Anacaona's Martyrdom

Frédéric Marcelin's nephew wrote a rather unremarkable novella on Anacaona, one of the most celebrated figures of Haiti's indigenous past. In Emile Marcelin's imagination, Anacaona was a beautiful cacique who ruled in accordance with the zemis, justice, poetry, and the cultivation of art. Columbus and, even more effectively, Ovando ruined this "young" Indo-Haitian civilization of Xaragua and Maguana. In short, the Spanish obsession with gold, material goods and the exploitation of Taino labor spelled the end of the indigenous population. Due to its emphasis on the violent suffering of Anacaona through the capture of Caonabo, the reduction of her daughter to folie, and the massacre orchestrated by Ovando, Anacaona's function is largely as a tragic figure of a pristine Haiti unsoiled by colonialism and slavery.

Since the novella was first published in Havana and only one year after the Marchaterre Massacre, one cannot help but perceive this as a response to the US Occupation of Haiti. Like Anacaona, Haitians, despite their poetry and attention for the arts, were unable to defend their sovereignty from colonial invasion. With tragic figures like Charlemagne Péralte who could perhaps be compared to Caonabo, perhaps Emile Marcelin sought to highlight the indigenous legacy of resistance and defeat to Haitian nationalist and indigenist literary purposes. After all, the indigenous past of the island had already possessed an appeal to Haitian literary and nationalist purposes since the foundation of the state. And perhaps writing in Cuba, where the Taino legacy was also relevant, and where the yoke of US imperialism was inescapable, maybe Marcelin was situating the tale of Haiti's conquest within a larger Caribbean history. 

Sadly, this short novel reads like a slightly exciting fragment of a larger history. Anacaona, reduced mainly to a tragic figure, is not as much of an inspiring character as other caciques in Caribbean literature. She was left only as a shadow cacica before her brutal capture and death, and the nuances of cacicazgo politics and its possible role in aiding the Spanish conquest is minimized. Edwidge Danticat's novel for children, far from perfect and full of occasional historical errors, is perhaps a more empowering Anacaona, centering resistance. However, from what we have read as of now, Betances still reigns supreme for the most radical novelistic depiction of Taino caciques in literature.

Marx in the Prehispanic Antilles

Several years ago, a Puerto Rican specialist in 19th century Hispanic Caribbean "Indianist" literature recommended the works of Francisco Moscoso. He specifically mentioned that we must read Tribu y clases en el Caribe antiguo. Foolishly, we scanned parts of that important book but then lost the file. The next best thing was to locate the English-language dissertation that was the basis of the book. "The Development of Tribal Society in the Caribbean" contains the essential points of the later monograph and is far more accessible. Reading it was a challenging and provocative experience as Moscoso sought to refute or problematize earlier Marxist and historical materialist interpretations of the Taino past. 

Perhaps the excessively lengthy first two chapters could have been reduced to a single chapter, although one sees their importance later on for Moscoso's deconstruction of Engels, Marx, and Morgan on primitive, communal societies to early class societies. Despite his occasional quoting of Marx, Engels, Mao, and Lenin, Moscoso was a little less dogmatic than we initially expected. By the end of the dissertation, Moscoso has made quite explicit his conclusions regarding burgeoning class formation through the tribute taken from commoners for the benefit of caciques. With the aid of nitainos, or clanlords, and behqiues (shamans and magico-religious specialists), the cacique, or chief, oversaw production, determined military actions, received tribute, and established a "semi-theocratic" system in which cemis and religious practices were linked to the chiefdom. 

By rejecting ecological determinism and interpretations by Caribbean archaeologists or historians that ignored or downplayed elements of incipient class formation, Moscoso forcefully argues that the Taino chiefdoms represented a tribal-tributary mode of production en route to class society. The Taino past is charted from prehistoric hunter-gatherer bands in Venezuela to the various cultures and migrations from the South American littoral to the Greater Antilles. Over several millennia, agriculture, ceramics, seafaring, and differentiation of producers and non-producers culminated in the chiefdom. Using comparative data from other chiefdoms, Moscoso offers some possible explanations for the rise of the system while rejecting Engels on the rise of classes. Instead of slavery as the immediate successor to primitive communal bands, the tribal-tributary model was a more likely intermediate step which can be seen in the case of the Taino. The Taino system, to him, would have likely developed into a despotic-tributary state as found among some other indigenous societies of the Americas had it not been for the Spanish conquest. 

The specific evidence for the tributary system allegedly established by the caciques of the Greater Antilles can be traced in archaeology, religion, the encomienda system, and the Spanish chroniclers. Since Las Casas, Oviedo and early colonial sources mention the control of labor, storehouses, and the high status of caciques and nitainos who were not engaged in production, one can surmise that there was ample surplus among the polities for greater differentiation and division of labor. The caciques benefited the most from this process since they received a part of this surplus, monopolized higher quality cassava bread, dressed distinctly, and were, based on the encomienda system, presumably incorporated into it for their control of the labor of commoners. From the cacicazgo of Xaragua, for instance, we find evidence of the great wealth and accumulation of goods and power achieved by caciques on the eve of the Spanish conquest. Puerto Rico, through Agueybana as paramount chief, was said to have been similarly powerful. Since we are lacking sufficient information for islands other than Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, Moscoso admits to varying degrees of development of chiefdoms, possibly a dimension of Tainoness as a spectrum of cultures with shared elements. Certainly, the Spanish chroniclers saw a general shared culture in the Greater Antilles and chiefdoms across the region.

Additional evidence of the incipient formation of classes can be found in the ruling ideology of Taino society reflecting the superior status and wealth of the cacique. The areytos, for instance, usually recorded the gests and genealogies of chiefs, indicating that the most important history to the Taino was that of the ruling segment of society. The storage of cemis in the caney or house of the chief, and the role of the cacique as intermediary between a cemi and the community through cohoba rituals likewise reflects the role of the religion in buttressing political authority. Whether or not calling this semi-theocratic or by some other nomenclature is helpful is beyond us, but clearly religion, areytos, and even redistributive feasts came to justifying an order in which some exploited the labor of others, even without the existence of private property. Such a phenomenon was also noted for parts of precolonial Africa by the South African Marxist, Bernard Magubane. The Taino case appears to have been similar, although the Antillean cosmovision may have reflected certain South American perspectivist influences and beliefs not entirely encapsulated in a Marxist analysis. 

Overall, this unapologetic Marxist analysis of the Taino cacicazgo raises a number of fascinating questions on the nature of the "state" in the precolonial Caribbean and Caribbean societal formation. However, drawing upon other examples of indigenous societies in the Americas, such as the Iroquois and northern South American societies, raises a number of unanswerable or unknown issues. Were the ritual belts used by caciques, for example, also records of information, like wampum belts? Or, to draw from the classic 19th century histories, to what extent can Nau's claim of communal labor as tribute to the caciques of Hispaniola really be verified for, say, the Bahamas? Furthermore, more recent archaeologists seem to be less certain about the degree of centralization and the size of cacicazgos in Haiti and Puerto Rico. Is heterarchy, rather than hierarchy, what we should be looking for in the Antilles? If so, how does that challenge this Marxist analysis of the Antillean cacique?

The Diary of Anacaona

Edwidge Danticat's Anacaona: Golden Flower is one of those early works of the famous Haitian-American writer we have always intended to read. Due to an ongoing obsession with the indigenous past and legacy in the Greater Antilles, we decided to actually read this children's book to see how Danticat used fiction to tell the tale of our famous cacica. Unfortunately, it does not match the literary value and rigor of Danticat's adult novels. Anacaona's character is rather flat and one-dimensional and the narrative, told in the format of a diary, does not include the final, horrifying end of her life. As a result, it is an incomplete narrative that omits the years of Anacaona's direct political authority and the full transformation of Spanish-Taino relations across Hispaniola. Despite these aforementioned flaws, however, Danticat clearly did some major research. Taino social structure, inheritance, mythology, lore, and art are incorporated throughout the text. While more recent research would call into question the historical details of this fictional work (such as ignoring the Lucayan origins of Caonabo) and its assumption of inheritance of political office, Danticat largely succeeds in showing young readers a humanized experience of pre-Columbian Taino culture. After all, Anacaona hopes the ballad of the destruction of La Navidad would include events leading up to that fateful conflict. This is a necessary reminder to readers that the Taino were human beings with histories and lived experiences like everyone else.

Caciques and Cemi Idols

Caciques and Cemi Idols: The Web Spun by Taino Rulers Between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico by José R. Oliver is a challenging read. Drawing from more recent scholarship that challenges the paradigm of Irving Rouse and past generations of archaeologists, Oliver focuses on the political-religious dynamics of Taino civilization through caciques and cemí idols. Pushing back against Rouse, Oliver sees Tainoness as a complex mosaic of societies (mostly) in the Greater Antilles, with diverse histories of interactions with the Archaic societies in the region. However, intense interactions and mobility linked this mosaic of societies and polities (perhaps peer chiefdoms and heterarchy is more accurate for the sociopolitical character of precolonial Puerto Rico and other islands), especially Puerto Rico and Higuey in Hispaniola. 

Moreover, Oliver contextualizes Taino religion through a multinatural, animistic cosmos similar to perspectivism among South American indigenous populations. Through that lens, the Taino cemí represents a state of being in which even deceased forebears can become cemífied. Due to their animistic, multinatural worldview, the Taino also believed humans, animals, and objects like stones or wood have personhood. However, this personhood was dividual, partible, permeable and fractal. This belief, plus the use of cohoba for communing with a cemi probably explains the fusion of human and animal features in some Taino art. Clearly, Oliver is suggesting a rather different model for understanding Taino religion than that of Arrom, but one that may be more accurate than Arrom's assumption of a Western-like individualist perspective. Either way, it suggests Taino religion was part of a much deeper history of cemí religious practices, one that may have begun as early as 700 AD. 

Most of Caciques focuses on the different types of cemí idols, such as trigonoliths and face masks, and the close relationship between said idols and cacique political authority. Cemí figures could be inherited, stolen, gifted, or exchanged in a complex set of ways that linked caciques to each other, as well as lineage groups and alliances. As persons or beings invested with personhood, a cemí could develop a lengthy biography and become part of an epic history of a cacique, their lineage, or community. This helps explain why Ramón Pané reported some were able to flee or run away, or others were very human-like. For our purposes, it would be excellent to know, if possible, the extent to which the cemís described in the famous account by Pané were objects of specific veneration across Hispaniola, Puerto Rico, Jamaica, and parts of Cuba. 

The remainder of the book shifts to the thorny question of acculturation, transculturation, assimilation and the post-conquest conditions of Taino religion. As the political system was deeply embedded in their religion, the Spanish conquest sought to destroy both. Through native alliances, they were able to defeat the indigenous polities of Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. With the death of the cacicazgo, suppression of cohoba and cemis, Taino religion was irrevocably changed. However, aspects of Marian devotion in Cuba and archaeological evidence there suggest possible Taino influence. Early glimpses of it could be seen in the 1490s in Hispaniola and early Cuba, where some Taino adopted icons of the Virgin as another type of cemi. Perhaps most interesting was the way in which some caciques used Catholic icons against rival native chiefs. Even more impressive, Agueybana II's rebellion and the long-lasting resistance on Puerto Rico actually sought to spread indigenous rebellion to Hispaniola through their web of related kin and political allies in Higuey! Unfortunately, the movement in Hispaniola was defeated before it could have been implemented. Nonetheless, it was an interesting example of how caciques in Puerto Rico and Hispaniola continued to consult their cemis and used the guidance of said beings to guide their rebellions against Spanish authority. 

Taino Legacy in Hispaniola

After reading Guitar's dissertation, one begins to see even more clearly how important the "Taino" past is to the formation of the Dominican Republic and, by extension, all of the Spanish Antilles. Beginning with a detailed overview of the known facts and characteristics of Classic Taino civilization before 1492, Guitar draws on the chronicles, archaeology and, in some cases, common sense, to argue for the centrality of indigenous people, customs, and traditions in the making of the creole culture of Hispaniola. The African legacy, of course, is obvious and undeniably important, too. But seeing evidence of Taino and "Indian" survival and persistence in Hispaniola after the mid-1500s is fascinating. We have some questions about the later censuses and sources, naturally. Yet the fact that thousands of "Indians" of local and foreign provenance continued to live on Hispaniola after their alleged extinction helps elucidate why the indigenous legacy was and is so significant for the formation of creole cultures in the Spanish Caribbean. And despite the differences between Hispaniola and, say, Puerto Rico, one can arguably see a similar process in which indigenous persistence long after 1542 helps explain the elements of cultural (and biological) continuity observable in Puerto Rico. Whether or not this history justifies neo-Taino movements or reclamation, however, is another question. 

Early Spanish Caribbean Society

Although we are mainly interested in the past of the indigenous populations of the Greater Antilles and their legacy, Altman's Life and Society in the Early Spanish Caribbean: The Greater Antilles, 1493–1550 is an interesting read on early Caribbean colonial society. True, due to the sources it is more detailed for the white or European population rather than the Africans and Indians who outnumbered them. But, the colonial society was not a replica of the Iberian peninsula. It was also profoundly shaped by the indigenous cultures, labor, and knowledge. Thus, in covering those pivotal first 50 years or so of Spanish conquest and colonization, Altman urges us to rethink many of our assumptions. For instance, the Spanish Caribbean did experience a decline in gold production and it obviously lost much of its population (decimation of indigenous communities plus Spanish migration to the mainland colonies of New Spain or Peru). However, sugarcane, hatos, the development of new towns, and large rural populations led to more stable colonial economies. Moreover, indigenous populations did not completely disappear. 

As suggested by other scholars, acculturation and evangelization of local Indian populations appears to have been rather weak for the first half of the 16th century. For example, areitos and other traditions and customs persisted well into the colonial era. Local Indian customs and traditions were even adopted by others, such as the botanical and pharmacological knowledge of the Taino. It is possible Taino fishing practices and knowledge were also adopted by others in the society. The influx of Indian and African slaves also left a demographic impact that shaped colonial society dynamics in profound ways. Indians from other parts of the circum-Caribbean region and Africans led to the consolidation of chattel slavery in the New World while establishing consistent foci of resistance through maroon communities and rebellions. Furthermore, much of the socioracial order established throughout Latin America was first implemented or developed in Hispaniola and the other Antillean colonies. Even though each island was different, with perhaps Jamaica not receiving as much attention as the rest, the general conclusion seems to be that the Latin American political and economic order was first developed in the Caribbean. And the Caribbean remained central to Spanish empire and expansion long after the conquest of central Mexico and Peru. 

What was most interesting to us is also the utility of this study for understanding this colonial world through the biographical segments or sections. Certain villainous or fascinating characters emerged out of the unique conditions of conquest. Through timing, luck, personal connections, participation in conquest or pacification, and service as a royal official, a number of people enriched themselves or even experienced a degree of upward mobility. Some, as in the case of Isabel de Maraver, daughter of a converso named Juan Guillén, experienced poverty, loss, and accommodation in a new, nominally Spanish society. Our interest in Juan Guillén was originally genealogical, as the research of Burset Flores suggests one of his daughters ended up in Puerto Rico as the wife of a Pedro de Espinosa. Through Eufrasia, there must be a huge number of Puerto Ricans who are descendants of Juan Guillén, not to mention descendants in the Dominican Republic from his descendants in Hispaniola. 

If Burset Flores was indeed correct in identifying the parents of Eufrasia Maraver, then she was a sister of the impoverished widow Isabel de Malaver described in the sixth chapter of Altman's book. Why did Eufrasia not do anything to assist her aged father, Juan, and other relatives living in an impoverished, mixed-race household in Hispaniola (one that included black female slaves, mestizas, and an old Indian female servant)? It seems that the family came too late to Hispaniola, missing out on the 1514 Repartimiento. However, Eufrasia married well with Pedro de Espinosa, even if he was the same man who fought with a son-in-law of Ponce de Leon. Considering the close proximity between the two colonies and the fact that many of settlers in Puerto Rico came from Hispaniola, one is a little surprised that Eufrasia and her husband appear to have done nothing to assist their less fortunate relatives. 

Cave of the Jagua

Antonio Stevens-Arroyo's Cave of the Jagua: The Mythological World of the Taínos is an essential read for its creative approach to reconstructing the religion and mythology of the indigenous peoples of the Greater Antilles. Building on Arrom's reconstruction and analysis of the Relación acerca de las antigüedades de los indios, Stevens-Arroyo brings a new approach inspired by Lévi-Strauss's structuralism and comparative religious studies. This method, which can fill in the gaps of the Relación through identifying likely missing elements, may not always lead to a correct conclusion. Thus, we may disagree with him on the origin of the caney coming from the turtle that grew out of Deminan's back or the relationship between Guahayona and Guabonito. But, the possible advantages of this approach can outweigh the risks by filling in the lost or missing details of the Relación.

For example, a comparative approach with related South American indigenous peoples and even global mythology and religion reveals the ways in which Taino religion relied on analogical thinking, dualism of the Fruitful and Inversion spirits, and was part of a larger cosmovision reflecting their insular environment. Moreover, the possible identification of particular cemis in Taino art across Hispaniola and Puerto Rico serves as additional evidence that the Relación reflected the beliefs of more Taino groups than the ones Fray Ramón Pané lived amongst. Of course, one would have to follow more recent publications in Taino Studies to see to what extent the theoretical model proposed here has been supported by the evidence across the Greater Antilles. Perhaps, for example, Stevens-Arroyo is inaccurate in referring to the Taino chiefdoms as reaching a "harvesting economy" stage. Or the characterization of cacical authority may have been modified by later research on the nature of authority and the role of the cacique system and the cemi. Of course, it does seem clear that cacique and cemi were linked, the cacique probably did have something to do with the Sun, guanin, and the rise of greater social divisions with chiefly political leaders, behique shamans, an upper class and the laboring masses. Through the journey of the hero, Guahayona, one can see mythological explanations for the social order of cacical authority. 

We suspect that the denseness of the text and the references to Lévi-Strauss, Jungian psychoanalysis or complex religious and anthropological vocabulary may scare potential readers of this book. It is unfortunate, since it is likely that some elements of Taino religion have survived to this day in the Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic. Stevens-Arroyo has not presented the strongest evidence of this in terms of Haiti and Afro-Caribbean religions because Maya Deren seems to have been the main source on Vodou, but it is probable that some indigenous elements survive in Spanish Caribbean popular religion. A comparative approach with African and Afro-Caribbean religious traditions might be necessary, however, to ascertain the degree to which Taino elements have persisted. The so-called Black Caribs might represent an interesting group for comparison of the other two systems, as it fuses elements of Island Carib (and probably Taino) elements with African-derived traditions. If done well, an analysis of that nature might reveal more clearly the distinct indigenous traditions that have survived. It could also shed light on popular culture, the Trickster, and the whether or not the cultural hero of popular Caribbean society is more of an extrovert, introvert (Deminan) or centrovert (Guahayona). 

Tainos and Caribs

Robiou Lamarche's Tainos and Caribs: The Aboriginal Cultures of the Antilles is perhaps best read in Spanish. The English translation contains numerous errors, but is still worth the investment for anyone interested in a provocative interpretation of the indigenous Caribbean past. Drawing on the usual sources of ethnohistorians, archaeology, and a comparative approach to related and similar societies in northern South America, Robiou Lamarche proposes a number of fascinating theories on Taino and Carib cosmovision, astronomical knowledge, and cultural developments. By integrating the Caribs of the Lesser Antilles into the narrative, one also begins to see parallels between the two groups and how their legacy can be found today across the Caribbean. It is an epic history encompassing thousands of years of migration, cultural transformations and adaptation, culminating in the Taino chiefdoms of the Greater Antilles and the establishment of the Island-Caribs in the Lesser Antilles. The emphasis on religion and culture also gives a human face to the societies who, to a certain extent, are among our ancestors. 

Since one might reasonably worry about the dangers of relying too heavily on Fray Ramón Pané for understanding Taino religion and cosmology, Robiou Lamarche draws from art, petroglyphs, astronomy, and ethnographic research on related societies to expand our knowledge of the Taino world. Naturally, some of the conjectures remain very speculative due to the limitations of our sources. However, the advanced nautical skills of the indigenous Caribbean peoples and certain recurring motifs in their art suggest that Robiou Lamarche was correct about their cosmology reflecting a preoccupation with the Sun, Moon, stars, constellations, and its impact on the natural world. It would be only natural to suspect that the indigenous inhabitants of the Caribbean would organize their calendars, alignment of plazas, rituals, agricultural activities, and social practices around this astronomical observation of the stars, which could be related to the shifts in seasons, tides, animal life, or myths of origin in caves and belief in spirits. The finding of similar artifacts across the Greater Antilles attesting to similar ritual practices (such as cohoba ceremonies) suggest the cosmovision of the so-called Taino sketched by Pané may have been accurate beyond Hispaniola or Haiti. 

We only wish the chapters on Carib interactions with Europeans and Africans, as well as the legacy of the indigenous Caribbean population in the 21st century received a more detailed analysis. If, as stated in the text, the Caribs had been interacting with Europeans and Africans for over a century by the time of the 17th century French chroniclers began describing their societies, it would have been interesting to look for elements of African and European influence on the Caribs (and vice versa). The adoption of the sail, for instance, is an interesting example of technological transfer. But what about African or European influences on Carib religion or ritual? Are some of the similarities some claim to see between, say, Haitian Vodou and indigenous Caribbean religion, perhaps a product of the centuries-long interaction of the Caribs with Africans and not a sign of direct Carib or Taino influence in Haitian religion? The Island-Carib societies described by Robiou Lamarche would have been influenced by the European and African captives and assimilated persons living under their rule, composing perhaps 20% of their population. The indigenous legacy today also deserves more scrutiny beyond the elements of material culture that persisted across the centuries. But that would require oral history or analysis of popular religion in the Caribbean on a vast scale.