Agueybana's Cacicazgo

 

Image of a duho from Puerto Rico's southern coast reproduced in Joanna Opstakowicz's Taíno Wooden Sculpture: Duhos, Rulership and the Visual Arts in the 12th-16th Century.

Although the extant corpus of Spanish sources isn't as detailed as Spanish accounts of chiefdoms on Hispaniola, there are tantalizing clues about the development of a possible paramount chiefdom led by Agueybana. Located on Puerto Rico's southern coast, most Spanish sources from the first half of the 16th century suggest Agueybana was the most senior of all caciques or perhaps "king" of the island. This notion is repeated by Oviedo, implied by a 1511 letter addressed to Agueybana from the Spanish monarch, and further implied by Agueybana II's leadership of the revolt against the Spanish. Indeed, Peter Martyr d'Anghiera wrote of Puerto Rico as under the domain of one king, presumably an allusion to the powerful chiefdom of Agueybana which may have occupied a position of economic, political and ritual power. Indeed, Martyr d'Anghiera based his brief description of Puerto Rico on information from natives of Puerto Rico who traveled on a ship from Columbus's 2nd Voyage. 

The cacicazgo, sometimes called Guaynia in older secondary sources, may have been near the modern town of Ponce or its environs. According to Sued Badillo, the site of Cayabo may have been the chiefly lineage of Agueybana. Elsewhere, in a book on Agueybana, he claimed his territory stretched from the cacique Yauco to the cacique Abey. Francisco Moscoso, in his study of caciques and aldeas on the island, suggested that the land of Agueybana included the mouth of the Coayuco river and the salines of the Guanica area. This region was particularly fertile, thereby allowing for a larger yuca production. Access to abundant sources of fish further favored a demographic expansion in this area. If one remembers Xaragua in Hispaniola, easy access to marine protein was one factor for its large population centers. Moreover, Agueybana's cacicazgo included more encomienda Indians, 600, assigned to Cristobal de Sotomayor. This encomienda included 70,000 mounds of Indian-styled conucos, suggesting the region was one of the leading centers of casabe production on the island and heavily populated. Moscoso tentatively estimated that the land of Agueybana may have included a total population of 3000 if one considers that the 600 encomienda Indians did not include the entire population but those fit for work. 

Jose Oliver, drawing on archaeological evidence and early colonial sources, suggests strong ties between Puerto Rico and eastern Hispaniola. The region of Higuey appears to have participated in similar symbolism of chiefly rank and may have engaged in intermarriage or guatiao relationships with the powerful cacicazgo on Puerto Rico's southern coast. Indeed, the name Agueybana was also used in La Saona and Cayacoa near Santo Domingo, perhaps suggestive of close relations between chiefly lineage groups in Higuey and other parts of Hispaniola with Puerto Rico. For example, there was a cacique of La Saona named Agueybana. Another cacique, in Higuey, was said to be related to the Agueybana of Puerto Rico. Further evidence can be seen in archaeological evidence of contacts across the Mona Passage that may stretch back to the 7th century in terms of cemis, stone collars and other artifacts, like duhos. It is possible that the cacicazgo later associated with Agueybana was one of these centers that engaged in relations with Hispaniola centuries before the Spanish conquest. 

Unfortunately, the development of the sugar industry likely destroyed many traces of the indigenous civilization that prospered in the area. But the clues from the colonial archive and archaeological evidence point to strong ties between Puerto Rico and eastern Hispaniola. These included important symbols and paraphernalia of chiefly lineages and status. That it was Agueybana II, the brother of Agueybana I, who was able to draw 30 caciques to fight against the Spanish in 1511 points to the status of this cacique as a respected leader. In terms of "rule" over the island, it was likely based on indigenous concepts in which tribute in labor may have been acquired over vassal caciques ruling individual valleys. Close ties to Hispaniola's east may have been a further factor in the status of Agueybana's cacicazgo as it could have been a source of prestigious trade goods. Indeed, trade with the south through the Lesser Antilles to South America may have been an additional factor as guanin and other highly valued imports could have reached Puerto Rico's southern coast before being traded to other parts of the island or Hispaniola. Lastly, the fact that Agueybana II could call upon so-called "Carib" allies in his conflicts against the Spanish in the 1510s may be another indication of a regional power with influence extending to the Lesser Antilles. As succession to the position of cacique in this cacicazgo appears to have been through the maternal line, one may surmise that the exchange of women as wives from this cacicazgo to others may have been seen as a prestige for allies and subordinate caciques.

Pedraza Everywhere

Although the documentary trail is incomplete, it looks like one of our forebears was a descendant a family that frequently married cousins in the 18th and 19th centuries, the Pedraza. The earliest one we can find is a Lorenzo Pedraza, who died in 1812. His wife, Rafaela de Arroyo, passed away in 1800, in Caguas. We also know that a son of this couple, Hilario Pedrasa de Arroyo, married a Dorotea de Sierra Pedrasa in 1788 (also in Caguas). Since Dorotea's mother was a Juana Pedrasa and Hilario's father also a Pedrasa, we think the two were probably related. 

We believe that Hilario Pedrasa and Dorotea de Sierra were the parents of the Ramona Pedraza we are interested in. According to the parish books of San Lorenzo, a Ramona Pedraza, daughter of Hilario and Dorotea, married Domingo Montanez (son of Juan and Maria Reyes) in 1813. The Montanez and Pedraza have a long history in the 18th and 19th centuries, at least in the area of Caguas and San Lorenzo. We believe the daughter of Domingo Montanez and Ramona Pedraza, married a Montanez who likely descends from the same lineage. 

This daughter, Isabel or Ysabel Montanez Pedraza, married a Guillermo Diaz of Guayama. According to the little we could find in the parish books, Guillermo Diaz was a hijo natural of a Isabel Diaz. We know both were pardos or morenos. Fortunately, a number of documents assert that the parents of Ysabel Montanez Pedraza were Domingo and Ramona Pedraza, pardos libres. Ysabel's death certificate from the late 1800s also identifies her father as a Domingo Montanez. 

To make things even more confusing, a Maria Ramona Pedraza was said to have married a Ramon Benitez in 1821. Get this, Maria Ramona Pedraza's parents were listed by the parish priest in San Lorenzo as Hilario and a Teodora (Dorotea?) Sierra! Perhaps Ramona remarried then or there was a mix-up  on the part of the parish priest.

If our theory is correct, then Domingo Montanez's parents were Juan Montanez and Maria Reyes. Now we need to find out the origins of Isabel Diaz, Guillermo's mother. The Pedraza and Montanez appear to have been related and marrying each other since the second half of the 1700s, but the origins of the Diaz line remains a mystery. Furthermore, we were unable to determine the origins of Lorenzo Pedraza, the father of Hilario. 

Sociedad y economía de los Taínos

Francisco Moscoso's Sociedad y economía de los Taínos contains two essays on Taino society and agriculture. As one might expect, it treads familiar territory in terms of Moscoso's past scholarship on the development of precolonial societies in the Antilles. Drawing from chronicles, archival documents, archaeological studies, and theoretical premises of changes in the mode of production and social relations, Moscoso argues quite persuasively for a "tribal-tributary" mode for the Taino cacicazgo by 1000 CE. This was a transitional stage to a class-based society that was interrupted by the Spanish conquest. Moscoso applies this understanding to the entire history of humans in the Caribbean, starting with bands, moving to tribes, and culminating with the chiefdoms known as cacicazgos with more division of labor, hereditary elites (caciques, nitainos, behiques), and regular surpluses through conuco agriculture. This was, at least in Azua, Jaragua, and Maguana, supplemented by irrigation projects and possibly hydraulic works that facilitated agriculture in parts of Haiti which suffered from less rainfall. Indeed, Moscoso even cites a 1495 document by Columbus on the existence of acequias in Maguana. Although it is uncertain, it is likely that similar irrigation practices existed in Puerto Rico, Cuba and possibly Jamaica, too. 

The second essay included in the volume focuses on agriculture, and regularly draws from Oviedo, Las Casas, and other ethnographic sources on societies at similar stages of development. The various uses, applications, and varieties of crops, plants, fruits, and wood utilized by the Taino cacicazgo societies exhibit a highly developed understanding of their local environments. Both essays similarly stress Moscoso's argument about the tribal-tributary stage reached by cacicazgos and the central importace of regular surpluses. Using Las Casas and other sources, one can reach possibly accurate estimates of yuca production (but not other crops cultivated by the Tainos) that suggest high population levels. Thus, Moscoso estimated that Xaragua could have had 30,000-40,000 inhabitants (assuming Behechio and the 32 caciques under his order each led aldeas with the minimum number of inhabitants suggested by Las Casas (1000 people). Similarly, Serrano, one of the old conquistadors interviewed in 1517 by the Hieronymites, reported that the grand caciques held under their control 30,000, 40,000 or 50,000 naborias. And given the role of the cacique in ordering the type of labor to be done by naborias and their role in determining the redistribution of said surplus, the dominant 'class' developed a complex ideology that justified the control of caciques and nitainos. 

Quebrada de Doña Catalina

One of the more interesting finds is recently realizing that the Boletín histórico de Puerto Rico, Volume 12 contains some of the surviving documents on an "Indian" community in Puerto Rico. Although not enough to reconstruct the story of this community, the indios of the Quebrada de Doña Catalina, living near San Juan, were active in 1568. However, the writings of the governor of the island at the time, Francisco Bahamonde de Lugo, establish that their community, cultivating conucos as their own hacienda, were multi-racial. Indios, mestizos and blacks (negros horros) formed part of it. Interestingly, Bahamonde de Lugo, who was accused of having Indian slaves in his house, actually admitted to having 2 Indian servants that he treated very well! So well, in fact, that they chose when and how to serve him and were treated like his own children! Elsewhere, this very same man bragged about being loved by the poor, including negros, indios, mestizos and mulatos. 

Although living outside San Juan, this community tried to defend itself from white landowners and elites eager to take their land. According to Sued Badillo's contribution to Making Alternative Histories, the community sought redress for the abuse and harassment of its members.  Unfortunately, the reality was even worse. A man using the title Protector de los indios y mestizos actually went against the provisor, Cristobal de Luna, in the ecclesiastical judge in 1568. First of all, it is astonishing that as late as 1568, when indios were supposedly few or extinct, that there was a man, Francisco del Rio, possessing a title that presupposes the existence of indios and mestizos on the island (while also claiming to be a protector of grifos, too. 

The particular man who particularly wounded the Indian community of Quebrada de Doña Catalina was also guilty of violently attacking its members as well as interfering with their lands. According to the governor, Bahamonde de Lugo, two members of its community died and they also wanted restitution for the economic losses caused by the attacker (who cost them more than 500 pesos). The case was somewhat confusing, since it was unclear if the Governor of the Bishop should resolve the issue. Bahamonde de Lugo apparently had a low opinion of the Church on these matters, but mentioned that Franciso del Rio wanted to petition to the Audiencia in Santo Domingo and the royal government This shows just how far the community was willing to go to seek compensation for their losses. Although it was likely a different person, a Cristobal de Luna was supposedly sent as a prisoner to a monastery in Spain in the year 1578, perhaps connected to this case?

Overall, the Quebrada de Doña Catalina community, which cultivated conucos and was of unknown size, appears to have acted like some of the documented indio pueblos of other parts of the Spanish Antilles. Relying on protections allegedly bestowed upon Indians by the Spanish Crown, they claimed protection from others to protect their lands. However, they also appear to have been under the Church, which failed to protect or stand up for their interests. Considering how Church officials often underreported the Indian population of the island in the period from the 1540s through the 1580s, and their own interests as landowners (including access to slave labor and cheap labor), it seems like this rural community knew it had to rely on the "protector" of the Indians and other forms of redress. While not a pueblo de indios like those of Boya, Cibuco, Guanabacoa, or El Caney in other Antillean colonies, the community appears to have perhaps acted like one. Their dedicated to conuco agriculture was probably also rooted in the precolonial people's agricultural practices, too. 

What happened to them? If these people, already indios, mestizos and free blacks, were cultivating conucos near San Juan, they presumably became pardos in the 1600s and 1700s. Similar patterns likely occurred elsewhere in late 16th century Puerto Rico, as "indios" in areas like Arecibo, San German, Mona, and other locations were reclassified or reconceived as other "ethnicities." That Indians of Mona were still recognized can be found in the 1590s, as officials discussed what to do with their trading with enemies of Spain and the presence of a "cacique of Mona" in San German. Overall, Indios and mestizos must have been a major component of the population, but as a distinct group, they gradually disappeared in much of the island. Except for San German and La Indiera, where local definitions of "Indio" remained relevant, the indios and mestizos of Puerto Rico became pardos and jibaros of later centuries. After all, from the testimony of Abbad y Lasierra in the late 1700s, we know that "indios" did not disappear but, as the example of Anasco illustrates, "disappeared" through racial mixture with people of European and African origins. As the "Indian" population "transformed" into mestizos and pardos, one can presume titles like "Protector de los indios y mestizos" also disappeared or completely lost their relevance. 

Enslaved Ancestors

Although we are more interested in Haiti, genealogical research in Puerto Rico is usually easier. Much of the parish books are available online and quite a few have been indexed on the Family Search Website. This, plus the large volume of digitized material on the site, makes it somewhat easier to trace ancestry back to the 17th century. This time, we would like to emphasize on an ancestor, Maria Faustina baptized in the early 1700s but born to an enslaved woman.

We know Maria Faustina, the wife of a "pardo libre" named Marcos Rosado (also known as de la Rosa), was baptized in 1703. Her mother, Simona, was a "negra esclava" owned by the estate of a Maria (?) or Andrea Amezquita in the San Juan area. Her godfather, Jacinto Gomez, is unknown. However, perusing the parish registers of San Juan for other Amezquita reveals it to have been a large family. They were presumably related to the Amezquita who defended the city against a Dutch attack in 1625. Jacinto Gomez was also the godfather to another "pardo" child in 1709, this time to the daughter of the alferez Agustin Ruiz and Maria de la Cruz. Jacinto Gomez may have been in the military and knew the father of Maria Faustina. 

What do we know about Simona, the black slave mother of Maria Faustina? Sadly, nothing. However, it is possible that the inheritors of the estate that owned her came from the family of Juan Amezquita, the owner of an ingenio and slaveholder in the late 1600s. According to the 1673 "census" of San Juan, studied by David Stark, Juan Amezquita owned 25 people. Perhaps Simona was one of them? Slaves in late 17th century and early 18th century San Juan were also of diverse origins. The African-born ones were often from Angola, but Maria Amezquita and Isabel Amezquita also owned "Tari" slaves who had their children baptized in the San Juan church. According to David M. Stark, the Tari were from the region of the Slave Coast (modern-day Benin) but West Africans were outnumbered by Central Africans in the early 18th century. Overall, adult slaves baptized in San Juan during the end of the 17th century were from Angola, Loango and Tari. Assuming Simona was African-born, and probably came to the island in the later decades of the 1600s, she was probably from West Central Africa. 

Details on Maria Faustina's life can only be gleamed through the baptisms of her children with Marcos Rosado. Marcos Rosado and Maria Faustina appear to have been "pardos" (or classified as such). Marcos Rosado, the son of a Maria de la Rosa, was baptized in 1702. His mother may have been the Maria de la Rosa baptized in 1688, the daughter of two slaves, Geronima and Tomas, owned by the Andino. If true, then her parents were owned by Don Baltazar Andino's family, a captain in San Juan who was also involved with illicit trading. If Geronima and Tomas were typical adult slaves of the 1680s, and they were born in Africa, perhaps origins in West Central Africa are most likely. 

Of course, we need more proof of the identity of Maria de la Rosa, Marcos's mother, before we can confirm our theory that she was the daughter of two slaves owned by Captain Baltazar de Andino. Interestingly, the priest who recorded her baptism in 1688 described her parents as legitimately married. However, when searching San Juan marriage records, we could not find them. Nonetheless, some of the general trends scholars have noticed among the enslaved population of San Juan in the late 1600s and early 1700s does tell us something about the world in which our ancestors lived. 

Encomiendas and Indian Slavery in Puerto Rico

Eugenio Fernandez Mendez's Las encomiendas y esclavitud de los indios de Puerto Rico, 1508-1550 is a brief study of the forced labor and coercion in the first half of 16th century Borinquen. Drawing primarily from the Spanish chroniclers and sources such as those compiled in Tapia's Biblioteca de Puerto Rico, this short book focuses on the Spanish conquest and the various repartimientos and divisions of Indians into encomiendas until the final dissolution of the encomiendas. Unfortunately, by c.1550 their population was decimated and devastated by the encomiendas and outright enslavement. "Carib" and Indian slaves from Yucatan, Panuco, or Tierra Firme were still not enough to address the labor shortages and other problems facing the colony. However, the indigenous population of the island survived and went on to form part of the Puerto Rican population. Fernandez Mendez cites sources attesting to an Indian presence larger than that asserted by Rodrigo de Bastidas for the 1540s. Indeed, even after the Laws of 1542, illegal enslavement of Indians continued. These and other "free" Indians not enumerated in the 1540s undoubtedly persisted, helping to explain some of the markedly "Indian" features in Puerto Rican culture long after the demise of encomiendas. What would have made this study more valuable would have been an examination of Taino resistance to the encomiendas after the 1511 rebellion. Perhaps a deeper look at indios alzados and African slave rebels could have shed light on this other dynamic in 16th century Puerto Rico. 

Myths of Indigenous Caribbean Extinction

Tony Castanha's The Myth of Indigenous Caribbean Extinction: Continuity and Reclamation in Borikén (Puerto Rico) is an infuriating and exciting read. For anyone interested in the neo-Taino movement and indigenous reclamation among Puerto Ricans, this book is full of rich details from oral history and everyday Jibaro culture. These do support the author's contention that the indigenous population of Puerto Rico is not extinct. This is now clear from the combination of genetic, historical, and ethnographic evidence supporting a major indigenous component in the making of Puerto Rican culture. Indeed, even in the 1800s, foreign writers noted an "Amerindian" element in the Puerto Rican peasant population's culture and physical appearance. Furthermore, Castanha uses the word Jibaro (and imaginative etymology) to designate the indigenous people of Puerto Rico. They were Jibaros and part of the "Carib" culture of the Antilles. Instead of buying into theories of Taino-Carib dichotomies, Castanha appears to prefer a cultural unity of the two while rejecting the idea of Carib ritual cannibalism (one of the other myths, according to him). 

By drawing on non-mainstream research by Puerto Rican intellectuals like Lamourt-Valentin and numerous local informants, Castanha basically argues against most of the conclusions of mainstream academics in academic "Taino Studies." Instead of primarily South American origins, Castanha believes the indigenes of Puerto Rico were of Mesoamerican origin. Lamourt-Valentin, Fernandez Mendez, and some of his informants support this notion of a Mesoamerican, Mayan influence on the Jibaro. While there may indeed have been a Central American origin for some of the "Archaic" population of the Antilles, and perhaps a Mesoamerican influence on the batey ballgame, the academic mainstream researchers present far more convincing evidence of a South American origin. The Taino dependence on yuca, linguistic evidence, the corpus of myths and religious practices recorded in the Spanish chronicles, and archaeological evidence does seem to support a much stronger origin for the "Taino" along the Orinoco. For example, the numerous similarities between Taino myths as recorded by the Spanish and a number of Amazonian indigenous myths clearly supports a South American link. Unfortunately, until we can locate a copy of Lamourt-Valentin's Cannibal Recipies Fernandez Mendez's study of Taino art and its Mesoamerican affiliations, we have the unconvincing work of Castanha to evaluate. 

Since Castanha borrows heavily from Lamourt-Valentin's work and alternative, non-mainstream paradigms for the study of the indigenous Caribbean, it is no surprise that he also reaches questionable conclusions about the nature of indigenous survival in post-conquest Puerto Rico. While the indigenous population definitely survived, Castanha believes in an alternative on colonial demography for the island. According to him, the Jibaro fled to the mountainous interior of Puerto Rico relatively early in the 16th century. Other historians, such as Sued Badillo, suggest the population movement into the mountains during the colonial era occurred later. Castanha also asserts population numbers that are unbelievably high for the precolonial and colonial eras. Despite the careful estimates of scholars, Castanha accepts estimates that are unbelievably high for the Greater Antilles before conquest. More disturbing, however, is the analysis of late 18th century censuses. Based solely on local informants, the author somehow reaches the conclusion that the actual population Indian origin of La Indiera (which was supposedly much larger than the later Indieras of the 19th and 20th centuries) was in the hundreds of thousands. The colonial censuses were undoubtedly flawed and many regions, especially in the mountainous interior, were undercounted. However, Castanha's estimates appear to be significantly inflated and would suggest Puerto Rico's population in the late 18th century was several times larger than the recorded population of the island. Even if one accepts the idea that most of the pardos designated in the censuses were people of partial indigenous origin, in addition to the nearly 2,000 recorded for the San German area, Castanha's figures are implausibly high. 

Despite our problems with some of the conclusions of the author, this is still worth reading. By drawing on the family histories and traditions of his informants, one can see how family narratives of Indian origin and certain customs do reflect indigenous heritage. The oral histories also refer in surprising detail to 19th century events, an era in which the Spanish conquest of the interior was finally completed. For instance, family traditions of the tortures inflicted on the population during the compontes are a powerful demonstration of how descendants of 19th century Jibaros remember the Spanish colonial era. Traditions of Espiritismo, healing, and syncretic Catholic rituals likewise suggest the maintenance of some indigenous traditions in Puerto Rico. Just as interesting is the case of the Puerto Rican diaspora, which is largely left out of this study. However, Arroyo's research on Puerto Ricans in Hawaii refer to traditions of Indian descent or origin that would be fascinating to explore further. Are there Puerto Rican Diasporic communities in other states of the US with similar traditions of specific Indian ancestry and heritage? Oral history and folklore indicate the indigenous legacy was and is more significant than we initially thought. Perhaps that should be one of the areas of concentration for future researchers. A systematic collection and analysis of these traditions, one more meticulous than that offered here, could shed light on the ways the largely unlettered Jibaro defined themselves and related to the colonial state. 

La palma del cacique

Alejandro Tapia y Rivera is one of the most important figures in 19th century Puerto Rican literature. An ardent, forward-looking believer in Puerto Rican independence and abolitionism, he also wrote a short novella fusing fact, fiction and legend on the Spanish conquest of the island. Indeed, his Taino-inspired leyenda was what Betances responded to with Les deux indiens. Using the form of a legend and somewhat adhering to the historical rebellion of Agueybana and allied caciques against the Spanish in 1511, Tapia uses a frustrated love triangle of Guarionex, Loarina and Cristobal de Sotomayor to narrate colonial conquest and indigenous revolt.

Although the characterization is limited and the novella ends with the death of Sotomayor and suicide of Guarionex (and Loarina, who chooses to die with him), writing a story like this in the 1850s must have incurred the wrath of Spanish censors. After all, reclaiming the indigenous past was partly an assertion of local autonomy and identity for criollo elites of Tapia's background. Even if the narrator of the tale identifies with the Spanish race, there is no doubt that the legend extolls the landscape and indigenous culture of the island. Guarionex is a hero, in this legend. One short chapter on his role in resisting a Carib attack and liberating his sister establishes his bravery and martial ability. Indeed, had he been European, he would have been a nobleman, like his rival for Loarina's heart.

Betances, on the other hand, seems to have seen the legend of his peer as insufficient, perhaps, for asserting Puerto Rican independence. He seems to have taken more liberty with history to create a tragic romance between an Indian man and a white woman. Instead of Tapia's tale involving Loarina traitorously warning the Spanish of the impending indigenous revolt (due to her love for Sotomayor), there is more Indian unity and purpose in Betances's fictionalized vision of the past. Betances also uses a strong pairing of brothers resisting the Spanish, but only as minor characters with one sibling avenging the death of another. 

Tapia, however, appears to have followed the chroniclers more closely by bringing to life a number of customs and beliefs of the Taino, particularly cemism and the burial of wives with a deceased cacique. Although Tapia's depiction of a cemi ritual does not seem historically accurate, as it involved more than caciques and behiques (or buhitis), he clearly endeavored to portray some of their worldview and belief in fate and divine intervention to justify war and inspire confidence against the Spanish. Thus, despite being outnumbered in some battles and wielding bows and arrows or macanas against Spanish swords and firearms, they could still occasionally resist. The assembly of principal caciques, presided by Agueybana, symbolizes the power of Puerto Rican unity against greater foes. Tapia, Betances, and other supporters of independence must have believed in this essential unity to resist the greater power of Spain. 

Once in Puerto Rico

Although we had first learned of Pura Belpre several years ago, it is only recently did we develop an interest in her work collecting and disseminating Puerto Rican folklore for children. What is most intriguing about her work is the inclusion of multiple stories from or about the indigenous past of Borinquen. Almost half of Once in Puerto Rico consists of stories about the Taino past of the island or the early Spanish conquest and settlement of the island. Some of the tales must certainly postdate the Spanish arrival. For example, the tale of Guani involves an Indian boy who plays a flute to restore his flock of goats. With the help of Yukiyu, Guani saves his goats from a spell cast by an evil toad. This tale refers to a cemi, magic, and an animal that did not exist on the island of Puerto Rico until the Spanish introduced it to the Caribbean. 

Perhaps this tale does reflect a far earlier legend or tradition that was "updated" during the colonial period with animals of Old World origin? Other tales about the Indian past, such as that of Milomaki and "The Legend of the Royal Palm," appears to be a legend explaining the singing of a tall palm tree when the wind blows through its branches.  This tale, like the "Legend of the Hummingbird" endeavors to explain a natural phenomenon and relies on references to magical or supernatural events transforming people into plants, animals, or things. The tale of Amapola and the colibri, however, has a more tragic romance feel since the the former is not allowed to have a relationship with a Carib male, eventually causing both to transform into a flower and a bird.

Other tales of the Indian past, like that of Iviahoca, unambiguously allude to events associated with the conquistadors of the island and the cacique Mabodamoca. In the case of this last story, the wife of a powerful cacique stands up to Becerrillo and manages to impress Ponce de Leon and Diego de Salazar. Through doing so, she frees herself and her son from the Spanish. The last tale with an Indian character, about Yuisa and Pedro Mexias uses the marriage of a mulatto and a cacica as a symbol for the Puerto Rican people. The two meet, fall in love, and, despite having to relinquish her power as cacica, Yuisa chooses to marry Pedro Mexias. Intriguingly, a council of bohiques is responsible for forcing Yuisa to abdicate her political office. Unfortunately, Carib raids eventually target the village and the two lovers die fighting to defend the island. The tale extolls the two for dying to defend the island and inspiring the governor of the island to attack the Caribs at Vieques. This is lovely and all, but seems to be a justification of the Spanish colony. Perhaps these stories reflect the morally ambivalent feelings of Puerto Rican society about its colonial origins. Moreover, some of these tales were passed on or inherited by others in colonial society who may have changed the tenor to fit their own interests. Nonetheless, it is interesting to note the frequent allusions to caves, cemis, and aspects of belief that mirror those of the Taino cosmovision.

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?

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. 

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). 

Grito de Lares

Olga Jiménez de Wagenheim's Puerto Rico's Revolt For Independence: El Grito De Lares may not be the best introduction to the frustrated assertion of Puerto Rican sovereignty, but it's definitely worthwhile. This study seeks to elucidate the factors that led up to the Grito de Lares and its defeat, beyond the nationalist interpretations or those of the Spanish colonial government explanations. Using a variety of archival sources and testimony from the defeated rebels, the social, economic, and political origins of the rebellion are clearly presented in a persuasive manner. While we are not sure if the reasoning of the author for why Puerto Rico's independence movement developed later than that of mainland Spanish America is valid, framing Puerto Rico as experiencing the type of colonization the mainland had experienced centuries before might be correct. 

We are just a little unsure about how the Puerto Rican case really differed from that of the Dominican Republic and, to a certain extent, Cuba. Like the DR, Puerto Rico was a marginal Spanish colony, but having the exceptional case of the Haitian Revolution and the change in sovereignty from French, Spanish and Haitian rule definitely made it different from Puerto Rico. But the Dominican nationalists had to fight another war of independence from Spain after Pedro Santana reinvited Spanish rule. Why did the War of Restoration succeed while Puerto Rico's independence movement failed to secure widespread support from hacendados, slaves, and jornaleros (besides those of Lares and nearby western regions)? Was it really due to the strong foreign provenance of many slaveholding landowners whose wealth and connections would have been necessary for the Creoles to successfully attain independence? Or the ambiguous promises of the revolutionaries to slaves and jornaleros who joined their cause?

Surviving Spanish Conquest

Anderson-Córdova's Surviving Spanish Conquest: Indian Fight, Flight, and Cultural Transformation in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico is a must-read for everyone interested in the cultural transformations that occurred in the first two Spanish colonial conquests of the Americas. For obvious reasons, this also has relevant implications for the topic of indigenous legacies in the Spanish Caribbean and the so-called neo-Taino movement. Although some of the conclusions remain tentative due to a number of factors, such as the lack of sufficient archaeological research (such as contact-era sites in Puerto Rico) and the loss of repartimiento documents for early Puerto Rico, this careful study of acculturation (or its absence) attests to the survival of indigenous culture for several decades. The encomienda Indians of Hispaniola, for instance, were able to preserve and maintain traditions and practices well into the 16th century, even as population decline and the erosion of the authority of the caciques continued. 

Applying the theory of compartmentalization to this process in which Indians of Hispaniola and Puerto Rico paid lip-service to Spanish impositions or Christianity but retained cohoba, areytos, ballgames, ritual feasts, and other practice allows us to see how and why elements of indigenous culture were able to survive and influence the Creole peasantry that succeeded the collapse of the gold mining economy and encomienda system. The author's ability to use colonial-sources from Spanish perspectives to uncover this is also exemplary, although many of these sources leave unanswered questions about, for instance, the degree of acculturation for enslaved Indians or the types of interactions local Indians had with slaves of diverse origins. We also lack sufficient documentation for Puerto Rico's indigenous population, which could have been as low as 30,00-60,000 when the Spanish arrived. Yet, if it is indeed true that many of the island's Indians fled to other parts of the Antilles to escape Spanish rule, we can probably assume that a decent portion of the Indian captives seized by Spanish raids in the Lesser Antilles included indigenous populations who could have come from Puerto Rico. Either way, there are written sources referencing the movement of indigenous populations from smaller islands who returned to Puerto Rico or were settled there, as seems to have been the case with the Indians of Mona. 

Unlike Cuba, however, we lack the same degree of detailed ethnographic, historical, and archaeological research that indicates indigenous survival for Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. Nonetheless, the evidence does suggest that local Indians and foreign enslaved indigenous populations from other parts of the Americas remained important for the colonial economy long after 1514 (repartimiento in Hispaniola) and the de Lando census in 1530. Comparative studies of Jamaica and Cuba, plus additional archaeological and ethnographic work in Puerto Rico will likely find similar examples of indigenous survival and cultural longevity. After all, Puerto Rico is known for having noticeable levels of Indigenous Caribbean ancestry through genetic studies and historical references from Abbad y Lasierra and colonial-documents speak of an Indian population in the hills outside San German. It would be amazing for archaeologists to work in the area of San German and the Indiera for post-contact village sites showing us a Puerto Rican example like that of El Chorro el Maita in Cuba. That, with extensive oral histories could reveal ways in which Puerto Rico was similar to Cuba for indigenous survival and cultural legacies long after 1550. 

Les deux Indiens

Ramón Emeterio Betances's Les deux indiens is probably one of the most fascinating examples of Indianist literature of the 19th century Caribbean. Written in French and as a response to Alejandro Tapia y Rivera's La palma del cacique, the ardent nationalist Betances subverts the genre. Instead of telling a tale of romance between an indigenous woman and a Spanish male, Betances has Otuké fall in love with Carmen, a beautiful Andalusian. However, due to the brutal and racist Spanish conquest, their romance is doomed. However, unlike, say, Iracema or other examples of Indianist Latin American literature, Carmen bears Otuké's son. This mestizo child, raised by Toba, the warrior brother of Otuké, must be an allegory for the formation of the Puerto Rican people and their opposition to colonial rule. The novel is followed by a short poem that also hints at the fraternal bonds created by the  African and the Indian under Spanish colonialism, another radical instance of anti-colonial sentiment expressed by Betances. 

Perhaps because he was writing in French and had, already by the 1850s, combined anti-slavery, anti-racism and liberal nationalism as the path forward, Betances was able to create the most progressive Indianist literature in the Spanish Caribbean. The indigenous legacy was alive and well, represented in the novella's conclusion by Indians in the forest resisting the Spanish. Toba, son of murdered cacique Ayma of Guanahibo, carries on the fight with Carmen and Otuké's son. Their population may have suffered severe declines and the loss of the cemi and bones of Ayma clearly required a shift in Indian social organization, but Toba and the indigenous resistance must have symbolized an ongoing effort by the Puerto Rican people to liberate the island. Sure, Betances engaged in the typical Romantic-era praise of the island's flora and fauna. Indigenous customs of worship like the cemi appear in the text. But the Indian legacy is a living one, and surely one that a young Betances could have seen in the Puerto Rican population of his day. Undoubtedly, as someone allegedly of mixed-race origins and cognizant of the way historians and travelers had noted the indigenous ancestry of the Puerto Rican population, he would see continuity in the struggle of the indigenous resistance to the conquest and 19th century struggles for independence.

The poem accompanying the novella makes this radical message even more explicit, incorporating the plight of the African into the narrative. This move also brings Betances closer to Haitian writers such as Emile Nau. One wonders if Betances had read Nau or at least heard of his history of the indigenous population of Hispaniola. If so, and in light of Betances's own pro-Haitian views, perhaps his depiction of the indigenous resistance to Spanish enslavement was partly motivated by Nau's history of Hispaniola. There, like in Puerto Rico, the European colonial conquest and subjugation of Indians and Africans was eventually avenged by the birth of Haiti as an independent state. Puerto Rico, suffering under the yoke of colonialism, must follow a similar path which Betances highlights through Toba and Otuké. Unfortunately, Betances's progressive Indianist literature was not followed or developed by subsequent writers.

Mona and San German

While reading Caldera Ortiz's Historia de San Germán: Nuevos Hallazgos para su estudio genealógico, 1512-1712 we found out that the cacique of Mona was living in San German during the 1590s. Diego Ramirez wasn't even born on Mona or Puerto Rico but came from the mainland or South America. Was this around the time when Indians of Mona began settling in the hills of San German? And from there, to Indiera and Añasco? What was going on in the 1590s that, by then, pushed the cacique of Mona to inhabit San German?

America

 

"Pedro Navaja" got us hooked on this number from West Side Story. Although never fans of this musical or musical theater in general, this is a clever (and problematic) song on Puerto Rican migration in the US. The gendered difference in perceptions of their experience in New York is interesting in itself.

Spiks

For some strange reason, we never finished Pedro Juan Soto's Spiks during a past obsession with Puerto Rico and the Diaspora a few years ago. This time around, we devoured the slim collection of short stories and vignettes of Puerto Rican life in New York City. As the title suggests, these stories focus on ghetto life and the crushing poverty, dilapidated housing, and lack of opportunities for Puerto Rican migrants established in Harlem. Stories deal with themes of becoming an adult, frustrated romance, migration, the breakup of families, lack of work, English classrooms in school and failed dreams. Of all these tales, the most effective story is probably "Scribbles." The brief work perfectly encapsulates what happens when ambition and marital love are brutally confronted by the realities of life in New York. The father of the family will never become an artist and his one attempt to express his feelings for his wife through his talent are abruptly terminated by Graciela. Sadly the canvas of his planned artwork becomes a "wide and clear gravestone of his dreams." This is an apt description of the New York experience for more than a few of those earlier generations of migrants from Puerto Rico

What Everyone Needs to Know About Puerto Rico

Although we are mainly interested in the history of Puerto Rico before US colonialism, Jorge Duany's Puerto Rico: What Everyone Needs to Know is a good overview of 5 centuries of historical development and cultural transformation. The two are, obviously, closely linked and the format of this introductory book is conducive to finding information quickly and easily. Duany also contextualizes it within the context of the current debt crisis of Puerto Rico and what we consider the checkered or perhaps failed legacy of the Commonwealth status. Clearly, Puerto Rico today and for much of its recent history has demonstrated that the "postcolonial colony" is a failed model for Caribbean "development." The persistence of colonial features in the current status of the island and the heavy reliance on federal transfers of funds is perhaps to be expected from the the outset of the PDP's model for cultural nationalism with limited sovereignty. In its defense, all of the Caribbean is defined by dependency and heavily shaped by migration, but Puerto Rico's case is a disturbing example of recurring colonial exploitation. Haiti tried to look to Puerto Rico's model, like several other countries, but without the benefits of US citizenship for its population or massive federal funds. In retrospect, it is somewhat shocking so many looked to Puerto Rico as an exemplary case of development when the entire project came to rely on outmigration to the continental US.