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Missing the Revolution: Anthropologists and the War in Peru Author(s): Orin Starn Source: Cultural Anthropology, Vol.

6, No. 1 (Feb., 1991), pp. 63-91 Published by: Blackwell Publishing on behalf of the American Anthropological Association Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/656495 Accessed: 15/11/2010 09:54
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Missing the Revolution: Anthropologists and the War in Peru

Orin Starn
Stanford University

On 17 May 1980, Shining Pathguerrillasburnedballot boxes in the Andean village of Chuschiand proclaimedtheirintentionto overthrowthe Peruvianstate. Playing on the Inkarrimyth of Andean resurrectionfrom the cataclysm of conquest, the revolutionarieshad chosen the 199th anniversaryof the execution by the Spanishcolonizersof the neo-Incarebel TupacAmaru.Chuschi, though, prefigurednot rebirthbut a decade of death. It opened a savage war between the guerrillasand governmentthat would claim more than 15,000 lives during the 1980s. For hundredsof anthropologists in the thrivingregional subspecialtyof Andean studies, the rise of the Shining Pathcame as a complete surprise.Dozens of workedin Peru's southernhighlandsduringthe 1970s. One of the ethnographers best-knownAndeanists, R. T. Zuidema, was directing a researchproject in the Rio Pampasregion that became a center of the rebellion. Yet no anthropologist realizeda majorinsurgencywas about to detonate, a revolt so powerful that by 1990 Peru'scivilian governmenthad ceded more thanhalf the countryto military command. The inabilityof ethnographers to anticipatethe insurgencyraises important For much of the 20th had figuredas questions. century, after all, anthropologists on life in Andes. the themselves as the "good" principalexperts They positioned outsiderswho trulyunderstood the interestsandaspirations of Andeanpeople; and they spoke with scientific authorityguaranteedby the firsthandexperience of fieldwork.Why, then, did anthropologists miss the gatheringstormof the Shining Path?What does this say about ethnographicunderstandings of the highlands? How do events in Peru force us to rethinkanthropologyon the Andes? From the start, I want to emphasize that it would be unfairto fault anthropologists for not predictingthe rebellion. Ethnographers certainlyshould not be in the businessof forecastingrevolutions. In many respects, moreover,the Shining Path's success would have been especially hard to foresee. A pro-Cultural Revolution Maoist splinter from Peru's regular Communist Party, the group formedin the universityin the provincialhighlandcity of Ayacucho. It was led by a big-jowledphilosophyprofessornamedAbimael Guzmanwith thick glasses and a rareblood disease called policitimea.2Guzmanviewed Peru as dominated by a bureaucratic capitalismthat could be toppled only througharmed struggle.


A first action of his guerrillasin Lima was to registercontemptfor "bourgeois revisionism" by hanging a dead dog in front of the Chinese embassy. Most observersinitially dismissed the Shining Path, SenderoLuminoso, as a bizarrebut sect. This was fiercely doctrinaireMarxismin the decade of perunthreatening

WhatI will claim, though, is thatmost anthropologists were remarkably unattunedto the conditions which made possible the rise of Sendero. First, they tended to ignore the intensifying interlinkageof Peru's countrysideand cities, villages andshantytowns,Andeanhighlandsandlowlandsof thejungle andcoast. These interpenetrations created the enormous pool of radical young people of rural/urban amalgamated identity who would provide an effective revolutionary force. Second, anthropologistslargely overlooked the climate of sharp unrest acrossthe impoverished of protestsandlandinvasionstescountryside.Hundreds tifiedto a deep-rooteddiscontentthat the guerrillaswould successfully exploit. To begin accountingfor the gaps in ethnographic knowledge aboutthe highlands, the first half of this essay introducesthe concept of Andeanism.3Here I refer to representation that portrayscontemporaryhighland peasants as outside the flow of moder history. Imagery of Andean life as little changed since the Spanishconquesthas stretchedacross discursiveboundariesduringthe 20th centuryto become a centralmotif in the writingsof novelists, politicians, and travelers as well as the visual depictionsof filmmakers,painters,and photographers. I believe Andeanismalso operatedin anthropology,and helps to explain why so did not recognizethe rapidlytighteninginterconnections that manyethnographers were a vital factorin the growthof the Shining Path. Andeanism, though, was not the only influence on anthropologistsof the of ecological and symbolic analysis in 1960s and 1970s. The growing importance internationalanthropologytheory of the period also conditioned ethnographic views of the Andes. In the second half of the essay, I arguethatthe strongimpact of these two theoreticalcurrents with issues of producedan intensepreoccupation in assists in accountThis limited and focus, turn, ritual, cosmology. adaptation, for over the rural dissatisfaction most ing why profound anthropologists passed with the statusquo thatwas to become a second enablingfactorin Sendero'srapid rise. My mappingof Andeanist anthropologystarts with Billie Jean Isbell's To
Defend Ourselves: Ecology and Ritual in an Andean Village (1977). Through a

close readingof this syntheticand widely readethnography,I begin to outline the thinkingand to explore how the heavy imprintof Andeanismon anthropological led to the oversightof political deploymentof ecological andsymbolic approaches fermentin the countryside. Isbell's book has a special significance because its Andeanvillage was Chuschi, the hamlet where the Shining Path's revolt would explodejust five years afterIsbell's departure. I juxtapose To Defend Ourselves with a remarkablebut little-knownbook called Ayacucho:Hunger and Hope (1969) by an Andean-bor agronomistand future Shining Path leader named Antonio Diaz Martinez.4Hunger and Hope proves it was possible to formulatea very differentview of the highlands from


dethat of most Andeanistanthropology.While Isbell and other ethnographers saw and with fixed Diaz traditions, shifting picted discrete villages syncretism identities. Most anthropologistsfound a conservative peasantry.Diaz, by contrast,perceivedsmall farmersas on the brinkof revolt. Passages of Hunger and Hope foreshadowthe Shining Path's subsequentdogmaticbrutality.Yet the man who would become the reputed"numberthree" in the Maoist insurgency, after AbimaelGuzmanand Osman Morote, discovered an Ayacucho that escaped the voluminousanthropologyliterature,a countrysideaboutto burstinto conflict. Throughcriticism of Andeanist anthropology,my account points to alternatives. I press for recognitionof what historianSteve Stern (1987:9) calls "the manifold ways whereby peasants have continuously engaged in their political of modern Andean identities as dyworlds"; and I argue for an understanding namic, syncretic, and sometimes ambiguous. Finally, I seek to develop an analysis that does not underplaythe Shining Path's violence yet recognizes the intimateties of manyof the guerrillasto the Andeancountrysideand the existence of ruralsympathiesfor the revolt. I feel a certain unease about writing on the Andes and the Shining Path. "Senderology'-the study of the guerrillas-is a thriving enterprise. In my view, a sense of the intense humansuffering caused by the war too often disappearsin this work. The terrorbecomes simply anotherfield for scholarlydebate. This essay is open to criticism for contributingto the academiccommodification of Peru's pain. But I offer the account in a spiritof commitment.No outside intervention-and certainlynot by anthropologists-is at present likely to change the deadly logic of the war. I hope, though, thatsharperanthropological views of the situationwill help others to understand the violence and to join the struggle for life.

Isbell wrote To Defend Ourselves from fieldwork in 1967, 1969-70, and 1974-75. Closely observed and richly detailed, the book presentsthe village of Chuschias divided into two almost caste-like segments:Quechua-speaking peasants and Spanish-speakingteachers and bureaucrats.An intermediatecategory appearsmore peripherally,migrantsfrom Chuschi to Lima. Like other Andeanists, Isbell positions herself firmly with the Quechua-speakingcomuneros. The mestizos, even the dirt-poorteachers, figure as the bad guys, domineeringand withoutIsbell's knowledge or appreciation of Andeantraditions. Isbell's analysisrevolves aroundthe propositionthatChuschi'speasantshad turnedinwardto maintaintheir traditionsagainst outside pressures. The comuneros, she argued, had built a symbolic and social order whose binary logic stressedtheirdifferencefrom the vecinos, Chuschi's mestizos. Melding the thenof Levi-Strausswith Eric Wolf's concept of the closed corpopularstructuralism Isbell (1977: 11) madeher mission to document"the structural poratecommunity, defenses the indigenouspopulationhas constructedagainst the increasingdominationof the outside world."


Isbell registeredthat Chuschi was a regional marketcenter with a church, school, and health post. She noted that trucks plied the dirt highway between Chuschiand the city of Ayacucho. We learnof the constanttrafficin people and goods betweenChuschiand not only Ayacuchobut also Lima andthe coca-growing regions of the upperAmazon. More than a quarterof Chuschi's population had moved to Lima. Many others migratedseasonally. Even the "permanent" migrantsmaintainedclose ties in their native village, returningperiodicallyand keepinganimalsand land. When it came to representingChuschino culture, however, Isbell downplayed mixtureand change. Instead, she concentratedon how the ritual, kin relations, reciprocity, cosmology, and ecological managementof Chuschi's comunerosembodied the "stability of traditionalcustoms" (Isbell 1977:3). She drawsparallelsbetweenthe annualritualcycle of the Incas accordingto the 16thcenturychroniclerGuamanPoma de Ayala and the calendarof modernChuschinos. A long section presentsmarriagepracticesas if they were unchangedsince the Incas. Anotherelucidatesthe SantaCruz harvestfestival in the same ahistorical language. The photographsreiteratethe feeling of stasis. Two farmerstill with oxen. Men drink at a ritual cleaning of irrigationcanals. A woman offers corn beer to MamaPacha. Culturalidentityin To Defend Ourselvesappearsas a matterof preservation.Despite change, villagers had conserved their distinctly Andeantraditions,"maintainling]the underlyingorderof their society and cosmology" (Isbell 1977:105). Isbell's emphasis on continuity and non-Western"otherness" in Chuschi needs to be situatedin relationto the traditionof representation that I want to call "Andeanism." In Orientalism,as James Clifford (1988:258) deftly summarizes Said, the tendency is "to dichotomizethe human continuuminto we-they contrastsand to essentialize the resultant'other'-to speak of the orientalmind, for example, or even to generalize about 'Islam' or the 'Arabs.' " Andeanismhas a similarlogic. It dichotomizes between the Occidental, coastal, urban, and mestizo and the non-Western,highland, rural, and indigenous;it then essentializes the highlandside of the equationto talk about "lo andino,' "the Andeanworldview," "indigenoushighlandculture," or, in more old-fashionedformulations, "the Andeanmind" or "the Andean Indians." The core of the "Andean tradition" is presentedas timeless, groundedin the preconquestpast. Wordslike "indigenous," "autochthonous," "native," and "Indian" are attachedto modem peasants. Of course, Andeanism representsonly one face of what JohannesFabian (1983:147) calls "the ideological process by which relations between the West
and its Other . . . [are] conceived not only as difference but as distance in space

and Time." Like other discourses about the Third World, though, Andeanism also has its own special history. It emerged in the early 20th century. Amidst the decline of evolutionism, the intellectualand political movement called indigenismo attackedearlierviews of Andean peasants as degradedsubhumansand argued that highlandfarmerswere instead the bearersof a noble precolonialheritage. Thanksto indigenismo, wrote a leading figure in the movement, historian


Luis Valcarcel (1938:7), "no longer does anyone doubt that the Indianof today is the same Indianwho, a millenniumago, createddynamic and varied civilizations in the vast culturalareaof the Andes."5 Questions of nationalidentity spurredthe writing of indigenistas like ValcarcelandManuelGonzalez Prada.A view of Andeanpeasantsas stewardsof the Inca past fit the desire of many intellectualsand politicians to see a potentialalternativeto the discreditedlegacy of Spain and the capitalistculturein the north. Socialists such as HildebrandoCastro Pozo and Jose Carlos Mariateguihoped Andeanin"Inca socialism"-which they took to be embodied in contemporary stitutions-could be the foundationfor a morejust postcolonialorder. By the 1930s, the concept of an unbrokenAndean heritage had expanded beyond the label of indigenismo to become common sense across art, politics, and science. The powerful novels of Ciro Alegria and Jose MariaArguedascelebratedthe "pure" traditionsof mountainfarmers.Documentarieslike TheSpirit
Possession of Alejandro Mamani (1974) and In the Footsteps of Taytacha (1985)

gave visual expression to Andeanism with their images of a ritualistic, natureloving, and tradition-bound peasantry.WildernessTravel Companyin Berkeley plays on Andeanismto advertisetreksfor 1990 thatanswerto the hungerof Western travelersfor authenticity:
In our newest Andeanescapade ...

in decorated withbrightly colored ribbons of llamas andalpacas dians,herds grazing to theland. a mystical attachment tain(ing) A tour leaderassuresus that:
You feel you've stumbledinto a time warpwhen you sit in a sleepy village plaza and realize it's . . . remainedvirtuallyunchangedsince Inca times.6 idyllic alpine meadows . . . local inhabitants speak no Spanish . . . and main-

Iwe encounter]splendidlydressed QuechuaIn-

This is Andeanismin pure form. Nowhere does the ten-page text disclose that a majorwar is raging in Peru's highlands. The rhetoricof WildernessTravel signals a key irony. On one hand, Andeanism has an egalitarianand antiracistthrust.Writersfrom CastroPozo to Isbell wantto show the richnessof Andeancultureand the exploitationof Andeanpeoand ple undercolonial andpostcolonialrule. On the other, residuesof paternalism hierarchy persist in Andeanistdiscourse. Middle- and upper-classcity people retain theirunquestionedprivilege to speak for poor farmersin the mountains;and evolutionismrecurswith the depictionof 20th-centurypeasantsas the holdersof premoder beliefs. Luis Valcarcel believed in racial equality. Yet in 1950 he could still invoke evolutionist thinking to proclaim that within Peru's "rugged confines, people of occidental backgroundlive togetherwith others who belong to epochs long submergedin the tide of history" (1950:1). It would be a mistaketo overstressthe coherenceor reachof Andeanism. In Orientalism,Said expends his critical energy to demonstratethe dependenceof Westernrepresentations of the Middle East on tropesof distance, exoticism, and


timelessness.7The pathbreaking yet overly tidy polemics of the book do not explore variationsand tensions across and within the partlyautonomousOrientalist discourses of travel writing, fiction, history, ethnography,and journalism. As many critics have observed, Said performsthe same essentializing operationof which he accuses Orientalists.8All Western representations of the Middle East fromHomerto Flaubertare swept into the categoryof Orientalism. Andeanistethnographers of the 1960s and 1970s often cut againstthe paraThe late 1960s had digm. broughtthe beginningsof criticismagainstsynchronic models of social analysis, and new attemptsto put history into ethnography.By the early 1970s, some anthropologists carriedthe attackon ahistoricisminto Andean studies. FrankSalomon's (1973:465) insightful work on Otavalo, for example, spoke against the "stereotypeof Indiansocieties as hermeticallysealed, like static, andhistoricallydoomed." Froma Marxistperspective,ethnographers ThomasGreaves(1972) andRodrigoMontoya(1979) showed the transformations thatcapitalistexpansion had wroughton the lives of mountainpeasants. By the had spreadinto most anthropology on mid-1970s, a sense of history's importance the Andes. But Andeanismalso remainedvery much alive in Andeanistethnography. Imagesof a timeless Andeantraditioncontinuedto appearacrossanthropological writingon all aspects of mountainlife. Isbell's graduateadviser R. T. Zuidema and Quispe (1973:362) used an old farm woman's dream to show that modern highlandsocial structurewas "still similarto that of indigenouscommunitiesof
the XVlth century . . . essentially the same as the Incan one." Giorgio Alberti

and EnriqueMayer (1974:21) described Andean economics in similar fashion: "In spite of the passing of four centuries many of the forms of symmetricalreciprocity existing in the times of the Incas and even before . . . continue to work

in the present."9J. V. Nufez del Prado (1974:250) concurredabout religion: "We find that the supernatural world has characteristics very similar to those it hadduringthe Inca Empire." "Many of the privateand domestic observancesof the old religionsurvivedand arestill practisedtoday,'' confirmedHermann Trimborn(1969:145). Thejuxtapositionof Westernand Andeanalso persisted. Andeanismtended to plot the contrastin terms of the presumedindividualismand alienationof the West against the communal ideals and closeness-to-natureof Andean culture. followed suit. "What we have possessed, we have also deManyanthropologists as Bastien (1978:xxv) concludedthe prefaceto Mountainof the stroyed," Joseph Condor, "Andeans, in contrast,are in harmonywith their land." StephenBrush (1977:7) invokedthe same vision of Andeancloseness to the earthand collective values: is easilyrecognizable Eventhough a highlander he mayspeakSpanish, by a coastal He comesfroman areawherethe paceof life is slower, as such:a serrano. person andwherethereis a senseof comwherea family'stie to the landis still primary, thathasbeenlostin thecities. derived froma certain munity homogeneity


Paul Doughty (1968:1) melded his formulationof the Andean/Western contrast with an assertionof Andeantimelessness: "the Indianshave survivedin provincial aloofness, rarely affected by the vicissitudes of time, politics, society and technologicalinnovationswhich have so stirredWesterncivilization." Andeanism, I should stress, did not just inflect ethnographiesprimarilyby and for area specialists. It also spilled into more broadlyconceived anthropological writingaboutthe Andes. Especiallynotablewas MichaelTaussig's influential
The Devil and Commodity Fetishism in South America (1980). This original and

passionatebook attractedwide attentionacross the social sciences. But it, too, was loaded with Andeanism. In classic Andeanist fashion, Taussig insisted on portraying highlandcultureas a survival from precolonialtimes. Thus he could overlookalmostfive hundredyearsof constantchange to arguethat "preconquest institutionsstill flourishin the Andes" and that modernpeasantslive in 'precapitalist' communities" and possess "pagan" beliefs (Taussig 1980:159-160). Taussig(1980:27, 161) also recycled the standard juxtapositionof the Occidental andAndeantraditions to contrastthe "atomizationandbondage" of Westerncapitalismwith the belief in "the all-encompassingunitythatexists betweenpersons, spirits, and the land" in "Andean metaphysics." Fifteen million diverse inhabitantsof a 3,000-mile mountainrange became unspoiled "Andean Indians" for the purposesof a vastly oversimplifiedus/themdichotomy. In fairness, Taussig's (1987) recentbook on terrorand healing in southernColombiamoves away from TheDevil's romanticand essentialized view of a pure "Andean culture" and towarda pictureof the Andes as a place of multiple, shifting, and synthetic identities all fashionedwithin the common context of colonial and neocolonial expansion. Yet Taussig's analysis in The Devil, from an ethnographer who has always viewed himself as a challenger of convention, reveals just how far Andeanism reachedinto anthropological imaginations. visions of the perennial"otherness" of lo andino had a selfEthnographic fulfillinglogic. In theirdesire to study "indigenous" Andeanculture, anthropologists searchedout the most ostensibly traditional regions for theirresearch.Most as Harold Skar wanted, (1982:23) frankly explained his choice of Mataquioin the "where traditionalQuechuacultureseemed to be most inApurimac, places tact." In Peru, ethnographers flocked to the southernmountains,where the peasants spoke Quechuaor Aymara, had ayllus and prestige hierarchies,and lived in the historicheartland of the Inca empire. They largely ignoredthe entirenorthern and more "acculturated"ruralpeople. The virtual highlandsof Spanish-speaking elision of northern Perufrom the ethnographicrecordhelped maintainthe image of the Andean countrysideas the province of ayllus and speakersof native languages, a place little changed from the ancientpast. Arrivingat theirchosen field sites, most ethnographers again highlightedthe most traditional-looking aspectsof mountainlife. Small farmerswho could fit the partof "Andean Indian" capturedmost space in ethnographies.Schoolteachers, andpriestswere relegatedto marginal nurses,agronomists,teachers,bureaucrats, roles. Thus Isbell devoted most of To Defend Ourselvesto Chuschi's comuneros. The town's large mestizo populationappearsonly in the brief passages that mark


them as evil foils to the peasants. Many of the mestizos must have spoken Quechua, a languagecommon among not only ruralpeople but the middle classes in the Ayacucho region. Some were third-generation Chuschinos. But Isbell's use of the "natives"-as in a section subheaded"The Natives' Conceptualization of Their Ecology"-encompassed only the comuneros. Peasantsbecame the only real Andeansin Chuschi. The stronggrip of Andeanismwas summed up in the insistent deployment of the contrastbetween "Indians" and "mestizos." With choby ethnographers los as an intermediate like Isbell category, this classificationplacedethnographers in the of of the lives mountain lenses that squarely pattern seeing peasantsthrough accentedtheirpre-Columbian roots. Small farmerswere herdedinto the category of "Indian." This was a word seldom used by peasantsin Peru. They identified themselves, dependingon the context, as Peruvians, campesinos, agricultores, or by theirregion, village, or family. But the termthathas always signified "otherness" in Westernthinkingwas perfectfor anthropologists who wantedto depict Andeanpeoples as fundamentallynon-Western.An Andean "Indian," Michael Olien (1973:245) could write, is "a person who wears sandals, lives in a mud walled, thatch roofed house, maintains 'pagan beliefs' and speaks Quechua or Aymara." Cholos and mestizos were presentedas progressivelymore Westernof authenticAndeanculture. ized, abjectlessons of the corruption It was precisely as a consequence of their emphasis on the isomorphismof Andeantraditions thatanthropologists tendedto ignorethe fluid andoften ambiguous quality of Andean personal identity.' The typology of Indian, cholo, and mestizo suggestedthreeseparatespheresof personhood.This contravened the far less clear-cutexperienceof hundreds of thousandsof highland-born people. From of a million Andeanfarmersto settle 1940to 1980, povertydroveat least a quarter in thejungle and more thana million moreto Lima (cf. Martinez1980). Seasonal migrationstook thousandsof otherson frequent journeys between the mountains and the Amazon and coast." This mass mobility meant that many people in the most "remote" highland hamlets had visited the bustling coast. Conversely, of the sprawlingshantytownsof Lima, La Paz, Quito, Ayacumany inhabitants cho, Cuzco, and Huancayokept strong bonds to the countryside. The distance between thatch-roofedadobe Andean peasant dwellings and city shacks of tin, cardboard,and straw mats was not that between "indigenous" Andean society and "Westernized"modernity.Rather,it was the space between differentpoints on a single circuit that was integratedby family ties, village loyalties, and constantcirculationof goods, ideas, and people. Indian,cholo, and mestizo were not discretecategories, but partlyoverlappingpositions on a continuum. The rise of the Shining Path highlightedthe continuitiesbetween different locationsalong the city/countrycircuit. Urbanintellectualsled by Abimael Guzman founded the movement during the late 1960s at Ayacucho's University of But universityand high school studentsof mostly peasantorigin were Huamanga. the cadre of the revolution. These young people had friends and family in their home communities;yet most had studiedin the city of Ayacucho and been politdiscourse that answeredto their ically radicalizedby exposure to a revolutionary


own experience of poverty and lack of opportunity.They became the guerrillas who fanned across the countrysideduringthe 1970s to begin underground organizing, and then took up arms in the 1980s. The abilityof these cadresto starta majorupheavaltestifiedto the interpenetrationsof differentpositions along the rural/urban loop. Educationand the lanfrom peasantsin the counrevolutionaries of the Marxism guage separated young were also But of the Senderistas most poor people with darkskin, knowltryside. with the of and physical geographyand culturaltexfamiliarity edge Quechua, tures of mountain life. "Sendero advances," as the Ayacucho-bornhistorian Jaime Urrutia pointedout in a recent interview, whoaretheequalwiththepopubecause theyarethe onesthere[in the mountains] lation.Theyaren't the middle different, class, theyaren'tphysically theyspeakthe samelanguage andthepeoplefeel close to them.12 Urrutiaunderplayshow the arrivalof the Shining Path in a village by force of armscan be a suddenandoften violent intrusion.Yet he also explodes the favorite counterinsurgency metaphorof the Peruvianauthorities,familiarfrom Vietnam, El Salvador,and wherevergovernmentsfight guerrillauprisings-that the Shining Pathare "infiltrators"and "subversives," a force completely externalto the peasantry.What distinguishesSendero from the failed Peruvianguerrillamovements of the 1960s is precisely the close connections of so many Senderistasto the mountains.The Lima intellectualsof Luis de la Puente Uceda's Cuban-inspired National LiberationArmy were quickly wiped out by the army. But the young women and men of the Shining Path know the hiddentrails of the mountains, how to survive the cold nights, how to dodge army patrols, how to blend with the civilian populationand regroupwhen the securityforces withdraw.The guerrillas,in short, frequentlyhave a double statusin the peasantcommunitiesof Ayacucho. They are part "insiders" and part "outsiders." The PeruviandirectorFranciscoLombardi capturesthis ambiguityin a scene from his recentmovie TheMouthof the Wolf. 3 The film depicts the Army occupation of the fictional village of Chuspi, a play on the real-life Chuschi. After Senderistassurreptitiously raise the hammer-and-sickle over the police station, soldiers begin a house-by-house search. We watch as two young recruitskick down the doorto a dirt-floored house, discover a small workshopfor the beautiful carvedretablos typical of the Ayacucho region, and a hidden plan of the police station. The two soldiers seize the poncho-wearing,dark-skinned young artisan as he tries to flee. They beat him, then proudlydeliver him to their commanding officer. But the prisonerdoes not confess even underburs from a lighted cigarette.Disturbedby the tortureanddoubtfulwhetherthe prisonereven understands Spanish,the commanderdecides to take the captive by truckto Army headquarters. Senderistas,however, stage a bloody ambushof the pickup truck to commence a series of events that ends with the massacreby the army of more than thirtyinnocentcampesinos. The sequence not only calls attentionto the brutalityof the war, but also to the mixed identity of Sendero. For the viewer, like the soldiers, never really


knows whetherthe suspect was a guerrilla.The evidence of the plan and the later ambushindicateinvolvement. Yet the apparentinabilityof the prisonerto speak Spanish-along with his peasantdress and retablocraft-clash with the popular image of Shining Path militants as propaganda-spouting university students in Western clothes and red bandanas. The line between indigenous villager and cholo revolutionary turnsout to be difficult to establish. The Peruviansoldiers, like U.S. troopsin Vietnam,confrontan enemy thatdoes not easily sort out from the ruralpopulation.Ratherthan doing the hardwork of distinguishingSenderterror. istas, the militarywages an indiscriminate It was preciselythe sense of ambiguousidentitiesdevelopedby Lombardiin his fictionalChuspithatis missing from Isbell's portrayal of the real-lifeChuschi. Andeanist anthropologistscarefully documented and analyzed the customs of highlandcommunities. But they tended to gloss over the overlap and partialinof Andeanpersonhoodthatwere to become crucial in the spread terchangeability of the Shining Path. Born in the northern Andeantown of Chota, Antonio Diaz Martinezgraduated from the agrarianuniversitynear Lima in 1957.14Three years as a governmentdevelopmentofficial gave the promisingyoung engineerthe opportunity to supervisea plannedcolonization in the Amazon and to travel briefly to Switzerland, Spain, Egypt, and Chile. But Diaz became disillusioned with state-sponsoreddevelopment.By the mid-1960s, he hadjoined the agronomyfaculty at the University of Huamangawhere Abimael Guzman was consolidating the proChinese faction that would become SenderoLuminoso. It was from the charged political climate at the universitythat Diaz wrote Ayacucho:Hunger and Hope. Diaz built the book througha colloquial blend of description,dialogue, and anecdote fromhis travelsacrossAyacuchobetween 1965 and 1969. ButHungerand Hope also containeda clear message. The "obsolete colonial structure"of Ayacucho had to be overturned(Diaz 1969:33). The region would progress only through"social-economic change" and the recovery of "what's worthy in the art, music, and customs of our people" (1969:265). Hungerand Hope refractsAndeanism. Like most anthropologists,Diaz believed in the survivalof an age-old Andeantradition thatcould be juxtaposedwith the Westerncultureof conquest. He, too, tended to divide between traditional mestizos. In Diaz's view, the laborexchangesof the minka peasantsandcorrupted andthe collective structure of the ayllu testifiedthatruralAyacuchanshad inherited a communalethic from the Incas. Much like Peruviansocialists in the first decadesof the 20th century, Diaz felt this traditionof cooperationcould become the foundationof a new social order. The Andeanistflavor shared by Hunger and Hope and so many ethnographies points to the importantintersectionsthat have always existed between socialist politics and anthropologyresearchon the Andes. Ethnology and socialist writing-as well as journalism, archaeology, fiction, and travel writing-were tightlyintertwinedin indigenismo. In the small communityof Peruviansand for-


eigners writing about the Andes during the 1920s and 1930s, the socialists Jos6 Carlos Mariategui and Hildebrando Castro Pozo could quote historian Luis Valcarcel and archaeologist Julio Tello and in turn be cited by American anthropologists Wendell Bennett and Bernard Mishkin. Academic inquiry became more specialized as the numbers of Andeanist scholars expanded after World War II amidst the fast growth of European and U.S. universities. But traffic across different modes of urban discourse about the highlands also continued. The career of Jose Maria Arguedas was exemplary. He wrote poetry and fiction about the highlands, worked as a curator of Andean artifacts, and published ethnography. The southern community of Puquio became Arguedas's subject in a full-length ethnography (see Arguedas 1956) and also in his great novel Yawar Fiesta (1980). If anthropology and socialist politics were no longer so enmeshed as in Mariategui's time, Andeanist ethnographers remained cousins to the politicians of the 1960s and 1970s who spoke of a return to the minka and ayllu. Unlike most other socialists and many anthropologists, however, Diaz made a partial break from Andeanism. He recognized the sharp cultural and economic differences that separated a mountain-born farmer from a coastal bureaucrat. Yet he never lost a sense of mixture and movement. Everywhere in Ayacucho Diaz found people who resisted neat pigeon-holing as Indians, cholos, or mestizos. We meet poor mestizos who speak Quechua; comuneros who travel constantly to Lima; children in the Apurimac who are trilingual in Quechua, Spanish, and Campa. Diaz's rapid sketches of these individuals destabilize boundaries, questioning easy separations between "traditional" Andean society and "modern" mestizo culture. "Jos6 de la Cruz," he wrote (1969:142), is 45 years old, mestizo, speaks Spanish very well, having left the region early when he was little. ... As a child he took care of the dog and gardenfor a gringo, then as a young man travelledto the jungle valley of Chanchamayo,where he worked as a peon. Hard years, he tells us. ... Restless and roving, he later travelled to Ucayali .... He's bilingual, his wife monolingualin Spanish, his childrenare learning Quechua . . . eight years ago he returnedto Cangallo where he inheriteda small bit of land. The nomadic De la Cruz spoke Quechua and lived for the moment as a campesino. He cut against the simplified presentation in To Defend Ourselves of mestizos as privileged Spanish-speakers. In a barren Cangallo village, Diaz (1969:144) met Anastasio Alarc6n, a peasant who: has five kids, doesn't drinkbecause he's an evangelical . . . works in constructionin Lima from May to October, where he lives in the spareroomwith his brotherwho's a permanent worker.Antonio has three hectaresand plants wheat, corn, and barley. Here a Quechua-speaking villager who should fit in the "Indian" category turned out to spend part of his time in Lima and to be a Protestant. Again our sure sense of authenticity, of who fits where, ends up in question. Instead of easily distinguishable Indians, cholos, and mestizos, we find an interconnected population


shifting along positions in the busy circuit between city and country, lowlands andhighlands,village and squattersettlement. Partof Diaz's insightcame fromhis wide-angledview. He visited apparently traditional communitieslike QuispillactaandPomacocha.But he also spentmuch time in La Mar'sfeudalhaciendas.Apurimac'sjungle colonizations, Ayacucho's shantytowns,Huanta'sdustytruckstops-places wherethe extentof Andeanmowere impossible to ignore. bility and interconnection Just as importantly,Diaz wrote as an informedlaymanwithout the need to fix people in rigidanalyticalcategories. Andeanistethnographers of the 1960s and 1970s joined other Westernized anthropologistsin deploying what Franqoise Michel-Jones(1978:14) calls "absolute subjects" (the Nuer, the Hopi, the Dogon). Thus in To Defend Ourselves we do not encounterChuschinosas individuals. Instead,Isbell (1977:73) talkedabouthow "the comunerosparticipate in the [national]economy to a limited degree" or "the vecinos use village exogamy to secureupwardmobility" as if the villagers and the mestizos could be considered homogeneouscategorieswhose memberssharedidenticalbeliefs.'5 Diaz, by contrast, always introducedunique characters.Some, like the tyrannicalhacienda owner at Orcasitas,work simply as emblems of largercategories. But Diaz describedothers, like Alarc6nandCruz, with a sense of variationand individuality. He, too, spoke of "the mestizos" and "the peasants." But the pluralvoices and long dialogues between Diaz and differentAyacuchansconvey a feel for the nuances and partialinstabilityof the larger categories that is largely absent from Andeanistanthropology with its easy confidenceaboutAndeansocial boundaries. of modernPeru. Finally, Diaz's socialism helpedhim to see the interlinkages Side-by-sidewith theirusually romanticview of the "purity" of Andeanculture, socialists since Mariateguihad also deployed the concept of class to stress the common position on the bottom of Peru's economic pyramidof indigenous villagers, cholo migrantsin the vast barriadasof Lima, and poor mestizo laborers. The concept of a broadcoalition of the poor, bridgingethnic identificationsand rural/urban divisions, would become the heartof organizingby the United Left in the 1980s. Thus while Diaz retainedan idealized view of lo andino, he party also recognized that poverty connected peoples of disparateidentity across Ayacucho. This economic nexus was one that most anthropologists-largely deto pendingon the categoriesof "culture" and "community"-were unprepared in North Ameriin that to The interest began emerge explore. political economy to look more can anthropology in the 1970s-which mighthave led ethnographers deeply at issues of class-arrived slowly to the Andes. 6 in Hungerand Hope of the communityof Moya, 34 kilometers The portrayal fromthe city of Ayacucho, typifiedDiaz's (1969:53) recognitionof the profound of Andeanlife. He began with a descriptionthatemphasizedthe interpenetrations of traditionand pastoralautonomyin Moya: preservation withtinychacrasthatgo from1/6to There's no hacienda here,all aresmallholders . . . and] 1/2 hectare partof the community per family.Theyall call themselves
sometimespracticethe ayni and minga .... The houses of the village can be found

THE REVOLUTION 75 MISSING the redcolorof the rooftiles andthe adobewalls on the gentlehillside; distributed a verysingular blendwiththedark to give thelandscape beauty. greenof thealders But Diaz was not content to presentMoja as a self-containedand stable community. He enteredinto conversationwith a groupof men workingto build a school in a communalwork-party.Insteadof analyzingthe event as a pureexpressionof Andeancollectivity, however, he describedthe men smoking "National"-brand cigarettesand using lumberandcement solicited froma governmentdevelopment agency. We learn that Moya's populationwas constantlyon the move. Without sufficientland, many had left for the cities or jungle. Others migratedbetween the village and coastal sugarplantationswhere they hiredthemselves out as temporarylaborers.Though appreciativeof the community's success in retaininga measure of communality and stability, Diaz (1969:56) ended with images of Moya's presentfluidityand uncertainfuture: We keepwalking, in theirhouses.Onlythe andwe talkwitha few old campesinos oldstaypermanently in thecommunity, theyounghavebecome sometimes migrants, andharvests to helpwiththeplanting andthendisappearing returning onlyto appear or thenextharvest. againforfiestas Herewas the sense of the interconnections thatwould help makepossible the spreadof the Shining Path. And here, too, were the mobile young people with knowledgeof both city andcountrythatwould formthe pool fromwhich Abimael Guzman,OsmanMorote, and Diaz himself were aboutto begin recruitinga revolutionarycadre. Thirteenyears later Moya would be part of the "Red Zone" namedby Army intelligence as a strongholdof Sendero. If the thick interchangebetween city and country made possible the spread of the Shining Path across Ayacucho from the gray-stoned University of Huamanga, the immediatesuccesses of the revolutionariesin winning supportin the countrysidetestifiedto the explosive discontentof manypeasants. It is vital from the startto point out that the Shining Pathalso dependson violence. The revolutionarieshave killed campesinosfor reasonsfrom breakingdecrees againstvoting to participating in compulsoryArmy-directedcivil patrols. In September 1984, guerrillasslaughtered21 villagers in Huamanguilla,Ayacucho on the suspicion of "collaboration"with the government(Amnesty International1989:5). "Violence is a universal law," as Abimael Guzman himself proclaims, ". .. and

withoutrevolutionary violence one class cannotbe substitutedfor another,an old

order cannot be overthrown to create a new one."

At the same time, though, persuasiveevidence exists for a degree of genuine ruralbackingof the revolution. In mid-1982, inquiriesabout Sendero in Ayacucho by journalistRaul Gonzalez (1982:47) elicited a nearunanimousreply: "It's a movementsupportedby the youngest peasants. The older ones are resigned to theirlot, butdo back theirkids." In early 1983, peasantleadersin Huancayotold political scientist CynthiaMcClintock (1984:54) "that substantialmajorities[of


peasants]were supportive." David Scott Palmer(1986:129) concludedthat Sendero retaineda "substantialreservoirof support" in ruralAyacucho. By 1985, Senderistashad also found a profitablenew niche in the upper Amazon as the defendersof smallholding coca-growers, mostly migrantsfrom the highlands, against rapaciousColombian buyers and governmentofficials.'8 It was in part becauseof popularsupportthatSenderogrew so fast in the 1980s. Nine of Peru's 181 provinceswere declaredmilitary-controlled EmergencyZones in December 1982. The number had jumped to 56 by mid-1989 (Amnesty International 1989:2). The Senderistasused a similar strategy in communities across Ayacucho, Huancavelica,Andahuaylas,and Junin. 9 They arrivedpreachingthe overthrow of the governmentand often redistributing land and animalsfrom state-administered cooperatives.The call for radicalchange appealedto many villagers. The young guerrillas, who sometimes had relatives in the communities where they went to organize, had the knowledge of Quechuaand mountainlife that enabled themto bearthe revolutionary doctrineeffectively. Executionsof corruptbureaucrats and cattle rustlerswere generally greeted with enthusiasm.They bolstered the ShiningPath'spopularity.Tortureand massacresby the securityforces could scareoff support.But it was also clearby the end of 1980s thatthe tacticsof terror often backfired.Resentfulvillagers had anotherreasonto back the Shining Path. Signs of the discontentthatSenderoexploitedaboundedin the southernhighlands during the 1960s and 1970s. Growing pressure from peasants for the of haciendaswas one reason behindthe decision in 1969 of the Velasco breakup of land to carryout agrarian reform.The 1960sbroughtan outpouring government unions. and of and national the invasions, strikes, strengthening regional peasant In 1963 alone, political scientist HowardHandelman(1975:121) estimated that campesinosstaged between 350 and 400 land seizures in Peru's southernmountains. Thousandsof peasants continued to mobilize through the decade, even thoughpolice usually sided with landownersand many farmersdied in invasions underfire from the security forces.20The reformdid not stop the unrest. Many haciendaswere not divided, and new cooperativesproved inefficient. The state failed to providemoney for loans or technical assistanceeven as official rhetoric radicalized duringthe early Velasco yearsof equalityandcampesinopridefurther many peasants. In Ayacucho and Apurimac, peasant protest intensified (Isbell 1988:7). Campesinosnow invadednot only undividedhaciendas,but also the cooperatives.Agrarianleagues firstformedby the Velasco governmentbecame independent, and by the late 1970s a mosaic of militant regional federations stretchedacross the highlands. Andeanistanthropology,however, registeredlittle sign of the immense discontentof peasantsor their frequentrecourseto action. To Defend Ourselvesreflectedthe tendencyto ignore ruralpolitical activity. Isbell depicted Chuschinos as unhappyabouttheirrelationswith mestizos. But she stressedthe conservatism of the villagers-their desireto retaincontinuitywith theirAndeantraditions.Her restedon similes of defense. The peasants "defend theirway of life," argument "maintain[ing]social closure," "close[d] themselves socially and economically


of the outside world" (Isto strengthen theirdefenses againstthe encroachments bell 1977:97, 37, 243). Desires for change were ascribed only to the mestizo schoolteachersand the cholo Lima migrants. "The peasantshave chosen a strategy of protectingwhat they have," wrote Isbell (1977:237) in a passage that ignoredruralinterestin change, "while the radicalteachershave chosen strategies to gain what they do not have-better wages, increasedsocial mobility, and the power to influencedecisions." Only in the postscriptto her 1975 visit did Isbell disclose signs of political initiativeby Chuschinofarmers.We learnthat in February1972 the villagers expelled the local priest, angry about the church's control over animals and property. In April 1975, Chuschinos organized a massive invasion of an unrepartitionedhacienda.After the occupation, 200 Chuschinosmade the long journey to the city of Ayacucho to press for legal recognitionof their claim. All this suggested a willingness to take bold action. But Isbell held to her pictureof the villagers as conservative. She presentedcholo migrantsas leaders of both movements, as if villagers would not take such aggressive steps on their own and even thoughthe two actions had wide communitysupport.Despite their aggressive thrust, Isbell (1977:243) ultimatelyglossed both events as more evidence of "the comuneros . . . attemptingto strengthentheir mechanismsof defensive isolation." Isbell at least recordedevidence of peasant mobilization. Many other Andeanistsentirelyignoredthe widespreadstrikes, invasions, andcampesinounionism across not just the PeruvianAndes, but also in Bolivia, Colombia, and, to a lesser extent, Ecuador.Studyingpeasantmovements was left largely to political devoted to scientists,journalists,and lawyers. The only well-knownethnography
protest, June Nash's (1977) fine We Eat the Mines and the Mines Eat Us, dealt not

with the countryside,but the proletarianized Bolivian tin mines. Of the 464 publications cited by FrankSalomon (1982) in his thoroughreview of Andean ethnology in the 1970s, only 5 dealt directly with peasantorganizing. Anthropologists, in short, almostentirelybypassedone of the most crucialissues of the time. Partof the explanationrests with the state of anthropologicaltheory in the 1960s and 1970s. Until the florescence of political economy in the mid-1970s, muchof the thinkingin these years sortedinto the generalcamp of eithercultural ecology or symbolic anthropology.2'This alignment carriedinto studies of the Andes. A large body of scholarshiparose on issues of adaptation; anothergatheredaroundcosmology, kinship, andritual.The analysisof mobilizationandprotest did not have a real place on either side. The disappearanceof politics was most markedin the work of ecological anthropologists.With the rapid growth of culturalecology in North American anthropologyduringthe late 1960s, anthropologistslike Stephen Brush, Glynn made Custred,Jorge Flores Ochoa, R. Brooke Thomas, and Bruce Winterhalder the studyof Andeanecosystems into popularspecialty. These scholarsrecognized thatmodemhighlandlife reflectedthe experienceof Spanishconquestandcontact with capitalism.A few, most notablyBenjaminOrlove, combinedinterestsin the environmentand political economy to fashion creative historicallysensitive eth-


nography.Most of the literature,though, followed the line of leading ecological like MarvinHarrisand Roy Rappaport.It emphasizedthe develanthropologists to theirruggedenvironment.The Andean opmentby people of stable adaptations morebiologically mindedscholarsdocumentedthe large lungs of mountainpeasants, and their success in developing strainsof grains and potatoes suited to the cold. Others, like Brush and Flores Ochoa, analyzed how highland land tenure and pastoralmanagementin Andean villages were especially suited to the ecology. The precise natureof Andean "vertical ecology'"-the termcoined by John Murrato describe how pre-Incastates controlledlands at varying altitudes-became an issue of special debate. Stressingthe self-regulatingand distinctivecharacterof Andeanecology, the ecological literaturefit with the premise of Andeanism abouta discrete and stable Andean tradition.The authors,in long collections like Man in the Andes (Baker and Little 1976) and Pastores de Puna (Flores

Ochoa 1977), could discuss in painstakingdetail the special characterof adaptation in places like Puno, Ayacucho, and Huancayoeven amidst political tumult and an imminentrevolution. Therewas marginallymore interestin politics on the culturallyfocused side anof L6vi-Straussand interpretive of Andeanistethnography.The structuralism of CliffordGeertzwere variouslybroughtto the classic Andeanisttopthropology like Joseph ics of ritual, reciprocity, kinship, and cosmology by ethnographers Bastien, Leslie Brownrigg,Olivia Harris,Luis Millones, TristanPlatt, and R. T. Zuidema.New studies analyzedAndean culturesin termsof "structural oppositions," "ritual transformations," "webs of meaning." Where the ecologists made "verticalecology" a particular concern, the natureof the ayllu became the focus for many of the scholarsconcernedwith symbol and structure.Anthropologists such as Michael Taussig (1980) and Nathan Wachtel (1977) elucidated highlandculturein the context of conquest or the arrivalof capitalism. But they preserveda vision of unchangingbeliefs that dovetailed with the assumptionsof Andeanism.Like that on culturalecology, debate over the structureof Andean culturebecame such an absorbingprojectthat it was possible to miss the signs of the nearingupheaval. Efforts in the mid-1970s to join ecological and structural perspectives-Isbell subtitledher book "ecology and ritual" in the spiritof synanthropologicalinsensitivity to the political agency of thesis-only perpetuated Andeanpeasants. Beyond theirnarrowand partlydistortingtheoreticallenses, a furtherfactor in the oversightof ruralunrestwas the general orientationof Andeaniststoward their ethnographicsubjects. In the 1950s, paternalviews of Andean people as who would have to become modernfarmersstill prebackwardagriculturalists JulianSteward(1963:xxix) couvailed. The renownedecological anthropologist pled Andeanistimagery of highlandersas non-Westernized"Indians" with the rhetoricof modernization typical of the 1950s:
As the Indians' slight understanding of European systems leaves them poorly equippedto solve their own problems, great efforts are being made to rehabilitate them economically, throughrestorationof lands and improvedfarm methods, and to


themculturally, education andother meansdesigned to facilitate reintegrate through their fullerparticipation in national life. The convictionthatpeasantsneededa dose of Westerninitiativeand moderntechin the 1950s who bought the hacienda nology guided the Cornell anthropologists of Vicos in the centralhighlandsto supervise the process throughwhich the exserfs were to enterthe moder age. This unabashedpaternalismhad largely disappearedby the mid-1960s with the decline of modernization theory. The flavorof Andeanistanthropologyin the 1960s and 1970s was increasinglyredemptive. Some ethnographers highlighted problemsof intracommunal feudingandconflict (Bolton 1973, 1974; Stein 1962). Butmost unilaterally stressedthe resilienceand value of Andeantraditions.While often edging into a condescendingpresumptionabout their right to "speak for" highlandpeople, anthropologistssent an importantmessage to governmentbureaucrats and developmentadministrators about the need to respect the practices and opinions of campesinos. Peasants were shown to possess sophisticated knowledgeof theirenvironment,to have elaborateritualcalendarsand astronomical systems, to possess rich memories of their past. An entire literaturesprang up on the physiological benefits of coca-chewing, a practice once considered a sign of Andeanbackwardness. At the same time, though, the project of redeeming lo andino helped lead Andeaniststo downplaythe undersideof highlandlife: the grindingpoverty that led so many peasantsinto angry action. All Andeanistsrecognized poverty. But the stresson ecological adaptationsand sophisticatedsymbolism had as a consequence a tendency to minimize the full extent of the economic suffering across the countryside.Ethnographers usually did little more than mention the terrible infantmortality,minuscule incomes, low life expectancy, inadequatediets, and abysmalhealthcare thatremainedso routine.To be sure, peasantlife was full of joys, expertise, and pleasures. But the figures that led other observers to label Ayacuchoa regionof "FourthWorld" povertywould come as a surpriseto someone who knew the areaonly throughthe ethnography of Isbell, Skar, or Zuidema. us detailed of ceremonial They gave pictures exchanges, Saint's Day rituals,wedand work Another kind of scene, just as common in the parties. dings, baptisms, the girl with an abscess and no doctor, the woman Andes, almostnever appeared: bleedingto death in childbirth,a couple in theirdarkadobe house crying over an infant'ssuddendeath. In sum, Andeanist anthropologydid not recognize the explosive pain and discontentin the highlands. This anger did not, of course, neatly translateinto of Puno and backingfor the ShiningPath. Campesinosin the southerndepartment the northerndepartmentsof Cajamarcaand Piura have rejected guerrillaovertures. Even in the Sendero strongholdsof Ayacucho, Apurimac, Huancavelica, Junin,many ruralpeople have refusedto collaborate. Isbell's Chuschi, though, was one of the manyplaces wherethe ShiningPath founda warmreception. Chuschinosalmost universallyapprovedof the Sendero execution of two cattle thieves, the public whipping of two others, and the ex-


In August 1982, many Chuschinos were pulsion of five corruptbureaucrats.22 the from nine 2,000 peasants among villages who joined a Sendero-ledinvasion of a Universityof Huamangaagricultural station. In December, the communities in Chuschi for an enthusiastic march to celebratethe birthof a Shining converged Ten blocks of Path-organized populararmy. peasantswaved red flags, shouting vivasto the revolutionary war. In the shortfinalsection of To Defend OurselvesaboutChuschi'sfutureprospects, Isbell (1977:244-245) had written that "consumerism and new cultural values due to increasedout-migrationand educationmay in time cause changes in the perspectiveof the community." But her main contentionwas that change had not yet happened, and that villagers would in the near future "retain their conservativeattitudes"and continue "efforts to resist incorporation into the nationaleconomy andculture." The impactof radicalmestizos would "be minimal because, as discussed earlier, they do not share the political concerns of the comuneros,who are attemptingto protecttheirculturalisolation." Like other Andeanists, Isbell had drasticallyunderestimated the desires of impoverishedAyacuchans for change. Far from rejecting radical ideology and "attemptingto protecttheir culturalisolation," many Chuschinosand other Andeanpeasantsprovedreadyto embracethe conceptof revolution.The priceChuschinos would pay for welcoming Senderoproved incalculablyhigh. In 1983-84, governmentforces disappeared6 peasantsfrom Chuschi and 46 from the neighboringcommunityof Quispillacta.A detachmentof Sinchis, black-sweatered police commandoswho arethe most self-avowedly savage of the counterinsurgency forces, blew apartan elderly Chuschinowith handgrenadesin the village square. By 1985, the Army had burneddown much of Chuschi. Most of the comuneros fled to Lima's brownshantytowns.23 As the "hunger" in the title suggests, Antonio Diaz Martinezmade the desperateconditions in Ayacucho a focal point of Ayacucho: Hunger and Hope. Diaz's explanationof the situation foreshadowedthat of the Shining Path. He into the world econviewed highlandpovertyas the productnot of incorporation dominated in a semifeudal but of the system by big landomy region's stagnation lords and parasiticbureaucrats.But the Diaz of 1969 wrote with a subtlety that would disappearin Sendero's formulaicMaoism. The resultwas a close-grained and sensitive pictureof the many sides of Ayacucho's poverty:rich farmersbuying out smallholdersin Cangallo, Apurimacplantationowners paying a pittance to day laborers,peasants with parcels too tiny for subsistence, communities in conflictwith haciendasand each other. Anthropologistslike R. Brooke Thomas (1976:403) stressed that Andean to one of the most stressfulregions inhabpeople made a "successful adaptation ited by man." Diaz (1969:65-66), by contrast, saw lands that were "eroded,
poorly irrigated, extremely divided . . . tired and deforested." Far from adapting

to their mountainenvironment,peasants were forced onto the busy circuit betweenjungle, mountains,and coast:


The Coast, the mines of Cerro de Pasco, the jungle of Apurimacserve them as an or permanentwork escape from the povertyof the land, giving them some temporary and a bit of economic income. After the planting, they go to these centers of work and then returnfor the harvests, bringingwith them a few clothes and a little money saved for the family that stayed to take care of the house and the fields. Othersemigratefor good, takingtheirfamily with them and leaving theirsmall plot to a relative. Sometimesthey come back for the fiestas, or don't come back ever. l 1969:65] Diaz believed that some comuneros, like those in Moya, had maintained a semblance of equilibrium through the careful management of their limited resources. In general, though, Hunger and Hope eschews the language of "adaptation" and "balance" in favor of images of suffering and impoverishment. Diaz shared the faith of anthropologists in the merit of Andean traditions. Yet this did not prevent him from coming to grips with poverty and injustice. Most Andeanist ethnography insistently celebrated. Diaz preferred to denounce. He found that "poverty, malnutrition, illiteracy are the common denominator" from the shantytowns of Ayacucho to the malarial jungles of Apurimac to the windswept heights of Huamanga (1969:33). Avoiding extensive statistics or Marxist jargon, Diaz chose to depict the harsh conditions through informal interviews and vivid vignettes of particular communities. One typical passage finds Diaz in conversation with Jos6 Hinostroza, a migrant from Cangallo to the humid Apurimac valley. Diaz used Hinostroza's words to extend our understanding of rural Ayacucho's predicament. The conversation is low-key. Yet we learn about the lack of schools, bad prices for crops, disputes with the government, and devastating diseases. Diaz ended not with grand pronouncements but mulling over Hinostroza's views as he walked down the muddy path from the house sucking on a papaya given him by Hinostroza's Amazon-born Campa wife. Peasants, Diaz believed, wanted change. He portrayed Ayacucho as bubbling with political activity. "Communities, villages, and hamlets" were "fighting . . . to get rid of this obsolete and unworkable colonial structure" (1969:33). We hear about the complaints of an Apurimac laborer about his tiny wages, the angry words about government bureaucrats from a Cangallo farmer, a land invasion by 114 farm families in Huascahura, the takeover of another estate in La Mar, Cangallo farmers rejecting a government-administered cooperative to form their own association. This, for Diaz, was a region of "campesinos disenchanted with the public powers," of small farmers actively and consciously engaged with the larger world.24 The "hope" of Hunger and Hope referred to what Diaz felt was the capacity of Ayacuchans to remake their society. Disaffected by his own experience in the early 1960s, Diaz considered Western-sponsored development an unacceptable response to Ayacucho's problems. Engineers, agronomists, and administrators in development projects come under biting criticism in Hunger and Hope. They represented, for Diaz, not the prospect of change but the most recent face of government oppression. He repeatedly criticized development bureaucrats for their paternalism, insensitivity to local knowledge, inefficiency, and corruption; and he appends to Hunger and Hope a short essay by a visiting U.S. student that denounces a U.S. Agency for International


Developmentcolonization project in Apurimacfor its waste and elitism. It was the harshview of developmentin Hunger and Hope, pushed to a rigid extreme, that would lead the Shining Path to make governmentdevelopment workers a targetof assassination.In early 1989, a guerrillacommuniquealso orderedprivate developmentgroups out of Peru because "you give crumbsto the people to entertainthem and fail to realize thatthe correctpath is thatof the people's war."25 Diaz (1969:34) summedup his dislike of developmentand belief in the revolutionarypotentialof Ayacuchanpeasants in a passionate passage with strong Andeanistovertones:
Herethe manof the Andes lived undera centralizedeconomy, untilthe white predator who lastedfor 300 years and his successorthe modem mestizo:governor,priest, congressman, public employee, propagandistsand sellers of technology, who say they will achieve "development." "Development" of whom?, if they don't even stop to learnaboutthe native culture, or even the economic structure,how will they be able to develop it? But nevertheless, this autochthonouspeople stands on its feet, with hope for the future, with faith in its efforts, and one day will break the chains that impedeits development. Diaz's language reiterates that Andeanism does not always accompany a vision

of peasantsas conservative.It did for anthropologists with theirdisinterestin politics. But Diaz, like the indigenista socialists of the 1920s and 1930s, connected

his belief in the survivalof "autochthonous"traditionswith an assuranceabout the possibilityof change. Lo andinobecame a seed of puritythat would flower in a new social order. Despite the heteroglotidentityof its own cadre, the Shining Pathwould also Andean origins. In the "popular invoke the concept of a returnto uncorrupted war" againstthe "reactionaries andtheirimperialistmasters," certifiedan article in the semiofficialpartynewspaperEl Diario, "the Andeanpeople advance . . . the Quechua,aymara,andchankaadvances."26WhereSenderodiffersfromother The absolutism is the frighteningrigidityof its vanguardism. socialistalternatives of the Senderistasabout their views-and their own right to lead-provides the moralframework thatjustifies the murderof those perceivedas opponents.HunDiaz and some advance warning of this authoritarianism. contained ger Hope in but to book not to directed the (1969:34-35) "young poor people Ayacucho, studentsand researchers"whom he hoped would recognize their "historical responsibilityto study our problems and take an honest position in the search for new situations." While conservinga profoundregardfor peasantknowledge and militancy,he also mixed in phrasesaboutthe "miserablemasses" and "illiterate peasants"thatsuggestedtheirpolitical consciousness to be less acute thanthatof an educatedvanguard.The people would be at the heartof the revolution. But they would need to be organizedin a "plannedstate" (1969:266). On balance, though, Diaz's vision had a collaborativeflavor very different from the dogmatismof the partyhe would help to organize in the next decade. The sharp-sighted passion of the young professorhad not yet hardenedinto doctrine.The Universityof Huamanga,Dfaz (1969:265) wrote, shouldavoid becom-


ing a "producerof egotists and individualists" and "put itself at the service of the collectivity." But if it did not, Diaz (1969:24) believed Ayacucho's poor would make change on their own, "passing sooner or later right over [the uniits world." At the end of Diaz's (1969:266) vision was versity], and transforming a powerfulyet strangelyinnocent dreamof a collectively fashioned utopia. The Andes have strongpeople and rich naturalresources, he wrote in the last line of Hungerand Hope-"let's make them into a paradise." EdwardSaid (1979:1) speaks of how the bloody civil war in Beirutof 197475 crashedagainst the imagery of Orientalism.It was no longer so possible to the Middle East as "a place of romance, exotic being, hauntingmemrepresent ories and landscapes,remarkable experiences." Ayacucho markeda similarmoment for Andeanism. No longer could the highlands so easily supportinterpretations where they appearedas a place of static cultures and discrete identities. Colorfulposters of Andeanpeasantsin ponchos posed next to llamas at Macchu Picchu still adornedthe walls of travel agencies across the United States. But a differentkind of image of the highlandsalso began to reachthis country:pictures of mass graves, wreckagefrom explosions, soldiers in black ski masks, and farm families mourningtheirdead. Farfromthe paradiseimaginedby Diaz, life in muchof Peru's highlandshas become a nightmare.More than fifty thousandpeople fled the terrorin the countrysidefor Lima's slums over the 1980s (Kirk 1987). Senderistasmurdernot only of the state, but political candidatesand tradeunionists. Governrepresentatives mentsecurityforces have maderapeandtortureinto standard practice.They have more than since and killed at least as many in 3,000 people 1982, "disappeared" mass executions and selective assassination(Amnesty International 1989:1). One casualtyof warwas AntonioDiaz Martinez.Arrestedin the early 1980s, he was one of the 124 prisonersin the terrorismwing of the cement-blockLuriganchoprison in the sandy hills on Lima's periphery.In June 1986, Senderistas in Lurigancho,the islandprisonof El Front6n,and the women's detentioncenter of Santa Barbarastaged simultaneoustakeovers to protest governmentplans to move theminto a moresecurefacility. PresidentAlan Garciarefusedto negotiate. He turnedthe prisonsover to the armedforces. The police stormedSantaBarbara, killing two prisoners. At El Front6n, helicopters bombed the main pavilion. Troopskilled at least 90 prisoners.At Lurigancho,the police firedbazookas, mortar, and rockets into the compoundand then stormedthe prison. Diaz was probshot in the ably one of at least one hundredprisonersexecuted aftersurrendering, head or mouthas they lay flat on the ground(Amnesty International 1989:7). To preventautopsies, the securityforces secretly buriedthe bodies at night in graveyardsaroundLima. Diaz's body was discoveredin a shallow grave in the Imperial Cemeteryin Cafieteprovince,just south of the capital. Just five weeks before the prison uprising, Diaz gave one of the first interviews grantedby a Shining Path leader. JournalistJose Maria Salcedo (1986) passed from the chaos of the regular prison into the special terroristcellblock


whereSenderistasmaintained to paintDiaz as tight discipline. Salcedo attempted a half-hearted He concentrated on the revolutionary. young guerrillawho supervised the interview.The prisontransferwas alreadyannounced.Diaz foresawthat the armymight use oppositionto the transferto justify a massacre,but professed no fear. "Our morale is superiorand we take death as a challenge," said Diaz (quotedin Salcedo 1986:64). In the end, however, the interview underminesSalcedo's effort to depict Diaz as less than committedto the Shining Path. For Diaz had clearly evolved into a hard-liner.The answers were still concise and smart. But they had the uncompromising edge thathad alreadyemergedin Diaz's second book, China: The AgrarianRevolution(1978). Writtenaftera 1974-75 stay in Chinaandpublished a decade afterHunger and Hope, this book revealedDiaz's turnto the inflexible Maoismof the CulturalRevolution. "Since 1949 ... the Dictatorship of the Proletariatagainstthe bourgeoisiehad grown even more intense," Diaz (1978:8) began the book, ". . . [and] with the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution the red

line of PresidentMao againbecomes morevigorous." In Lurigancho,Diaz could now give emphasis to his commitmentto communism("we are all materialfor the transitionto communism") and cite the cold-blooded Abimael Guzmdn"PresidentGonzalo"-as a maximumparagonof moralvirtue("the greatestafof life over death"). The Shining Pathmustsometimeskill peasants,he firmation explainedin good Maoist-Stalinistlanguage, because "the countrysideis not flat but divided into classes." As for anthropologists,most have retreatedfrom Peru. Only a handfulstill workin the highlands,and none in Ayacucho's countryside.Only one remainsof the more than ten majorAndean archaeologyprojectsthat operatedat the end of the 1970s. Graduate studentsinterestedin the Andes now opt for Ecuadoror Bolivia. To my knowledge, the only Andeanistto offer writtenpublic reflectionson did not anticipatethe Shining Path is Billie Jean Isbell. Her why anthropologists of To Defend Ourselvesmixes a frank shortintroductory note to a 1985 reprinting admissionof errorwith a confidentrhetoricof continuingexpertise. "My anthropological perspective," she writes, "blinded me from seeing the historicalprocesses that were occurring at the time. ... I did not adequately place Chuschi in

a world system in which increasingviolence and the breakdownof nation states in the ThirdWorldare becoming commonplace" (Isbell 1985:xiii-xiv). But Isbell also conserves her same vision of Andeancontinuityand self-containment.She does not considerhow the growthof Senderohas reflectedpeasant discontentor Peru's intensifyinginterconnections.Instead, she still speaks of an "increasingpolarizationof the Quechua-speakingmasses and the nationalculture" and depicts the Shining Path as a "small leftist movement" external and differentfrom the peasantry: in order fora fiftyyearstruggle Sendero Luminoso thattheyareprepared hasdeclared on the a new order.The peasants, to destroy andinstitute the existinggovernment


other hand, are concentratingon preservingtheir lands and their way of life. [Isbell 1985:xiii] Of course, this position has partial truth. It remains essential to understand that Sendero is no organic peasant uprising. But Isbell overlooks that many of Sendero's young recruits are the sons and daughters of peasants; and she ignores currents of sympathy for the guerrillas amidst the vast numbers of Peruvian campesinos who want change and not just to defend their traditions. If the Shining Path were only a group of violent leftist intellectuals, the movement would long ago have been destroyed. Instead, it has spread through much of the mountains and now presents a daily threat to Lima. The guerrillas are in parts foreign and homegrown, terrorist and popularly based. I believe that anthropologists still concerned with the interpretation of highland life need to break decisively from Andeanism. Two related moves seem to me crucial. One is to dismantle the binary logic of Andeanism: Andeanism/European, indigenous/Western, precapitalist/capitalist, pagan/Christian, traditional/ moder. Instead of presuming the separateness of the Andean and Western, we might begin to approach the plural identities in the mountains as particular ways of living built from inside far-reaching webs of power and meaning. Campesinos like those from Chuschi are not, as Isbell (1977:4) put it, "peasants approach[ing] degrees of national incorporation." Rather, they have lived for almost half a millennium under colonial and republican rule. Roads, radios, universal education, political campaigns, evangelization, military conscription, and the massive migration have tightened the links between the Andean countryside and big urban centers during this century. Recognizing these intricate ties does not mean downplaying the persistence of sharp cultural differences in the Andean nations. It does, however, require seeing difference not as the result of distance and separation, but as constructed within a history of continuous and multilayered connections. A second key move is to stop representing modern Andean identity as a matter of continuity with the indigenous past. What Fabian (1983) calls "allochronism"-the presentation of a contemporary cultural tradition as if it were an artifact of an earlier era-underlies the assumption that today's Andean cultures derive from the precolonial era. Of course, it would be wrong to ignore the strong ties of Andean people to their past. To take the most obvious example, more than 5 million people still speak Quechua, albeit a Quechua now spiced with Spanish borrowings. At the same time, though, metaphors of "continuity" and "traditionalism" work poorly in the Andes (cf. Clifford 1988). On close inspection, chemical dyes color homewoven ponchos. Celebrations of harvest festivals come on Saints' Days. Japanese-manufactured MSG spices the ancient specialty of roast guinea pig. Mountain ballads to Inca melodies praise the building of new hydroelectric projects. Andean culture thrives even in Peru's tormented highlands. But it is never the expression of primordial mountain traits, so much as the product of visions that people continually rework in ongoing processes of innovation and recombination.


Active anthropological work for life and peace ought, I believe, to accompany the breakfrom Andeanism. If the effects may be small, our efforts can at least help to bringPeru's situationto public attentionand to build pressureon the Peruviangovernmentto respect human rights. We can also supportthe courageous peasant federations, women's organizations, shantytown soup kitchens, mineworker unions, and humanrightsgroupswhich standbetween the fire of the ShiningPathand the government. Politicalengagement, after all, will not be new for Andeanists. As contributorsto Andeanism,we have helped to constructa discoursethathas conditioned not only how the rest of the world perceives the Andes but also how Andeanpeople understandthemselves. During this century, an idealized sense of Inca lineage, harmonywith nature,andcommunalvalues has filteredacrossthe mountainsthroughschoolbooks, radio, TV, and political speeches. Manycampesinos, in turn, reappropriate these Andeanistconcepts-often in conjunctionwith parts of the also externally imposed discourses of Christianity,nationalism, and socialism-to articulatepolitical identities that answer to contemporaryneeds. In poster adornthe tin Ayacucho, a wood cross, Peruvianflag, and anti-imperialist and straw-mat shelterof the Association of the Families of the Disappeared(ANFASEP). So, too, does a copy of a reverentialode by Jose MariaArguedasto the "Andeanspirit." Some of the mostly peasantwomen of the Associationmention their "indigenousheritage" and "Inca culture" in their talk abouthumanrights and lost relatives. In part, then, Andeanismhas come full circle. What began as the impositionof outside observersnow becomes redeployedby popularorganizations. "We" and "they" connect not just throughpolitical economy but also and self-imagination. acrossthe more subtle channelsof representation Let me end, then, with an appeal ratherthan a conclusion. ANFASEP and two other Peruvian human rights organizationshave urgent need for support. They work undergreat danger to monitorviolations and to assist victims of the terror.Please considersending them a donation: Committeefor the Defense of HumanRights in Apurimac CODEH, Apartado26, Abancay, Apurimac,Peru Associationof the Families of Disappearedin Ayacucho ANFASEP, Apartado196, Ayacucho, Peru Centerfor Researchand Action for Peace CEAPAZ, Costa Rica 150, Lima 11, Peru, tel. 63501 Notes at the American versionof this articlewas presented An abbreviated Acknowledgments.
Association meeting, November 1989, Washington,D.C. I would like to Anthropological

RobinKirk,Charles thank Hale, RalphBolton,GeorgeCollier,MiguelDiaz-Barriga, andBrackette Frances Donald LisaRofel,Renato Starn, Starn, Rosaldo, Moore, Randolph comments. Williams fortheir

MISSING THEREVOLUTION 87 'In the Peruvianpress, the best reportingon the Shining Pathcan be found in the quarterly Quehacer,especially by Nelson Manrique,Jos6 MariaSalcedo, and Raul Gonzalez. Berg (1988), Bourqueand Warren(1989), Degregori (1986), McClintock(1984), and Palmer (1986) are among the best academic sources on Sendero. The collection of essays in Resistance, Rebellion, and Consciousnessin the AndeanPeasant World,18th to 20th Centuto the longerhistoryof protest ries (1987) editedby Steve Ster is an excellent introduction andrevolt in the Andes. 2A good piece in Granta by BritishjournalistNicholas Shakespeare(1988) discusses the of Sendero's leader. personalbackground 3Mythinkingowes a greatdebt to Said's (1979) controversialwritingon Orientalism.For more on how my analysis of Andeanismpartlydiverges from Said's of Orientalism,see pp. 67-68, 85 below. (1988) has writtena shortarticlethatto my knowledge is the only studyof Diaz. 4Harding 5See Salomon (1985) for an excellent discussion of indigenismoand the representation of the Andes in the firstdecades of this century. 6Thequotescome fromthe 1990 catalogueof WildernessTravel, pp. 63-68. The catalogue of anothertrekkingcompany, MountainTravel, uses almost identicallanguage. 7Clifford (1988) providesan excellent review of Orientalism. 8Clifford(1988:255-277) and Marcus and Fischer (1986:1-2) develop this criticism of Said. 9Thisand all subsequenttranslations from the Spanishare mine. '?SeeRosaldo (1989) for a discussion of "culturalborderlands,"and their general disapwherepeople were assumedto inhabitboundedculturesthatcorpearancein anthropology respondedto a circumscribed geographicalarea. "One ethnographythat broke decisively with Andeanismto give a well-developed sense of mobilitybetween city and countrywas TheBolivian Aymaraby Hans and Judith-Maria Buechler(1971). '2Theinterviewis in Quehacer, no. 57, February/March 1989, pp. 42-56. '3Themovie is loosely based on the massacreby police in 1983 of 47 villagers in Soccos. '4Thisbiographical informationon Diaz comes from Harding(1988:66-67). 'Isbell does drawa division between threeeconomic levels withinthe comunerocategory: the apukuna,wachakuna,and tiypakuq.But she always insists that the division between comunerosand vecinos is the most fundamentalin Chuschi, and for most of the book speaksof these two groupsas homogeneousentities. '6Morework on the Andes informedby political economy began to appearin the 1980s (Collins 1989; Orlove, Foley, and Love 1989; Roseberry1983). '7Thiscomes from an interview with Guzman in El Diario, 31 July 1988, p. 15. There remainssome doubt aboutthe interview's authenticity,as there is aboutwhetherGuzman is still alive. But most Sendero-watchersin Lima believed the interview was indeed authentic;for theiropinion, see La Republica, 31 July 1988, pp. 12-15.

88 CULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGY '8Kawell (1989) reportson the emergenceof Senderoas a politicalforce in the UpperHuallaga Valley. '9SeeBerg (1988), Isbell (1988), and Manrique(1989) for accounts of Sendero's arrival in peasantcommunities. 20The recentstudyof Huasicanchain Juninby anthropologist Gavin Smith (1989) provides a close look at the historyof protestin one southernAndeancommunity. Ortner's(1984) "Theory in AnthropologySince the Sixties" is the best introduc2'Sherry tion to the generalshapeof the discipline in the United Statesduringthe 1960s and 1970s. 22This information on the receptionin Chuschiof the Shining Pathcomes from a paperby Isbell (1988) based on interviewswith Chuschinosand outsidersfamiliarwith the village. 23This information comes from Isbell's introductory note to the 1985 reprinting of To Defend Ourselves. 24The quote comes from the back cover of Hungerand Hope. in LatinAmericanWeekly 25Quoted Report5 October 1989, page 12. 26EIDiario,8 May 1988, p. 6 quotedin Mauceri(1989:21).

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