly incorporating them as citizens. Further, many curacas became hacienda owners directly vested in maintaining the system of Indian exploitation, truncating this possible source of pow- erful discontent. And to stave off competition from market-integrated Indians, the state forcibly reduced native landholdings and thereby the capacity to produce a surplus (Spalding 1975; Grieshaber 1979). [2.23] Andean Insurrection [2.24] By the eighteenth century, exploitative pressures within this system increased dramatically, especially with the new Spanish Bourbon monar- chy siphoning more American resources in an attempt to revitalize Spain’s world position. Charles III, the new Spanish King, pressed corre- gidors to dramatically increase Indian tax collections, amounting to the pillaging of rural society (Klarén 2000, 120). But these new policies also alienated hacienda owners and other intermediary commercial interests by absorbing a much greater share of Indian surplus exclusively for the Crown. And the reforms angered the criollo (American born white) pop- ulation by reasserting the authority of the Iberian born. The extreme and fairly naked exploitation tapped into much of the general Indian peasant DRAFT Historical Arc discontent about colonial relations. Thus, all strata of society shared hos- tility towards the new Crown policies. This included the intermediaries who acted for and largely defined colonial rule over Indians. Their tradi- tional dilemma between exploiting and protecting their native wards therein became largely resolved in favor of the Indian. Such brokers be- gan using their privileged positions to serve Indian interests. Revolts erupted throughout the Sierra. [2.25] In contrast to the Crown policy of redoubling exploitative relations, several new ideas emerged from the Andean populations. Many created small strategies that exploited the contradictions of the system. On a larger scale, some groups, such as those led by Juan Santos Atahualpa, established their own small nations in more remote and easier to defend areas (Mallon 1983). But Tupac Amaru II, the leader of the Great Rebel- lion (1780–1781), the most notorious event of these times, was clearly influenced by ideas about a much more inclusive society based on En- lightenment thought filtered through idealized versions of Andean na- tionalism (Flores Galindo 1988). And notions of undoing Spanish coloni- alism had swelled his ranks with the general Indian populace—at the same time that it alienated those natives enjoying some relative privilege from the system (Garrett 2004). The Great Rebellion cost the lives of near- ly ten percent of the native population and “opened an enormous breach between Indian and Spanish Peru that has still not been closed more than 200 years later” (Klaren 2000, 121). The Spanish tried to ensure against any future mass Indian uprisings, unleashing a reign of terror upon sym- pathizers, including killing every fifth able-bodied male in some villages (the quintado ). [2.26] As native political power plummeted and the Crown now needed more Indian tribute to pay the costs of the Rebellion and Spain’s wars in Europe, the new subdelegadosystem, replacing the hated corregidores, generally intensified exploitation. With the 1787 abolition of the curacas, the “indigenous aristocracy withered, losing whatever status and posi- tion it had held as ‘intermediaries’ in the colonial order,” making natives ever more vulnerable while increasing their homogenization as a racial- ized but splintered Indian underclass (Klarén 2000, 120). While the colo- nials preserved native areas as reservoirs of cheap labor, local authorities became much more dependent upon exterior support, and less able to leverage more favorable relations. The European-identifying hacendados became increasingly more central and powerful in rural indigenous soci- ety. To maintain the bifurcated state, racial distinctions became more pronounced in the countryside, rural Europeans enjoying titles, such as vecino notable , which distinguished them as urban citizens amidst a geog- raphy of Crown subjects. The more immediate dependence on the hacen- dados, however, enabled the colonial economy to diversify and take greater advantage of the new international trade opportunities arising from British industrial ascendancy (particularly in wool). Chapter 2 DRAFT [2.27] INDEPENDENCE, PACIFIC, AND CIVIL WARS, 1820–1895 [2.28] The early nineteenth century Latin American independence movements, of which the Peruvian elite was a reluctant part, presented several oppor- tunities to end racialized indirect rule. Foremost, they toppled the coloni- al state and established a new system based on Enlightenment liberal inclusiveness. In their military actions, the elites relied significantly on natives, making Indians central players in the establishment of the newly independent state, and giving them some power and social connections through which to express their ideas about creating a more inclusive society. More importantly, these ideas meshed with criollo critiques of the colonial state and modern notions of popular sovereignty upon which the new state was founded (Thurner 1995; 1997). [2.29] But Independence instead revitalized the system. In fact, indigenous racial domination actually intensified to such an extent that some native groups struggled to reinstate the more protective colonial state form (Thurner 1995; 1997). Independence remade the dominant group, criollos reasserting their control of the state. With the fall of the beleaguered colonial state and the disorganization of the wars of Independence, how- ever, the Indian Question changed to ask: how can a liberal state, impov- erished by history and war, and dependent upon a colonial Indian head tax (newly coined the contribución indígena) for forty percent of the nation- al budget, exercise control of the territory? [2.30] Privatization provided the answer. The state privatized native land- holdings, resulting in the massive growth of haciendas as a private means to control native labor, formerly achieved through direct state intervention (Spalding 1975). But, more importantly, the state privatized much of its coercive force in the hands of the post-war emergent highland strongmen (gamonales and caudillos), scattering these powers to those landholders who could muster sufficient personal and military power to hold them. Economically, beyond seizing natives’ lands and forcing their labor, gamonales eventually fully privatized the contribución in 1854 once the central state replaced this income with exporting rich coastal guano reserves. The criollo state therein answered the new Indian Ques- tion with a fractious compromise with highland elites, granting them carte blanche powers over natives in exchange for social control and maintaining the flow of Indian tribute. For natives, the liberal state meant the consolidation of European-identifying citizens into the authoritarian positions, ruling colonized subjects now stripped of protections either from an indigenous aristocracy or colonial forms of appeal. [2.31] As in previous eras, these new figures ruled through the traditional “webs of clientage and modes of coercion that penetrated deep into post- independence Indian society” (Klarén 2000, 137–8). They used their pow- er to perpetuate the racial division of labor that relegated natives to the most grueling agricultural work (Appelbaum et al. 2003). Contrary to a DRAFT Historical Arc more generous reconstruction of caudillismo (Walker 1999), the ascen- dant gamonales followed their predecessors in stunting economic diffe- rentiation in order to keep natives unskilled and dependent upon pater- nalistic largess. Indeed, any kind of market differentiation and rise of a native entrepreneurial class occurred only in the few areas like the Man- taro valley where haciendas did not exist but lands were productive (Mallon 1983). But even in these areas differentiation was limited, with the commercial intermediary figures benefiting from the racial division of labor and using various means for its retrenchment. 3 [2.32] Under these conditions, disorder reigned amidst bald power plays, the presidency changing hands twenty-three times in as many years, 1821–1845. The corruption and disorder of the Peruvian state squandered the fortunes of the guano boom (1840–1880), and led to Peru’s routing by invading Chilean forces in the War of the Pacific (1879–1883) in which Peru lost its rich nitrate producing areas (Bonilla 1974; Gootenberg 1991). The disparate European gamonales rallied indigenous troops; but they foundered in front of the organized Chilean army who occupied Lima and won tremendous peace concessions. [2.33] Civil war filled the vacuum until one of the warring generals, Andrés Avelino Cáceres, emerged triumphant by making promises of inclusion to the indigenous populations who famously rallied to his cause. Cáceres, however, reneged on his promises of infrastructure and the elimination of colonial taxes, and instead reinstated the aristocratic state, granting the traditional means of social control to the landlords on whom he de- pended. Indeed, Cáceres famously brought to heel the nationalist aspira- tions of some former indigenous allies through such means as slaughter, torture, and public execution (Mallon 1995; Thurner 1997). [2.34] NATION FORMATION AND THE THIRD RACE, 1895–1968 [2.35] The fractious state of the nineteenth century presented coastal elites with a new question in the twentieth. How can they cohere the nation while maintaining the aristocratic system conferring highly unequal privileges? This national question entailed a new Indian Question: how can the coastal elites create a purportedly all-inclusive Peruvian identity without empowering the native nationalist aspirations that would threaten elites’ gamonal allies? Through complex, multifaceted struggles, the imperfect answer became: mestizaje. [2.36] As with much of the rest of the Americas, the Peruvian elite sub- scribed to Spencerian ideas of inherent white racial superiority, particu- larly as manifest by the complexity of industrialized society. To improve their own society, then, the Peruvian elite attempted to whiten the popu- lation through promoting immigration from northern Europe. Failing Chapter 2 DRAFT this, they settled for a strategy of racial improvement through intermix- ture between Europeans and indigenous populations. [2.37] This proved a more inclusive strategy than the previous policies based on ideas of pure whites, inherently inferior Indians, and degeneration through miscegenation. While relenting on notions of racial purity, for elites this move addressed several key threats to their power. Most im- portantly, it dampened discontent through a strategic inclusion of select popular sectors. Elites could then legitimately draw on these labor pools for the more dynamic, non-agricultural costal enterprises. The labor mar- ket therein began to bifurcate between these mestizo jobs and their Indian counterpart still highly racialized as undifferentiated brute manual work. Mestizo inclusion therein divided popular sectors against themselves. [2.38] Elites retrenched Indian racial domination by placing the once highly marginalized “worst of both worlds” cholos and mestizos above natives in the racial hierarchy. Culturally, Indians faced a new form of racism as their route to political inclusion now came through assimilation to mesti- zo practices. Finally, as mestizaje involved denial of the indigenous parts of the racial mixture, the newly enfranchised middle stratum served as a strong racial police. Racial contestation riddled mestizos, forcing them to compete for resources through asserting their less Indian-ness within their endless internal gradations, and giving rise to expressions like “you let the Indian out of you.” Thus, mestizo inclusion meant buffering for the white elites, retrenched marginalization for Indians, and internal dis- cord for mestizos. [2.39] For the most part, the Aristocratic Republic of 1895–1919 managed its oxymoronic contradictions through a tight alliance with international capital—though at the expense of the tremendous penetration of foreign corporations (Thorp and Bertram 1978; Burga and Flores-Galindo 1987). By the twentieth century, however, the coastal elites’ own actions created inroads for competing demands on the state: from other elites, the rising middle class, and from multiple popular groups. Preeminently, an in- creasing coastal economic dynamism in both agro-exports and manufac- turing altered the socio-political landscape. Highland residents increas- ingly abandoned gamonal rule and its stifling of economic differentia- tion. Lured by higher wages on the coast, they became the new, mestizo- associated urban masses. In coastal cities, a new working class culture emerged that enabled mobilization based on class interests and identity (Stokes 1995). Working class demands employed European anarcho-syn- dicalist frameworks, but also followed the deep forestero tradition of asserting a non-Indian, and therefore non-servile, position. With the gen- eral strike of 1919, workers became a political force, with labor unrest seething throughout the century in the cities, coastal plantations, and Andean mines alike (Klarén 2000, 271). [2.40] In the highlands, the native populations engaged in passive resistance but also seized lands when possible. With the dramatic growth of wool
Topic 6: Gender Empowerment and Family in a global context… (perception/acts of gender equity, double shift, home-host dichotomy); 2. Topic 7a: Understanding Migration and Incorporation (push-pul
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Topic 6: Gender Empowerment and Family in a global context… (perception/acts of gender equity, double shift, home-host dichotomy); 2. Topic 7a: Understanding Migration and Incorporation (push-pul
M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~264~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 A Comparative Analysis of Mexican-and European-Origin Immigration to the United States: Proposing an Interactive Colonization Theory Manuel Barajas California State University—Sacramento Received December 2011; Accepted July 2012 ___________________________________________________ ___ Abstract From the 1970s, Latin American immigration, mainly from Mexico, increased rapidly surpassing European migration in the 1980s for the first time in US history and now constituting over half of the total foreign-born po pulation in the United States. In this paper, I compare this newer, Latin American wave of immigration to earlier, European waves and find that though a combination o f push-pull and structural perspectives does much to explain the European expe rience, it fails to explain Mexican-origin migration and nature of incorporation. Therefore, I argue for an interactive colonization approach to understanding the uniqueness of the Mexican- origin immigration experience. Keywords Mexican Migration, Colonialism/Neocolonialism, Race /Class/Gender From 1970 to 2010, Latin American 1 immigration, particularly from Mexico, increased from 1.8 million (10%) to 20 .5 million (53%) of the total foreign-born population of 38.5 million in the United States (Grieco and Trevelyan 2010:2). The four-decade , net-plus immigration from Mexico slowed around 2006 and may have possibly reversed in the past year (PEW Hispanic Center 2012:6,1 3)2 . These trends have excited many scholars and policy makers se eking to understand the causes, experiences, and consequence s of the largest and continuous immigration from Mexico, a third of th e total foreign born (Massey, Durand, and Malone 2002; Portes and Ru mbaut 2006; Sassen 1988, 1996). Much of the scholarship relies uncrit ically on theories based largely on the European experience. This paper contests the generic application of traditional fra meworks in explaining the causes of Mexican-origin migration a nd the form of M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~265~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 incorporation into the United States. To this end, I compare the newer wave of immigration (predominately Mexican) in late t wentieth and early twenty-first centuries to earlier ones (overwhe lmingly European) in the mid-nineteenth through the twentie th century. This paper shows that Mexican-origin migration is rooted to neo-colonial/ internal colonial domination and subjected to unjus t borders violating human rights (Teyefi 2007:289–290; Falcón 2007:221) . Comparing the contexts of exiting and reception fo r both European- and Mexican-origin migrations and examini ng their general group incorporation trends, the paper shows that a combination of structural and push-pull perspectives explains the European experience but fails in explaining Mexican migratio n. These findings are significant because these frameworks are generally u sed to make sense of Mexican migration (Massey, Alarcón, Durand , and Gonzalez 1987; Massey et al. 2002), and frame human rights c oncerns as matters of economic development, subordinating the human ri ghts and self- determination of indigenous people (Frezzo and Araghi 2007:1 1-12, 15). To understand the Mexican-origin migration experie nce, one must recognize that Mexicans are generally indigenou s, though racial- ethnic diversity and mestizaje3 are common among them (Aguirre Beltran 1972:234; Ochoa Serrano 1997:38; ScienceDai ly 2010: May 3). 4 Several historical, anthropological and other empir ical studies inform this observation. Menchaca (1993: 591, 593–59 5) examined how US acts generally treated Mexicans as indigenou s people denying them citizenship by birth and naturalization until the mid-twentieth century. 5 Gamio (1930:197) described migrants in the 1920s a s predominately indigenous and mestizos. Bonfil Batal la (1996:15–18, 45-58) problematized mestizaje as largely a de-indianization project in Mexico, and Leon-Portilla (1990:10) and Quijano (2000:541) elucidated how indigenous cultures were endangered withi n oppressive national contexts. After the 1910 Revolution, for instance, Mexico aggressively advanced a melting-pot ideology known as mestizaje , articulated by José Vasconcelos in La Raza Cosmic a (1948), which sought to Mexicanize indigenous communities. Wo lf (1959:44) documented that by the 1950s only about half the Mexican p opulation maintained an indigenous language, though Mexican peop le remain very indigenous in many other forms, i.e., religiou s expression, M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~266~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 communalism, language, and food (Bonfil Batalla 199 6: 45-53, 61-69). Migration and colonial experiences nonetheless shifte d indigenous identities to mere identifications with hometowns and Mexicanness (Barajas 2009:65-66, 80; Weber 1998:218; Zabin et al. 199 3:9; Forbes 1982:156). Mexican-origin people, in brief, have experienced colonial projects that have dislocated them from their lands , resources, and ethnic identities, and their experiences with incor poration into the modern nation reflect their continuous historical m arginalization along racial-ethnic, gender, and class lines. I the refore propose an interactive colonization framework to explain Mexic an migration, which highlights the historical dialectical relatio nships of domination shaping immigration to the United States. PUSH-PULL A common theory of immigration is the push-pull mo del. Its simplicity and alignment with the dominant philosop hy of neoclassical economics make it intuitively popular, though not necessarily empirically or historically valid. Three core tenets form the theory’s explanation of migration (Massey et al. 2002). One, unequ al distribution of resources (e.g., political, economi c, and cultural) among global regions creates attractive regions and unattractive ones. Thus, good conditions pull people i n, and bad ones push them out. Two, supply and demand market forces encourage migration. The US economy has jobs (i.e., agricultu re, service, transportation) and needs workers, and the homeland has low wages and an abundance of unemployed and/or underemployed workers. Three, migrants are rational actors, who assess the costs and benefits of migration and ultimately decide whether or not to migrate. New economic theories elaborate the push-pull model by placing rational actors in a web of family and community relations t hat shape their decision to migrate (Massey et al. 2002; Yang 2011). Assessment of Push-Pull Model The push-pull model and its variants seem evident b ecause they seem to capture a movement of people from a re latively poor region to a richer one, but upon closer examination one finds serious flaws. They do not explain why some regions fitting the conditions of M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~267~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 push-pull have emigration and others do not, as the Mexican and European immigration comparison will demonstrate below. Further, the push-pull models do not elaborate the historica l origins of resource differences between regions or elaborate the structural relationships between the sending and the receiving so cieties that precede the initial migrations (Gonzalez and Fernandez 2003 ; Parreñas 2001; Portes and Rumbaut 1996). These omis sions obscure the causes of modern migration and fail to consider that the differential regional conditions are interconnected (Bonacich and Cheng 1984; Sassen 1988, 2003). Furthermore, push-pull models do not explain the “differential inclusion” of foreign laborers and th e racism and sexism that underpin their exploitation (Espiritu 2003; Gonza lez 2006). For instance, migrants are not necessarily absorbed as cheaper l abor through supply and demand economic principles, e.g. , shortages of workers do not translate into better wages in farm labor (Barajas 2009:108–109; Ngai 2004:106–109); 6 and immigrants are not all devalued and exploited in the same way, contingent on race, ge nder, class, and national origin (Barrera 1979; Bonilla-Silva 2001; Ngai 2004). STRUCTURAL PERSPECTIVES Overcoming the push-pull model’s flaws, structural theories identify imperialism—that is, monopoly capitalism—a s the chief cause of mass migration from specific world regions. This app roach corrects the causal order of migration and roots it in global c apitalism (Cockcroft 2010; Fernández-Kelly 1983; Gómez-Quiñon es 1994; J. Gonzalez 2000; Gonzalez and Fernandez 2003; Kearney 1986, 1996; Portes and Rumbaut 1996; Sassen 1988, 1996). From this perspective, capitalism has intrinsic co ntradictions and imperialistic tendencies. The system suffers from recurring cr ises rooted in “a decline in the rate of profit, leading capitalists to reduce their investments, which in turn leads to rising un employment, and so on, in a downward spiral” (Bonacich and Cheng 1984:4). 7 Consequently, capitalists cross borders in search o f new markets, higher profits, and still lower costs in labor, inputs, and regulations. Corporate and national interests in foreign resourc es, therefore, contribute to the politics of empire, that is, mili tary, political, and/or M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~268~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 economic interventions in less capitalistic societies (Cockcroft 1998:186–190; Gómez-Quiñones 1994:88–89; Gonzalez 2 006:1–5; Gonzalez and Fernandez 2003:38–45; Hart 2002:502–503; Po rtes and Rumbaut 1996:272–274; Sassen 1996:76–85). These interve ntions cause migration (Bonacich and Cheng 1984:2; Cockcroft 2010:84–87). For example, foreign investment in maquiladoras—global assembly plants in export processing zones—hurt domestic industries; exploit local labor and environment; and acculturate workers f or international migration (Fernández-Kelly 1983; Sassen 1996). As i n the past, when subsistence-based and self-sufficient societies bec ome absorbed into capitalist relations, they lose their local autonom y and become part of a global division of labor, serving the corporate i nterests and consumer needs of the core regions rather than thos e of the periphery (Wallerstein 1974, 2003; Sassen 1988). M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~269~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 Nascent capitalism at the turn of nineteenth centu ry in northern Europe displaced rural people from a feuda l economy and directed them into an industrial economy based on w age relations and mass production (Massey et al. 1987; Zolberg 2006). Emig ration from Europe to the United States correlates with these p olitical-economic dislocations in the European continent (See Table 1 and Figure 1). As capitalist relations spread and displaced or articu lated with feudal economies in Southern and Eastern Europe in the mid-ni neteenth century, one finds similar population shifts from t he rural zones to the urban industrial cities and to the United States. T he European economic integration disrupted local economies in t he mid-nineteenth century and pushed peasants into migration across t he Atlantic Ocean (Sassen 1988:33–34; Zolberg 2006:130). European imm igrants pre- dominately from Ireland, Germany, Britain, and Swit zerland…and later also from Italy, Portugal, Spain, Russia, Pol and…went from being disposable proletarians and peasants to small farm ers and citizens in the newly colonized territories west of the Mississippi. M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~270~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 Assessment of Structural Perspectives Structural theories examine how historical unequal relatio ns benefit some nations with wealth and development and disadv antage others with debt and poverty and thus contribute to contemporary labor migration. Structural views vary in what econ omic process they stress—global exchanges and/or labor exploitation—a nd how they theorize capitalism relating to other modes of production— displace it or integrate it (Brewer 1990:181; Gonzalez and Fernand ez 2003:6–7, 48; Kearney 1996:83; Stavenhagen 1979:31–36), but o verall the perspective underscores how monopoly capitalism imp acts world economies and forces people into migration (Masseye t al. 2002:144– 146; Portes and Rumbaut 1996:282–284). There are several concerns, however, with structural view s’ application to Mexican migration. For one, their near-exclu sive focus on how the political economy shapes labor migration neglects the roles of racism and patriarchy (Espiritu 2003; Gonz alez 2006; Gonzalez and Fernandez 2003). The modern nation-sta tes developed concepts of citizenship, boundaries, and rights tha t excluded, segregated, and marginalized racialized natives and wome n (Glenn 2002; Menchaca 1993; Nevins 2002). These countries differentially incorporated immigrants into the nation on the basi s of race, gender, and class, and excluded indigenous people from the Americas (Espiritu 2003; Menchaca 1993; Ngai 2004; Zolberg 2 006). Secondly, the structural perspective suggests that imperialistic relations between regions stimulate migration from the subordinated region to the dominant one (Sassen 1988:34). This do es not account for why the United States, which did not have such r elationships with Europe, nonetheless received most of its migration from there in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. 8 The structural dislocations of peasants in Europe merely coincided with and con tributed to the territorial and colonial expansion of the United St ates through the nineteenth century. Lastly, Mexico also experienced structural dislocation s from the mid to latter part of the nineteenth century, but these produced only a small fraction of the total international mi gration to the United States (see Figure 1; Pew Hispanic Center 2009:1). Hence, the structural perspective does not explain why Europeans constitu ted the great majority of the immigrants throughout the nin eteenth and for M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~271~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 most of the twentieth century, when Mexican-origin people experienced similar dislocations within their terri tory, had lost most of their land by the turn to the twentieth century, suff ered labor exploitation by the few who owned most everything, and were closer and integrated to the United States and its expanding indus trial economy (Barajas 2009:76–77; Cockcroft 1998: 82–90; Casanova 1963, 292–294; Gonzalez and Fernandez 2003:38–43; H art 2002:262– 267). From 1860 to 1910, Mexican migrants averaged a mere 1 percent of the total foreign-born population compared to the 8 5 percent plus from Europe. A fuller explanation of Mexican migration is warranted, and an integrated and historical expl anation is offered below. AN INTERACTIVE COLONIZATION THEORY OF MEXICAN -ORIGIN MIGRATION AND INCORPORATION Unlike European immigrants, the first waves of Mex ican migrants originated from a nation that had recently lost half of its territory and whose remaining territory also became subordinated to US national interests (Acuña 1988; Casanova 1963; C ockcroft 2010; Gonzalez 2000; Hart 2002). Racial and patriarchal s tructures intersected with economic ones to create unique Mexican-origin migration patterns. For example, Mexican-origin men we re recruited as “imported colonial labor” or as guest workers (Gonzalez 200 6:2, 5, 31–38; Ngai 2004:94–95). 9 Although exploited in the United States, they experienced relative material improvement and escaped overlapping oppressions, one from their own nation (internal colonialism) and the other international (neocoloni alism) (Casanova 1963, 1965; Stavenhagen 1964). 10 The proposed interactive colonization framework (XC) therefore examines rela tionships of domination within and between nations to understand Mexican-origin migration. In what follows, I outline XC and elaborat e how Mexicans have been historically incorporated into the United States. Interactive Colonization (XC): An Outline XC integrates the colonial, structural, and transnatio nal11 frameworks, highlighting three central concepts: co lonialism, dialectics, and social interaction. Thus, XC grounds the migr ation and incorporation experiences in a historical context s haped by M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~272~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 colonialism (various and overlapping forms), dialec tical relations (intersecting systems of racial, class, and gender oppression), and social interactions (transnational networks). Unlike t he structural perspective and other colonial models, 12 XC integrates macro to micro level processes, underscores specific dialectical s ystems of oppression, and elucidates emergent social formations across bo rders for understanding labor migration. XC’s central concept s are elaborated below. Colonialism XC underscores the historical fact of colonialism in the making of existing national and global inequalities an d consequently in the shaping of migration and incorporation patterns of dislocated people (Quijano 2000; Grosfoguel, Cervantez-Rodrigue z, and Mielants 2009; Mirandé 1985). Regarding Mexico, Cas anova (1963, 1965:32–36) and Stavenhagen (1964:1156–1158) noted the continuity of colonialism, observing that while the expression of domination had changed, its practice—racial, cultural, and class oppre ssion—persisted. The historical repression of indigenous communities “de-indianize”13 many of them (Bonfil Batalla 1996; Leon-Portilla 1990; Wolf 1959), and reflect an internal colonial continuum of domin ation with the indigenous people at the bottom, emergent mestizas/ os (westernized or mixed indigenous people) in between, and Europeans a t the top (Casanova 1965:35). Quijano (2000) articulated the “coloniality of power” that imposes a Eurocentric modernity in the entire global system concentrating wealth and power along racial lines. Building from this foundational scholarship, my conc eption of colonialism stresses the following ideas: 1) colo nialism specifies the history of the Americas that constructed race and natio n and that universalized them along with gender and class hierarchie s; 2) it advances a fuller analysis of intersecting dialectical sy stems of domination—i.e., race, gender, and class—not subsum ing any as less important; 3) it considers that colonial domination can occur within a nation (e.g., internal colonialism of indigenous people within the United States or Mexico), 14 between nations (e.g., neocolonialism of Mexico by the United States), and both (e.g., indigenous peopl e are internally colonized in Mexico, which is neo-coloni zed by the United States) (Casanova 1965:33-36); and 4) it emphasizes “oppression” M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~273~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 rather than “competition” or “influence” to undersc ore relationships of domination and exploitation. In effect, overlapping f orms of colonialism have produced migrations from Mexico to the United States, distinguishing it from European migrations. After the US conquest of Mexican-claimed Southwest territory in 1848, original (native) people, whether Me xicanized or not, experienced dislocations from their lands, resource s, and cultural identities. These forced migrations occurred within each emergen t nation, but Mexico’s international migrations to the United S tates correlated with the overlaps of neocolonial and int ernal-colonial conditions, which occurred most acutely during the Porfiriato period (1876–1910) and neoliberal period (1980–present) (Barajas 2 009:76– 78; Portes and Rumbaut 1996:275). 15 Mexican immigration is rooted in US neo-colonialis m that appropriated the former’s wealth, including labor, and directed it to the north (Portes and Rumbaut 1996; Gonzalez 2006). Immediately after the Mexican “Independence,” the 1823 Mon roe Doctrine warned Europe that the Americas were off l imits to their colonial ambitions, and enacted the US Manifest Destiny . By 1848, the United States took over half of Mexico’s territory an d soon after benefited from colonized labor on both sides of the newly imposed border (Cockcroft 2010; Gómez-Quiñones 1994; Hart 200 2; McWilliams 1990; Mize and Swords 2011); and through “peaceful conquest” neocolonized the rest of Mexico without i ncurring the cost of military occupation and of national entitlements (Gonzalez 2006:19 –20; Grosfoguel 2003:240–41). The saying “I didn’t cross the border, the border crossed me” is thus historically accurate . The Porfiriato dictatorship (1876–1910) collaborat ed with US neocolonialism and sought an illusory “dependent de velopment” by opening itself more to foreign investment (Cockcroft 2010:52–53; Hart 2002:266). The dictatorship intensified internal- colonial conditions for indigenous people dislocating them from their lands, resources, and cultures (Bonfil Batalla 1996; Casanova 1965). The Baldio Laws of 1883 and 1884, for instance, freed ha cienda expansion onto indigenous communal lands, and “Criollo landowners were thus able to achieve what not even colonial elites had b een able to do: take over the vast of majority of land” (Cockcroft 1998: 72). Only about 3 percent of the population in Mexico owned agricultu ral lands by 1910 M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~274~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 (Galarza 1964:18; Hart 2002:262–263; Weber 1998:215 ). The Porfiriato also allowed the appropriation of nation al resources by foreigners, who constructed railroads, roads, and port s that directed much wealth and labor out of Mexico and into the Un ited States (Galarza 1964; Gamio 1930; Gómez-Quiñones 1994; McWillia ms 1990), and as elaborated below the migratory flows refle ct the dialectics of capitalism, racism, and patriarchy. Dialectical Relations Dialectical relations involve power inequalities and exploitation, and produce oppositional interests among those i nvolved in these relationships. 16 A dialectical analysis thus examines relationships rooted to systems of domination such as capitalism (capitalists vs. workers), white supremacy (Eurocentric ra cism vs. multiculturalism), and patriarchy (male domination vs. gender equality). 17 Such relationships have been theorized by various scholars, including Mario Barrera’s class segmentation (1979), Edu ardo Bonilla- Silva’s racialized social system (2001), Patricia Hi ll Collins’s categories of analysis and connection (2003), Kimberlé Crenshaw’s inte rsectional theory (1997), and Evelyn Nakano Glenn’s integrated framewo rk (1994, 2002). These theorists explain how race, gend er, and class inequalities are constructed, and how they structure patte rns of opportunity and mobility. In this case, through a d ialectical analysis I examine how each system of oppression and their inte rsections shape the migration and incorporation of Mexican-origin p eople.18 In the late twentieth century, US capitalists incr easingly dominated Mexico and contributed to its immigration flows (Cockcroft 2010:72–76; Hart 2002:432–446 ). As during the Porfiriato, powerful foreign corporations, along with collabora tive Mexican elites, benefitted from privatization, deregulation, and oth er laissez- faire policies; and US multinationals increasingly cont rolled capital, credit/investment, and profits (Barndt 2002:173–175 ; Hart 2002:437– 453, 466–474). Neo-liberalism shifted into a higher gear with the 1994 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) among the United States, Canada, and Mexico; and hurt the latter’s d omestic manufacturing and agricultural sectors (Barndt 2002 :73–75; Johnson 2011:A14; Kraul 2002:A11; Thompson 2002:A3). Mexica n communities and small/medium ejidos (collective farms) lost national M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~275~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 subsidies and legal protections over communal land and resources,19 and multinational corporations and foreign investor s benefited from a Mexican export-oriented economy with 80–90 percent going to the United States (Cockcroft 1998:326–328, 332; Hart 2002:4 39–441, 451 –452; Hing 2010:26, 61). Mexico was subordinated to the consumer needs of the United States (Mize and Swords 2011:xx vi–vii), and became more dependent on remittances from US relati ves, whose contributions surpassed any other sources of revenue, inclu ding foreign investment, petroleum, and tourism (Gonzalez 2006:164). The national inequalities are revealed in the grow ing gap in GDP per capita between the NAFTA participants. In 1 993, a year before NAFTA, the GDP per capita difference between Mexico and the US was $17,752, and in 2008, almost double at $ 32,685 (see Figure 2). As migration from Mexico increased so did the US GDP per capita M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~276~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 income. The gains of a more productive and exploite d workforce, however, do not benefit everyone, 20 as income and wealth inequality increased within each NAFTA participant, particularly Mexico (Collins and Yeskel 2005; OECD 2011:6). In this NAFTA context, overlapping national and international oppressions stimulated the Zapatista reb ellion in 1994, when original peoples of the Americas rebelled agai nst the latest in a series of colonial acts that have dislocated them f rom their land, resources, and Mesoamerican cultures (Stavenhagen 2 005:18–22; Bonfil Batalla 1996: 112, 129). Migration from Mexico to the United States rose to unprecedented heights, increasing from 2.1 million in 1990 to 12.4 million in 2010 (Pew Hispanic Center 2 011b:8). From 2006 to 2010, however, the US economic downtur n and enforcement-only immigration policy reduced bord er crossing to and from Mexico (Pew Hispanic Center 2011b:3). Altho ugh some claim that national inequalities are decreasing and that the standards of living in Mexico (i.e., education, health, and inco me per capita) are improving (Esquivel 2010; Maganini 2011), others do cument that the nation suffers from higher levels of wealth inequal ities, poverty, violence, militarization (war on drugs), and contin ued US dominance (Cockcroft 2010:41–45; Gonzalez 2006:142–143; Tucker 20 11). In 2002, 58 percent of rural Mexico lived below the po verty line, earning less than $3.00 a day (Taylor, Mora, Adams & Lopez-Fel dman 2005:23); and from 2008 to 2011, the poverty rate grew by 2 percentage points, increasing the impoverished to at least 52 million people, about half the population (Geo-Mexico 2011). Political-economic domination, important as it is, has not alone shaped Mexican migration to the United States. If it were all determinant, migration north would continue given Mexico’s subordinate economic position observed above. As in the past, racial and gender dialectics mediate migration and incorpo ration of Mexican -origin people across borders. From the formation of the nation, racist and patri archal structures restricted membership to the United Stat es. The Naturalization Act of 1790 restricted full citizenship and membership to “free white persons” (Glenn 2002:24–25). The mod ern nation-state was a new construct in the Americas, and people of color, particularly women of color, were not desired or treated as equal member s M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~277~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 (Anderson 1991; Ngai 2004; Quijano 2000). From about 1 607 to 1803, Northern European colonists were largely concentrated e ast of the Mississippi; and with the colonization of the w estern territories (1803 and 1848), settlers and labor were in demand. Land and immigration acts encouraged White settlement west o f the Mississippi, including the Gwyn Land Act of 1851 which set a land review board that did not validate all land grants from the Mexic an period; the Homestead Act of 1862 which encouraged squatting and d ispossessed indigenous people from their land; the Immigration Act of 1864 which facilitated European migration to the United States; and the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad in 1869 that con nected the east with the west. Restrictive immigration policies targeted Asians and ot her people of color in the late nineteenth and early tw entieth centuries.21 During this Social Darwinist period, Mexican-origin me n were exempted from the exclusions and recruited as importe d- (from Mexico) and internal-colonial (from Southwest) work ers (Barrera 1979; Ngai 2004; Gonzalez 2006), because they were n ative to the land, though their full humanity was oppressed in terms o f race, gender, culture, and work (Bonfil Batalla 1996; Cas anova 1963, 1965; Gamio 1930; Menchaca 1993; Ngai 2004). After the restri ctive Johnson-Reed Immigration Act of 1924 and the deport ations of the 1930s (Balderrama and Rodríguez 1995:121–122; Ngai 2004 :60–87),22 the identification of Mexicans as “natives” changed to the stereotypi- cal view of “Mexican aliens” and after the Hart-Cellar Act of 1965 to “illegal immigrants” (Barajas 2009:31; Nevins 2002: 111–112; Portes and Rumbaut 1996:274). In effect, US acts historica lly have constructed Mexican-origin people as “aliens” to the nation. The patriarchal order intersected with these racia l and class structures (Dill 1988; Glenn 1994). While women were generally marginalized in society, women of color were denied the ideals of domesticity (imposed on White women) at the turn of the twentieth century, and many labored in colonial-type jobs, such as agriculture and service, along with men and children. Mexican-o rigin women were also excluded from the various guest-worker programs e nacted throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Such exclusions discouraged Mexicans from settling in the United St ates and kept their numbers and cost of reproduction low (Chavez 1997, 2008). So while M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~278~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 the United States actively recruited men from Mexico and other non- European regions, women were not encouraged to come o r settle in the nation, unlike migrants from Europe, who were d esired for populating and controlling the newly acquired territ ories west of the Mississippi (Dill 1988; Espiritu 2003; Glenn 1994; Gonzalez 2006). Consequently, European migration to the United States was mo re gender balanced, and Europeans constituted the great ma jority of foreign-born immigrants from 1790 to 1980, only exc eeded in numbers by Mexican-/Latin-origin and Asian migrants for the first time in 1990. Gender balancing did not begin until the 1960s in the context of US civil rights and de-colonial movement s throughout the world (Donato, Alexander, Gabaccia & Leinoen 2011; Sassen 1988). The Hart-Cellar Act of 1965 ended National Origin Quotas and permitted family reunification and exercise of employment preferences. Previously, many Mexican-origin people had been split from their families for generations, reflecting the U S interest in forming a racial-ethnic homogeneous nation (Anderson 19 91; Barajas and Ramirez 2007; Dill 1988). Evidently, Mexican migration patte rns were shaped by racist and sexist labor markets and nation-state acts. The changes in the racial and gendered makeup of the foreign-born population began in 1960s, as the regional and global dialectics of resistance heightened against internal-, neo-, and classical colonial systems. In the United States, civil rights, women’ s rights, farm labor rights, and antiwar movements advanced, and the internal col onialism changed from legal and manifest forms to informal, s ubtle systemic racial, gender and class domination. US domination, nonetheless, continued and expanded in Latin America (e.g., the border industrial program of maqu iladoras in Mexico and military interventions in Central America ) and in Asia (e.g., the Vietnam War) in an effort to slow the de cline of the United States’ hegemonic global position (Frezzo and Aragh i 2007; Wallerstein 2003). Migration followed from those impacted regions, whose politicians and domestic elites facilitated the subj ugation of their people. Neo- and internal-colonial processes expelled Mexican s into international migration, which now represent the la rgest group of immigrants at 32 percent, and Filipinos, a distant second at 5 percent (Pew Hispanic Center 2009:1). 23 Along with other Latinos, the M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~279~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 Mexican-origin population account for half of the U S nation’s growth over the past decade (Pew Hispanic Center 2011a:1; US Census Bureau 2012: Table 42). Nativistic immigration polic ies, however, keep 55 percent of the Mexican immigrants as undocumented and make them 60 percent of the total unauthorized population (Pew Hispanic Center 2009:1). From 2007 to 2010, the rem oval of undocumented immigrants averaged 335,694 a year for a t otal of 1.34 million, exceeding the total number of deportations from the great depression period ( http://lawprofessors.typepad.com/files/ removals2007-2010_0727101.pdf ; Ngai 2004:72–73). Moreover, the militarized racist and patriarchal border perpetuates system atic violence and rape against women crossing the southe rn border (Falcón 2007:204–208). These migration trends can onl y be understood from a colonial, dialectical, and intera ctional framework, which reveals a long US tradition of excluding, sub jugating, and removing people on the basis of race, gender, and c lass in clear violation of human rights (2007:218–219; Tamez 2012 :5–6).). Social Interactions An analysis of social interactions zooms in closer to the migrant subjects and their social networks for unde rstanding the migration process across borders (Massey et al. 198 7, 2002; Menjívar 2000; Portes and Rumbaut 1996, 2006; Richter, Taylor, and Yúnez- Naude 2007). Many scholars conceive of migrant’s network s as social capital, which constitutes assets that reduces the cost of migration (Grasmuck and Pessar 1991:13; Massey et al. 2002: 18 –21).24 Accordingly, as they mature over time, networks for m a social structure that makes migration self-sustaining and inde pendent from the original factors that caused it. Portes and Rum baut note, for example, “At some moment, networks across international bo rders acquire sufficient strength to induce migration for motives oth er than those that initiated the flow” (1996: 276). Massey e t al. similarly observe, “Once the number of network connections in a community reaches a critical threshold, migration becomes sel f-perpetuating because each act of migration creates the social struct ure needed to sustain it” (2002: 20). The social networks alone, in spite of the expectation s above, do not cause and sustain migration without controlling f or the M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~280~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 continued unequal and exploitative relations betwee n sending and receiving nations (Barajas 2009:39). If social networks st imulate migration long after the initial structural dislocations (e. g., Richter et al. 2007:286), why did European migration cease to dominate in numbers by 1990? 25 Irrespective of Europe’s recovery from World War II, Europeans with more relatives and social ties i n the United States should have benefitted more from the 1965 Har t-Cellar Act’s family reunification provision than all the other n ationalities.26 It was the expectation (Zolberg 2006:330–336). However, it was the Mexican -origin migration that increased in that period, be cause of overlapping internal- and neo-colonial relationships in the sen ding country that involved the receiving nation’s politics of domination. In The Xaripu Community across Borders (Barajas 2009), for example, the case study shows the migratory changes of a small community from Michoacán, Mexico, to the United States t hroughout the twentieth century. During the Porfiriato period the first Xaripus, Purepecha-origin people, migrated to the United Sta tes. The migrants were mostly young men working throughout the countr y in various industries (agriculture, railroads, and steel) and then return ing to Mexico. Many continued their migration throughout t heir lives, and were later accompanied by younger cohorts (second-generation migrants) during the Bracero period (1942–1964). Only during the civil and labor rights movements of the sixties, Xari pu families (third- generation migrants) began to settle in the United States, leading to a transnational experience, that is, having a dual sense of h ome and maintaining active social networks across national b orders (2009:147). The Xaripu case illustrates how the change from labor migration to transnational migration during the lat e twentieth century was intensified by neocolonialism, advances in tech nology, and racist nativism in the United States (Barajas 2009:146–147; Es piritu 2003:70 –71; Goldring 2003:166–170, 189; Guarnizo and Smith 2003:24). Beginning in the 1970s, Mexico’s emigration rates inc reased not primarily because of mature social networks and/or liberal immigration policy (the Hart-Cellar Act 1965 and, l ater, IRCA 1986) but because of the overlaps of internal and neocolo nialism in Mexico (paralleling the Porfiriato period). The Hart-Cellar Act, in fact, imposed the first quotas of 20,000 per nation in th e western hemisphere (Ngai 2004:227–228). Mexican-origin migrat ion had been M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~281~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 unrestricted before 1965, and up to half a million Br aceros had been brought for 6 to 9 months annually from 1942 to 196 4, for a total of 5 to 7.5 million over the 22-year period (Gonzalez 20 06:118; Mize and Swords 2011:8–9). 27 By the end of the sixties, the Xaripu networks that ha d developed over the twentieth century facilitated th e migration and settlement of their families in the United States. The recei ving country, however, was far from being open and welco ming. Xaripu families experienced occupational, residential, edu cational segregation and racist nativism that blocked their full integra tion and that of later generations as full members of the nation. Thus, th eir networks work within powerful dialectical barriers noted above, a nd their emergent transnationalism reflects a desire to embrace their full humanity, feeling complete across borders (Barajas 2009:222). They moved from being “ ni de aqui, ni de alla ” [neither from here nor from there] to “ de aqui y de alla ” [from here and there]: sin fronteras [without borders] . Some scholars see “transnationalism from below” 28 as empowering (Alicea 1997; Espiritu 2003; Goldring 2003) and oth ers disagree (Parreñas 2001; Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997; Po rtes and Rumbaut 1996). In the Xaripu case transnationalism reflects the dialectics of survival among those who live in-betw een two very unequal worlds and attempt to weave the best of them by transcending the modern nation that imposes racial/ ethnic, gender, and class borders as criteria for full and equal me mbership (Barajas 2009:174–176, 181; Guarnizo and Smith 2003:6; Mahle r 2003:89, 91). They create networks of support, build transnationa l communities, and develop identities that reflect their new experi ences in a context of unequal power relations. CONCLUSION The study of Mexican-origin migration and incorpor ation has been simplified by frameworks claiming universal ap plication based on the European immigrant experience. Research on m igration is dominated by political-economic perspectives: on th e one hand, neo- classical models emphasize modernity, supply and de mand forces, and rational actors shaping migration processes; and on the other hand, structural perspectives underscore monopoly capital ism and highlight relationships of political-economic domination disl ocating people M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~282~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 from their homelands. Other dialectical relationshi ps—i.e., racial and gender oppression—are considered less significant a nd often as functional or super-structural systems to capitalism. This paper moves beyond these reductionist views and proposes interactive colonization theory as providing more comprehensive and integrat ed understanding of Mexican-origin migration experiences. Overlapping internal and neo-colonialisms have cau sed Mexican-origin migrations as seen in the Porfiriato period and more recently in the neoliberal period. These migrations can only be understood from a longitudinal historical perspectiv e and with a dialectical analysis of the intersecting systems of racism, patriarchy and capitalism. In a fairly short period of human histo ry, Mexican-origin people, generally indigenous, were largely displace d from their land, resources, and cultures/identities. Today, as befor e, these forced migrants are treated and imagined as “aliens” to the m odern nation. The dehumanization goes beyond economic exploitatio n, because it denies their right to exist within distinct cultural communities and to move, express, and pursue their dreams freely and with d ignity (Bonfil Batalla 1996; Casanova 1965; Leon-Portilla 1990; Sta vehagen 2005). In 2010, for example, Arizona’s SB 2281 outlawed Mexic an American Studies and SB 1070 formalized racial profiling and deten tion of perceived undocumented immigrants; and in 2011 Alaba ma’s HB 56 went further, essentially outlawing undocumented pe ople’s right to exist, by denying them the right to employment, hou sing, education, transportation, and private or public assistance. I n violation of Human Rights, the construction of borders and “illegal al iens” oppress the original peoples of the Americas (Tamez 2012), and the treatment of their homelands as frontiers to be civilized/ liber alized/modernized alienate them from their lands, resources, and culture s (Smith 2011). REFERENCES Acuña, Rodolfo. 1988. 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In addition, the melting-pot concept (and ideology) of “Latino” or nationality-based labels such as “Mexican” obscure the racial, class, and gender stratification universalized by colonial ism in the Americas, and omit the political-ideological state efforts to Latinize and/or Mexicanize diverse indigenous nations into an imposed natio nalism (Barajas 2009:75, 219). 2. Nonetheless, over the past decade, the general Lat ino population grew from 35.3 million to 50.5 million, accounting for 56 percent of the national growth (PEW Hispanic Center 2011a, 1), and no n-White births became the majority for the first time in th e nation’s history (New York Times 2012: A1). 3. Mestizaje refers to racial and/or ethnic mixing, and is often associated with Spanish and indigenous mestizas/os t hough it can be of any mixture. 4. Without dispute, Mexico is racial and ethnically di verse, and mestizaje is very common, as it is within the Unite d States and its major racial categories, e.g., Black and White. These c ategories do not reflect more pure racial groups, but reflect the po litics of racial formation, whereby racial classification and valuat ions are imposed (and resisted) on to ethnicities with the purposes of placing them in a social hierarchy (Omi and Winant 1994). 5. Mexico had extended formal citizenship to indige nous people since early in the 19 th century, possibly because they were the majority righ t after the Mexican Independence (Menchaca 1993). M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~290~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 7. In the never-ending competition for greater prof its, capitalists overproduce a good which hurts its product’s price. Em ployers respond by downsizing the workforce, maintaining high levels of production with fewer workers, depressing wages, an d/or automating to reduce labor cost. Eventually, high unemployment leads to low consumption rates and lower profits (Bonacich and Appel baum 2000:102–3; Bonacich and Cheng 1984:7–8; Cockcroft 1998:172–73). 8. England did have such an imperialistic relation wit h Ireland, and also experienced high levels of Irish migration during the mid- nineteenth century (Smith and MacRaild 2009:153). 9. In Mexico, indigenous communities were forced into labor migration to neighboring and distant haciendas that had appropriated their lands (Barajas 2009:77–78; Fonseca and Moreno 1 984:95–95) 10. In neocolonialism, a colony gains independence but becomes subordinated to another empire [or the same one]. When Mexico won independence in 1821, the United States appropriate d half of their territory by 1848, and eventually neocolonized the remaining ha lf of Mexico’s territory, monopolizing its resources and infrastruc ture. Across borders indigenous people went from being extern ally colonized by European Kingdoms within their territories to becoming internally colonized by newly-formed nations. In effect, indigenous people suffer the impacts of overlapping oppression s, one from within Mexico and the other from the United States. M estizos [acculturated or mixed indigenous people] occupy an int ermediary position. 6. Ngai (2004) illustrates the devaluation of Filipi no workers based not on supply and demand principles or the workers’ willingness to work for less but, rather, on racist employers. M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~291~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 11. The transnational perspective relates to the co nceptual framework of interactionism (e.g., George Mead’s and Herbert Blumer’s symbolic interactionism), because it underscores social ties and rel ationships affect thought/behavior, self concept, and sense of community. The transnational perspective further communicates the ability of people being able to relate/exist across national borders through their social networks that facilitate communication, migration, and the reproduction of community. 12. For example, Quijano’s (2000) “coloniality of pow er” is one of the most comprehensive discussions of colonialism and i ts continuous impacts on the modern world, global capitalism, and cu ltural/racial domination. Quijano’s theory, however, does not exp lain migration; for example, why Mexican-origin migration was low o r high over time? Interactive colonization offers a better spec ified framework with broader explanatory power for understanding labor m igration and incorporation of Mexican-origin people into the Uni ted States. For instance, Mexican migration occurs in specific historical periods when internal and external colonialisms overlap, and the d ialects of racial, gender and class mediate its form and level. 13. “De-indianized” refers to the suppression of their c ultures and identities, and what some called mestizaje. 14. G. Gonzalez (2006) uses the concept of colonial ism, but does not employ the term of internal colonialism. Quijano’s (200 0) theory of “coloniality of power” misses the internal diversit y within the colo- nized and colonizers. Barajas (2009) draws attention to this internal diversity (45), and also elaborates how intermediar y groups are formed in a context of unequal power relations (51–55) and develop distinct interests reflective of their social location. 15. Sassen (1988, 31–34) suggests that colonial-based migrations took place in earlier stages of capitalism and that newe r forms of migrations are not directly forced as in the past. I argue th at Mexican- origin migrations are as voluntary as they were in the past, and that the general context stimulating these movements are responding to top-down policies and acts that benefit largely tho se that resemble and/or share the values of the earlier colonizers. M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~292~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 16. Dialectics is an important analytical concept f ocusing on unequal and exploitative relationships that create conflict and change; and while Quijano (2000:548–549) examines such oppressi ve relations (e.g., contradictions and ambiguities of modernity) he does not employ an explicit dialectical analysis. 17. These dialectical relations produce binary repr esentations that justify and normalize the dominant group’s hegemony , for example, primitive/modern, savage/civilized, and irrational/ rationa l. 18. The structural perspective above underscores one dial ectical relation, monopoly capitalism, as the most importan t explaining modern migration, and some scholars expand the analysis to include racial and gender systems as well, but subsume it in sign ificance to the global economic system (Gonzalez and Fernandez 2003; G onzalez 2006; Sassen 1988, 2003). 19. Article 27 of Mexican Constitution that protected collectiv e land grants ( ejidos) was dismantled in the early 1990s, facilitating t he sale of ejido lands and leading to the concentration of farm lands in fewer hands. 20. The real wages for US native workers appear to rise from 1990 to 2004, while those of foreign-born ones declined (Pe ri 2007:15). 21. These exclusionary acts targeted Chinese (1882, 189 2), Japanese (1908, 1913), and more generally Asians and Africans (19 21, 1924). While Southern and Eastern Europeans were later targeted by the National Origins Quota Acts (1921 and 1924), they were no t categorically excluded but restricted to a quota of 15 percent of the legal entries to the United States, reserving 85 perc ent of the admissions for northern Europeans (Ngai 2004:21). 22. Ngai (2004) elaborates that though the national origin quotas exempted Mexicans from the restrictive immigration act, the law nonetheless created the concept of “illegality,” wh ich became primari- ly applied to Mexican immigrants, irrespective of t heir immigration status. M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~293~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 23. The top sending countries of immigrants during th e 1990s all had experienced colonial and/or neo-colonial interventi ons by the United States (Portes and Rumbaut 1996:274–76; Sassen 1996 :76–85). 24. Other research, however, points to the limits o f social capital as an explanatory factor and demonstrates how access to networ ks is mediated and shaped by gender, class, generation, and race/ethnicity (Barajas and Ramirez 2007; Grasmuck and Pessar 1991; Hondagneu- Sotelo 2003; Mahler 2003; Menjívar 2000; Parreñas 2001). Mo reover, individuals and their networks are placed in larger contexts—national politics, labor market opportunities, and the recei ving society’s attitudes to migrants—that affect the form and success o f their incorporation into the nation (Menjívar 2000; Porte s and Rumbaut 2006). 25. Since the foundation of the US nation, European immigrants had constituted the great majority of the total immigrants u p to 1980. 26. Resources differences were less different betwe en Europe and the United States in the late 20 th century, but they had been less different throughout history given both regions’ colonial position in the world, and yet only recently did Mexican migration numbers to th e United States surpass Europe’s. 27. Economic domination, via foreign investment (Sassen 1988), is not sufficient in itself to cause migration in Mexi co. Casanova (1963: 292–294) documents that the US increasingly dominated foreign investment from 65 percent in 1938 to 75 percent in 1963 , monopolized about 60 percents of its imports and export s, and unilaterally absorbed a surplus value from a very uneq ual trade. However, during that twenty-plus year period, migrat ion from Mexico did not rise, and in fact, remained flat from 1940 to 1960 (Hispanic Pew Center 2009:1). Moreover, now about 80–90 percen t of Mexico’s exports go to the US, reflecting a subordinate expo rt-oriented economy, but migration has paused since 2008 (Hing 2010). 28. “Transnationalism from below” (Guarnizo and Smi th 2003) or “alternative circuits” (Sassen 2003) are networks of c ommon people as opposed to those of global corporate elites. M. Barajas/Societies Without Borders 7:3 (2012) 264-294 ~294~ © Sociologists Without Borders/Sociólogos Sin Fronter as, 2012 Manuel Barajas, associate professor of sociology at California St ate University-Sacramento, specializes in migration stu dies, Chicana/o studies, and race, gender, and class inequality. H e is author of The Xaripu Community across Borders: Labor Migration, C ommunity, and Family (Notre Dame University Press) that received the 2011 Distinguished Book Award Honorable Mention from the Latino Sectio n, American Sociological Association; and he is co-author with Elvia Ramirez of “Beyond Home-Host Dichotomies: A Comparative Examin ation of G e n d e r R e l a t i o n s i n a T r a n s n a t i o n a l M e x i c a n Community” (Sociological Perspectives).
Topic 6: Gender Empowerment and Family in a global context… (perception/acts of gender equity, double shift, home-host dichotomy); 2. Topic 7a: Understanding Migration and Incorporation (push-pul
Chicano Indianism: a historical account of racial repression in the United States MARTHA MENCHACA-University of Texas, Austin In this article I propose to describe forms of racial repression experienced by people of Mexican origin living under the legal system of the United States. I also propose to document cases in which people of Mexican descent were compelled to argue in court that they should be treated as Caucasians in order to gain the legal rights of full citizens. Focusing on citizenship and racial legislation from 1848 to 1947, I will argue that the U.S. legal system accorded privilege to whites and, conversely, legitimated the inferior treatment of racial minorities. Because Mexican-origin people were of mestizo descent (Spanish and Indian ancestry), they were placed in an ambiguous legal position. Their Indian ancestry linked them to people of color, subjecting them to heightened racial discrimination, while their Spanish ancestry linked them to whites, protecting them from the full impact of the racial laws of the period. My fundamental aim is not to argue that Mexican-origin people are unaware of their indigenous past or that they have no indigenous historical consciousness. Rather, it is to show that they are among the dark-skinned peoples who historically have been discriminated against by this country’s legal system. In embarking on this exploratory venture, I found it necessary to examine documents in which information about the racial repression of Mexican-origin people could be obtained. As primary sources, I consulted federal and state supreme court records and 19th-century citizenship legislation. These legal discourses illustrate more than a century of arguments used to justify racial discrimination in the United States. My historical inquiry will begin with a review of Mexicans'” legal status after the Mexican- American War of 1846-48. I will focus on the conflicting racial laws of the governments of Mexico and the United States with respect to the political rights of mestizos and Indians, describing the dissolution of the Mexican racial caste system and considering the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo to demonstrate how the citizenship laws of Mexico and the United States conflicted and how resolution of the binational conflict adversely affected Mexican people. I will then review the major political events that influenced the Mexicans’ racial status from the late 19th to the mid-20th century, including an analysis of how segregationist laws affected Mexicans and how U.S. citizenship legislation conferred unequal political rights on them. This article offers a historical analysis of the racial repression experienced by people ofMexican origin in the U.S. legalsystem from 1848 to 1947. Using records of court cases and citizenship legislation, it demonstrates that from the 19th to the mid-20th century federal and state racial laws accorded particular legal statuses to Mexicans on the basis of their racial appearance, and it concludes that Mexicans of predominantly Indian descent were more severely discriminated against than Mexicans who were classified as white. [racism, segregation, Chicanos, American Indians, Mexican origin, race, prejudice, citizenship} American Ethnologist 20(3):583-603. Copyright ? 1993, American Anthropological Association. Chicano Indianism 583 U.S. violation of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo Through annexation, conquest, and purchase, the United States acquired Mexico’s northern frontier between 1845 and 1854 (Weber 1982). The four border states of California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas contained numerous small and large settlements of Mexican residents. Mexico also lost parts of its northern frontier that today include Nevada, Utah, parts of Colorado, and small sections of Oklahoma, Kansas, and Wyoming; these areas contained no Mexican settlements and remained under the control of indigenous peoples. At the termination of the Mexican-American War, the American states had the power to determine citizenship eligibility requirements, a power given to them by the Constitution of the United States (U.S. Const. art. IV, sec. 2, cited in Hyman and Wiecek 1982:517-531). As a consequence, the states were able to bar American Indians and all other racial minority groups from obtaining full citizenship privileges (Feagin 1989). The states proposed that only “free whites” (for example, whites who were not indentured servants or criminals) had all the desirable characteristics to receive such privileges (Hull 1985:11, 12; Kansas 1941:79, 80, 85; Konvitz 1946:318).2 Because most political privileges could be acquired only by a citizen, individuals who did not qualify for citizenship received limited civil rights.3 When the United States acquired Mexico’s northern frontier, the mestizo ancestry of the conquered Mexicans placed them in an ambiguous social and legal position (Tate 1969). In the U.S. government bureaucracy, it became unclear whether Mexicans were to be accorded the citizenship rights of white citizens or were to be treated as Indian inhabitants. Most government officials argued that Mexicans of predominantly Indian descent should be extended the same legal status as the detribalized American Indians (People v. De La Guerra 1870; United States v. Joseph 1876; United States v. Lucero 1869; United States v. Santistevan 1874). Mexicans, on the other hand, argued that under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo and international laws, the U.S. government agreed to extend all Mexican citizens-regardless of their race-the political rights enjoyed by white citizens. These rights were accorded to them on the basis of the international principle guaranteeing inhabitants of ceded territories the nationality of the successor state unless other provisions are made in the treaty of peace (Kansas 1941). The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was exchanged and ratified in Queretaro, Mexico, on May 30, 1848, officially ending the Mexican-American War. It stipulated the political rights of the inhabitants of the ceded territories (including the Indians), set the U.S.-Mexico border, and brought several binational agreements on economic relations to closure. However, Anglo- American legislators violated the treaty and refused to extend Mexicans full political rights. The legislators were able to disenfranchise many Mexicans by arguing that such people were of Indian descent and therefore could not claim the political privileges of white citizens. conflicting racial laws in the conquered territories In 1848, with the end of the Mexican-American War, the United States politically disenfran- chised all Indians of the Southwest by rescinding Mexico’s racial laws in the newly conquered territories. Since 181 2, Mexico had given Indians the right to claim citizenship and full political rights (Knight 1990; Morner 1967; United States v. Lucero 1869; Weber 1982). Mexico also no longer practiced a legally based racial caste system. Thus, new racial restriction policies instituted in the conquered territories came to threaten the civil rights of the Mexicans because under U.S. laws, Indians and “half-breeds” were not considered citizens (Kansas 1941; Naturalization Act of 1790, ch. 3, sec. 1; see In re Camille 1880). The eradication of Mexico’s racial caste system had begun in the late 1 700s when the Spanish crown resolved that generations of miscegenation had thoroughly blurred racial distinctions (Knight 1990; Morner 1967). In 1812, the legal basis of the racial ranking order was finally 584 american ethnologist abolished. The racial caste system, which for two centuries had distinguished individuals on the basis of race, became nonfunctional for political and social purposes. Its gradual breakdown resulted from the growth of the mestizo population and the political power obtained by upper-class mestizos. By the turn of the 19th century, the mestizos had become the majority and were heavily represented in the upper classes. Before the breakdown of the racial caste system, Mexico’s population had been divided among Spaniards, “castas,” and Indians (Lafaye 1974; Morner 1967; Vigi 1 984). Distinguishing the population on the basis of parental origin had been an adequate legal method of according economic privilege and social prestige to the Spaniards. The Spaniards included both peninsu- lares, individuals who had been born in Spain and were of full European descent, and criollos, who were also of full European descent but had been born in the New World. As miscegenation increased among the Spanish elite, the criollo category eventually came to be redefined. The castas were mestizos and other persons of mixed blood. The Indian category included only people of full indigenous descent. Of the various racial groups, the Spaniards enjoyed the highest social prestige and were accorded the most extensive legal and economic privileges. The legal system did not make distinctions between peninsulares and criollos. Nevertheless, the Spanish crown instituted policies requiring that high-level positions in the government and the Catholic church be assigned to peninsulares (Haring 1963), on the rationale that only peninsulares were fervently loyal to the Spanish crown. Exceptions were made when a new colony was established in the Americas and when a peninsular was unwilling to accept the appointment. It was required, however, that a criollo taking such an appointment be a son of peninsulares. Peninsulares were appointed to positions such as viceroy, governor, captain-general, archbishop, and bishop, whereas criollos were appointed to less prestigious positions, such as royal exchequer (treasurer, comptroller) and judge, and, after 1618, to mid-level administrative positions in the church (as priests or directors of schools). The social and economic mobility of the rest of the population was seriously limited by the legal statuses ascribed to their ancestral groups. In theory, Indians were economically more privileged than mestizos because they held title to large parcels of communal land protected by the Spanish crown and the Catholic church (Haring 1963; Morner 1967). However, regardless of their landed property, the Indians were accorded little social prestige in Mexican society and were legally confined to subservient social and economic roles regulated by the Spanish elite. Most Indians were placed in encomiendas and repartimientos (Indian communi- ties where land and labor were controlled by Spanish missionaries or government officials), Indian pueblos, or haciendas and were held in a perpetual state of tutelage. The mestizos enjoyed a higher social prestige than the Indians but were considered inferior to the Spaniards. They were also often ostracized by the Indians and the Spaniards, and they did notenjoy certain legal privileges accorded to those groups. For example, most mestizos were barred by royal decree from obtaining high- and mid-level positions in the royal and ecclesiastical governments (Haring 1963; Morner 1967). Moreover, the Spanish crown did not reserve land for the mestizos as it did for the Indians. For the most part, the only economic recourse most mestizos had was to enter the labor market or migrate toward Mexico’s northern and southern frontiers. Each migrant who was the head of a household was awarded 150 acres and exempted from taxation for a period of approximately ten years (Le6n-Portilla 1972; Rubel 1966; Weber 1982). After 1680, mestizos were occasionally allowed to become parish priests in Mexico’s frontier settlements or in sparsely populated areas. By the late 1 700s, the rigid racial order had relaxed owing to changes in the interracial sexual and cohabitation practices of the Spanish elite (Bonifaz de Novello 1975; Morner 1967). It had become common for upper-class Spanish males to take mestizo or Indian women as concubines and afterward legitimate their offspring. In such cases the racial status ofthe child became criollo Chicano Indianism 585 and not mestizo. These criollos had the racial status of Spaniards but were not accorded the corresponding legal privileges. They were barred from positions reserved for the Spaniards of full European descent, and they suffered certain sanctions for marrying peninsular women. By the early 1800s, large numbers of criollos, mestizos, and Indians were becoming increasingly defiant of bounded social roles and were trespassing their borders with deliberate speed. Criollos attempted to pass for peninsulares in order to obtain more social privileges. Indians often passed for mestizos in order to obtain wage labor in the urban centers, mestizos passed for Indians as a means of acquiring the land titles of the Indians (Bonifaz de Novello 1975; Morner 1967), and mestizos who had amassed great fortunes tried to improve their social standing by passing for criollos. The blurring of the racial distinctions made it difficult for the Spanish crown to enforce the laws and the prescribed social norms, in particular because the majority of the population was indistinguishably mestizo. The final blow to the racial order came about through the political defection of the masses. By the early 1800s, movements to liberate Mexico from Spanish colonial rule had erupted throughout the country, and as a consequence the Spanish crown attempted to avert revolu- tionary action by instituting the 1812 Spanish Constitution of Cadiz. The new constitution legally abolished the casta system and the racial laws. Theoretically, the constitution conferred on Spaniards, mestizos, and Indians the same political rights regardless of racial origin. The laws of Cadiz, however, were unable to avert the national independence movements. In 1821, the masses won the Mexican War for Independence and instituted a provisional constitution (the Plan de Iguala) reaffirming the racial philosophy of the Constitution of Cadiz. After the War of Independence, race could no longer be legally used to prevent Indians and mestizos from exercising citizenship rights. For example, it became common for mestizos and full-blooded Indians to be elected to the presidency. All subsequent Mexican constitutions ratified the spirit and language of the Constitution of Cadiz. In northern Mexico, the frontier experienced the same legislative changes as the interior. Indians were considered Mexican citizens and were accorded full political rights. In New Mexico, southern Arizona, and California the acculturated Indians and the secularized mission Indians actively exercised those rights (Spicer 1962; Weber 1982). In New Mexico numerous Pueblo Indians were elected to town and county political offices, and in California acculturated American Indians often held high-ranking posts in the military (Heizer and Almquist 1971; UnitedStates v. Ritchie 1854; UnitedStates v. Vallejo 1861). Of course the new laws had limited effects on the majority of the American Indians, because Mexico held title to territories inhabited by unconquered indigenous populations. The majority of the Shoshone, Navajo, Apache, and Comanche Indians had not been conquered by the Mexican state. And the new legislation did not eradicate the Mexican elites’ attitudes of racial and economic superiority toward the American Indians and mestizos. When Mexico ceded its northern territory to the United States, then, it had already abolished all racial restrictions on citizenship. The Indians had theoretically been incorporated as Mexican citizens. In practice, of course, this legislation had not abolished racial prejudice and discrimi- nation in Mexico, and the Indians continued to be stigmatized as uneducated people. However, the mestizo racial category had taken on a new social meaning. Because most of the population was mestizo, being mestizo had become a source of pride rather than a stigma. The European race continued to hold high social prestige in Mexico, but the masses no longer considered it the only prestigious racial group (Knight 1990; Vigil 1984). In the legal domain, race could no longer be used as a civil rights barrier. The racial policies of the United States, however, were less liberal than Mexico’s. The United States at that time conferred full citizenship rights on “free whites” only. Thus, the states’ constitutional right to deny Indians U.S. citizenship introduced the ideological and legal foundation for limiting the Mexican people’s political rights. Moreover, government officials 586 american ethnologist often used the Mexicans’ indigenous heritage to undermine the civil rights language of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. Article VIII of the treaty stated that the United States agreed to extend U.S. citizenship to all Mexican citizens, regardless of ancestry, who remained in the ceded territories. If individuals did not want U.S. citizenship, they had to so indicate within one year; otherwise they would become citizens automatically (cited in Tate 1969). Under Article IX the United States further agreed that Mexicans who chose to become U.S. citizens would have all the attendant rights. Article IX stipulated that “Mexicans who, in the territories aforesaid, shall not preserve the character of citizens of the Mexican Republic … shall be incorporated into the Union of the United States, and be admitted at the proper time … to the enjoyment of all the rights of citizens of the United States” (cited in Tate 1969:20). Regardless of the treaty, however, the U.S. government refused to ratify the racial equality laws of Mexico. When the annexed southwestern territories joined the Union, their state constitutions did not extend to American Indians the political rights guaranteed by the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo and the Mexican constitution. And soon after the enactment of the treaty, controversy arose over the citizenship status of the Mexicans. The exclusionary Indian citizen- ship laws, endorsed by the southwestern legislators, became the legal basis for limiting the political rights of the Mexicans. Government representatives commonly argued that the language of the treaty and the U.S. Constitution was unclear as to whether Mexicans of Indian descent should be treated as American Indians or should be extended the privileges of whites (Surace 1982; United States v. Joseph 1876; United States v. Lucero 1869; United States v. Ritchie 1854; United States v. Santistevan 1874). Ironically, the political privileges that the Spanish and Mexican governments had previously given people in the Southwest were abolished by the U.S. racial laws. The Mexican mestizos and Indians entered a new racial caste-like order in which their civil rights were limited. Given the nature of the U.S. racial system and its laws, the conquered Mexican population learned that it was politically expedientto assert their Spanish ancestry; otherwise, they were susceptible to being treated as American Indians (Padil la 1979). At the same time, as this historical blueprint suggests, it became politically expedient for American Indians to pass for Mexican mestizos if they wished to escape the full impact of the discriminatory Indian legislation (Forbes 1973). Let us now examine how the political disenfranchisement of the Indians affected the Mexican population. the denial of citizenship for American and Mexican Indians After ratification of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, government representatives of the annexed region began to pass new racial-restriction citizenship laws (Cal. Const. 1849, art. II, sec. 1; New Mexico Organic Law [Act] of 1850, sec. 6, cited in First Legislative Assembly 1851:20; Organic Act of Arizona 1863, revised 1864, ch. 24, sec. 6, cited in Hoyt 1877:226; Tex. Const. 1845, art. III, sec. 1). Most American Indians were prohibited from obtaining citizenship, and the anti-Indian legislation adversely affected the Mexicans of partial or full Indian descent. Unless a Mexican was predominantly white, he or she was subject to racial harassment (Forbes 1973; Tate 1969). Those classified as Mexican Indians were not entitled to exercise full political rights or even basic civil rights: they were not allowed to vote, practice law, marry Anglo-American women, or run for political offices such as district judge (Konvitz 1946; Murphy 1970). They were also subject to severe human rights infringements, such as being placed in debt peonage and being forced to live on reservations. After the annexation of Mexico’s northern frontier, the southwestern territories and states enacted ruthless, discriminatory Indian legislation. The Anglo-American legislators were able to enforce the laws with the help of the U.S. military and the Anglo-American settlers. It became common policy to place American Indians on reservations, drive them out of the southwest, or Chicano Indianism 587 exterminate them (Heizer and Almquist 1971; Lamar 1966; Newcomb 1985; Spicer 1962, 1969). With few exceptions, only former mission Indians were allowed to reside in white settlements and to retain title to secularized mission lands or family parcels. By the mid-1 860s, however, most mission Indians had lost their property and become vagrants and paupers. Many of the mission Indians also ended their days in debt peonage, because between 1850 and 1865 it became lawful to place in bondage Indians who were vagrants, paupers, or orphans (Heizer and Almquist 1971; Lamar 1966). In many California towns it was also lawful to enslave them. By the late 1870s, the process of displacing Indians from their fertile southwestern land was practically complete. Thousands of Indians had been exterminated and the remainder placed on reservations. In Texas, indeed, this had been achieved as early as 1852 (Newcomb 1985). The Anglo Americans’ blatant disregard for the Indians’ right to life became an alarming warning to the Mexicans. If Mexicans were to have more political rights than Indians, they could not be identified as Mexican Indians. Of the annexed regions, California and Arizona enacted the most discriminatory Indian legislation, clearly and strongly professing that all Indians, regardless of territorial origin, were to be denied citizenship. To a large extent, California’s and Arizona’s exclusionary racial laws reflected the Anglo-American political brokers’ interest in limiting the rights of the Mexicans and preventing them from having any governmental power. Both states passed laws to disenfranchise Mexicans of Indian descent and to allow only white Mexicans full political rights. In California, the state constitution of 1849 included a racial-restriction clause allowing only whites the right to vote. The purpose of this clause was to disenfranchise Mexicans of Indian descent, who constituted the overwhelming majority of the conquered population. The consti- tution made it explicit that only white U.S. males and white Mexican males had the right of suffrage; Indians and mestizos were ineligible to vote and therefore were stripped of most political rights. The California constitution stated: Every White male citizen of the United States, and every White male citizen of Mexico, who shall have elected to become a citizen of the United States, under the treaty of peace exchanged and ratified at Queretaro, on the 30th day of May, 1848, of the age of twenty-one years who shall have been a resident of the state six months next preceding the election, and the county or district in which he claims his vote thirty days, shall be entitled to vote at all elections which are now or hereafter may be authorized by law. [Cal. Const. 1849, art. II, sec. 1; emphasis added] The state legislators were aware that this racial restriction infringed the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo and international laws of territorial cession. They were, however, more concerned with preventing Mexicans from obtaining political control of California. The legislative debates of California’s first constitutional convention of 1849 summarized the overriding view that Mexicans were Indians and should not be given the right to vote. Mr. Hoppe, a state legislator, proposed that itwas unwise to give the descendants of Mexican Indians the right to vote, regardless of whether or not they were acculturated and paid taxes. He stated in reference to Mexicans that there are Indians by descent, as well as full-blooded Indians…. Many of the most distinguished officers of the Mexican government are Indians by descent. At the same time, it would be impolitic to permit the full-blooded Indians who held [sic] property the right to vote. Those who held property would, of course, be taxed. [cited in Heizer and Almquist 1971:102] The legislators further argued that denying Mexicans the right to vote did not violate the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. Mexicans would be allowed to become U.S. citizens and at the same time would be denied the right to vote. Mr. Bott, one of the state legislators, proposed: This Treaty … is binding in every clause because it does not contradict the Constitution of the United States, it does not prescribe who shall be our voters. If it had made citizens of Mexico directly citizens of the United States, it would not have said that they should be voters of the State of California. [cited in Heizer and Almquist 1971:101] 588 american ethnologist Mr. Dimmick, another legislator, concurred with Mr. Bott and argued in favor of denying Mexicans the right of suffrage: “Are we to admit them to rights superior to those which we enjoy ourselves? Does anyone pretend to assert thatwe are under obligation to do this? Does itfollow that the right of suffrage is one of these rights? … It is not necessarily the right of a citizen” (cited in Heizer and Almquist 1971:101). The final decision of the convention rested on the premise that the legislators were obliged to give Mexicans the right to vote or else the U.S. Congress would reject the state’s constitution because it blatantly violated the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (Heizer and Almquist 1971:100-102). Nonetheless, the legislators concurred that neither the treaty nor the U.S. Constitution precluded them from placing racial-restriction clauses in the language of the California constitution. They concluded that Mexicans were to be given the right to vote only if they were “white.” Ironically, the California state legislators did not clarify what they meant by a “white Mexican” and thus left open to local interpretation what racial criteria constituted a white, mestizo, or Indian Mexican. At the community level, this legal ambiguity allowed Anglo Americans to discriminate against Mexicans. Each township had the power to determine whether its Mexican residents were white and therefore to exempt them from or subject them to the state’s racial laws (Padilla 1979). When Arizona gained political independence from New Mexico in 1863, its existing territorial constitution was abandoned. Arizona legislators decided to base parts of their new territorial constitution on California’s constitution: California’s citizenship and electoral eligi- bility requirements were adopted, and only white males and white Mexican males were allowed to vote (Organic Act of Arizona 1863, revised 1864, ch. 24, sec. 6, cited in Hoyt 1877:226). A fundamental purpose was to disqualify American Indians, mestizos, and Mexican Indians from the electoral process (Hoyt 1877; Tate 1969). Arizona’s territorial act disenfranchised Mexican Indians and mestizos until 1877, and the legislators passed additional racist laws against Mexican citizens. Once again Mexicans were disqualified, on the basis of race, from serving as justices of the peace and from practicing law (Murphy 1970); between 1864 and 1888 only white males were allowed to enter those professions. The Anglo-American power brokers were apparently determined to prevent Mexican Indians and mestizos from influencing Arizona’s political structure. The constitutions of Texas and New Mexico were less discriminatory against Indians and theoretically extended the full rights of citizenship to most Mexicans. The Texas constitution of 1845 and the amendments of 1850 extended the right of citizenship to “free whites,” Mexicans, and a few detribalized, taxpaying Indians (Judd and Hall 1932). To acquire this right of citizenship, however, Mexicans had to have resided in Texas prior to 1845 (Padilla 1979); any Mexican immigrants arriving in Texas after that date had to prove that they were white in order to apply for citizenship. The detribalized American Indians were classified as citizens but were not given the right to vote (Elk v. Wilkens 1884), and the only American Indians who were granted citizenship (without suffrage) were those who resided in Mexican towns and had adopted the Mexican culture. Few other than the detribalized Mexican Apaches from the San Antonio District were eligible to be considered citizens (Weber 1982). Most likely, Mexicans and a few American Indians were granted citizenship because they no longer posed a political threat to the Anglo power structure. By 1850, most Indians had been exterminated and Mexicans constituted a minority population (Montejano 1987; Newcomb 1985). Between 1850 and 1913 the citizenship laws extended to the Indians in New Mexico were ambiguous, and governmental opinions vacillated between liberal and racist positions. The differing attitudes toward the Indians appear to have been strongly associated with the shifts of political power from the Mexican mestizos to the Anglo Americans. From 1850 to the mid-1870s, a period when the Mexican mestizos retained considerable negotiating power, relatively liberal Indian legislation was passed in New Mexico (Lamar 1966). Conversely, Chicano Indianism 589 between the mid-1 870s and 1913, as the Anglo Americans gradually came to monopolize New Mexico’s government, attitudes toward the Indians became less sympathetic. New Mexico’s first territorial constitution was drafted on May 15, 1850, and was titled the Organic Act of New Mexico. Twenty delegates were present at the constitutional convention: 11 Mexicans and 9 Anglo Americans (Larson 1968). The Organic Act conferred full rights of citizenship upon “free whites” and those citizens of Mexico who had become citizens of the United States as a result of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (First Legislative Assembly 1851:20).4 Within days, confusion arose over two issues: were the Pueblo Indians part of the conquered Mexican population that had obtained U.S. citizenship under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, and did they thereby acquire the right of suffrage? A month after the act was drafted, the Cochiti Indians (part of the Pueblo Indians) sent a delegation to Santa Fe, where it met with government officials to discuss the Cochiti’s citizenship status (Larson 1968).5 The Cochiti were assured that civilized Indians were counted as part of the conquered Mexican population and were therefore eligible to vote. When New Mexico’s first territorial election was held, the Cochiti and other Pueblo Indians were allowed to vote. On September 5, 1853, however, the U.S. Congress rescinded the Pueblo Indians’ voting rights (Larson 1968). Ironically, though Congress prohibited the Pueblo Indians from voting, New Mexico’s territorial legislators gave them a special citizenship status that allowed them to vote at the township level (Deavenport 1856:142). The Pueblo Indians, however, had to demonstrate that they practiced a Mexican lifestyle (that, for example, they had a “Mexican political village structure”). New Mexico’s courts also prohibited federal Indian agents from relocating any Pueblo Indian onto a reservation (United States v. Kolowoski 1 874; United States v. Lucero 1869; United States v. Santistevan 1874; United States v. Varela 1874).6 The courts reasoned that because the Pueblo Indians had adopted the Spanish culture and the Mexican township system, they had the right to obtain special privileges not extended to other Indian groups. In United States v. Lucero (1869), for example, the main argument offered in defense of the Cochiti was that generations of Spanish cultural indoctrination had uplifted their race. It was concluded that they had become a Mexicanized Indian race that had adopted the culture, names, and traditions of their Mexican neighbors. The court offered the following opinion: Their names, their customs, and their habits, are similar to those of the people in whose midst they reside, or in the midst of whom their pueblos are situated…. In the absence of law or decision on the subject, are we not at liberty to conclude from these facts that the laws, the decision of the courts, and the acquiescence of the people, all recognized the pueblo Indians as citizens, as “Mexicans”? We do so conclude. [United States v. Lucero 1869:454, 456] In short, the court decided that the Pueblo Indians of Cochiti were part of the conquered Mexican people who had obtained U.S. citizenship under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The liberal New Mexico Supreme Court rulings and territorial laws were short-lived. In 1876 the U.S. Supreme Court overturned the Pueblo Indians’ right to claim U.S. citizenship under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (Davis and Mechem 1915; United States v. Joseph 1876). It appears that the dissolution of the Pueblo Indians’ citizenship rights coincided with the growth of the Anglo-American community. In the late 1870s the Anglo-American population gradually increased; by 1880 it had become the majority, numbering over 90,000 (Lamar 1966). And with population growth came political power. The Pueblo Indians’ right to claim citizenship faced its first serious challenge when Anthony Joseph charged that he had been discriminated against by New Mexico’s legal system. In 1874, Joseph, an Anglo-American resident of New Mexico, challenged the Pueblo Indians’ property rights and attempted to lay claim to a parcel of their land. Government officials fined him and evicted him from the Pueblo territory. Joseph refused to pay the fine, and the dispute was finally resolved in court. He lost the trial at the territorial level (United States v. Joseph 1874) but, unsatisfied with the court’s decision, appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court. In United 590 american ethnologist States v. Joseph (1 876), he argued that the Pueblo Indians had no legal right to the land because they were not U.S. citizens. In response, the Supreme Court offered a convoluted decision regarding the citizenship status of the Pueblo Indians. The Court ruled that under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo the land of the Taos Pueblo Indians was protected from homesteaders. The Court also ruled, however, that although many Pueblo Indians practiced Mexican customs, they could not be considered U.S. citizens of Mexican descent. It concluded that because of the topic’s complexity, the final decision would have to be made in future cases when the political rights of the Pueblo Indians were questioned. The final blow to the citizenship rights of the Pueblo Indians came from the Supreme Court in 1884. In Elk v. Wilkens the Court ruled that Indians-whether or not they were acculturated-were not U.S. citizens. In New Mexico, the impact of the federal Supreme Court rulings on Indian issues was to dismantle the Pueblo Indians’ special status. For example, in 1897 the Pueblo Indians’ right to vote in town elections was rescinded (Davis and Mechem 1915). Moreover, when the New Mexico territory gained statehood in 1912 additional discriminatory laws were passed. Under the new state constitution (adopted January 21, 1911) the Pueblo Indians were declared to be “like any other Indian tribe” and their tribal land was brought under U.S. jurisdiction as “Indian country” (N.M. Const. 1911, art. XXI, sec. 8). Finally, in 1913, one year after statehood, New Mexico’s supreme court passed a ruling stipulating that the Pueblo Indians were savages and therefore had no right to claim U.S. citizenship under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. In United States v. Sandoval (1913) the court concluded that although the cultural heritage of the Pueblo was ambiguous, New Mexico’s constitution classified them as an Indian tribe and not as a Mexican ethnic group. The court offered the following analysis of the Pueblo Indians’ culture, concluding that they were a primitive and inferior people: The people of the pueblos, although sedentary rather than nomadic in their inclinations, and disposed to peace and industry, are nevertheless Indians in race, customs, and domestic government. Always … adhering to primitive modes of life, largely influenced by superstition and fetichism [sic], and chiefly governed according to the crude customs inherited from their ancestors, they are essentially a simple, uninformed and inferior people. [United States v. Sandoval 191 3:39] United States v. Sandoval effectively symbolized the degeneration of the Indians’ legal status during the Anglo-American political domination of New Mexico. Moreover, the derogatory views that the state and federal courts held of the Indians reflected the general racial prejudice felt by Anglo Americans toward people of Indian descent. Larson (1968) and Lamar (1966) posit that during the 19th century the major obstruction to New Mexico’s statehood was the racial prejudice of U.S. congressmen toward a Spanish-speaking and predominantly nonwhite population. Congress was unwilling to extend statehood to a Mexican population that did not represent “the best blood on the American continent” (Larson 1968:303). During the 19th century, then, racial laws in the Southwest discriminated against the Mexican-origin population, in particular those of Indian descent. Mexicans who were of American Indian or predominantly Mexican Indian descent were not able to exercise the full rights of citizens. It is now necessary to further examine the legislative and judicial repression of Mexicans and Indians in order to show why Mexicans were pressured to argue in court that they were of Caucasian descent. citizenship by birth: racial restrictions and the 14th Amendment Passed in 1865, the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution abolished slavery and involuntary servitude, freeing blacks from slavery and releasing thousands of American Indians held in indentured bondage (Feagin 1989; Heizer and Almquist 1971). The question of whether blacks and other racial minorities should be incorporated into the nation as voting citizens then arose. The federal government determined that if racial minorities were to be allowed to vote, Chicano Indianism 591 a federal law rescinding the states’ right to prescribe citizenship requirements had to be enacted (Hyman and Wiecek 1982). The 14th Amendment was passed in 1868 with the intention of legislating a uniform citizenship law and eliminating the states’ right to establish citizenship eligibility (U.S. Const. amend. XIV, sec. 1, cited in Hyman and Wiecek 1982:517-531). Ironically, although the 14th Amendment became the paramount law of the land and people born in the United States were granted full citizenship rights, including the right to vote, the amendment excluded the American Indians from its protection. Thus, this legislation adversely affected the Mexicans because Anglo-Americans continued to argue that most Mexicans were Indians and therefore should receive the same treatment (Surace 1982). Let us look at two judicial cases in which Anglo Americans attempted to deny Mexicans and American Indians the protection of the 14th Amendment by arguing that both populations were Indian. Regardless of whether American Indians adopted the lifestyle of Euro-Americans, the gov- ernment refused to grant them the right to obtain citizenship under the 14th Amendment. A case in point is John Elk, an acculturated Indian, who in 1884 was denied that right. According to the U.S. Supreme Court, Elk was technically a tribal Indian because his people had never enacted a treaty with the United States and had not been granted U.S. citizenship. Although Elk was a taxpayer, had terminated all relations with his reservation, and had served in the U.S. military, he was found unfit to claim citizenship. He was also denied the right to apply for naturalization, because Indians were ineligible: Indians could only become citizens by an act of Congress. With the Elk v. Wilkens ruling, the government made it clear that Indians were disqualified from applying for citizenship or naturalization. This law also applied to the American Indians of partial Mexican descent, including many Pueblo Indians of New Mexico (United States v. Sandoval 1913). Throughout the late 1800s, anti-Indian feelings were projected onto Mexicans and used as a rationale for denying them full citizenship rights (Hardy v. De Leon 1849; Kilpatrick v. Sisneros 1859; McKinney v. Saviego 1855; People v. Naglee 1850). In 1870, Pablo De La Guerra, a district judge and a prominent citizen of Santa Barbara, was prosecuted by the state of California for “illegally acting” as a U.S. citizen. In the state supreme court hearing, the attorneys for the state argued that De La Guerra was not a U.S. citizen because the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo had never had the power to make citizens of Mexicans or Indians. Therefore, they proposed that Mexicans who had remained in the United States after the Mexican-American War might only obtain citizenship by naturalization. Embellishing the facts, the attorneys for the state further argued that because the constitution prohibited Indians from applying for naturalization, and because Mexicans were Indian, Mexicans were also ineligible to apply for naturalization. In his defense, De La Guerra argued that he was white and was therefore exempt from California’s racial laws. The court records indicate De La Guerra testified that he “was born at Santa Barbara in 1819, and has ever since resided at that place and is admitted to have been a White male citizen of Mexico” (People v. De La Guerra 1870:339, emphasis added). Although the state supreme court ruled in favor of De La Guerra, concluding that he was white and therefore not subject to Indian jurisdiction laws, it passed a convoluted decision that upheld California’s right to limit citizenship on the basis of race. (De La Guerra was also judged to be a U.S. citizen because the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo had conferred that privilege upon him.) The court ruled that although De La Guerra was entitled to the full rights of citizenship because he was white, nonwhite Mexicans were not entitled to the same rights. The court stated that citizenship did not guarantee Mexicans full political rights because the government had the power to limit political privileges for certain types of Mexicans. It was implicit in the language of the court that only white Mexicans were entitled to full political rights. Ironically, although two years earlier the federal government had passed the 14th Amendment, which prohibited the states from limiting the political rights of U.S. citizens on the basis of race, the state supreme court upheld California’s right to practice racial discrimination. It is unclear 592 american ethnologist whether the court elected to ignore the 14th Amendment or decided that it did not apply to Mexicans. The court’s concluding statement affirmed California’s right to discriminate against Mexicans of Indian descent: The elective franchise is denied to certain persons who had been entitled to its exercise under the laws of Mexico. The possession of all political rights is not essential to citizenship. When Congress admitted California as a State, the constituent members of the State, in their aggregate capacity, became vested with the sovereign powers of government, “according to the principles of the Constitution.” They then had the right to prescribe the qualifications of electors, and it is no violation of the treaty that these qualifications were such as to exclude some of the inhabitants from certain political rights. [People v. De La Guerra 1870:343-344] The court further proposed that Mexican Indians born in the United States were ineligible to vote because Indians were denied that right. New Mexico and Arizona took similar discriminatory actions. Despite the 14th Amendment, the Arizona legislators continued to deny nonwhite Mexicans the right of suffrage as well as to prevent them from serving as lawyers or justices of the peace (Murphy 1970). In New Mexico, although the Mexican mestizos retained considerable control of the territorial government during the 1870s, there is evidence that the Anglo Americans attempted to disenfranchise Mexicans by accusing them of being traitors. Mexican judges, in particular, came under overwhelming attack (Carter v. Territory of New Mexico 1859; Quintana v. Thompkins 1853). Throughout the late 19th century, state governments prevented “American-born” racial minorities from exercising their citizenship rights (Kansas 1941). Anglo Americans argued that the spirit of the 14th Amendment applied only to blacks and whites and that therefore Asians, American Indians, Mexicans, and “half-breeds” were not entitled to its protection (Hull 1985; Konvitz 1946; Padilla 1979). As large numbers of American racial minorities began to challenge the states’ interpretations of the 14th Amendment, their cases began to appear before the states’ supreme courts. The federal Supreme Court was then pressured to offer a final and uniform decision on two citizenship questions: were nonblack racial minorities who had been born in the United States citizens; and if they were, should they be entitled to full political rights? In 1897 the case of United States v. Wong Kim Ark reached the federal Supreme Court, and the racial questions were resolved. The Supreme Court ruled that a child born in the United States acquired citizenship by virtue of the 14th Amendment and that race and national origin could not be used to deny a person the rights of citizenship.7 The Court also ruled that the Civil Rights Act of 1866 (ch. 31, sec. 1-6) guaranteed all persons born in the United States (and not subject to any foreign power), regardless of racial background, full and equal benefit of the laws enjoyed by white citizens. Ironically, the Court exempted the majority of the American Indians, the rationale being that the spirit and language of the 14th Amendment were based on the principles of the Civil Rights Act of 1866, which exempted most American Indians. Following the Wong Kim Ark decision, Mexicans born in the United States were in theory indisputably guaranteed the full legal rights of citizenship. However, because most Indians were denied the 14th Amendment’s protection, Mexicans remained a vulnerable target of discrimi- nation. Mexicans born in the United States were entitled to full political privileges, but at the community level they were subject to the Anglo Americans’ interpretations of the 14th Amendment. There are abundant historical records demonstrating that anti-Indian attitudes were extended to Mexicans and that on a daily basis the two ethnic groups were often treated alike (Spicer 1962; Surace 1982; Taylor 1934). For example, newspapers typically depicted Mexicans as half-breeds or quarter-Indian bloods who stole cattle and assassinated Anglo Americans (Paredes 1978; Pitt 1966). Journalists also warned the American public to be wary of Mexicans because many “savage” Indians were attempting to pass for Mexican (Kenner 1969; Lange and Riley 1970, 1975; Reister 1928). Discriminatory anti-Indian attitudes also surfaced in the area of naturalization, and the Mexican immigrant became the target. Reasoning that Mexicans were Indian, federal agencies Chicano Indianism 593 attempted to extend to Mexicans the exclusionary naturalization laws that applied to Indians. This was potentially damaging to the Mexican population as the era of Mexican migration began to unfold in the late 19th century. Thousands of Mexicans were entering the United States in an attempt to escape the repressive Mexican hacienda system, while others were deciding to settle in the Southwest as a means of reuniting families separated by the U.S.-Mexico border (Galarza 1964; Paredes 1978). Over 8,000 Mexican immigrants entered the United States legally between 1869 and 1900, and many more thousands of unregistered immigrants arrived (Galarza 1964; Zambrano 1986). It is thus important to explore the racial rationales used by Anglo Americans to prevent Mexican immigrants from obtaining U.S. citizenship. citizenship by naturalization: Mexican immigrants In the 19th century, Mexican immigrants who planned to participate in American electoral politics and receive other political rights had to obtain citizenship by way of naturalization. For Mexicans and other racial minorities the process was arduous. Racial minorities did not have the right to apply for naturalization merely because they were immigrants (Hull 1985; Kansas 1941; Konvitz 1946). On the contrary, from 1790 to 1940 only “free white immigrants”-and, after 1870, black immigrants-were extended the privilege of naturalization (Naturalization Act of 1790, ch. 3, sec. 1; Naturalization Act of 1795, ch. 20, stat. 2, sec. 1; Naturalization Act of 1802, ch. 28, stat. 1; Naturalization Rev. Stat. of 1870, sec. 2169). The historical failure of the federal government to classify Mexicans as white adversely affected the Mexican immigrants who planned to apply for citizenship. If Mexican immigrants wanted to be naturalized, they had to prove that they were eligible to apply because they were white (Padilla 1979); consequently, they also had to prove that they were not Indian, because the naturalization eligibility requirements excluded Indians. In effect the naturalization process discouraged Mexican immigrants from asserting their indigenous heritage within the legal system. In Arizona, there is evidence that still more restrictive naturalization policies prevented Mexican immigrants from obtaining citizenship. The citizens of Apache County considered the naturalization racial clauses to be excessively lax, and so in 1885, local government officials defied the rules of the naturalization board and took it upon themselves to determine which types of white immigrants would be allowed to become U.S. citizens (Murphy 1970). It is difficult to determine how many Mexican immigrants were successful in obtaining naturalization and how many were turned down on the basis of race (Hull 1985). The case of In re Rodriguez (1897), however, delineates the type of rationale used by the naturalization board to exclude Mexican immigrants. In 1897, Ricardo Rodriguez, a citizen of Mexico, filed in the county court of Bexar, Texas, his intention to become a citizen of the United States. His application was denied on the ground that he was an Indian and therefore not eligible to apply for citizenship. Rodriguez appealed, and his case was heard by the San Antonio Circuit Court. In his defense, Rodriguez argued that although his race was Indian he no longer practiced Indian traditions and knew nothing about that culture. The naturalization board contested Rodriguez’ right to apply for naturalization, arguing that the federal government did not extend this privilege to nonwhites other than blacks. The board, represented by attorney A. J. Evans, asserted that although many Mexicans were white and qualified for naturalization, most Mexicans, like Rodriguez, were Indian and thus ineligible to be naturalized (Naturalization Rev. Stat. of 1870, sec. 2169). Evans argued that Rodriguez was unmistakably Indian in appearance: I challenge the right of the applicant to become a citizen of the United States, on the ground that he is not a man or person entitled to be naturalized…. [The] applicant is a native-born person of Mexico, 38 years old, and of pure Aztec or Indian race…. The population of Mexico comprises about six million Indians of unmixed blood, nearly one-half of whom are nomadic savage tribes, .. . about 5 million whites 594 american ethnologist or creoles… and twenty-five thousand … mestizos, or half-breeds derived from the union of the whites and Indians…. Now it is clear… from the appearance of the applicant, that he is one of the 6,000,000 Indians of unmixed blood…. If an Indian, he cannot be naturalized. [In re Rodriguez 1897:346-347] Evans’ colleagues, Floyd McGown and T. J. McMinn, presented supporting legal cases to contest Rodriguez’ naturalization application. Offering several precedents in which racial minorities had been denied the privilege of naturalization, they argued that the federal government had made it very clear that only blacks and Americans of pure European descent were eligible. McGown and McMinn stated that the precedent for denying Mexican immigrants the right to apply for naturalization had been set in 1878 by In re Ah Yup. In that case the Circuit Court of California had ruled that the Chinese were not white and therefore were ineligible to apply for citizenship. The attorneys argued that In re Ah Yup indisputably applied to Mexicans because everyone knew that Chinese, Mexicans, and Indians were mongolians. That argument was their ethnological analysis. They then stated that the decision to exclude half-breed immigrants from citizenship had also been upheld by the government in the case of In re Camille (1880), in which the Circuit Court of Oregon had ruled that half-breed Indians were not white and therefore not eligible for naturalization. Using In re Camille as their precedent, the attorneys for the board of naturalization argued that Mexican mestizos were disqualified from applying for naturalization because the court had ruled that a person must be at least three-quarters white to receive the privileges of a white citizen. They also appealed to a Utah Supreme Court decision on a Hawaiian immigrant (In re Kanaka Nian 1889) as evidence that racial minorities who inhabited conquered territories were ineligible for naturalization. Employing unsubstantiated rhetoric, Evans and McGown asserted that inhabitants of ceded territories, such as Hawaii and the Mexican northwest, could not apply for naturalization. Because Kanaka Nian had been born in Hawaii and Rodriguez in Mexico, neither one was eligible. The final case used to challenge Rodriguez’ right to naturalization was the U.S. Supreme Court case Elk v. Wilkens (1884). The attorneys representing the board of naturalization argued that Elk v. Wilkens clearly indicated the U.S. government had never intended to naturalize Indians, even those who were acculturated or had terminated their tribal relations. Therefore, they concluded Mexicans were ineligible because everyone knew that the true Mexican was an acculturated Indian. In sum, the attorneys for the board argued on the basis of race against extending Rodriguez the right to apply for naturalization. In supporting arguments they alleged that the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo did not have naturalization powers, and they concluded by opining that acculturation did not transform an Indian into a white person. The dissenting opinion was offered by T. M. Paschal in defense of Rodriguez. Paschal’s opinion clearly supported Rodriguez, yet it had a racist tone and indicated an intolerant attitude toward cultural diversity. Paschal argued that Rodriguez was an undesirable candidate for naturalization and should be denied that right based on the fact that he was an Indian and an ignorant Mexican who was unable to read or write Spanish or English. Paschal asserted, however, that the federal laws of the land had to be upheld by the district courts and Mexican immigrants had to be given the right to apply for citizenship. He argued that when the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was ratified the United States agreed to extend Mexican citizens the same political privileges enjoyed by whites. Therefore, Paschal proposed, if the U.S. govern- ment had agreed to treat the Mexicans of the ceded territory as “white,” then the same treatment had to be extended to Mexican immigrants, irrespective of race. Paschal concluded that although Rodriguez was an Indian, the racial precedents set by the In re Ah Yup, In re Camille, In re Kanaka Nian, and Elk v. Wilkens cases did not apply to Mexicans, for the U.S. government had agreed to extend them the privileges of whites. Naturalizing Rodriguez, he argued, would not violate the racial clauses of the naturalization laws. To provide further evidence that Rodriguez was eligible, Paschal asked Rodriguez to testify in his own behalf and prove to the Chicano Indianism 595 court that he no longer identified himself as Indian. What follows are the counsel’s questions and Rodriguez’ replies: Q. Do you not believe that you belong to the original Aztec race in Mexico? A. No, Sir. Q. Where did your race come from? Spain? A. No, Sir. Q. Does your family claim any religion? What religion do they profess? A. Catholic religion. Paschal then said, “The supporting affidavits show upon their face that the applicant is ‘attached to the principles of the constitution of the United States, and well disposed to the good order and happiness of the same'” (In re Rodriguez 1897:338). District Judge Maxey concurred with Paschal’s defense. Maxey concluded that Rodriguez was eligible for naturalization based on international laws of territorial cession and on his having proven that he was no longer an Indian. Interestingly, Elizabeth Hull (1985) argues that although a large number of Mexican immi- grants were naturalized in the early 20th century, it was not until 1940 that the U.S. government changed the language of the naturalization laws and without a doubt conferred that privilege on Mexican Indians. According to Hull, it was only with passage of the Nationality Act of 1940 that the U.S. governmentformally allowed indigenous immigrants from the Western hemisphere to obtain naturalization rights, and only with several revisions of the act that it allowed all “nonwhite immigrants” to obtain citizenship. Chinese were granted that privilege in 1943, Japanese in 1945, Pilipinos and East Indians in 1946, and all other races in 1952 (Hull 1985; Konvitz 1946). de jure racial segregation In the late 1800s, when de jure segregation was enacted at the federal level, the question of whether or not the Mexican people came under the mandate of the segregationist “Jim Crow” laws became salient. Because the U.S. government had failed to designate a racial category for Mexican people, their racial status in the courts remained ambiguous. The government acknowledged that most Mexicans were partly white, but because of their Indian ancestry it failed to classify them as Caucasian (Padilla 1979). Classifying them as Indian, however, was politically problematic (Heizer and Almquist 1971; Weber 1982). There is evidence indicating that in the Southwest, dark-complexioned Mexicans were segregated from whites. I will therefore discuss judicial cases in which nonwhite people of Mexican origin were discriminated against by the U.S. legal system. I will also examine the Mexican people’s responses. Under- standably, Mexican litigants defended themselves in court by challenging the applicability of the segregationist laws to their ethnic group. Their attorneys attempted to protect them by arguing either that Mexicans were white or that they had the political right to be treated as white citizens. To introduce this discussion, I will briefly review the first two major segregationist cases to come before the federal Supreme Court: Robinson v. Memphis & Charleston Railroad Co. (1883) and Plessy v. Ferguson (1896). These cases will illustrate both the rationale for passing national segregationist laws and the rationale for including nonwhite Mexicans under those laws. In 1883 the landmark segregationist ruling on Robinson v. Memphis & Charleston Railroad Co. legally allowed the exclusion of racial minorities from hotels, restaurants, parks, public conveyances, and public amusement parks. This ruling also upheld the right of business owners to provide segregated services for racial minorities or to refuse them services. The arguments of subsequent segregationist laws were structured or supported by this Supreme Court decision, 596 american ethnologist and they were not completely overturned until passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (Salinas 1973). The significance of the Robinson case was that it successfully overturned the liberal Civil Rights Act of 1875, which had prohibited discrimination on the basis of race, religion, and national origin. Sections 1 and 2 of the act were overturned because of their allegedly unconstitutional implications, for the Court concluded that they advocated reverse discrimina- tion against whites. The majority opinion was that allowing racial minorities to be in public places forced whites to interact with them and thus violated the civil rights of white people. It also stated that excluding nonwhites from public places was not a violation of the 13th and 14th Amendments because interacting with whites was a privilege and not a right for racial minorities. Thirteen years after the Robinson ruling, Plessy v. Ferguson (1896) was deliberated by the Supreme Court. This case became the most devastating and segregationist ruling to date, as the Court legalized all forms of social segregation, including school segregation. The ruling also provided more specific language about who could legally be segregated. In Plessy, the Supreme Court justices addressed the problem of racial classifications, ruling that for purposes of segregation every state had the right to determine who was white and who was nonwhite. It also gave each state the power to decide if any racial minority group should be segregated. That is, although the Court did not mandate that “all racial minorities” be segregated, it supported the states’ rights to institute segregation if desired by the state legislators. The Plessy decision served to reinforce the Mexicans’ inferior political status. In other words, during the era of de jure segregation the indigenous heritage of Mexican-origin people linked them to the people of color, and dark-complexioned Mexicans could be racially segregated. In Colorado and Texas, for example, people of Mexican origin were legally excluded from public facilities reserved for whites. In Lueras v. Town of Lafayette (1937) and Terrell Wells Swimming Pool v. Rodriguez (1944), the courts concluded that Mexicans were not white and therefore were not entitled to use such facilities. Although the two Mexicans in these cases argued that they were of Spanish descent, their dark skin color indicated that they were racially mixed and thus they lost the trials (Salinas 1973). Social scientists Albert Camarillo (1984) and Guadalupe Salinas (1973) report that similar civil rights injustices occurred in California and Arizona during the same period. School segregation cases serve to further illustrate discrimination against dark-complexioned Mexican-origin people on the basis of race. Although the rationales used to segregate Mexican students ranged from racial to social-deficit justifications (including language, intelligence quotients, and the “infectious diseases of Mexicans”), some legislators attempted to segregate Mexican students on the ground that most of them were nonwhite (Wollenberg 1974). Cal ifornia provides the best examples of how the indigenous racial ancestry of the Mexican students was used to place them under the mandate of de jure segregation. During the 1920s and 1930s, government officials attempted to classify Mexican students as Indians; their intent was to pass a paramount state law that would give all school boards the unquestionable right to segregate Mexicans (Donato, Menchaca, and Valencia 1991). On January 23, 1927, the attorney general of California offered the opinion that Mexicans could betreated as Indians and should be placed under the mandate of de jure segregation (Hendrick 1977:56), and in 1930 he issued a similar opinion. According to him, Mexicans were Indians and therefore should be treated as such: “It is well known that the greater portion of the population of Mexico are Indians and when such Indians migrate to the United States they are subject to the laws applicable generally to other Indians” (cited in Weinberg 1977:166). Finally, in 1935 the California legislature passed legislation officially segregating certain Mexican students on the ground that they were Indian. Though the school code exempted white Mexicans, it clearly applied to Mexicans of Indian Chicano Indianism 597 descent. Without explicitly mentioning Mexicans, the code prescribed that schools segregate Mexicans of Indian descent who were not American Indians: The governing board of the school district shall have power to establish separate schools for Indian children, excepting children of Indians who are wards of the United States government and children of all other Indians who are descendants of the original American Indians of the United States, and for children of Chinese, Japanese, or Mongolian parentage. [cited in Hendrick 1977:57] The ambiguous school code made Mexican students the principal target of discrimination and released American Indians from mandated school segregation (Donato, Menchaca, and Valencia 1991; Gonzalez 1990). Dark-complexioned Mexican students could be classified as Indians and the segregationist educational codes applied to them. California school boards now had the legal right to use race as a rationale to segregate certain Mexicans.8 During the early 1930s, the two states with the largest concentrations of Mexicans practiced school segregation on a large scale. In Texas by 1930, 90 percent of the schools teaching Mexican students were racially segregated (Rangel and Alcala 1972). In California by 1931, 85 percent of the Mexican students were in segregated schools or classrooms (Hendrick 1977). However, the rationales for segregating Mexican students varied, as schools could not use race to segregate white Mexican students. The case of Independent School District v. Salvatierra (1930) illustrates this point. In 1930 the Mexican community of Del Rio, Texas, won a partial victory when it proved in court that the Del Rio Independent School District had unlawfully segregated white Mexican students (Rangel and Alcala 1972). The attorneys for the school board justified the segregationist actions by arguing that the Texas legislature, the U.S. Constitution, and federal statutes allowed government agencies to segregate Mexican students when it was necessary. They also argued that the district had primarily segregated nonwhite Mexican students. The judge ruled that because half the Mexican population in Del Rio was Spanish and belonged to the white race, not all of the Mexican students were subject to the mandates of de jure segregation. However, the judge also ruled that the Del Rio school board would not be asked to rescind its actions. First, the school board had not acted with malice when it segregated the Mexican students of Spanish descent. The judge proposed that this error resulted from the failure of the Texas courts to determine whether all Mexicans belonged to the same race. Second, because federal statutes on treaties had recently allowed government agencies to reverse treaty agreements, the school board had the right to segregate any Mexican student who did not speak English (Independent School District v. Salvatierra 1930:794). The judge con- cluded that because a large number of the Mexican students were white, it would be unjust to segregate Mexicans arbitrarily. White Mexican students, therefore, could be segregated only if they did not speak English. Educational historian Gilbert Gonzalez (1990) proposes that the Independent School District case set the legal precedent cautioning school boards in the Southwest not to use race as the only justification for segregating Mexican students. After the Del Rio incident other rationales were often used to legitimate school segregation, but they were only smokescreens for racism. A case in point is Roberto Alvarez v. Lemon Grove School District(1931 ), in which a California school board used language as a justification for segregating Mexican students (see Alvarez 1986; Gonzalez 1990). In this case, however, the court ruled in favor of the Mexican community and ordered the desegregation of the Mexican students (Alvarez 1986), arguing that separate facilities for Mexican students were not conducive to their Americanization. Americanization symbolically meant the right to be acculturated into the Anglo-Saxon society (Gonzalez 1990). In 1947 the era of de jure segregation in the schools finally came to an end for the Mexican community of the Southwest. The Mendez v. Westminster case (1946, 1947) ended de jure segregation in California and provided the legal foundation for overturning the school segrega- tion of Mexican students throughout the Southwest. In that case, Judge Paul McCormick ruled that the school board had segregated Mexicans on the basis of their “Latinized” appearance 598 american ethnologist and had gerrymandered the school district in order to ensurethat Mexican students would attend schools apart from whites (Wollenberg 1974). He decided that neither Plessy nor the 1935 educational code of California applied to Mexican students because there was no federal law stipulating that all Mexicans were Indian (Gonzalez 1990). He also concluded that the segregation of Mexican students was illegal because the 14th Amendment and the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo had guaranteed Mexicans equal rights in the United States. The Westmin- ster school board appealed the ruling, but the U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco upheld the decision on April 14, 1947 (Gonzalez 1990). Although the Mendez case helped to end de jure segregation in the schools, the segregation of Mexican students remained wide- spread. In 1968 nearly 50 percent of Mexican-origin students attended segregated schools, and in 1980 about 70 percent of Latino students (two-thirds of whom were of Mexican origin) were enrolled in schools with minority enrollments of 50 percent or more (Donato, Menchaca, and Valencia 1991). conclusion I have described some of the racial repression experienced by people of Mexican origin in the United States, intending not to document all forms of racial discrimination but rather to examine how the legal system was used to deny Mexican-origin people their political rights. As part of my analysis, I have also examined the circumstances that strongly influenced some Mexican-origin people to assert their Caucasian ancestry in court in order to obtain their full rights of citizenship. Court and legislative records from 1848 to 1947, I argue, reveal that the skin color of Mexican-origin people strongly influenced whether they were to be treated by the legal system as white or as non-white. During the 19th century, Mexican-origin individuals who were predominantly of Indian descent were subject to heightened racial discrimination. They were, for example, not allowed to become naturalized citizens if they were immigrants, to vote in the states of California and Arizona, to practice law in the state of Arizona, or to be exempted from segregationist legislation. The segregationist laws continued to affect darker-skinned Mexicans into the mid-20th century. Furthermore, 19th- and early-20th-century legal records indicate that although New Mexican state officials attempted to confer full citizenship privileges on “Mexicanized American Indians,” the federal government rescinded their actions. In the legal domain, the federal government failed to acknowledge the existence of people who practiced both Mexican and American Indian traditions; these individuals experienced greater racial discrimination than the rest of the Mexican population. The legal records also indicate that under the law Mexican-origin people of predominantly Caucasian ancestry were ostensibly allowed to exercise the full political rights of citizens. However, the question of whether they could actually exercise those political rights is beyond the scope of this article. In the state of Texas, for example, there is evidence that local governments found alternative legal methods of discriminating against Mexicans who were identified as white. In the Independent School District v. Salvatierra court case, it was determined that “white Mexican students” could be legally segregated if they did not speak English. I also argue that the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo played three major roles in protecting the Mexican-origin population. In 1898, as a result of the treaty, the Naturalization Act of 1 790 became inapplicable to Mexican immigrants (Kansas 1941); unlike other racial minorities, Mexican immigrants were exempted from the act and allowed to apply for naturalization. In the 19th century, the treaty also served to protect the political rights of someMexicans, albeit only those of predominantly Caucasian ancestry; in the states of California and Arizona, “white Mexican males” were given the right of suffrage because the state legislators concluded that the treaty gave certain types of Mexicans full political rights. And in the 20th century, the treaty Chicano Indianism 599 was used to help dismantle de jure school segregation for the Mexican-origin students of the Southwest. In Mendez v. Westminster (1946, 1947) McCormick ruled that the treaty and the 14th Amendment prohibited the unequal treatment of the Mexican population (Wollenberg 1974). Mendez was used in subsequent school desegregation cases and became the legal foundation for ending the era of de jure school segregation. In sum, this analysis outlines a history of racial repression and discrimination against members of the Mexican-origin community in the United States. Government officials used the people’s indigenous ancestry to deny them equal citizenship rights and to keep them in a politically subordinate position. The legal case studies in particular demonstrate that Indianism was used to construct an image of Mexican-origin people as inferior and therefore deserving of separate and unequal treatment. With respect to future scholarship on the racial history of the Chicano people, I trust that this exploration has demonstrated the value of using legislative and judicial records as evidence that this American minority group has experienced severe racial discrimi- nation in the United States. notes 1. The terms Mexican and Chicano refer to people of Mexican origin who reside in the United States. Mexican is used in reference to those individuals who lived in the 19th and early 20th century, and Chicano to those living in the contemporary period. 2. For extended discussions of the racial terms white and Caucasian, refer to the court cases In re Camille (1 880), In re Ah Yup (1878), and United States v. Thind (1922). In all of these cases the courts stated that the term white had historically referred only to Caucasians. White women were considered part of the “free white” population, but they were not allowed to vote or run for political office. 3. Refer to Konvitz (1946) and Kansas (1941) for extended discussions of civil rights offenses committed against nonwhites. Among these offenses were denying people the right to vote or run for political office, prohibiting nonwhite men from marrying white women (in most states), and restricting various occupations to white citizens. 4. The Mexican delegates to the first constitutional convention also voted against legalizing slavery in New Mexico (Larson 1968). 5. In northern New Mexico during the Spanish and Mexican periods, the relationship between the small-scale mestizo farmers and the American Indians of the Rio Arriba was one of both conflict and cohesion. The mestizos in the Rio Arriba region retained their social distance from the Indians, yet ironically, they developed economic and kinship alliances with them; it became common for the mestizos to trade with and even marry the Indians (Kutsche 1979; Swadesh 1974). The relationship between the Spanish elite and the Indians in Rio Abajo (also in northern New Mexico), however, is better described as one of conflict and mutual exploitation. The Indians often raided the farms of the Spanish elite, stealing livestock and crops. In turn, the Spanish elite attempted to place Indians in a state of semislavery. 6. The government of New Mexico reconsidered the Pueblo Indians’ political rights on February 16, 1859, in a heated debate on the issue of extending suffrage to acculturated Pueblo Indians. Many legislators favored extending voting rights to the Pueblo Indians. Transcripts of the assembly debate are rare-most had disappeared by 1877 (Davis and Mechem 1915). 7. In United States v. Wong Kim Ark, Justice C. J. Fuller offered the dissenting opinion and argued that the U.S. government should have the right to deny any race the right of citizenship for whatever reason. Fuller stated: “I am of opinion that the President and Senate by treaty, and the Congress by naturalization, … have the power… to prescribe that all persons of a particular race, or their children, cannot become citizens” (United States v. Wong Kim Ark 1897:732). 8. Refer to Donato, Menchaca, and Valencia 1991 for a comprehensive history of the school segregation of Mexican students in the 20th century. references cited books and articles Alvarez, Roberto, Jr. 1986 The Lemon Grove Incident: The Nation’s First Successful Desegregation Court Case. Journal of San Diego History 32(2):116-135. 600 american ethnologist Bonifaz de Novello, Maria Eugenia 1975 La Mujer Mexicana: Analysis Historico. Mexico City: Impresa Mexicana. Camarillo, Albert 1984 Chicanos in California: A History of Mexican-Americans. San Francisco, CA: Boyd and Fraser Publishing. Davis, Stephen, and Merritt Mechem, comps. 1915 New Mexico Statutes Annotated. Denver, CO: W. H. Courtright Publishing. Deavenport, James J., comp. 1856 Revised Statutes of the Territory of New Mexico. Santa Fe, NM: Santa Fe Weekly Gazette. Donato, Ruben, Martha Menchaca, and Richard Valencia 1991 Segregation, Desegregation, and Integration of Chicano Students: Problems and Prospects. In Chicano School Failure and Success: Research and Policy Agendas for the 1990s. R. Valencia, ed. Pp. 27-63. New York: Falmer Press. Feagin, Joe 1989 Racial and Ethnic Relations. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. First Legislative Assembly 1851 New Mexico Organic Law [Act] of 1850. In Laws of the Territory of New Mexico. Pp. 17-24. Santa Fe, NM: James L. Collins and Co. Forbes, Jack D. 1973 Aztecas del Norte: The Chicanos of Aztlan. Greenwich, CT: Fawcett Publications. Galarza, Ernesto 1964 Merchants of Labor: The Mexican Bracero Story. Santa Barbara, CA: McNally and Loftin Publish- ers. Gonzalez, Gilbert 1990 Chicano Education in the Era of Segregation. Philadelphia, PA: Balch Institute Press. Haring, Clarence H. 1963 The Spanish Empire in America. New York: Harbinger. Heizer, Robert, and Alan F. Almquist 1971 The Other Californians: Prejudice and Discrimination under Spain, Mexico, and the United States. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Hendrick, Irving 1977 The Education of Non-Whites in California, 1849-1970. San Francisco, CA: R & E Research Associates. Hoyt, John P., comp. 1877 The Compiled Laws of the Territory of Arizona. Detroit, MI: Richmond, Backus and Co. Hull, Elizabeth 1985 Without Justice for All: The Constitutional Rights of Aliens. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Hyman, Harold M., and William M. Wiecek 1982 Equal Justice under Law: Constitutional Development, 1835-1875. New York: Harper and Row Publishers. Judd, Cornelius D., and Claude Y. Hall 1932 The Texas Constitution: Explained and Analyzed. Dallas, TX: Banks, Upshaw and Co. Kansas, Sidney 1941 U.S. Immigration: Exclusion and Deportation, and Citizenship of the United States of America. 2nd edition. Albany, NY: M. Bender. Kenner, Charles L. 1969 A History of New Mexican Plains Indian Relations. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press. Knight, Allen 1990 Racism, Revolution, and Indigenismo: Mexico, 1910-1940. In The Idea of Race in Latin America, 1870-1940. R. Graham, ed. Pp. 71-113. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Konvitz, Milton R. 1946 The Alien and the Asiatic in American Law. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Kutsche, Paul 1979 The Survival of Spanish American Villages. Colorado Springs, CO: Research Committee, Colorado College. Lafaye, Jacques 1974 Quetzalcoatl and Guadalupe. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lamar, Howard Roberts 1966 The Far Southwest, 1846-191 2: A Territorial History. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Lange, Charles H., and Carroll W. Riley 1970 The Southwestern Journals of Adolph F. Bandelier. Vol. 1:1883-1884. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. 1975 The Southwestern Journals of Adolph F. Bandelier. Vol. 3:1885-1888. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Larson, Robert 1968 New Mexico’s Quest for Statehood, 1846-1912. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Chicano Indianism 601 Le6n-Portilla, Miguel 1972 The Norteio Variety of Mexican Culture: An Ethnohistorical Approach. In Plural Society in the Southwest. E. Spicer and R. Thompson, eds. Pp. 77-101. New York: Weatherhead Foundation. Montejano, David 1987 Anglos and Mexicans in the Making of Texas, 1836-1986. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Morner, Magnus 1967 Race Mixture in the History of Latin America. Boston: Little, Brown and Co. Murphy, James 1970 Laws, Courts, and Lawyers: Through theYears in Arizona. Tucson, AZ: University of Arizona Press. Newcomb, William W., Jr. 1985 The Indians of Texas. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Padilla, Fernando 1979 Early Chicano Legal Recognition, 1846-1897. Journal of Popular Culture 13:564-574. Paredes, Americo 1978 The Problem of Identity in a Changing Culture: Popular Expressions of Culture Conflict along the Lower Rio Grande Border. In Views across the Border: The United States and Mexico. S. Ross, ed. Pp. 68-94. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Pitt, Leonard 1966 The Decline of the Californios. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rangel, Jorge C., and Carlos M. Alcala 1972 Project Report: De Jure Segregation of Chicanos in Texas Schools. Harvard Civil Rights-Civil Liberties Law Review 1:307-391. Reister, Carl Coke 1928 The Southwest Frontier, 1865-1881. Cleveland, OH: Arthur H. Clark. Rubel, Arthur 1966 Across the Tracks: Mexican Americans in a Texas City. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Salinas, Guadalupe 1973 Mexican Americans and the Desegregation of Schools in the Southwest. In Voices: Readings from El Grito. O. I. Romano-V, ed. Pp. 366-399. Berkeley, CA: Quinto Sol. Spicer, Edward 1962 Cycles of Conquest: The Impact of Spain, Mexico and the United States on the Indians of the Southwest, 1533-1960. Tucson, AZ: University of Arizona Press. 1969 A Short History of the Indians of the United States. New York: D. Van Nostrand. Surace, Samuel 1982 Achievement, Discrimination, and Mexican Americans. Comparative Studies in Society and History 24:31 5-339. Swadesh, Frances Leon 1974 Los Primeros Pobladores: Hispanic Americans of the Ute Frontier. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Tate, Bill 1969 The Guadalupe Hidalgo Treaty of Peace 1848 and the Gadsden Treaty with Mexico 1853. Truchas, NM: Tate Gallery and Rio Grande Sun Press. Taylor, Paul 1934 An American-Mexican Frontier, Nueces County, Texas. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Vigil, Diego 1984 From Indians to Chicanos. Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland Press. Weber, David 1982 The Mexican Frontier, 1821-1 846: The American Southwest under Mexico. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Weinberg, Meyer 1977 A Chance to Learn: The History of Race and Education in the United States. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wollenberg, Charles 1974 Mendez v. Westminster: Race, Nationality and Segregation in California Schools. California Historical Society Quarterly 53:31 7-332. Zambrano, Arie 1986 A History of “El Buen Pastor” United Methodist Church. MS, United Methodist Church, Santa Paula, CA. cases Carter v. Territory of New Mexico, 1 S.Ct. Territory N.M. 31 7-346 (1 859). Elk v. Wilkens, 112 U.S. 94 (1884). Hardy v. De Leon, 5 Tex. 212-247 (1849). Independent School District v. Salvatierra, 33 S.W.2d 790-796 (Tex. Civ. App. 1930). In reAh Yup, 5 Sawy 155-160 (Fed. Cases 1878). In re Camille, 6 F. 256-259 (Oregon 1880). 602 american ethnologist In re Kanaka Nian, 21 P. 993-994 (Utah 1889). In re Rodriguez, 81 F. 337-356 (W.D. Tex. 1897). Kilpatrick v. Sisneros, 23 Tex. 113-138 (1859). Lueras v. Town of Lafayette, 65 P.2d 1431 (Colo. Sup. Ct. 1937). McKinney v. Saviego, 18 U.S. (1 8 How.) 235-240 (1855). Mendez v. Westminster, 64 F. Supp. (S.D. Cal) 544-554 (1946), aff’d 161 F.2d 774-785 (9th Cir. 1947). People v. De La Guerra, 40 Cal. 311-344 (1870). People v. Naglee, 1 Cal. 232-254 (1850). Plessy v. Ferguson, 1 63 U.S. 537-564 (1896). Quintana v. Thompkins, 1 S.Ct. Territory N.M. 29-33 (1853). Roberto Alvarez v. Lemon Grove School District, Superior Court of the State of California. County of San Diego, Petition for Writ of Mandate no. 66625 (1 931). Robinson v. Memphis & Charleston Railroad Co., 109 U.S. 3-62 (1 883). Terrell Wells Swimming Pool v. Rodriguez, 182 S.W.2d 824 (Texas, 1944). United States v. Joseph, 1 S.Ct. Territory N.M. 593-602 (1 874). United States v. Joseph, 94 U.S. 614-619 (1 876). United States v. Kolowoski, 1 S.Ct. Territory N.M. 593-602 (1 874). United States v. Lucero, 1 S.Ct. Territory N.M. 423-458 (1869). United States v. Ritchie, 1 7 U.S. (1 7 How.) 525-541 (1854). United States v. Sandoval, 231 U.S. 28-49 (191 3). United States v. Santistevan, 1 S.Ct. Territory N.M. 593-602 (1874). United States v. Thind, 261 U.S. 204-215 (1922). United States v. Vallejo, 1 U.S. (1 Black) 541-565 (1861). United States v. Varela, 1 S.Ct. Territory N.M. 593-602 (1874). United States v. Wong Kim Ark, 169 U.S. 649-732 (1897). statutes Cal. Const. art. II, sec. 1 (1849). Civil Rights Act of 1866, ch. 31, sec. 1-6. Civil Rights Act of 1875, ch. 114, sec. 1-2. Civil Rights Act of 1964, 1 U.S.C. 287-320. Naturalization Act of 1790, ch. 3, sec. 1. Naturalization Act of 1795, ch. 20, stat. 2, sec. 1. Naturalization Act of 1802, ch. 28, stat. 1. Naturalization Rev. Stat. of 1870, sec. 2169. N.M. Const. art. XXI, sec. 8 (adopted 1911). Tex. Const. art. III, sec. 1 (1845). submitted August 14, 1990 revised version submitted February 27, 1991 second revised version submitted September 5, 1991 accepted November 12, 1991 Chicano Indianism 603
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