Mercury and the Making of the Andean Market: an Archaeological Study of Indigenous Labor in Colonial Peru

Mercury and the Making of the Andean Market: An Archaeological Study of Indigenous Labor in Colonial Peru

BY:

DOUGLAS K. SMIT B.A., The George Washington University, 2008 M.A., University of Illinois at Chicago, 2012

THESIS

Submitted as partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Anthropology in the Graduate College of the University of Illinois at Chicago, 2018

Chicago, Illinois

Defense Committee:

Brian S. Bauer, Chair and Advisor Patrick R. Williams Molly Doane Steven A. Wernke, Vanderbilt University Timothy K. Earle, Northwestern University

This thesis is dedicated to the people of Santa Barbára: past, present, and future

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The acknowledgements of a dissertation are always difficult, as in many ways, I am recognizing the guidance and advice of friends, family, and colleagues over my entire academic career, much less my dissertation. I was privileged to be brought up in a family that encouraged learning and had the ability and resources to make my dreams come true. My mother Sharon always encouraged an awareness of current events and the history behind the news, from reading nonfiction to taking me to public lectures on foreign policy as a teenager.

My father Chris and I spent many evenings playing geography games, relitigating random historical debates, and his bookshelf was a major source of historical fiction novels that I continue to enjoy to this day. Although my sisters, Ashley and Jennifer, outnumber me, they have always provided support, often in the form of photos of their dogs during the writing of this thesis.

I was lucky to have a teacher in high school, Keith Campbell, who taught me more about scholarship than I even realized I was learning at the time, all while ostensibly running a course on English Literature. I also made great friends in high school and college that I maintain to this day. The types of friends that enjoy debating anything and everything related to history, politics, or sports, and would always be willing to provide a distraction via phone or text message: Joseph Jaoudi, John Muse-Fisher, Allan Lagomarisino, Ori Gorfine, Dillon

Colucci, and Cole Livermore.

I did not begin my undergraduate studies at George Washington with a desire to study archaeology, yet an unexpected course with Jeffrey Blomster led me to anthropology, and ensuing conversations cemented my love for archaeology. Chad Gifford and Sam Connell brought me to the Andes through the Pambamarca Archaeological Project in Northern

Ecuador, providing three wonderful seasons and inspiring a life-long love of the Andes.

My dissertation committee consisted of five professors at the University of Illinois-

Chicago, Northwestern University, and Vanderbilt University. My chair, Brian S. Bauer,

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (continued)

taught me how to be a field archaeologist in the Andes, showed me how to write a grant, and never tired of reminding me the importance of mercury. I learned contemporary anthropological theory from Molly Doane, as well as an understanding for how anthropologists think about the intersection of politics and the economy. Dr. Doane has also always been a tireless ally for graduate students, a critical quality for faculty. Ryan Williams brought me to Moquegua for two field seasons, and was always there to remind me of the bigger picture of the project, often over a chilcano or while sharing a Hamilton. Timothy

Earle taught me how to bring political economy to the past, the importance of a comparative perspective, and provided key guidance during the grant writing phase. Steve Wernke showed me how to bring anthropology to the Colonial Andes, and I’ve always learned something from our chats at conferences or in Peru.

Academic departments may contain brilliant scholars (or at least people who think they are brilliant), but they endure on the abilities of their administrative staff. Melanie Kane always kept anthropology at UIC running smoothly, and I could not have moved my way through the UIC bureaucracy without her help. Beyond my committee, I learned from a wide range of great professors at UIC over the years: John Monaghan, Donna Nash, Vince

LaMotta, Laure Dussubiuex, Bill Parkinson, Mark Liechty, Sloan Williams, Atilla Gyucha and Byron Hammon.

Equally as important as faculty mentors are graduate student mentors (some of whom are faculty by now). Nicola Sharratt showed me how to run an excavation project guided me through every step of the dissertation, from field forms to permits. Sofia Chacaltana Cortez and Emily Baca Marroquin provided advice, friendship, and grant editing in Chicago and

Lima. I looked up to and tried to emulate Danielle Riebe and Becky Siefried whenever possible, much to their annoyance. Mark Golitiko took his own time to help me with statistics, or patiently explain basic physics. My co-historical archaeologist in arms, Jim

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (continued)

Meieroff, was always willing to look at a ceramic fragment with me, often over a beer.

Additionally, Damien Peoples, Laura Nussbaum-Barberena, Matt Schauer, Neslihan Sen, and

Molly McGown provided countless small moments of support over the years.

Archaeological research in the Andes requires the support of the local community, irrespective of the legal necessity. In my case, the Communidad Campesina de Santa

Barbára has provided unwavering support since I visited Santa Barbára for the first time in

2012. In particular, the Hilario family of Sector Titiccasa has provided countless support, advice, and friendship, notably Norma Hilario, Paulina Hilario, Esmael Barrios, and

Magdalena Hilario. The president of the Santa Barbára, Nazario Moran Quispe, as well as the president of the Titiccasa sector, Constancio Huayhuani Tunque, supported the project from the beginning. The excavation field crew of 2014 deserve immense praise, and they not only did much of the actual excavation, but contributed intellectually, helping fill my notebooks with dozens of ethnographic and historic anecdotes: Esmael Barrios Huamani, Gregoria

Riberos Ampa, Fidel Riberos Ampa, Sosimo Hilario Quispe, Roberto Torres Inga, , Vasilio

Chahuayo Quispe, Edgar Serrano Pari, Paulina Hilario Mallasca, Luis Quispe de la Cruz,

Maximo Torres Huayhuani, Norma Hilario Mallasca, Ephrain Hilario Munariz, and Andres

Pari Hilario.

My co-director, Antonio Coello Rodriguez, assisted me in the Lima and

Huancavelica, and always kept my spirits high. My crew chiefs, Karin Flores Rodriguez,

Christian Joel Vargas, and Fredy Yaranga Loayza. The staff and archaeologists of the

Ministry of Culture in Huancavelica deserve special acknowledgement, as they went above and beyond to assist my project, especially the Directora of the Ministry of Culture, Victoria

Contreras Lacho, as well as Fredy Huaman Lira and Javier Landeo Lopa.

I am also part of a larger cohort of Andean archaeologists in graduate school across

North America. My best friend, Scotti Norman, helped me start, conduct, and complete this

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (continued)

project, often over G-chat or FB messenger. I am also indebted to the larger Vanderbilt group of Andeanist graduate students, who often had to put up with my snoring at various conferences when we shared rooms, specifically, Carla Hernández Garavito, Gabriela Ore and Brendan Weaver. My fellow Huancavelica dissertator, Michelle Young, provided advice, support, a place to store equipment, and a reason to watch bad music videos at Oasis with our collective projects over a calientito. Although we have never met in person, Di Hu generously provided advice and archives over email. Terren Proctor completed the human remains analysis in 2015, and is currently in the midst of building on that work for her own incredible dissertation project. Katy Dye taught me more about theory that I can ever remember, and I will always remember our lunchroom conversations about scale. I also learned from a wider range of Andeanists over the years, at UIC and at conferences, notably: Matt Biwer, Amber

Anderson, Pilar Escontrias, John Hicks, Dave Reid, Liz Olson, and Rachael Penfil.

Graduate school is impossible without good friends to help you think through projects, edit your grants, drown your failures, and toast your successes. Kim and Richard

Garza were like older siblings to me, always willing to provide a great meal and warm home when needed. Chris Phan and Kim McCabe took care of my dog/saved his life during fieldwork trips to Peru (and didn’t even want to earn a coin), and will be lifelong friends/culinary adventurers. I am fortunate to have a great group of UIC and Northwestern friends: Colin Lejune, Sandy de Leon, Maggie Kaufmann, Sarah Manandhar, Pamela

Whyms, Kendall Hills, Kre Britt, Ben Linder, Billy Ridge, Ruby Laurel, Aaron Miller,

Stephanie Levy, Chris Hernandez, Kristin Landeau, Beth and Rob Derideran, Kacey Grauer,

Khadene Harris, Matilida Stubbs, Calen Ryan, and V Chaudry.

I finished the last part of my dissertation as a Visiting Scholar and Lecturer at the

Anthropology Department at University of Pennsylvania. Meg Kassebaum was a great writing partner, and an even better friend and recommender of delicious restaurants in

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (continued)

Chinatown. Other faculty and graduate students made the department a great place to write, notably: Greg Urban, Kathy Morrison, Clark Erickson, Tom Hardy, Ariel Smith, Ruth Styles, and Lara Fields.

The preceding paragraphs have acknowledged people at the various stages of my academic career, yet one person remains unmentioned who deserves to be in every section.

My partner, Morgan Hoke, has been my constant since we met as undergraduates in 2007 at field school in Ecuador. The best parts of my life over the past decade occurred through our partnership: traveling Andean South America as young backpackers, applying graduate school, getting funded, and completing fieldwork. Without her, I would have never made it to graduate school, much less completed this dissertation. Morgan has been my most important sounding board, motivational speaker, editor, traveling partner, and best friend. Even if I only knew her as a colleague, her intellectual contribution to this dissertation would deserve most of these acknowledgements, perhaps a co-authorship. However, I am lucky to be her partner, and therefore most ardently acknowledge, thank, and will forever appreciate her sacrifice and effort, te amo.

Also, we adopted a dog named Charles Darwin who kept us together when times were tough, he mostly laid on the couch and demanded walks and pets. But I suppose he deserves some thanks too.

DKS

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

1. MINING, MARKETS, AND THE MAKIG OF THE MODERN WORLD ...... 1 1.1 Introduction ...... 1 1.2 Mercury and the Making of the Modern World...... 2 1.3 Colonialism and Exchange ...... 8 1.4 Approach of the Dissertation ...... 10 1.5 Research Questions and Outline of Dissertation ...... 14 1.6 Past and Present ...... 18

2. STATES, LABORERS, AND MARKETS: THEORIZING THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF COLONIAL CAPITALISM ...... 20 2.1 Labor, Markets, and “The Economy” ...... 20 2.2 What is Capitalism? ...... 22 2.2.1 Capitalism as Production ...... 24 2.2.2 Capitalism as Exchange ...... 25 2.2.3 Fernand Braudel and the Annales School...... 27 2.3 Capitalism and Colonialism ...... 30 2.3.1 Wallerstein and Wolf ...... 32 2.3.2 The Post-Colonial Critique ...... 35 2.4 Post-Capitalist Critiques for a Pre-Capitalist Past ...... 36 2.5 A Political Economy of Practices ...... 38 2.5.1 Embeddedness and “The Challenge of Karl Polanyi” ...... 39 2.5.2 A Political Economy of Practice: Markets and Power in Colonial Huancavelica. 41

3. RESEARCH DESIGN AND METHODOLOGY ...... 44 3.1 Mining and Exchange ...... 44 3.1.1 Archaeology and the Market ...... 46 3.1.2 Historical Archaeology, Capitalism, and Markets ...... 47 3.2 A Political Economy of Practices ...... 49 3.2.1 Research Question 1 ...... 50 3.2.2 Research Question 2 ...... 51 3.2.3 Research Question 3 ...... 53 3.3 Historical Research Methodology...... 54 3.3.1 Oral History ...... 55 3.4 Survey Methodology ...... 58 3.4.1 Survey Design...... 58 3.5 Architectural Analysis at Santa Barbára ...... 61 3.5.1 Stone 1 Structures ...... 62 3.5.2 Stone 2 Structures ...... 64 3.5.3 Adobe 1 Structures ...... 66 3.5.4 Adobe 2 Structures ...... 67 3.5.5 Adobe 3 Structures ...... 67 3.5.6 Santa Barbára Settlement Plan ...... 69 3.6 Excavation Methodology ...... 72 3.6.1 Health and Safety ...... 73 3.6.2 Unit Locations ...... 74 3.6.3 Stratigraphy ...... 75

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TABLE OF CONTENTS (continued)

CHAPTER PAGE

3.7 Laboratory Analysis ...... 76 3.7.1 Ceramics ...... 76 3.7.2 Faunal Materials ...... 79 3.7.3 Human Remains ...... 79 3.7.4 Other Materials ...... 79 3.8 Chapter Summary ...... 80

4. GEOLOGICAL AND ENVIRONMENTAL BACKGROUND ...... 81 4.1 Introduction ...... 81 4.2 Geological Landscape ...... 82 4.2.1 Mercury Deposits in Sandstone ...... 82 4.2.2 Mercury Deposits in Limestone ...... 84 4.2.3 Mercury Deposits in Igneous Rock ...... 85 4.3 Environmental Landscape ...... 86 4.3.1 Suni and Puna Zones ...... 87

5. A SPATIAL HISTORY OF THE MINING LANDSCAPE ...... 91 5.1 Introduction ...... 91 5.2 The Spanish Discovery of Mercury ...... 93 5.2.1 The Arrival of Toledo ...... 97 5.3 The Middle Colonial Period...... 100 5.4 The Late Colonial Period ...... 104 5.4.1 The Marroquin Collapse ...... 106 5.4.2 Consequences of the Collapse ...... 108 5.5 Pallaqueo ...... 109 5.5.1 Trinidad ...... 110 5.5.2 Botija Puncu ...... 111 5.5.3 The Gran Farallón ...... 112 5.6 The Republican Period ...... 114 5.6.1 Tesoro Orccjo ...... 116 5.6.2 Calvario ...... 117 5.6.3 Carniceria ...... 118 5.6.4 Cabramachay ...... 120 5.6.5 Tacna y Arica ...... 122 5.7 Discussion ...... 124 5.8 Conclusion ...... 128

6. THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF COLONIAL SANTA BARBÁRA ...... 130 6.1 The Church of Santa Barbára ...... 130 6.2 The Royal Socavón ...... 132 6.3 Historical and Archaeological Time ...... 134 6.4 Colonial Period Excavation Data (SB I and SB II) ...... 137 6.4.1 Unit 22 ...... 140 6.4.1.1 SB I (1564-1700) ...... 141 6.4.2 Unit 8 ...... 145 6.4.2.1 SB I (1564-1700) ...... 147 6.4.2.2 SB II (1700-1821) ...... 151

TABLE OF CONTENTS (continued)

CHAPTER PAGE

6.4.3 Unit 13 ...... 151 6.4.3.1 SB I (1564-1700) ...... 152 6.4.3.2 SB II (1700-1821) ...... 156 6.4.4 Unit 31 ...... 157 6.4.4.2 SB II (1700-1821) ...... 158 6.4.5 Unit 1 ...... 159 6.4.5.1 SB II (1700-1821) ...... 159 6.5 Discussion ...... 160 6.6 Conclusion ...... 163

7. THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF REPUBLICAN SANTA BARBÁRA ...... 164 7.1 The Collapse of the Mercury Mining Industry ...... 164 7.2 The Humachis ...... 165 7.3 Republican Period Excavation Data ...... 166 7.3.1 Unit 8 ...... 169 7.3.2 Unit 13 ...... 169 7.3.3 Unit 31 ...... 172 7.3.4 Unit 1 ...... 172 7.3.5 Unit 22 ...... 172 7.3.6 Unit 6 ...... 172 7.3.7 Unit 14 ...... 173 7.4 Discussion ...... 174

8. THE MITA AND THE MAKING OF THE ANDEAN MARKET ...... 176 8.1 La Mina de la Muerte ...... 176 8.2 Mining and Markets in the Colonial Andes ...... 178 8.3 Power and Practice ...... 182 8.3.1 The Consequences of Commercialization ...... 183 8.4 Markets and the Production of Power in the Colonial Andes ...... 186 8.5 The Making of the Andean Market ...... 187

APPENDICES ...... 189 APPENDIX A ...... 190 APPENDIX B ...... 202 APPENDIX C ...... 227 APPENDIX D ...... 243 APPENDIX E ...... 254 APPENDIX F...... 265 APPENDIX G ...... 277

CITED LITERATURE ...... 286

VITA...... 302

LIST OF TABLES

TABLE PAGE

I. SUMMARY OF DIFFERENT ARCHITECTURAL TYPES ...... 70

II. CERAMIC CLASSES AND TYPES ...... 78

III. CHRONOLOGY OF DIFFERENT EXTRACTION STRATEGIES ...... 125

IV. MITAYOS FROM MAY TO JUNE, 1608 ...... 126

V. SUMMARY OF CHRONOLOGICAL PERIODS ...... 137

VI. EXCAVATION CHRONOLOGY: SB I (RED), AND SB II (ORANGE) ...... 138

VII. MNV OF UNIT 22, SB I, LEVELS D, E, AND F ...... 142

VIII. MNV OF UNIT 8, SB I, LEVELS D, E, F, AND G ...... 148

IX. MNV OF UNIT 8, SB II, LEVELS B AND C ...... 151

X. SB I AND SB II AT UNIT 8 ...... 151

XI. MNV OF UNIT 13, SB I, LEVELS E/2 AND F...... 154

XII. MNV OF UNIT 13, SB II, LEVELS E/1 ...... 156

XIII. MNV OF UNIT 31, SB II, LEVELS D AND E...... 158

XIV. MNV OF UNIT OF UNIT 1, SB II, LEVELS C AND D...... 160

XV. EXCAVATION CHRONOLOGY SB III (GREEN)...... 167

XVI. MNV OF UNIT 8, SB III, LEVEL A...... 169

XVII. MNV OF UNIT 13, SB III, LEVELS B, C, AND D...... 169

XVIII. MNV OF UNIT 31, SB III, LEVELS B AND C...... 172

XIX. MNV OF UNIT 14, SB III...... 174

XX. SITES RECORDED DURING THE SURVEY, APPENDIX A...... 194

XXI. FAUNAL MATERIALS ANALYZED, APPENDIX D ...... 243

XXII. IDENTIFIED SPECIES, APPENDIX D ...... 248

XXIII. FAUNA AMOUNTS BY CONTEXT, APPENDIX D ...... 249

XXIV. MISCELLANEOUS ARTIFACTS, APPENDIX F ...... 265

XXV. RADIOCARBON SAMPLES ANALYZED, APPENDIX G ...... 277

LIST OF FIGURES

FIGURE PAGE

1. Mining in Potosí. Historia Americae sive Novi Orbis (Theodoor de Bry 1596) ...... 3

2. Nuestra Senora de Belen entrance to the mine. Construction began in 1606 and the tunnel was not completed until 1642. Designed as an adit to provide fresh air, it soon became the most importance entrance to the subterranean workings...... 6

3. Map of Santa Bárbara settlement. The Belen entrance is located on the northern edge of the settlement...... 16

4. Braudel's conception of economic life ...... 28

5. A political economy of practices approach ...... 42

6. Map of survey region ...... 61

7. Example of stone 1 doorway (group E-atructure 20) ...... 63

8. Example of stone 1 doorway (group I-structure 8) ...... 64

9. Example of stone 2 structure...... 65

10. Example adobe 1 structure (group Q, structure 10) ...... 66

11. Example of stone 2 structure...... 67

12. Casa communal at Santa Barbara ...... 68

13. Santa Barbara site map showing all architectural types...... 71

14. Santa Barbara site plan with stone 1 and stone 2 structures. Also shows test and areal excavation units ...... 72

15. The Gran Farallon sandstone looming over the town of Huancavelica as depicted by the Peruvian scientist Mariano Rivero y Ustariz in the 19th century (Rivero y Ustariz 1857). .... 83

16. A view of Gran Farrallon from the west in 2013. Note modern car tunnel, constructed in 1960's/1970's. (Photo by Author)...... 84

17. View of Huancavelica facing north from Botija Punco limestone. Archaeologist Karin Flores Rodriguez in background ...... 85

18. Southeast of Huancavelica, the small town of Huaylacucho (3767 masl) is located in the upper reaches of the suni zone...... 88

19. Highland Puna with clumps of ichu grass in foreground. Photo taken in Quebradamachay, approximately 4300 masl...... 89

20. A group of vicuña captured in a chaccu conducted by the contemporary Santa Barbára community. Drawn from prehispanic antecedents, the chaccu is a communal roundup of vicuña to be shorn of their valuable wool...... 90

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LIST OF FIGURES (continued)

FIGURE PAGE

21. 1922 early map of mercury district (Berry and Singewald 1922) ...... 93

22. Community school in 18th century colonial structure ...... 94

23. Core mining zone showing the Santa Barbara pueblo to the south...... 96

24. Possible Inka arybaloid found at SB-139...... 97

25. Mita province map ...... 99

26. Impact of 1572 reforms on the mining sector ...... 100

27. 1611 plan to restore vertical mine operations ...... 102

28. Entrance to the Belen tunnel in the 1740's (1742 map citation) ...... 106

29. The collapsed pit at Santa Barbara. This area was worked by mechanized equipment during the 1960s and 1970s...... 108

30. Photo from base of open pit, likely 18th century...... 112

31. Areas of pallaqueo exploitation ...... 114

32. Tesoro Orccyo ...... 117

33. Photo of figure 34, looking toward SE with socavones in the background ...... 120

34. Example of mining and residential relationship at SB 151 ...... 120

35. Residential structure at Cabramachay ...... 121

36. Large multiroom structure at Tacna y Arica ...... 123

37. Map of mining district showing different extraction areas...... 124

38. Santa Barbara in the 1930s (Ministry of Culture) ...... 131

39. Santa Barbara in 2015 (photo by author) ...... 131

40. The royal socavon (Nuestra Senora de Belen) ...... 134

41. Location of excavations with SB-I contexts ...... 139

42. Location of excavations with SB-II contexts ...... 140

43. Unit 22, stone floor at bottom of layer C. The stone floor dates to the 19th century, while a radiocarbon date taken below the floor dates to the late 16th/early 17th century. This suggests two separate occupations separated by approximately 150 years...... 141

44. Calibration curve for radiocarbon sample taken from Unit 22, Level D, Quadrant 5. .... 142

45. Polychrome bowl. Unit 22, Level E...... 143

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LIST OF FIGURES (continued)

FIGURE PAGE

46. Polychrome majolica. Unit 22 Level D ...... 144

47. Contemporary alpaca pastoralists from C.C.S.B. along the road adjacent to Unit 22. The church of Santa Barbara can be seen on the bottom left of the photo ...... 145

48. Final excavation photo of Unit 8 showing 16th century wall...... 146

49. Radiocarbon sample from Unit 8, Level E, Quadrant 1 ...... 147

50. Mercury cooking vessel. Recovered in Unit 8, Level E, Quadrant 7 ...... 148

51. Residential structure outside mercury refining kiln at SB 187 ...... 149

52. Imported panamanian polychrome A recovered in Unit 8, Level F, Quadrant 9 ...... 150

53. Unit 13 stratigraphy ...... 152

54. Unit 13, Final excavation photo showing earlier construction ...... 153

55. Panamanian polychrome A, Recovered from Unit 13, Level E/2 Quadrant 5. Identical to #3035 in the Florida Museum of Natural History collection ...... 154

56. Painted ceramic recovered from Unit 13, Level E/2 Quadrant 4 ...... 155

57. Comparison of SB I and SB II painted vessels...... 156

58. Structure R-4, location of Unit 31...... 158

59. Location of Unit 1 between structures in Group I...... 159

60. Frequency of domestic vessels in SB I, Units 13 and 22 ...... 161

61. Total vessels in SB I, Units 13 and 22 ...... 161

62. Comparison of different vessel classes in SB II, Units 13 and 31 ...... 162

63. Total vessels in SB II, Units 13 and 31 ...... 162

64. Location of excavations with SB-III contexts...... 168

65. Red dot bowls recovered in Unit 13, Capa D, Quadrant 1 ...... 170

66. Macaw pattern, Large rectangular dish, 26.7cm by 19.1cm ...... 171

67. Fragment of macaw dish recovered in Unit 13, Level D, Quadrant 1 ...... 171

68. Floor and stone bench on western side of Unit 6...... 173

69. 1742 Map showing the town of Huancavelica, various underground galleries, the Belen entrance (lower right), and the town of Santa Barbara...... 181

70. Close-up of Belen entrance from previous figure...... 182

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LIST OF FIGURES (continued)

FIGURE PAGE

71. The apu of Wamanrazo ...... 185

72. Survey Form, Appendix A ...... 192

73. Survey form, second page, Appendix A ...... 193

74. Profile of Unit 1, Appendix B ...... 202

75. Overview of Unit 1, Capa A, Appendix B ...... 203

76. Overview of Unit 1, Appendix B ...... 204

77. End of Unit 1, Appendix B ...... 205

78. Stratigraphy of Unit 8, Appendix B ...... 205

79. Overview of Unit 8, Capa A, Appendix B ...... 206

80. Overivew of Unit 8, Capa B, Appendix B ...... 207

81. Overview of Unit 8, Capa C, Appendix B ...... 208

82. Overview of Unit 8, Capa D, Appendix B ...... 209

83. Overview of Unit 8, Level E, Appendix B ...... 210

84. Overview of Unit 8, Level F, Appendix B ...... 211

85. Overview of Unit 8, Level G, Appendix B ...... 212

86. Overview of Unit 13, post-test unit, prior to excavation, Appendix B ...... 213

87. Sketch overview of Unit 13, Level F, Appendix B...... 215

88. Overview of Unit 13 at final, Appendix B ...... 216

89. Unit 14 stratigraphy, Appendix B ...... 216

90. Unit 14, surface level, Appendix B ...... 217

91. Unit 14, final, Appendix B ...... 219

92. Unit 22 stratigraphy, Appendix B ...... 220

93. Unit 22, surface level, Appendix B ...... 220

94. Unit 31 stratigraphy, Appendix B ...... 223

95. Overview of Unit 31, Appendix B ...... 224

96. Unit 31, final, Appendix B ...... 226

LIST OF FIGURES (continued)

FIGURE PAGE

97. Mercury ollas recovered from Unit 8, Level B. This level included both types, mercury olla A with a single rim, and mercury B with a double rim, Appendix C...... 230

98. Mercury olla type B. Recovered in Unit 8, Level E, Appendix C...... 231

99. Mercury tablet.Recovered in Unit 8, Capa G, Quadrant 7 (SB I), Appendix C...... 231

100. Assorted botija rims, Appendix C...... 232

101. Blue on white majolica, recovered in Unit 6, Capa D/1, Quadrant 6 (SB III), Appendix C ...... 232

102. Blue on white majolica, recovered in Unit 13, Capa D, Quadrant 2 (SB III), Appendix C ...... 233

103. Green on white majolica with smudging. Recovered in Unit 4, Capa D/1 (SB II), Appendix C...... 233

104. Green rim on white majolica. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/2, Quadrant 8 (SB III), Appendix C...... 234

105. Brown on white majolica, linear. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa C, Quadrant 1 (SB II), Appendix C...... 234

106. Brown on white majolica. Recovered Unit 6, Capa D/1, Quadrant 1 (SB III), Appendix C...... 235

107. Polychrome majolica. Recovered in Unit 8, Capa F, Quadrant 9 (SB I), Appendix C. 235

108. Brown lead glazed bowl. Recovered in Unit 22, Capa E, Quadrant 6 (SB I), Appendix C...... 236

109. Brown lead glazed plate. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/2, Quadrant 5 (SB III), Appendix C...... 236

110. Clear partial lead glaze bowl. Recovered in Unit 13, Capa D, Quadrant 5 (SB III), Appendix C...... 237

111. Green glaze body fragment. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa B, Quadrant 1 (SB III), Appendix C...... 237

112. Black on yellow lead glaze bowl. Recovered in Unit 8, Capa C, Quadrant 9 (SB II), Appendix C...... 238

113. Yellow lead glaze bowl. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa D/1, Quadrant 11 (SB III), Appendix C...... 238

114. White linear on red rim. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa D/1, Quadrant 2 (SB II), Appendix C ...... 239

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LIST OF FIGURES (continued)

FIGURE PAGE

115. White on red body fragment. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/2, Quadrant 7 (SB III), Appendix C...... 239

116. White on paste painted body fragment. Recovered in Unit 22, Capa E, Quadrant E (SB I), Appendix C...... 240

117. Red rim on paste. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa C, Quadrant 1 (SB II), Appendix C...... 240

118. Red on white fragment. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/1, Quadrant 5 (SB III), Appendix C...... 241

119. Red on white plate. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa C, Quadrant 2 (SB II), Appendix C. ... 241

120. Polychrome on white. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/1, Quadrant 7 (SB III), Appendix C...... 242

121. Polychrome on white. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa D/1, Quadrant 1 (SB III), Appendix C...... 242

122. Drawing of burials. Unit 4, Capa D, Appendix E...... 262

123. Unit 4 profile, Appendix E...... 263

124. Overview photo of burial excavation. Unit 4, Capa D, Appendix E...... 264

125. Awl made from indeterminate faunal bone. Recovered from Unit 31, Level C, Quadrant 5, Appendix F...... 271

126, Awl made from indeterminate faunal bone. Recovered from Unit 13, Level E/2 Quadrant 2, Appendix F...... 271

127. Copper pendant recovered in Unit 6, Capa D, Quadrant 5, Appendix F...... 272

128. Possible boot spur recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/2, Quadrant 5, Appendix F...... 272

129. Metal awl recovered in Unit 8, Capa D, Quadrant 3, Appendix F...... 273

130. Nail recovered from Unit 22, Capa E, Quadrant 9, Appendix F...... 274

131. Knife/Scissors recovered from Unit 13, Capa E/2, Quadrant 1, Appendix F...... 274

132. Spanish coin, Appendix F...... 275

133. Reverse of Spanish coin (Figure 86), Appendix F...... 275

134. Assorted spindle whorls recovered in excavation, Appendix F...... 276

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SUMMARY

This dissertation examines the relationship between states, markets, and societies through the case study of indigenous miners at Huancavelica in the Central Andean highlands, the largest mercury mine in the Americas for over three centuries (AD 1563-

1900). As an everyday link between indigenous societies and imperial administrators, labor represented both a form of social control and a locale of potential resistance, making the archaeology of indigenous labor an ideal entry point for examining colonial commercialization. In colonial contexts, these transformations bring different exchange systems (e.g. markets, gift exchange, redistribution) into conflict, creating new forms of economic practice that are neither imperial nor indigenous. Through archaeological survey and excavation, archival research, and oral histories, my research examined early colonial capitalist practices through the prism of indigenous mining households at Santa Barbára, the largest settlement for indigenous miners. Traditional narratives describe indigenous laborers as silent victims of an oppressive forced labor program that slowly eroded Andean communal sovereignty. In contrast, a material perspective reveals how indigenous laborers survived the horrors of mercury mining by creating their own exchange networks, which increased throughout the colonial period as indigenous miners gained greater control over the mining economy.

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1. MINING, MARKETS, AND THE MAKING OF THE MODERN WORLD

1.1 Introduction

In the early 1600’s, a Jesuit priest named Ludovico Bertonio wrote the first bilingual dictionary between Spanish and Aymara, one of the two major indigenous Andean languages

(Bertonio 1984 [1612]).1 In his entry for merchant, he noted two different Aymara words for trade:

“our [Spanish] type of trade” and another for “the Indian type of trade.”2 At first glance, Bertonio’s distinction between Andean and European trade matches classic colonial narratives that divide

“tradition” from “modernity” along similar binaries such as Andean/Spanish or indigenous/imperial.

Interpreting Bertonio’s dual definitions through the prism of tradition/modernity might make sense in a region untouched by commercial markets, a contrast between the trade Bertonio observed in the

Southern Andes with the economic systems he remembered from Europe. However, Bertonio’s dictionary drew from Aymara speakers along the southern edge of Lake Titicaca, a deeply commercialized region due to the massive flow of people and commodities around nearby Potosí, the largest silver mine in the world (Bakewell 1984; Cole 1985). By the early 17th century, Potosí had become “the first city of capitalism” due to the importance of silver to early global trade, and was home to 160,000 people, larger than London, Paris, or Madrid (Weatherford 2010, 20). Bertonio therefore observed a division between two commercial modes of exchange that occurred simultaneously in the early 17th century, rather than a distinction between traditional and modern markets. As one of the generative spaces for capitalist modernity, the confluence of mining and markets in the Colonial Andes therefore offers a perspective on the heterogeneity of economic practices produced by the entanglement of imperial and indigenous systems of exchange.

Mining and markets produced an “Andean space” of commercialization across the

Viceroyalty of Peru during the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries (Assadourian 1992, Mangan 2005,

1 Previous scholars have highlighted the lack of prehispanic vocabulary for markets to argue for a nonmarket Andean economic system prior to the Spanish conquest (Harris 1995; Stanish 2010). 2 Translated from mercader a nuestro modo and mercader a modo de indios (Bertonio 1984 [1612], 314)

Wallerstein 1974). However, as Bertonio’s distinction between different forms of merchants illustrates, imperial and indigenous economies occurred side by side: overlapping, fusing and ultimately changing one another. This amalgamation of the global and the local is akin to what Anna

Tsing calls “friction,” in which global processes become “charged and enacted in the sticky materiality of practical encounters” (2011, 1). In other words, local political, social, and cultural contingencies both produced and disrupted colonial commercialization, leading to questions that unsettle rather than reaffirm teleological histories of global capitalism. What happens when different economic practices, systems, and ideologies encounter one another? How do markets emerge and transform within the interplay between colonial states and indigenous societies? Finally, as this often occurs in the context of unequal power relations, how do subaltern groups negotiate, resist, or incorporate the imposition of foreign or colonial economic regimes?

This dissertation examines these questions through a case study of indigenous highland miners in Andean South America. Specifically, I examine the case study of Colonial and Post-

Colonial Huancavelica, the largest source of mercury in the Americas. Through archival, ethnohistoric, and archaeological research, this dissertation examines how commercialization occurred and how subaltern groups such as indigenous mercury miners employed different practices of labor and exchange to contest and disrupt the Spanish colonial and Peruvian post-colonial projects from 16th to early 20th centuries.

1.2 Mercury and the Making of the Modern World

In 1683, the Viceroy of Colonial Peru, Don Melchor de Navarra y Rocafull, renegotiated a contract with the royal guild of mercury mine owners from the Andean city of Huancavelica

(Carnero Albarrán 1981). The Spanish miners had traveled for several weeks down the Cordillera

Occidental from almost 4,000 meters above sea level to the colonial capital of Lima on the coast.

Legally, the Crown owned the mine, but leased production to Spanish mine owners organized through a guild, or gremio (Lohmann Villena 1949). Under terms of the contracts, or asientos, since the 1570’s, the Spanish Viceroyalty required that all mercury be sold to silver miners at Potosí,

Figure 1. Mining in Potosí. Historia Americae sive Novi Orbis (Theodoor de Bry 1596)

4 several hundred kilometers to the south at a fixed price (ibid). Mercury is indispensable to silver mining, as mercury is a natural amalgam that binds with silver and draws the wealth out of low-grade ores. By introducing mercury from Huancavelica to the silver mines of Potosí in the 1570s, Spanish revenues increased over 200% providing the economic foundation of the Spanish Empire in Latin

America (Bakewell 1984).

Historians have long documented the role of Spanish silver from Latin America in the making of the modern world. Popular conceptions of Spanish colonialism often focus on the initial moments of violent conquest in the 16th century: Cortez and Montezuma, Pizzaro and Atahualpa

(Hemming 1970; Leon-Portilla 2006). While the plundering of the Aztec and Inka empires provided the initial motivation for conquest, the long-term silver mining operations of Mexico and Peru subsidized the imperial ambitions of the Hapsburg and Bourbon dynasties in Spain and across the globe (Elliott 1963). Silver purchased Italian mercenaries to put down Protestant rebellions in the

Netherlands, funded the construction of the Spanish Armada to invade England, and subsidized the naval struggle for the Mediterranean with the Ottoman Empire (Stein and Stein 2000). The influx of silver also created a “price revolution” in Europe, producing inflation and the increasing circulation of coinage that created the conditions for commercial development in Flanders and the Ruhr valleys and the initial industrial revolution in England (Hamilton 1970). While the global consequences of

Andean silver were profound, none of this would have been possible without a reliable source of mercury.

Mercury has always been a mysterious substance, often used in alchemists’ experiments and a cure for syphilis (Swiderski 2008). However, in the 1550’s a Spanish engineer developed a way to efficiently refine silver with mercury through a procedure known as the patio process (Probert 1969).

Mercury became the critical ingredient in the creation of metallic wealth, or as one early 17th century colonial administrator succinctly stated, “if there was not mercury, nor would there be silver” (de

Velasco 1946). While the Spanish silver mines were the bedrock of royal revenues in the Americas, collecting the crown’s fifth was notoriously difficult due to corruption (Quiroz 2008). However, by

5 controlling the source of mercury, colonial administrators could indirectly assess how much silver a refinery had produced, therefore knowing how much to expect in taxes (Bakewell 1971, 1984; Cole

1985). While silver flowed to Spain and then across the globe3, mercury became the bottleneck by which the colonial state could control and tax silver production. The mines of Huancavelica, along with Spanish controlled mines in Almaden (Spain) and Idrija (Slovenia) became the throttle of the

Atlantic economy, determining how much silver was produced and exported to Europe (Bakewell

1971).

Mercury mining requires labor, and the indigenous peoples of the Central Andes did much of the extraction, smelting, and transportation of the toxic substance, many of them coerced or forced to come to Huancavelica (Brown 2001). Beginning in the 1570s, the colonial administration crudely appropriated the mita, or rotational draft labor system, from the prehispanic Inka empire. Akin to a corvee labor system, the mita required indigenous Andean provinces to rotate one-seventh of their population to mine mercury in Huancavelica, many of them forced to travel over 100 kilometers to work in the toxic subterranean conditions (Bakewell 1984). Drawn from across the Central Andes, the laborers were called mitayos, from the Quechua word for turn, or mita. In Huancavelica, the mitayos faced cave-ins, carbon monoxide poisoning or umpe, as well as the persistent danger of mercury poisoning (Bakewell 1984; Robins 2011). By the early 17th century, Huancavelica’s mercury mines were broadly referred to as the “mine of death” (Brown 2001).

3 Much of the silver eventually ended up in China, since silver was the only currency that Qing dynasty merchants would accept in return for spices and other luxury goods (Kindleberger 1989).

In the capital city of Lima, the Viceroy and the mining guild debated over terms of the new arrangement, including the price of mercury, how many indigenous miners would be forced to work from each province, and how the profits would be divided (Giron 1954). The contract also set new rules for the surveillance and control of indigenous people, notably at the main tunnel to the

Figure 2. Nuestra Senora de Belen entrance to the mine. Construction began in 1606 and the tunnel was not completed until 1642. Designed as an adit to provide fresh air, it soon became the most importance entrance to the subterranean workings. subterranean workings, the massive entrance named Nuestra Senora del Belen, or “Our Lady of

Bethlehem.” The mine had been operational for over a century at this point, and the Belen portal had become a critical point of control for the colonial state to monitor indigenous labor entering and leaving the mine (Brown 2001). In this case, the Viceroy ordered that “no guarmichacras indias, nor rescatiris…be in the royal adit or other place of the hill, but only so in the square where they will have their posts and signaled sites” (Asiento del Duque de la Palata con los mineros de

Guancavelica 1683 [in Carnero Albarrán 1981, 194]).

Guarmichacras is a Quechua word that refers to the indigenous women who sold food, chicha, coca, maize beer, and other household items at the mouth of the mine (Carnero Albarrán

1981). Rescatiri is a hybrid Aymara/Spanish word that signifies an illegal ore trader who would move stolen minerals through the illicit exchange networks that relied on indigenous networks

(Bradby 1982; Carnero Albarrán 1981). Previous scholarship has emphasized that mining centers were also market centers, yet it is important to distinguish the varieties of overlapping market systems by scale and style (Stern 1993). Guarmichacras and rescatiris provided access to exchange networks beyond the colonial marketplace, offering opportunities for indigenous miners to smuggle mercury, purchase coca and chicha, and buy other much needed products for their household

(Bradby 1982). The prohibition of the guarmichacras and the rescatiri is an attempt to shut down informal and indigenous exchange networks that surrounded the mine, or at the very least, formalize their exchanges by moving these individuals into the town plaza, creating a marketplace marked by

“posts and signaled sites” (Giron 1954)

The conflict between the Spanish colonial administration and the indigenous guarmichacras and the rescatiris represents the core question of this research: How do people use different economic practices to contest and negotiate the production of sociopolitical power? Power, defined in this dissertation as the ability to mobilize and control social labor (Mann 1986, Wolf 1999), is produced via the social, cultural, and economic interactions of local assemblages of people and things (Smith 2015). In other words, colonial power may appear to be created from above via

Spanish administrative decree, but it is enacted on the ground through daily material practices of officials, overseers, laborers and traders.

Exchange is one entry point to understanding how colonial power is produced, as exchange provides the material goods necessary for daily life, and thus represents a critical moment where value can be created and transformed (Graeber 2001). Prehistoric archaeologists have long studied the role of exchange as a medium for expanding state power (Brumfiel and Earle 1987; Feinman and

Garraty 2010; Fry 1980; Thomas 1991; Vaughn 2006). However, they often do so from the

8 perspective of the state, asking how states produce power via exchange rather than investigating how exchange offers an arena for state power to be contested and transformed at the local level. On the surface, historical archaeologists are extremely interested in exchange, as the study of capitalism and global commodity production is a motivating framework for many research programs exploring the origins of the modern world (Leone and Potter 1999; Orser 1996). However, capitalist exchange practices remain undertheorized, often subsumed under the broader monolithic definition of capitalism that constrains our ability to understand how different economic activities come together to create distinct complexes of practice that vary across time and space4.

My research examines Huancavelica as a case study in which colonialism and capitalism became entangled over the extraction of mercury, leading to overlapping exchange systems in the colonial context of exploitation. In the same way that historical and archaeological studies of colonial identity (Fennell 2003; Ortiz et al. 2017; Wilkie et al. 1999) and religion (Liebmann 2010;

Wernke 2013) have stressed the colonial encounter as an arena where power and cultural differences create hybrid practices, this project applies the logic of colonial hybridity to the political economy.

The fusion of Andean and Spanish economic practices entailed multiple forms of economic practice that articulated with one another to create new systems of exchange that are neither imperial nor indigenous. In other words, this is not a teleological story of European colonial capitalism replacing pre-capitalist indigenous economies. Rather, this dissertation demonstrates that economic systems are diverse, and in the context of a colonial encounter, these heterogeneous sets of practices come together in unique ways, providing opportunities for indigenous peoples to create spaces of autonomy in a brutal and coercive system.

1.3 Colonialism and Exchange

The expansion and transformation of exchange networks is inherent to the colonial project.

Metropoles employ violence, coercion, or negotiation in the context of unequal power to extract

4 For an exception, see Croucher and Weiss (2011).

9 value from peripheral regions, enriching the latter at the expense of the former. Grain moves from

North Africa to Imperial Rome, Caribbean sugar feeds the appetite of 18th century Britain, and

Guatemalan bananas end up on American breakfast tables in the 1950’s. While the transportation of these goods may be global, their production requires local labor; which in turn stimulates local and regional circulation of peoples and products. Archaeological research of past political economies has long demonstrated that states do not attempt to control all exchange networks, but often focus on goods that fund political power (Brumfiel and Earle 1987; Smith 2004; Van Buren 1996). However, the exchange networks that develop around extractive institutions such as mines, haciendas, and plantations are also critical to the maintenance of colonial power. Subaltern peoples who labor for imperial projects are often dispossessed from their means of subsistence, and therefore must create and draw upon new forms of exchange to acquire the goods they need for everyday life. As such, this research examines the role of exchange networks as critical arenas where colonial power relations are produced and negotiated. By viewing local exchange networks as a place of struggle, rather than a byproduct of extraction, my research asks how exchange works as a space of vulnerability for further domination while simultaneously offering opportunities for subaltern peoples to resist and subvert the colonial project.

In the case of European colonialism over the past five hundred years, scholarship has often focused on the relationship between colonialism and exchange at the global level. The narrative differs from scholar to scholar, but the model often follows a standard course; starting with Spanish and Portuguese in the 16th century, the violence of colonialism paved the way for the expansion of global commodity markets, culminating into the development of industrial capitalism structured around wage labor in 19th century England. European colonialism therefore set the stage for the

European development of capitalism, which then filtered out to the colonial periphery (Braudel 1992;

Marx 1978 [1859]; Wallerstein 1974; Wolf 1982).

Like most just-so stories, this dual narrative of colonialism and capitalism is simple but complex; undeniably true, yet deeply misguided. They each fail what the post-colonial scholar

Dipesh Chakrabarty defines as the distinction between History 1 and History 2 (Chakrabarty 2009).

The first type of history aligns with the teleological narrative of a capitalism and colonialism, it is a history that is global yet locates Western Europe as the place where political and economic modernity first emerged (ibid). For Chakraborty, this first type of history is not allied with any ideological school of thought regarding the origins of the modern world, scholars ranging from

Francis Fukuyama to Karl Marx employ arguments that universalize European development from

1600-1900 to the broader history of global capitalism (Fukuyama 1992; Luxembourg 1951; Marx

1978).

In contrast, this dissertation employs the second type, History 2, which emphasizes the role of the so-called periphery in the development of a global modernity, specifically the rise of capitalism as the defining structure of our epoch (Chakrabarty 2009, 107). This perspective on capitalism highlights the spatial and temporal heterogeneity of economic practices and seeks to show how the local created the global, rather than the development of a Eurocentric global that was exported to the peripheral colonies. The diverse set of practices we often label as “capitalism” therefore emerges from the colonial context. Consequently, colonial spaces such as the Andean highlands function as

“laboratories for the package of ideas and practices we call modern statecraft” (Dawdy 2008, 18).

While often applied to cultural and political examples, ranging from domesticity in South Africa

(Comaroff and Comaroff 1992) to bureaucratic legibility in French New Orleans (Dawdy 2008), far less attention has been paid to colonies as spaces of economic experimentation. Building on this notion of colonialism as a laboratory, this dissertation examines the emergence of commercial institutions (e.g. markets, wage labor) in the Colonial Andes.

1.4 Approach of the Dissertation

This discourse of interrelated colonialism and capitalism serves as a starting point for my dissertation research, which combines archaeological and historical methods to examine a mercury mining community in the Peruvian Andes over the past 450 years. Archaeological and ethnohistoric

11 research reveals that prior to European contact in the Andes, the Inka Empire was relatively uncommercialized and that markets played an insignificant role in allocating labor or commodities

(Earle and Smith 2011; Murra 1980; Stanish 2010). However, the 1532 Spanish invasion and the discovery of vast mineral deposits—notably mercury in Huancavelica and silver in Potosí—led to the development of an extractive imperial system that radically transformed the Andean economy

(Assadourian 1992; Larson and Leon 1995). Archival studies have illuminated the commercialization of the indigenous hinterlands that supplied these critical mining regions, notably the commodification of agriculture close to Potosí (Larson 1998) and Hispanic and indigenous merchants in Ayacucho near the Huancavelica mercury mine (Stern 1993). In contrast, the actual mining districts have received far less attention, particularly the indigenous miners themselves who directly experienced and produced the political-economic transformations of the Early Colonial

Andes.

Previous research at national archives in Lima (Peru) and Seville (Spain) has examined

Huancavelica’s labor system from the perspective of production, outlining attempts by colonial administrators to maintain a stable output of mercury (Cobb 1949, 1977; Contreras 1982; Pearce

1999; Whittaker 1951). Environmental historians have complemented these macroeconomic studies by detailing colonial debates over the morality of the brutal laboring conditions (Brown 2001; Cooke et al. 2013; Robins 2011, 2012). However, since the indigenous laborers left no written records, the only way to understand how laboring households negotiated colonial commercialization is through a historical and archaeological study of material culture.

In his programmatic statement regarding historical archaeology, Charles Orser argued that we should “Think globally, dig locally” (Orser 1996). This assertion correctly defined the field’s inadequacies of 1970s and 1980s, in that historical archaeologists were often only engaged with local questions to their own determent. However, reframing Orser’s adage through the postcolonial perspective, to think globally and dig locally is to implicitly assume that archaeology asks only how global processes transform local societies (Croucher and Weiss 2011). Instead, this project rejects the

12 assumption of an a priori global process such as capitalism being exported from Europe, and rather asks how local economic practices came together to produce the complex of arrangements that we refer to as “capitalism”.

Shifting between global and local scales is difficult, as one rapidly encounters the problem of drawing macro-level explanations from micro-level data. This is the well-worn territory of structure/agency and process/event. As previous scholars have noted (Orser 1996), we do not excavate capitalism, we study ceramic sherds and faunal remains. Nor do we excavate colonialism, but we analyze fortresses, missions, and mining camps. In other words, archaeology is the study of objects and practices that allow us to indirectly investigate macro-level structures such as capitalism and colonialism. However, an archaeological epistemology that never rose above the level of practice would be solely descriptive, as it would be impossible to scale up to larger explanations without comparing how different practices and objects relate to one another. One way to move beyond the purely descriptive aspect of practice, yet avoid the totalizing aspect of structure, is through the meso-scale of institutions. Adopted from the New Institutional Economics, institutions are often defined as “humanly devised constraints that structure political, economic and social interaction” (North 1991, 97). However, as Hodgson (2006) notes, this definition suffers from ambiguity and consequently it can be difficult to tell where one institution begins and ends in any given society. For the purposes of this archaeological project, I define institutions as spatial and material assemblages that exist above the level of individuals that both incentivize and constrain human practice.

For example, the contemporary structure of global capitalism requires institutions such as the banking system, the stock market, or the corporation. These institutions both encourage and constrain human practices yet do so according to their own institutional logic rather than abstracted theories of human behavior such as rational choice or game theory.5 For example, one might assume that Wall

5 The epistemological foundations for this dissertation may appear to be processual, given the focus on practices and institutions. However, processual archaeology employs a positivist epistemology that seeks to generate laws regarding human behavior. In contrast, this dissertation adopts the

Street investment bankers operate by neo-classical game theory in their day to day financial practices, as would be suggested by a micro-economic textbook. However, Ho (2009) found that rather than acting as a homo economicus in their financial practices, the behavior of Wall Street investment bankers was structured by the broader cultural institutions of their firms and educational backgrounds. In short, their practices were embedded in institutions, creating a discursive feedback loop in which practices create, yet are simultaneously structured by these institutions.

This question of embeddedness has long troubled social scientists interested in the political economy of past societies (Granovetter 1985; North 1977). More than any other scholar, Karl

Polanyi introduced the issue of embeddedness to the study of past economies6, although he defined the term in different ways throughout his career. Broadly speaking, embeddedness refers to the interaction between social and economic relationships (Polanyi et al. 1957). For Polanyi, economies were embedded in social relationships prior to the modern era, but “the Great Transformation” of capitalism had created a market society in which the pattern was reversed, social relations had become embedded in the economy (Polanyi 1944; Polanyi et al. 1957)7. More recent deployments of embeddedness have detached the term from a primitive/modern chronology, and instead argue that all economies are embedded, from the 21st century to the earliest Paleolithic exchange systems

(Feinman and Garraty 2010; Granovetter 1985). This project takes the approach that all economies are embedded, yet I argue that the type and strength of embeddedness is contingent on commercial and coercive institutions. For example, a recent review of archaeological approaches to markets argued that scholars must understand the “societal customs, constraints, and political realities in

epistemology of critical realism (Bashkar 2010). Rather than seek to discover scientific laws, critical realism is more interested in “identifying and illuminating the deep structure of reality, such as power, tendencies, mechanisms, and trends” (Cheng 2005) 6 Dale (2010) examines the intellectual lineage of Polanyi’s term, and finds at least five different strands of thought that stretch back to the 19th century: (1) Karl Marx’s analysis of the economy, (2) Ferdinand Tönnies’ division of Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft to define the break between traditional and modern ways of life, (3) Weberian sociology, and (4) American and German intuitionalist scholars such as John Commons, Karl Bücher, and others, (5) and finally early 20th century anthropology which highlighted different economic systems around the world. 7 This is admittedly a simplistic view of Polanyi’s approach, and other scholars such as Gareth Dale (2010) and Fred Block (2003) have put forward contrasting views.

14 which specific economic institutions are embedded” (Feinman and Garraty 2010:181). As I will explore further in the next chapter, the strength of embeddedness between various institutions within a society can vary, and by understanding how embeddedness changes over time, we can better analyze how and why exchange systems transform.

1.5 Research Questions and Outline of Dissertation

In 2013, I helped design and conduct the first archaeological survey of the Huancavelica mining region, which included a detailed mapping and architectural analysis of Santa Barbára, the central camp for indigenous labor. Encircling a church and central plaza, this sprawling 16th century complex contains over 200 domestic structures. The main research objective was to understand how economic practices in domestic spaces of the indigenous mining camp and across the landscape related to the broader institutions of the colonial state, including different forms of labor regimes such as forced, wage, and independent labor. In this context, exchange is interrelated with household consumption of goods. In other words, this project examines exchange by asking how households procured goods. Through a multi-scalar, analysis of differences in household artifact assemblages, this project addresses three research questions.

• What types of economic practices did indigenous miners pursue, through both mining labor and household provisioning?

• What is the relationship between economic practices and political institutions, and how did this change over time?

• What is the relationship between economic practices and commercial institutions, and how did this change over time?

These research questions are addressed over the following seven chapters, examining four centuries of colonialism and capitalism from the case study of an Andean mercury mining

15 community. This first chapter introduces the research topic, and discusses the epistemological foundations of the investigation, and outlined the central questions.

Chapter two describes the theoretical intervention of the dissertation, arguing that using the term capitalism as a systemic definition does more to distort rather than clarify the past. Labeling societies capitalist, proto-capitalist, or even pre-capitalist homogenizes the diversity of economic activities present in any society. By classifying entire systems as capitalist, we reify the dominant system into a monolithic label, rather than attempting to examine how different economies interrelate with one another. Instead, I argue for a political economy of practice approach to the study of the economy. Rather than binary spectrum of capitalist or non-capitalist, economic practices are better viewed through a quadrant that highlights two relational qualities, embeddedness and power.

Drawing on the work of Karl Polanyi and the more recent neo-Polanyian turn in economic anthropology, embeddedness describes the degree to which an economic practice is embedded within social relations.

Figure 3. Map of Santa Bárbara settlement. The Belen entrance is located on the northern edge of the settlement.

In chapter three, I outline the research design of the dissertation. The survey, excavation, archival, and ethnographic methodologies employed are described, as well as a chronology of the research activities. The theoretical model described in Chapter two is operationalized to the archaeological record, with material expectations for different types of economic practices in the past.

In chapter 4, I describe the geological, environmental, and political context of study area.

Drawing on the geological literature, this chapter discusses the origins of Huancavelica’s mercury, as well the different sandstone, limestone, and igneous formations that contain mercury. Huancavelica sits in the suni and puna zones, which present distinct ecological niches for flora and fauna. Finally, I discuss the political history of the region from the Spanish foundation of the town of Huancavelica to the present day.

Chapter five synthesizes geological and survey data to provide a spatial history of the study region. Drawing on early 20th and late 19th century reports, I compare the mercury distribution in different geological formations with survey evidence for mining. This evidence is synthesized with oral histories and a toponymic survey to show how different mining practices corresponded with different labor regimes.

The first of two excavation chapters, Chapter six, begins with a discussion of the archival evidence for early colonial Santa Barbára. The settlement plan of the mining settlement is described, as well as a chronological history of the architecture. I develop an archaeological chronology for the artifacts found at Santa Barbára, breaking up the four-century history into five archaeological phases, of which this dissertation will examine the first three, SB I, SB II, and SB III8. Finally, I examine the cultural deposits affiliated with SB I, or the initial period of occupation until the end of the 17th century.

The final data chapter is chapter seven, which analyzes that end of the colonial period and the early 19th century. This chapter begins with archival evidence that shows the frustration of Peruvian

8 SB IV and SB V correspond to the late 19th and 20th century.

18 mining companies to reestablish production after Peruvian independence in 1821. These elite Lima- based geologists and engineers blamed local indigenous highlanders for their perceived poverty and lack of desire to work in a modern wage-based mining economy. The narrative then shifts to the excavations at Santa Barbára, which shows how during this period of assumed resistance to capitalism, the standard of living increased, and the residents of Santa Barbára became more cosmopolitan in their domestic assemblages.

The dissertation concludes with chapter eight, which begins by comparing the changes in economic practices and consumption patterns between the early colonial (SB I), late colonial (SB II), and early republican (SB III) periods. I conclude with a brief review of the contributions of this dissertation to studies of colonialism and capitalism, with particular attention paid to different strategies of resistance and autonomy as indigenous peoples attempt to negotiate the colonial encounter.

1.6 Past and Present

The economist Darren Acemolgou and his collaborators famously argued that global economic history of the past five hundred years entailed a “reversal of fortune,” in that the wealthiest nations in the 16th century have become the poorest by the 21st (Acemolgou et al. 2002). Acemolgou located the cause of this reversal in institutions, specifically the colonial extractive institutions established in areas of great agricultural or mineral wealth. Extractive colonial institutions influenced the political and economic landscape of post-colonial societies, leading to instability and vulnerable to corruption and further exploitation. Huancavelica has not escaped this reversal of fortune, as the town that was once hailed as “the jewel in the crown” of the Spanish Andes is now the poorest department in 21st century Peru (Yates et al. 1951, 18).

However, this reversal of fortune is contingent, and does not imply a declension narrative that forever dooms the people of Huancavelica. In the case of the indigenous miners of Santa Barbára, specific points of their history presented more opportunities than others, notably in the early 19th

19 century when illegal indigenous mercury miners occupied the former colonial mines and resisted exploitative wage labor regimes that were common across the mining centers of the Andean highlands. However, the creation of this space of autonomy in what was once the center of brutal exploitation in the Viceroyalty of Peru did not entail a withdrawal or resistance from exchange networks, but rather selective engagement on their own terms.

2. STATES, LABORERS, AND MARKETS: THEORIZING THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF COLONIAL CAPITALISM

“We ignore a vast array of evidence, therefore, if we speak of Andean resistance to the market as such. One might say with greater truth that Andean peoples frequently initiated marketplace participation, on their own terms if possible, in order to resist market participation under less favorable circumstances” (Stern 1993, 77).

2.1 Labor, Markets, and “The Economy”

In 1573, 3,289 mitayos from across the Central Andean highlands arrived at the colonial city of Huancavelica, pressed into service to mine and process mercury against their will by the Spanish

Viceroyalty of Peru (Brown 2001). Over a century later in 1683, the Spanish colonial administration required only 620 mitayos to labor in Huancavelica (Asiento 1684). By the late 18th century, the number had declined to 125 mitayos from just three provinces, Angares, Chumbivilcas, and

Cotabamba (Moreno 2012). Throughout this decline in forced labor, the number of mingas, or wage laborers, steadily increased to meet the labor demands, mirroring the global transition in labor regimes during the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries (Bradby 1982; Brass 2011). Moreover, the movements of mitayos and mingas in and out of the city corresponded with the increasing circulation of staple products, along with flows of elite goods destined for wealthy Spanish mine-owners (Stern

1993). Markets subsequently exploded around the exchange of mercury, goods, and labor in

Huancavelica, driving the commercialization of the Viceroyalty of Peru and the violent incorporation of the Central Andean highlands into the emerging world system (Larson and Harris et al. 1995).

This dissertation aims to understand how this commercialization occurred from a material perspective, specifically by focusing on the indigenous miners who provided the labor that drove the transformation of the colonial political economy. By focusing on the role of indigenous laborers as critical social actors in mediating the relationship between states, markets, and societies; this project engages with a wide range of broader theoretical debates regarding the global development of capitalism from the 16th-19th centuries (Wallerstein 1974; Wolf 1982). On the surface, Colonial

Huancavelica appears to fit within the standard narrative for the transition to capitalism: a shift from forced to free wage labor, the growing role of markets in everyday life, and the increasing importance of private profit (ibid). However, the economy of Colonial Andes defies this simple characterization and a closer look highlights the difficulty of situating Huancavelica in classic models of the transition to capitalism (Stern 1988). While the mita did decrease throughout the colonial period, forced labor was never fully replaced by wage labor, nor did the mingas become completely dependent on the market (Bradby 1982; Robins 2011). Huancavelica also confounds spatial assumptions regarding where capitalism developed, as it is located far from the European core of capitalist development yet had integrated regimes of forced and free labor as early as the 1640s, a time when feudal serfdom still dominated the colonial metropole (Casey 1999; Stern 1988).

This difficulty of contextualizing Huancavelica into larger processes in history and social theory is not unique, as scholars have long debated the role of Andean mining economies, and Latin

America overall, in the development of a global economy that began in the 16th century (Gunder-

Frank 1967; Stern 1988; Wallertsein 1988). As is the case with most acrimonious debates (Stern

1988), these discussions end at an impasse, more a result of semantic disagreement than actual historical content. What is at stake is not the specificities of history such as the ratio of minga to mitayo labor, but rather how we define, apply, and link abstract concepts such as “capitalism,”

“markets”, and the “the economy”.

This chapter will outline the theoretical intervention of my research, which seeks to challenge capitalism as a concept that does more to distort than clarify when applied to economies of the past.

Specifically, I argue that uncritically applying the term “capitalism” to hybrid colonial political economies, such as that of Huancavelica, is vulnerable to the trap of what the geographers Gibson-

Graham call “capitalocentrism,” in which “capitalist economic activity is taken as the model for all economic activity” (Gibson-Graham 2006, 56). Rather than attempting to fit the indigenous mining community of Santa Barbára into a predefined type such as “capitalism”, this dissertation seeks to

“return to the actual details of economic history” (De Landa 1997)9. As Pezzarosi (2014) recently noted in his analysis of Colonial Mesoamerican markets, understanding these “actual details” requires a materialist approach that balances archives and archaeological analyses of material culture. Therefore, this chapter develops an archaeological model for comparing different forms of practice based on their relation to commercial and political institutions. As such, this project rejects the classic research question that asks how “capitalism” changed indigenous society, but rather seeks to understand how indigenous economic practices created a political economy that moves beyond the capitalist/non-capitalist or European/indigenous binaries. In other words, this project rejects a priori definitions of global capitalism to be applied to Huancavelica, but instead examines the “friction” that occurs when complexes of local economic practices come together to create regional and global economic systems (Tsing 2005).

I will first briefly outline the different ways scholars have applied the term “capitalism” in the historical record, with a focus on wage labor and markets. The discussion then shifts to examine what has been traditionally viewed as “global capitalism” by reviewing late 20th century scholarship that highlighted the spatial diversity of capitalist institutions, connecting capitalism with colonial power relations (Wallerstein 1974; Wolf 1982). Finally, I reassess the relationship between concepts such as “capitalism” and “the economy” through the lens of recent heterodox perspectives that call for scholars to highlight the diversity of different economic practices within a society. I conclude this chapter by proposing a theoretical “political economy of practices” model for understanding and comparing the different types of economic activity pursued by indigenous peoples in Colonial

Huancavelica.

2.2 What is Capitalism?

What is capitalism? When, where, and how did it arise? What were the consequences of the

“capitalist transition” in global history? In the 1970’s, Anthony Giddens noted that the foundational

9 Thank you to Guido Pezzarrosi for highlighting this quote from De Landa (Pezzarosi 2014).

23 trinity of modern social theory, Marx, Durkheim, and Weber, all offered different ways of asking the same questions regarding the origins and impact of capitalism (Gidden 1971). The etymological history of “capitalism” further confuses these debates over origins, as “capitalism” has a surprisingly recent history. Early political economists, including Adam Smith and Karl Marx, wrote vast tracts about the ongoing transformations they were observing, though never once used the word

“capitalism” (Marx 2011 [1867]; Smith 2003 [1776]). Instead, 18th and 19th century writers limited their usage to individuals, referring to “capitalists,” or “moneyed men” (Young 1792 in Williams

1976, 51)10. Capital could refer to money, or a type of activity, or a person, yet was not employed to classify an entire economy. Capitalism therefore, belongs to the 20th century, first introduced by

Werner Sombert (1902) in his book, Der moderne Kapitalismus, or “Modern Capitalism”.11 For the first time, Sombert employed the term capitalism to refer to an entire system. Two years later,

Sombart’s colleague Max Weber published his magnum opus, The Protestant Work Ethic and the

Spirit of Capitalism, and the term rapidly entered academic and popular discourse (Weber 2002

[1905]).

For contemporary scholarship, the standard definition of capitalism highlights two key concepts, wage-labor and commodity markets. For example, Robotham (2014) defines capitalism as

“an economic system based on private ownership of the means of production and in which goods and services are freely exchanged by the means of the market mechanism”. Marxist scholars will often add capital accumulation to the definition, as a way of emphasizing the ideological components and material consequences of the profit motives for understanding how capitalism expands (Elder-Voss

2016; Harvey 2006). Labeling societies as “capitalist” using this standard definition, however, creates more questions than answers upon a closer look. For example, to what degree must a society be characterized by production or exchange to retain the label of capitalism? For some, such as

10 The word capital comes from the Latin caput, or head, and became associated with transferable wealth among Italian trading firms in the 13th century (Braudel 1982). 11 The term “capitalism” was used several times during the 19th century, notably by the English novelist William Makepeace Thackery (Thackeray 1854). However, Sombert is the first to apply the term in an analytical sense to describe contemporary society and the economy.

Immanuel Wallerstein, this question is irrelevant because the entire globe has been in engulfed in

“capitalist world-system” since the 16th century (Wallerstein 1974, 2004). In the case of

Huancavelica for example, it does not matter that non-capitalist systems of forced or mitayo labor mined mercury, but rather that the mercury entered capitalist exchange networks through Potosí,

Europe, and eventually spanned the entire globe. However, the broad brush of the capitalist world system argument obscures a wide range of economic activities outside of capitalism: economic practices that do not fall under the umbrella of wage labor or commodity markets.

Definitions also signal origins, and as such, the initial section of this review will examine how scholars have applied “capitalism” to characterize past economies. This literature can be divided into two broad categories based on which institution is emphasized: wage labor or commodity markets. These two categories are not mutually exclusive, nor do they act as a semantic black-box in which all capitalist historiography can be dichotomized. In the case of this study, this is not an idle point about whether to label Huancavelica as capitalist or not, but rather is critical for understanding how different political and commercial relations among indigenous laborers were transformed based on their role within the broader political economy of colonial mining. As such, reviewing the literature to examine how capitalism has been defined and deployed as a concept can provide insight into the material expectations and consequences of changing economic practices among indigenous labor in Colonial Huancavelica.

2.2.1 Capitalism as Production

The “capitalism as production” perspective views the origins and definitions of capitalism through the lens of class relations, a central plank in Marx’s critique (2011 [1867]) of the classical political economy of Smith (2003 [1776]) and Ricardo (2004 [1817]). Unlike focusing on commodity markets, defining capitalism through production allows the researcher to highlight the temporal uniqueness of capitalism. While early polities such as the Roman or Aztec empires certainly had well developed long distance trade and commodity markets, they lacked fully

25 proletarianized12 labor. However, the expansion of the market into the realm of labor relations represents a critical break in human history, which Marx and subsequent scholars defined by the transformation of labor relationships that occurred in Western Europe, specifically England, during the 18th and 19th centuries (Marx 1978 [1859]; Wood 1999).

Given the theoretical origins, it is not surprising that the intellectual energy on the capitalism- as-production approach has come from Marxist scholarship. Within this literature, the debate has focused on labor relations in Western Europe, the assumed unitary birthplace of capitalism13. In the

1970’s for example, Robert Brenner argued against then dominant explanations for capitalism that relied on Smithian/Malthusian demographic explanations, or exchange interpretations that saw increased external trade based out of cities as the prime movers for capitalist development (Brenner

1976). Instead, Brenner argued that feudal conflicts over property rights created the conditions for an agrarian transformation in peasant/lord class relationships that prompted the development of capitalism. In other words, capitalism began in the country, rather than the city, and was a product of specific and locally contingent circumstances, rather than external features like trade (ibid).

2.2.2 Capitalism as Exchange

For classic political economists, such as Adam Smith, the definition of capitalism and therefore its origins are rooted in natural or biological characteristics of humanity; the desire to

“truck, barter, and exchange.” (Smith 2003 [1776]). This approach can also be referred to as the

“commercialization model,” and has Marxist variants as well (Wood 2002, 9). In this formulation,

12 By fully proletarianized labor, I refer the situation where households have been disposed of their ability to secure subsistence and therefore must sell their labor to survive (Brass 1999). 13 The Brenner issue was an outgrowth of the infamous Sweezy/Dobb debate, which first articulated the question of labor or commerce in the development of capitalism. In a series of articles in the 1950’s, Maurice Dobb argued that capitalism was a product of the inherent contradictions between lord and peasant within Western European Feudalism. On the opposing side, Paul Sweezy contended that external commercial trade and the subsequent consumer revolution created the internal market that drove the growth of capitalism. In other words, did capitalism develop autochthonously in Europe due to uniquely local circumstances, or was it the product of external forces motivated by colonialism and commercial trade (Dobb 1946; Sweezy and Dobb 1950).

26 capitalist practices have always been inherent to the human condition but were “released from its chains” during the feudal/capitalist tradition (Wood 2002, 4). As such, commercialization models contend that capitalist practices are not different, but just more technologically or wide reaching than previous economic arrangements. If the desire to exchange is rooted in human biology, then capitalism is “naturalized” and is merely an expansion in scale and depth assisted by technological progress that does not require a structural explanation.

By connecting capitalism to “natural” human predilections to truck and barter, the commercialization model presents an explicit view of human nature often favored by neoclassical economists of the 20th and early 21st centuries who argue that humans are rational, selfish individuals that seek to maximize their profits (Brennan 1991; Hayek 1948, 1991). This view of human nature, also referred to as homo economicus, is critical to classic and neoclassical economic models (Wolff and Resnick 2012). Within economic anthropology, disagreement over the extension of homo economicus to non-capitalist societies was one of the driving forces in the formalist/substantivist debates of the 1960’s (Jongman 2013). Early economic anthropology in the first half of the 20th century, known then as “primitive economics,” critiqued Smithian ideas of innate economization in humans (Malinowski 1921; Thurnwald 1932). However, the rise of Austrian economics renewed interest in homo economicus across the academy, ranging from neoclassical economics to formalist anthropology (Firth and Yamey 1963; Knight 1999 [1941]). Homo economicus rests on two main assumptions. First, humans are constantly calculating the cost-benefit of their actions in economic terms. Second, the proper scales of analysis are not structures or institutions, but rather individuals.

This atomistic view of human society argues for a methodological individualism, in that societies are aggregate collections of individuals constantly engaged in rational calculation (Hann and Hart 2009).

In other words, if capitalism represents a quantitative increase in exchange relations that have always existed, then one does not need to explain capitalism, but rather explain how the societal limitations that held capital development back were lifted (Wood 2002).

The classic example of this ideology that has long set the terms of the debate is the Pirennean thesis, developed by the Belgian historian Henri Pirenne (2014 [1937]). He argued that the European world through the Roman Empire and up until the 8th century was increasingly commercialized, but the growth of Islam shifted and blocked West-East trade routes, leaving Western Europe a provincial backwater forced to develop their own exchange networks (ibid). These networks were concentrated in towns, where burghers, or bourgeoisie, expanded their mercantile connections independent of political authorities, prompting the eventual development of mercantile capitalism. Pirenne’s work set the terms of the debate for subsequent decades, his focus on demography and economy inspired a key methodological innovation that would inspire a group of French historians that would become known as the Annales school.

2.2.3 Fernand Braudel and the Annales School

Drawing from Pirenne’s focus on material facts rather than political events, the Annales school transformed the writing of historical narratives. Beginning with Marc Bloch and Lucien

Febvre, the Annales schools argued that historians employ the perspective of the longue durée, or long-term, rather than focus on single events. One of the most productive members of this schools was Fernand Braudel, whose interest in capitalism spanned three incredibly detailed volumes that required almost twenty-five years to finish, Civilization and Capitalism in Everyday Life:15th-18th

Century (1982). However, for a scholar that devoted thousands of pages to the minutiae of material changes that accompanied capitalism, Braudel was often conflicted on the term itself. For example, he writes:

First of all, certain mechanisms occurring between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries are crying out for a name all their own. When we look at them closely, we see that fitting them into a slot in the ordinary market economy would be almost absurd. One word does come spontaneously to mind: capitalism. Irritated, one shoos it out the door, and almost immediately it climbs in through the window. There is no adequate substitute for this word, and that fact alone is symptomatic (Braudel 1977, 45-46).

In order to escape this conceptual trap, Braudel developed a tripartite layered model to characterize economic life. At the base was material life, which includes the “everyday banal necessities” of basic human subsistence (Braudel 1977, 8). Wheat, pigs, homespun clothes and all of the other goods that could be procured locally without engagement in larger regional market systems.

The next layer was the market economy, which was defined as “local or relatively local trade as wheat and wood being sent to a nearby city” (Braudel 1977, 50). Finally, there was capitalism, which

Braudel viewed as “essentially conjunctural, that is, it flourishes according to the dictates of changes in the economic situation” (Braudel 1977, 61). Braudel’s conception of these different systems related to one another was layered, in that the material life characterized the everyday actions of people, while capitalism existed ethereally above material life, occasionally yet increasingly penetrating people’s everyday existence during proper to the 19th century. As for the market

Figure 4. Braudel's Conception of Economic Life economy, Braudel (1977, 41) wrote that it existed “between the ocean of daily life that lay stretched out beneath it and the capitalistic mechanism that more than once manipulated it from above.”

A Braudelian analysis would begin with an analysis of the material aspects of everyday life.

This layer is akin to what anthropologists might call the “household” (Orlove and Rutz 1989; Polanyi et al. 1957), the “domestic mode of production” (Sahlins 1972) or archaeologists would call the

“domestic economy.” In the case of the Colonial Andes, this hyper-local Andean agricultural or pastoral economy had experienced the Inka imperial expansion only a century prior. Hastorf (2002,

321) described the domestic economy of the Upper Mantaro Valley prior to Inka expansion in terms of subsistence or “daily maintenance tasks: cooking, mainly boiling food; chipping stone; making wooden tools; collecting wood and dung for fires; spinning; storing food in unused structures” (2002,

321). Inka imperial strategies did impact Andean domestic economies, yet often in very select spheres related to Inka political strategies such as chicha production (D’Altroy and Hastorf 2002).

The Spanish colonial project introduced market exchange, which consisted of regional markets that developed around mining and administrative centers during the colonial period. Andean households might produce more corn to make into chicha to sell in nearby urban centers (Mangan

2005). Of course, these decisions were not purely economic, but based on political factors as well.

For example, Lupaqa elites used non-elite colonists in the Upper Osmore valley during the early colonial period to increase their wheat and maize yields, both as a method of avoiding the Potosí mita and to gain access to increased currency circulation (Van Buren 1996). For Braudel, the top layer of capitalism rarely penetrated the lower layers during this period. While Braudel specifically focused on Europe, I suspect he would be even more dubious of capitalism reaching the market economy or everyday life in the Andean case study. Nevertheless, several examples of Andean capitalism appear to fit Braudel’s vague definition of capitalism, including viticulture in Moquegua

(Rice 2011), 18th century silver mining in Potosí (Bakewell 1984); and as we shall see, mercury mining in Huancavelica.

In sum, Braudel’s conception of the economy is far more nuanced and polyvalent than other commercialization scholars. This is particularly true regarding two specific points that deserve further elaboration. First, his concept of capitalism emphasizes that it is not a totalizing force at first.

Instead, Braudel employs a topographic metaphor of society to show how capitalism begins to penetrate the market economy initially, and then eventually reaches the level of material life. This conception of capitalism albeit still monolithic, allows for far greater heterogeneity than a simple

“capitalist transition.” Second, Braudel does not see capitalism as a form of free markets, as aforementioned Smithian or Neoclassical accounts might suggest. Instead, he introduces the terminology “antimarkets” or “countermarkets” to highlight the role of force and dispossession in the origins of capitalism. This suggests that capitalist markets differ from ordinary markets in that capitalism tried to “free itself from the rules imposed upon the traditional market” (Braudel 1977,

52). In other words, capitalist markets depends on political institutions to provide the necessary force to compel economic activity by pure commercial behavior.

2.3 Capitalism and Colonialism

This discussion has thus far presented a Eurocentric perspective on the historiography of capitalism. This is not an accident, but rather reflective of much of the literature regarding the history of capitalism, which centered Europe in the capitalist expansion across the globe. Of course, the

Eurocentric view of capitalism is correct in a superficial sense, in that European explorers, conquistadores, viceroys, and merchants re-oriented regional economies across the global toward

Europe through state sponsored mercantile colonialism, ensuring that European states reaped much of the benefits (Wolf 1982). Nevertheless, there are generally two forms of spatial critique that have emerged to correct the Eurocentric view of capitalism: global approaches and rejections of

Eurocentrism. Global approaches (e.g. Wolf/Wallerstein) emphasize the role of colonial resource extraction for the development of a capitalist world system, but maintain a “Europe and the rest” perspective in that they view capitalist modernity as developing in Europe and then expanding outward. More recently, a second critique has developed out of postcolonial scholarship, which draws on global approaches, yet rejects the Eurocentrism of their causal explanations.

Debates over the geographic origins and spatial extent of capitalism trace back to Marx and his heirs, who saw the origins of European capitalism in what he called “primitive accumulation.” or the plunder of American gold and silver that fueled the increasing role of specie and what became known as the “price revolution” in Europe.14 Smith referred to this original accumulation as the” accumulation of stock”, in which pre and proto capitalists relied upon previously secured savings to start the development of capital accumulation (Smith 1976 [1976]). In contrast, Marx described the predecessor to capital accumulation as “primitive accumulation”, where extra economic forces, such as colonialism and the extraction of metallic wealth from Latin America, catalyzed the capitalist transition (Marx and Engels 1973, 741). Marx noted two main characteristics of primitive accumulation; first and less controversial, it is a required element for capitalist development. The capitalist mode of production could not have arisen without primitive accumulation. Second, this form of accumulation was a singular phenomenon, it was the “original sin” that became “hidden under a veneer of legibility enforced through the state and its regulation of the key commodities of labor power and money” (Elyachar 2005, 28). This second contention on the singular nature of primitive accumulation is less accepted, as early 20th century Marxists such as Rosa Luxembourg have argued that this process is of such absolute importance to the capitalist order that it must be constantly maintained in order for capitalism to reproduce itself (Luxembourg 1951 [1913]).

Luxembourg redefined this ongoing process as accumulation by dispossession, in that states encourage the opening of new territories to capitalist development via coercion or state violence

(ibid). In practice, this intertwined relationship of state and capitalist logic is not difficult to observe.

For example, the state directed invasion of Iraq opened a new territory for capital engagement, resulting in the adoption of neoliberal ideals of privatization by the new Iraqi government exemplifying the role of state power in accumulation by dispossession (Harvey 2003; 2006).

Likewise, the Spanish implementation of a resettlement program known dispossessed many Andean

14 Hamilton famously argued that the price revolution in Europe preceded and drove the advent of capitalism, as the massive influx of Central and South American silver during the 16th and 17th centuries drove inflation and stimulated exchange in Europe.

32 groups from their homes and placed them into planned and gridded settlements known as reducciones (Mumford 2012). Ostensibly for evangelization and “civilizing” purposes, this dispossession combined with population loss led to the growth of haciendas throughout the colonial period, as hacendados increasingly accumulated capital through the export of sheep and alpaca wool to Europe (Jacobsen 1993).

Regardless of whether capitalism is viewed through the lens of exchange or production, most historical accounts highlight the role of violent coercive force in the spread of commercial institutions around the globe. Approaches that globalize the spread of capitalism often contain fragments of both the exchange and production perspectives, often by spatially distinguishing different zones within a “capitalist world system” (Wallerstein 1976), or alternatively arguing for the articulation of multiple modes of production (Wolf 1982). These perspectives emerged parallel across history, sociology, and anthropology during the 1960s and 1970s, a product of contemporary anti-colonial struggles around the world that highlighted the legacy and ongoing relevance of colonial exploitation, as well as an increasing engagement with Marxian and other radical ideas during the social movements of the 1960’s.

2.3.1 Wallerstein and Wolf

Like Fernand Braudel’s views on the spread of capitalism, Immanuel Wallerstein’s world systems theory is a complex and highly detailed description of the global economic system that has developed independent of a single state or empire since the 15th century (1974). Building from the previous dependency theory of Andre Gunther Frank (1967), Wallerstein divided the world into three parts based on their division of labor and integration into the global market; cores, semi-peripheries, and peripheries. Cores exploited peripheries for raw materials that were produced by coerced labor, which were then sent to the core to be turned into finished products by wage labor (Wallerstein 1974,

2004). Textiles represent the classic example in this phenomenon, where cotton picked by enslaved peoples in the antebellum south or coerced labor in India was sent to England, where the raw

33 material was then processed and manufactured into finished textiles by British wage labor (Beckert

2015). As is common with any broad interdisciplinary explanatory theory, world systems theory has undergone widespread critique as being overly static and too generalized to explain local conditions.

More recently, scholars have distinguished between the initial formulation of world systems theory and world systems analysis, in that world systems analysis offers a more comparative and flexible approach to consideration of a wide variety of systems in different places and times (Chase-Dunn and Grimes 1995; Hall et al. 2011)

To take an archaeological example, Prudence Rice’s study of Spanish viticulture in Southern

Peru argued that world systems analysis must be both mobile and nested to capture the complexities of colonial economy (Rice 2011). Mobile, in that certain regions can shift depending on the circumstances, as Hapsburg Spain shifted from a core to a periphery during the 17th and 18th centuries as Northern Europe gained prominence. Nested, in that multiple world systems can overlap across different geographic scales. For example, Lima was peripheral to the colonial metropole, yet was the core of the Viceroyalty of Peru. This allowed Rice to provide a much more nuanced perspective on colonial economic relations beyond a simple core/periphery dichotomy (ibid). In the case of Spanish viticulture, Rice demonstrated how a peripheral region, such as the Viceroyalty of

Peru, contained its own core-periphery systems that shifted as the demands for wine emerged as a product of the mining economy.

Unlike history or sociology, anthropology was a latecomer to these debates over capitalism, a legacy of the anthropology’s preoccupation with synchronic analysis of “traditional” peoples across the globe. This began to change in the 1950’s with the work of Sidney Mintz and Eric Wolf who argued that “anthropology needed to discover history”, and show how all peoples have become increasingly interconnected over the past six centuries (Wolf 1982, xxv). Mintz examined the co- development of sugar production and consumption on both sides of the Atlantic, describing how enslaved peoples in the Caribbean were linked with free wage labor in England (Mintz 1986). For

Mintz, the sugar plantation of enslaved labor was not just an outgrowth of economic developments in

Europe, the existence of unfree labor in the Caribbean produced free wage labor in England. Rather than viewing capitalism as a uniquely European development, Mintz showed how the phenomenon of European free and African unfree labor were linked through the production and consumption of sugar. The proletariat class of free labor in England subsisted on sugar produced by unfree labor. In other words, the core did not merely exploit the periphery, instead the core became the core only in relation to the periphery (ibid).

Eric Wolf’s volume, Europe and the People Without History, offers an anthropological counterpart to the massive tomes put forth by Braudel and Wallerstein (1982). While Wolf does specify a capitalist mode of production that arrived from Europe, he highlights how capitalist modes interacted with kinship and tributary modes of production. Significantly, he does not argue that the capitalist mode outright replaces other economic arrangements, but instead he notes that argues that the capitalist mode of production articulated with preexisting economic forms, potentially creating a diversity of local, historically contingent political economies across the colonial world.

Conceptualizing the global economy through articulating modes of production was not a new idea, and Wolf drew on a variety of Marxist thought ranging from the humanistic Marx favored by British scholars (Hobsbawm 1964; Thompson 1978) to French structuralism (Althusser 1969). However,

Wolf’s innovation was to strip the modes of production literature from its teleological and mechanical handicaps and instead use it as a “way of thinking about relationships” (Wolf 1982, 401).

It is worth noting that despite Wolf’s concern with deep trends through time, he only includes one archaeological example in over four hundred pages of detailed description.15

Wolf and Wallerstein represent the two most popular approaches to global capitalism employed by archaeologists. They both emphasize the global nature of capitalism as well as the catalyzing role of colonial exploitation in driving its expansion across the world. However, they disagree on at least two fundamental points: First, they repeat the exchange/production disagreement,

15 Wolf’s lack of archaeology has been noted by several historical archaeologists including Schuyler (1988) and Orser (1996).

35 with Wolf explicitly arguing that “There is no such thing as mercantile or merchant capitalism…Capitalism, to be capitalism, must be capitalism in production” (Wolf 1982, 79).

Wallerstein rejects this more limited definition, contending that as long as peripheral regions are affected by the world system, they can be considered capitalist regardless of their labor regime.

Second, they disagree on the degree and method by which capitalism transforms peripheral regions.

Wallerstein maintains the transformative impact of “a singular world system” beginning in the 16th century. In contrast, Wolf emphasizes the multiple ways in which the capitalist mode of production articulated with other economic systems as European colonialism spread across the world. This point

Wolf makes is crucial for understanding “peripheral” areas within the developing global system of the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries, as it leaves room for non-monolithic economic hybrids.

2.3.2 The Post-Colonial Critique

Global models of capitalism often contain an implicit or even explicit notion of causality, in which capitalism -and therefore modernity- has been exported across the globe by European colonialism since the 16th century. Beginning in the late 1970s and 1980s, scholars under the umbrella of Subaltern or Post-Colonial Studies began to critique the underlying structure of western political and economic thought that implicitly assumed development first occurred in Europe and was then transplanted across the globe (Chakrabarty 1992, 2000; Gaonkar 1999). Even scholarship that highlighted the exploitative history of European institutions in the colonial encounter (c.f.

Wallerstein) did not account for the role of colonized peoples and institutions in the development of a global system. For post-colonial scholars, economic history and anthropology needed to

“provincialize Europe. ” That is to say that it is impossible to see Europe within a bounded developmentalist framework. Instead, Europe, or rather European capitalism in this case, developed through its relations with colonial subjects (Chakrabarty 2000).

Postcolonial scholarship asks us to consider two forms of history, History 1 and History 2

(Chakrabarty 2000). History 1s are the universal stories of development that seek to explain a global

36 history of modernity, the histories of Smith, Marx, Braudel, Wallerstein, and Wolf. History 2s are localized narratives premised on historical contingency that contradict the “totalizing thrusts of

History 1” (Chakrabarty 2000, 254). As Braudel hinted with his three-tiered model of the economy, global capitalism does not always penetrate to transform all of everyday life. Likewise, the way that capitalism develops in contingent colonial contexts will always be a product of indigenous practices, as the unequal power relations inherent to the colonial encounter entailed that indigenous groups often do the laboring, trading, and producing that created what we now call global capitalism.

2.4 Post-Capitalist Critiques for a Pre-Capitalist Past

Regardless of whether a scholar views capitalism as exchange or production, these debates all share a similar flaw in their emphasis on the totality of the capitalism in economies of the recent past.

By layering his conception of the economy, Braudel comes closest to recognizing that capitalist development is incomplete as the overarching layer of capitalism or antimarkets only occasionally enter the world of everyday life. Yet for Braudel, capitalism reigns supreme by the 19th century and has thoroughly transformed all economic relations (Braudel 1977). In one respect, this is undeniably true, capitalism has become the dominant system of economic relations for much of the globe.

However, like any process of top-down hegemony such as state power (Scott 1998) or colonial evangelization (Wernke 2010), capitalism did not arrive at the lower level of material life unmodified, it became transformed and translated by local institutions, creating a mix of capitalist and non-capitalist practices.

Likewise, the feminist geographers J.K. Gibson-Graham have recently challenged the totalizing use of capitalist for our contemporary economy, which can offer some guidance in thinking through economies of the recent past (Gibson-Graham 1997; 2006). They note that discourses regarding capitalism and markets have so infected our everyday language that it is impossible to conceive of non-capitalist forms of economic engagement. As a corrective measure, they argue that scholars should view the economy as “fragmented” in order to unpack the full range

37 of economic activities within a particular system, some of which may or may not correspond to capitalism (Gibson-Graham 2006, 2). For Gibson-Graham, avoiding “capitalocentrism” requires creating a “language of the diverse economy” in which we redefine everyday activities that are either deemed noneconomic such as household labor, or non-capitalist activities such as gift exchange that are economized into capitalist models. However, this retreat into linguistics offers uncertain options, as capitalism is fundamentally a material rather than linguistic process. Instead, a more fruitful approach would be to further interrogate what the material aspects of economic activities outside our monolithic conception of capitalism might look like.

While Gibson-Graham offer a critique of the term capitalism and a solution to how we avoid the pitfalls of capitolocentrism, their linguistic-based answer does not solve the ambiguity of how to link material culture with larger explanations in social and economic life. In a study of digital capitalism, Dave Elder-Voss expands on Gibson-Graham to introduce the notion of economic diversity as a “political economy of practices” (Elder-Voss 2015, 96). For Elder-Voss, social science analyses of the economy often face a problem of scale. If we are to use a term like capitalism, at which scale of human organization or activity should we apply the term? The concept of a capitalist world-system or even a capitalist mode of production abstracts the language of the market, forcing

Gibson-Graham’s fragmented economy into a singular monolithic label. Even scaling down to entities such as a household or firm are misleading, as capitalist firms contain non-capitalist relations, and households may engage in the capitalist economy without being internally characterized by capitalist relations (Elder-Voss 2015, 98). Elder-Voss concludes that practice is ideal scale for locating and defining capitalism, as practices indicate an activity, rather than a form of human political-economic organization like system or mode of production. Moreover, he defines economic practices as “appropriative”, in that they “significantly, systematically, and more or less directly influence the allocation of the benefits of production” (Elder-Voss 2015, 102). In any given society, these different appropriative practices come together to form distinct hybrid complexes that defy easy classification.

The usage of Elder-Voss for an archaeological model may appear strange, given that his case studies entail digital examples such as Apple and Wikipedia. Moreover, Elder-Voss’ conception of power within a political economy remains undertheorized, notably on his insistence that economic practices are appropriative yet not exploitative (Elder-Voss 2015, 216-217). However, his general argument for moving away from characterizing entire economies and instead focusing on specific economic practices can be useful for archaeologists at several levels. First, Elder-Voss places his analytical focus at the level of practice, rather than larger structural abstractions. Archaeologists do not excavate capitalism, but instead we recover the remains of ceramics, metals, glass and other commodities which record individual acts of production and consumption. While Elder-Voss begins at the level of economic practice, he still lays out a method of combining different types of practice that may or may not be capitalist through his notion of “complexes of practice” that places the research focus on how different practices relate to one another, rather than attempting to define individual activities as capitalist or not. Finally, Elder-Voss believes his approach has the greatest utility in periods of large economic transformations, such as our current shift from an industrial to a digital economy. Periods of unstable and rapid economic changes do create highly variable arrangements of different economic types. Therefore, it is possible to apply similar tools for looking at the beginnings of the capitalist world system, as the colonial encounter created a wide variety of diverse and hybrid economic systems that defy easy categorization.

2.5 A Political Economy of Practices

Conceptualizing the economy as a complex of practices, rather than an overarching system or mode of production, offers a more accessible theoretical framework for a materialist perspective.

Within archaeology, theories of practice as a possible solution to the structure/agency problem have been increasing in popularity since the 1980’s, with Giddens (1984), Bourdieu (1977; 1990) and de

Certeau (1984) contributing the foundational texts. In historical archaeology, Silliman (2001, 2006) argues that we should conceive of labor as practice, as labor is “a highly routinized set of practices,

39 and how labor tasks and scheduling are experienced bodily and socially” (Silliman 2001, 381).

Economic practice is not limited to labor, but rather can be expanded to any activity that provisions the household. An indigenous miner extracting mercury to be processed is engaging in a form of practice, as is his partner selling chicha outside the entrance to the mine, or another family member purchasing ceramics at the market to provision the household. These are all forms of practice, and moreover, fit well with earlier suggestions by Elder-Voss that scholars scale their analysis to economic practices rather than totalizing phenomenon like “capitalism”. Moreover, these are material practices, which opens up their study to archaeological investigation.

However, if we are to focus on economic practices as a method of developing comparative models within historical archaeology, then we need a vocabulary to describe and model how these practices may have changed overtime. As the historiographical discussion above as shown, economic institutions and practices are never isolated, but rather exist in concert with commercial and political institutions within a society. In other words, economic practices are never conducted in isolation, but instead are embedded in socio-cultural and/or political institutions. Examining how economic practices are embedded, and how the degree of embeddedness changes over time, is critical to understanding a materialist perspective on the economy, both past and present.

2.5.1 Embeddedness and “The Challenge of Karl Polanyi”

Karl Polanyi (1944) first popularized the concept of embeddedness to explain the 19th century shift in England from a market economy to a market society. He subsequently broadened his approach to a wider range of societies, arguing that economies are “embedded and enmeshed in institutions, economic and non-economic. The inclusion of the noneconomic is vital. For religion or government may be as important for the structure and functioning of the economy as monetary institutions or the availability of tools and machines themselves that lighten the toil of labor”

(Polanyi 1957, 34). Embeddedness, therefore, offers a way to examine economic transformations in

40 the past that go beyond simple presence or absence conclusions, a problem that has long plagued the archaeology of markets in the past (Feinman 2010; Smith 2004).

However, embeddedness is an infamously vague and frustrating concept, prompting one recent proponent of the term to comment that that “it [Embeddedness] has become almost meaningless, stretched to mean anything, so that it therefore means nothing” (Mark Granovetter in

Krippner 2004).16 The problem begins with Polanyi, who never explicitly defined the term beyond using the concept in sentences such as the aforementioned quotation (Barber 1995). Other scholars have critiqued Grannovetter’s deployment of the term, arguing that since the 1980’s economic sociologists have focused on how economic relations are embedded in social networks, a departure from Polanyi’s focus on institutions (Beckert 2009; Dale 2010).

Critics of the embeddedness analytic also point to the primitive/modern binary created by labeling economies as embedded or not. For example, historians and archaeologists argue that

Polanyi underestimated the role of market in preindustrial societies (Oka and Kusimba 2008; Smith

2004), while anthropologists and sociologists contend that he overestimates the extent of market logic in contemporary society (Ho 2009). As these critics correctly note, the relegation of embeddedness to the preindustrial past relies on romantic notions of embedded “primitive” societies and therefore different than “modern” societies. Instead, scholars have increasingly argued that “all economies are embedded,” in order to highlight how economic actions are always entangled with social, political, or cultural factors (Lie 1997).

Nevertheless, to argue that “all economies are embedded” does not contribute much to the study of past and contemporary political economies. While it may be accurate to speak of the financial economy (Ho 2009) and 20th century Andean produce markets (Seligmann 2004) as

“embedded”, it is clear the form of their embeddedness differs.17 Instead, it is important to ask how

16 Mark Granovetter is an economic sociologist whose 1985 article on embeddedness is one of the most cited sociology articles of all time (Smelser and Swedberg 2010). 17 In a recent review of the embeddedness literature, Gemici refers to studies of different forms of embeddedness as the “gradational approach,” which he defines as “depending on how the economy is integrated. If integrated as a result of operations with non-market ends, it is embedded. If

41 economies are embedded, and how different economic practices are shaped by larger institutions within a particular society.

2.5.2 A Political Economy of Practices: Markets and Power in Colonial Huancavelica

In a 2004 article on the economic system of prehistoric complex societies, Michael Smith argues that thinking through the archaeology of past economies requires an emphasis on the political in addition to the commercial, as those two variables overlap and coexist to create the broader economic system in any given society. Smith’s approach to commercialization is novel because it attempts to bring together explicit considerations of power from the classic studies of archaeological political economy (D’Altroy and Hastorf 2001; Earle 1982) with more recent market analyses (Hirth

1996). Building from Smith’s insight, I developed a political economy of practices approach for understanding how economic activities are embedded in two different types of societal institutions:

Political and Commercial.

Political Institutions are supra-household entities that coerce or compel economic practices.

While states are obvious examples of a coercive institution, it is important to note that corporations can possess just as much coercive power. In early modern contexts such as the colonial Americas, as well as the present, the line between private power of corporations (e.g. British East India Company,

Cerro de Pasco Corporation, etc.) and the political power of states is often blurred. We can examine this relationship by asking to what degree political institutions can successfully control where and why people conduct economic practices, as well appropriate surplus from economic actions.

Commercial Institutions refer to the degree of commercialization within a society, or the degree to which markets allocate land, labor, and goods (Lie 1997; Plattner 1989; Smith 1984). Are land, labor, or goods alienable or transferrable by market mechanisms, or do they move through social or cultural channels? What is the role of money or some other form of mutually agreed

integrated as a result of operations with strictly market ends, it moves towards being disembedded through the commodification of labour, land and money” (Gemici 2007:10).

42 medium of exchange in a society? In short, analyzing the role of commercial institutions requires asking how economic practices are conducted by focusing on the socio-cultural context. It is important to note that while trade or exchange often occurs through a commercial institution such as

Figure 5. A political economy of practices approach a centralized market, exchange does not necessarily signify commercialization. For example, trading agricultural products such as potatoes or quinoa to a potter for an equivalent ceramic vessel is an exchange, yet not mediated by market forces to the degree purchasing a ceramic on the market would be.18 Moreover, the inverse of commercialization is mutuality, which Gudeman defines as “shared language, speech codes, body gestures, rituals, and unwritten practices and processes as well as norms, laws, and other social agreements” (Gudeman 2013, 1).

This model will be further explored over the remainder of this dissertation, as a way of thinking through the process of commercialization and capitalist expansion without resorting to

18 Sillar (2000) employed ethnography of a contemporary pottery making community to distinguish eight different forms for ceramic exchange in the Andes, ranging from household production to fully commercialized markets, based on who is doing the trading, where it occurs, and the timing of the trade.

43 monolithic proclamations. In the case of Santa Barbára, the Andean highlands, and the broader global economy, the question over the past several centuries is not about whether or not colonial markets commercialized colonial societies. Rather, the question is how did indigenous societies capture and subvert markets for their own purposes, ultimately producing a heterogenous global economy.

3. RESEARCH DESIGN AND METHODOLOGY

“There was the richest market in the world at this hill of Potosí, at the time when these mines were prosperous. (Cieza de León 1550 [2005], 273)

“The study of markets is too important to be left to economists” (Lie 1997, 354).

3.1 Mining and Exchange

Miners cannot eat the minerals they extract from the earth, but rather must supply the needs of their household through exchange. In fact, the underground resources rarely have intrinsic worth, but rather political, cultural, and social factors imbue minerals with value, mediated by exchange relationships that connect mining communities with regional and increasingly global networks

(Tripcevich 2014). Mining communities are unique in that they are a form of social organization that is spatially fixed around the extraction of a single subterranean resource (Knapp 1998). Unlike other settlements whose location may be influenced by proximity to agriculture, rivers, or the sea, mining communities are often located remotely at higher altitudes, a product of the geological process that formed the minerals several millions of years ago. Mining communities therefore provide a curious contrast in that they are simultaneously a geographically isolated form of socio-political organization yet are deeply entangled and dependent on networks that can stretch across the globe. As a result, the archaeology of a mining community is always a study of exchange as well, and therefore draws on the broad methodological literature in archaeology for understanding how goods move from producers to consumers.

The indigenous mercury mining community of Santa Barbára is situated a critical moment in global history that further places the study of colonial mercury mining into the archaeology of exchange. Described in further detail in Chapter 2, the mining of Latin American gold and silver to

Europe19 fueled early globalization and the growth of mercantile commercial networks (Braudel

1992; Stein and Stein 2000 Wallerstein 1974). As the epigraph for this chapter notes, mining centers not only stimulated exchange on the global scale, but created massive local and regional markets that corresponded to the rapid boom in wealth and conspicuous consumption. Moreover, the frequent forced migration of the colonial mitayos ensured a constant circulation of peoples and goods across the Central and Southern Andes to mine silver at Potosí and mercury at Huancavelica.

Unlike iron, copper, or other utilitarian minerals, mercury does not contain an inherent source of value. It was only when mercury was shipped hundreds of kilometers to Potosí by llama and mule caravans did mercury increase in value (Bauer et al. 2014). Finally, mining centers were also market centers by necessity, Potosí (4000 masl) and Huancavelica (3700 masl) are too high for crops such as corn and wheat, requiring that most foods to be imported from lower elevations. The constraints of elevation were even more extreme for the mining community of Santa Barbára (4250 masl). As such, the households of Santa Barbára are not just places of habitation for indigenous miners, but one of the focal points of a commercial network that stretched across the Central Andes, embedding highland Quechua populations within a larger global network of exchange. In other words, the study of an indigenous mining community is an investigation into the exchange networks that developed around their labor, and attempts by colonial administrators, mine-owners, and merchants to maintain control over these circuits of goods and minerals.

This chapter will outline the logic of the present study and provide an overview of the archaeological, historical, and ethnohistoric methodologies it employs. In Chapter 2, I developed a theoretical model for understanding past economies, and then applied the political economy of practices approach to the historical case study of indigenous labor at Huancavelica. This chapter will operationalize this model in the archaeological record, specifically the excavation and analysis of domestic assemblages from the indigenous mining community of Santa Barbára. The first section

19 Much of the silver in the 16th and 17th century eventually made its way to China, as raw silver was one of the few materials that Chinese merchants would accept from Spanish and Portuguese traders (Flynn and Giráldez 1995).

46 will briefly review the main methodological literature that influenced this project: the archaeological study of market exchange. Building from this review, I will then discuss how to operationalize the different theoretical concepts discussed in Chapter 2, as well as describe research questions and expected material correlates. This chapter will conclude with a more detailed description of how the archaeological, historical, and ethnohistoric data was collected, analyzed, and processed.

3.1.1 Archaeology and the Market

The abstract, yet often anthropomorphized notion of “The Market” is pervasive throughout the social sciences. While economic historians investigate the development of modern markets, comparative studies of early markets in societies without written records require an archaeological perspective. Yet despite the extensive anthropological literature regarding the operation and impacts of contemporary markets, the development of archaeological methodologies has proceeded erratically, hindering efforts to detect, quantify, and explain the evolution and development of markets in the past. Thus, anthropological archaeology has conceded the intellectual ground of market origins to economics, often resulting in hypotheticals more rooted in contemporary ideology than empirical analysis. However, the recent turn toward markets by economic archaeologists has produced a rapid proliferation of methodologies for investigating past market exchange (Feinman and Garraty 2010; Garraty and Stark 2010).

Equifinality remains the most significant methodological issue in the archaeological studies of markets, particularly distinguishing between redistributive and market exchange mechanisms. As they both spatially present a centralized artifactual pattern, redistribution and market exchange are difficult to disentangle based on distributional studies alone (Feinman and Nichols 2010). While chiefly redistribution is often associated with prestige goods due to the high transport costs of a staple redistributive system (Earle 1982), several scholars have noted that an overreliance on uncritical classifications of staple and wealth products can lead to problematic interpretations (Smith and Berdan 2003). However, the examination of the range of access to different goods remains the

47 ideal method for assessing redistribution, as an individual households’ ability to achieve “access to certain goods is highly differentiated by class or rank as a result of gifts and patronage from leaders”

(Stark and Garraty 2010, 48).

Feinman and Nicholas (2010) emphasize the role of multiple scales and approaches for detecting and assessing market exchange, while unitary approaches are vulnerable to equifinality, developing parallel conclusions through different methodologies build stronger evidentiary links between assumption and conclusions (Wylie 2002). Feinman and Nichols developed a multi-scalar model in Oaxaca that incorporated the distributional perspective on household assemblages, a configurational perspective on the presence of non-ritual open spaces, a contextual perspective on the lack of storage facilities at the site level, and a spatial perspective on distinctions among regional patterns of ceramics. In addition to demonstrating the presence of a strong market system in the

Classic-period economy, they emphasize that by “examining evidence (in a sense, test implications) at multiple spatial scales, our model has the advantage of being underpinned by a series of independent empirical findings and is more firmly supported” (Feinman and Nicholas 2010, 97).

Additionally, while not explicitly mentioned by Feinman and Nicholas, this example suggests that the value of Hirth’s original framework lays in its ability to separate different approaches by epistemological assumptions, scale, and types of evidence utilized, thus providing future opportunities for researchers to employ multi-scalar perspectives by tacking back and forth across

Hirth’s four-component framework.

3.1.2 Historical Archaeology, Capitalism, and Markets

Historical archaeology in the Americas grapples with similar documentary issues regarding markets, albeit often subsumed under the broader disciplinary goal of studying capitalism. For some scholars it is simple, “historical archaeology has always been about capitalism” (Handsman 1985, 2).

Likewise, Orser considers capitalism as one of the four “haunts” that dominate the field, along with

48 colonialism, eurocentrism, and modernity (1996). With a few exceptions,20 historical archaeologists often examine global manifestations of capitalism outside the European core. This entails a broad and frequently deliberately vague definition of capitalism, which while useful for setting the global context, can make it difficult to see where capitalist activities begin and end. For example, Orser’s foundational work on historical archaeology employs Curtin to define capitalism as “an economic system in which those who provide the capital control the production of goods” (Curtin 1990, 47 in

Orser 1996, 72), yet repeatedly highlights the wide disagreements in broader social science scholarship over how capitalism’s definitions and origins.21

One of the more thought-provoking attempts in archaeology to grapple with the universal approaches to capitalism and the market comes from Sarah K. Croucher and Lindsay Weiss, who recently published an edited volume that merged archaeological studies of capitalism with postcolonial theory (2011). In their introduction, Croucher and Weiss note “there is no definition of capitalism in the singular” (Croucher and Weiss 2011). Capitalism is instead “a formation, always shifting and never complete” (Croucher and Weiss 2011, 9). As such, they argue that research questions should focus more on the local expressions of capitalism as hybrid economic arrangements that come together in a particular place and time, rather than asking how universal metanarratives such as the “transition to capitalism” affected indigenous communities across the globe. This shift from what Chakraborty would call a History 1 to a History 2 can provide a more nuanced understanding of colonial archaeological contexts (Chakraborty 2000). However, while Croucher and

Weiss explicitly point out the problem, it is unclear how they believe colonial capitalisms should be

20 Matthew Johnson’s An Archaeology of Capitalism (1996), as well as Audrey Horning’s work in Ireland (Horning 2011, 2013), stand out as examples of research in the capitalist core. 21 In practice, however, most historical archaeologists rely on some combination of Wolf and Wallerstein to frame their research questions. Crowell (1997), for example, employs Wallerstein to frame his research on Russian fur trading in Alaska during the 18th century. However, his subsequent interpretations used Wolf’s modes of production approach to demonstrate how Russian colonial agents tapped into and transformed pre-existing tributary and kin-based exchange networks. These conclusions rejected the idea that capitalism completely transformed the local economy, but instead emphasize the importance of multiple, overlapping modes of production (Crowell 1997:233).

49 studied. If archaeologists are to focus more on the difference between colonial capitalisms, rather than the similarities, then how should we compare these different contexts?

Methodologically, the archaeology of markets contains similar problems to that of the study of capitalism described in Chapter 2. Archaeologists are often more concerned with debating the presence or absence of markets, rather than investigating how or why different types of markets develop, or asking how markets are entangled with other political, social, or economic institutions within a society. In some ways, the current study of the history of capitalism finds itself in a similar place to the political anthropology and archaeology in the 1970’s. Bands, tribes, chiefdoms and states were perfectly adequate ways to describe different types of societies, yet it was obvious that a certain degree of variation was obscured by a rigid model, as well as an implicit or occasionally explicit neo- evolutionary teleology. Likewise, describing entire societies as capitalist or non-capitalist, or drawing broad chronological distinctions like merchant or industrial capitalism does provide a macro-scale characterization of an economy. In the case of political anthropology, the debates of the

60s and 70s gave way to a far more fruitful period of research in the 80s and beyond. Scholars shifted their focus from asking what defines a state or chiefdom, and instead examined how different societies deployed and managed political, economic, and social power, leading to a wide range of productive cross-cultural models (e.g. independent/attached production, wealth/staple finance, territorial/hegemonic imperial strategies, corporate/network etc.).

3.2 A Political Economy of Practices

Chapter Two introduced the concept of a political economy of practices, which is a theoretical model for understanding hybrid systems of practice without resorting to universal labels of “capitalism.” A core component of this model drew on Polanyi’s conception of embeddedness, which was employed to understand how economic practices become entangled with social and political institutions. This model was then applied to the case study of labor in Colonial and 19th century Huancavelica, highlighting how social and political institutional relationships changed as

50 labor regimes shifted from 16th to 19th century. This section will operationalize this model to archaeological data, which consists of ceramics and other domestic assemblages at Santa Barbára, the central mining camp for indigenous labor at Huancavelica.

The historical literature portrays Huancavelica as an increasingly commercialized center for colonial markets from its foundation in 1573 to the closure of the mine in 1810. Located in the rural mining landscapes outside of Huancavelica, the indigenous laborers of Santa Barbára likely engaged with colonial markets, received redistributive rations from the colonial state, or maintained exchange relationships with their home communities. As a nexus for multiple, shifting spheres of exchange throughout the colonial period, the indigenous households of Santa Barbára present an ideal opportunity to diachronically compare and contrast multiple, overlapping economic practices in the same archaeological context (Bohannan 1955; Stark and Garraty 2010).

As a specialized mining community located at 4250 masl, most if not all the goods consumed by the households of Santa Barbára were procured through exchange, rather than self-production.

Therefore, the central question of this study is an examination of how indigenous mining households procured their ceramics, food, and other materials needed for everyday life. Moreover, it is not enough to identify the types of exchanges mechanisms that connected these households with the broader commercial networks, but to understand how these exchange relationships were embedded in political and social relationships.

3.2.1 Research Question 1

What types of economic practices did indigenous miners pursue?

This research question was predominantly addressed by archaeological survey and mapping, notably an 81km2 pedestrian survey across the landscape. The main mining features we recorded as we conducted our survey can be grouped into two categories: shafts and trenches. The shafts (called socavónes) are small tunnels carved into the rock, often two to three meters wide, and ranging

51 between 5 to 15 meters in depth22. Trenches were large surface pits, often rectangular, but sometimes circular. They were generally less than four meters deep but varied greatly in surface area.

Some of the shafts and trenches were isolated, and when found we documented their sizes, locations, and associated surface materials. However, we also encountered many discrete areas that contained numerous (10+) shafts or trenches within the same geological formation. We mapped these sites, recorded the number of the shafts and trenches, as well as the spatial distribution of the mining operations. I combined this survey data with toponyms collected from a series of oral history interviews with the descendent community of Santa Barbára to understand the history of the different mining zones outside of the Crown controlled mining area. Finally, I examined colonial and republican archives for contextual information about different mining zones to understand the chronology of the mining district. The most valuable information sources were a series of 19th century engineering reports conducted by Peruvian geologists seeking to understand which mines were worthy of rehabilitation by the newly independent Peruvian republic, including those by

Mariano Rivero y Ustariz in the 1840’s (1857), Leon Crosnier (1852), Antonio Castillo (1871), and

Pedro P. Arana (1901).

3.2.2 Research Question 2

What is the relationship between economic practices and political institutions, and how did this change over time?

This question seeks to understand the role of power on economic practices, by focusing how the colonial state and later Republican mining corporation maintained political control over indigenous miners, at both the landscape and household scale. Evidence of political control includes chokepoint that surveillance and manage labor, as well as the spatial extent of mining across the landscape.

22 The upper range of this measurement can sometimes be an estimation, as we did not follow the socavón to its below ground termination due to safety concerns.

At the household level, archaeologists have long examined the impact of political power on the way that goods are produced, exchanged, and consumed. Much of this research has addressed production (Costin 1991) or exchange (Brumfiel and Earle 1987). Within historical archaeology, researchers have increasingly focused on the consumption aspect of the political economy, often through the lens of consumer-choice theories which examines the types of decisions people make when purchasing domestic assemblages (Spencer-Wood 1987). The role of political institutions in the movement of goods is best characterized across a spectrum, ranging from the command and control of the Inca economy to the free trade of unregulated markets.

Another way to frame the question is to ask to what degree are economic practices coerced, motivated, or administrated by political power? In Colonial Huancavelica, the case study discussed in Chapter 2 exemplified the power configurations between different labor regimes. The mita was obviously administered by the state and therefore highly influenced by political institutions.

However, it is not as simple to argue for a continuum with the mita on the “forced” side, and wage labor as “free.” There is a long tradition of debt slavery and other forced systems of wage labor in the

Andes. The most infamous was the enganche or hook system during the 19th century, in which private agents of mining companies would offer large loans to farmers and herders, who then had to travel to mining regions such as Cerro de Pasco or Huancavelica to work off the debt. However, they could often become trapped in the cycles of debt due to the need to purchase food products and other subsistence items from the mining company. While these miners were ostensibly free wage labors, their everyday lives became increasingly coerced and it is difficult to ascertain the degree of freedom in their labor.

Applying this to domestic assemblages offers different challenges, as power plays a very different role in the movement of goods than it does for an economic practice like labor. Labor can quite obviously be coerced, yet it is difficult to know to what degree an exchange or consumption is

53 a product of coercion.23 However, by understanding the exchange mechanisms available, it is possible to ask whether goods moved through state channels. For example, the colonial state often paid mitayos in goods rather than currency, including blankets, foodstuffs, and alcohol. However, this can still be difficult archaeologically, as it brings up the same issues of equifinality between different exchange mechanisms discussed in the review of market methodologies at the beginning of this chapter. Distinguishing between centralized exchange mechanisms such as market exchange and redistribution requires careful attention to context. In the case of Colonial Huancavelica, this analysis will require understanding what types of goods are associated with different exchange mechanisms and asking whether certain goods moved through state channels or not.

3.2.3 Research Question 3

What is the relationship between economic practices and commercial institutions, and how did this change over time?

Commercial institutions are more amorphous and informal than political institutions, yet understanding how economic practices become embedded or disembedded within social relationships is critical in analyses of political economic change. Colonial economic practices were interconnected with a variety of commercial institutions like price-fixing markets and merchant traders, particularly in a dynamic environment like Huancavelica which contained a diverse set of social groups including indigenous mitayos and wage laborers, merchants, and colonial administrative officials.

In terms of goods and products, commercial embeddedness can be thought of as a way of conceptualizing the relationship between buyer and seller. For example, the relationship between a customer and grocer will be different if the store is a corner bodega versus a large chain supermarket.

23 One exception to this is the reparto, which was when Spanish corregidors would compel indigenous kurakas to purchase bulk market goods at inflated prices (Larsen et al. 1995). While this practice was common in the Andes during the 18th century, it is unclear if this occurred at Santa Barbara.

Archaeologically, there are two ways to operationalize how an economy becomes embedded, distance and frequency. Thinking of embeddedness as distance assumes that geographic and social distance are interconnected, and therefore can be used as a proxy for one another. Similar to distance is frequency, which assumes that more frequent economic interactions will produce greater social engagement. While frequency is related to distance, as you will interact with someone more often if you are close to them, it also has some different dimensions. Colonial wine merchants brought their goods from Ica and Pisco, 100 km away on the Peruvian coast, yet engaged in very frequent exchanges. Conversely, the town of Huaylacucho is several kilometers from Santa Barbára, and contained an active community of potters from the 16th to 20th centuries. As recently as the 1930s, people were still traveling to Huaylacucho to barter for ceramics, often using a pot’s worth of potatoes or alpaca meat to trade for the vessel. These exchanges could be categorized as frequent and close and were therefore strongly embedded in social relationships. Finally, the colonial marketplace of Huancavelica was a place of frequent exchanges, yet some of the goods came from as far away as

China or Europe.

These three research questions frame the broader research agenda for this project and will be further discussed in the three main archaeological data chapters (Chapters 5, 6, and 7). Chapter 5 will address the broader regional context, using archaeological survey, oral history, and archival research.

Chapters 6 and 7 will examine the archaeological context of domestic assemblages at Santa Barbára.

The remainder of this chapter will describe the specific methodologies employed in this research.

3.3 Historical Research Methodology

Original archival research for this project presented a challenge, as the importance of

Huancavelica to the Spanish crown created a large amount of archival data that has therefore been widely studied by historians. Previous research at national archives in Lima (Peru) and Seville

(Spain) has examined Huancavelica’s labor system from the perspective of production, outlining attempts by colonial administrators to maintain a stable output of mercury (Cobb 1977; Contreras

1982; Pearce 1999; Whittaker 1951). Environmental historians have complemented these macroeconomic studies by detailing colonial debates over the morality of underground conditions so brutal that Huancavelica became known as la mina de la muerte, or “the mine of death” (Brown

2001; Cooke et al. 2013; Robins 2011). Finally, Huancavelica has recently been the subject of several histories of labor, including Isabel Povea Moreno’s pioneering work on the labor reforms of the late 18th century, which provided critical context for the archaeological literature in Chapters 5 and 7 (Povea Moreno 2012).

As many of the larger archives have been examined by historians, this project pursued a more local approach by examining the archive at the Ministry of Culture in Huancavelica. These collections were originally housed in the Municipalidad de Huancavelica and other administrative offices. In 2007, however, these collections were consolidated and inventoried by the Ministry of

Culture. In 2013, we began digitizing and cataloguing the archive, focusing on the early documents including the first 60 years of notarial records (1570-1630). These notarial records are particularly useful for understanding the social and economic aspects of early colonial Huancavelica on the local level and provide an important counterpart to the broader political and administrative histories produced by historians.

3.3.1 Oral History

Given the traumatic legacy of the colonial mita for contemporary Andean populations (Dell

2010; Stavig 2000), we decided early in the project to collect oral histories to interweave with the archaeological and historical data. Oral history collection began in 2013 during the survey, was conducted intermittently during the 2014-2015 excavation season, and supplemented by two follow- up sessions in November 2016 and July 2017. Participants were always informed of the objectives of the oral history collection, and interviews were conducted in Spanish or in Quechua with the assistance of a translator.

Oral history is akin to ethnography in that oral history is simultaneously a method, as well as a product of that method.24 Wilkie (2002, 403) defines oral history as “the individual memories of people who have first-hand experience of people, places, and events that are collected through the interview process.” The notion of “first-hand experience” offers a potential stumbling block, as many of the conversations recorded in this research do not refer to the first-hand experience of the interviewee, but rather their retelling of stories and legend that they themselves heard when they were younger. We frequently deployed the use of mnemonic devices such as objects and places whenever possible, in order to bring oral history and material culture together. For example, some interviews were conducted in my laboratory with historic ceramics. Others were conducted by walking or driving across the landscape in order to illuminate the significance of various places.

It is also important to comment on what oral history purports to record, specifically the role of memory formation in a communal setting. This project explicitly focused on oral histories from

Communidad Campesina de Santa Barbára, however, it would be incorrect to describe the output of this research as a communal oral history, as there is no unitary collective memory. Communal or collective memories are varied by the subjective experiences of individual community members, negotiated through prisms of class, gender, or religion. In the case of Santa Barbára, a specific apu might have a different meaning to an Evangelical Christian or a Catholic. Likewise, narratives of capital-intensive mining of the 1960s would depend on whether or not the interviewee was employed by the mine, their place in the mining company, and their working conditions. Finally, the role of the interviewer must be considered. An interview with myself, a North American stranger, would go very differently depending if I was alone, accompanied by a Peruvian archaeologist, or accompanied by a project field assistant who was also a member of the community. For the sake of mutual trust, as well as clarity, we attempted to work with a younger bilingual member of the community whenever

24 Some scholars (Abrams 2010; Tolson 2013) contend that oral history’s semantic confusion should be dropped in favor of “oral source” and “personal testimony”.

57 possible, but this was not always the case and is an important variable to consider when interpreting the collected data.

Our initial phase of interviews focused on Santa Barbára in July 2013 after the total station mapping was completed. Two senior members of the community, Sosimo Hilario Quispe and

Maximo Torres walked with myself and another team member through every structure at the site.

Our main objective was to record a life history of every structure at the site, learning about previous owners, construction and occupation phases, and how the structure was abandoned. This provided context to our architectural study. For example, one structure (Group B, Structure 2) presented excellent stone wall construction, suggesting elite status from a pure material perspective. However, subsequent oral histories indicated that a community stone mason inhabited this building in the early

20th century.

The Santa Barbára phase was expanded upon the broader landscape during the survey season.

This entailed a toponymy survey, wherein we drove across the landscape to identify the names of different hills, mine locations, and abandoned settlements. Survey team members, especially those who spoke Quechua, were instructed to elicit life histories of structures from local pastoralists or residents whenever we located and recorded a site. At times, these interviews were critical in determining the occupation history of a structure. During the 1980’s and 1990’s, the Maoist insurgency by Sendero Luminoso and the brutal crackdown by the Peruvian military led to a massive depopulation of the countryside. In many cases, people who survived the violence did not return to the countryside, instead preferring to live in nearby cities such as Huancavelica or Huancayo. Due to the availability of construction materials and lack of secondary literature regarding rural vernacular

Andean architecture, it was difficult to ascertain whether a building was 18th, 19th, or 20th century. In many cases, the answer was likely all of the above, as rural populations cycled between a concentrated mining strategy and dispersed pastoral strategy depending on the political economic context. This mixed-use strategy by rural Quechua peoples will be further explored later in this dissertation.

3.4 Survey Methodology

PIHA-SB conducted a full coverage archaeological survey of the mining region surrounding the town of Huancavelica to examine the prehispanic, colonial, and republican history of the mining landscape. We conducted fieldwork over eight weeks during June and July of 2013, followed by laboratory analysis and post-processing in late July and early August. We defined the initial boundaries of the survey zone as an 81 km2 box around the known subterranean colonial mine, centered on the N-S trending mercury vein known from early 20th century geological expeditions

(Berry and Singewald 1922; Yates et al. 1951). As the main deposit is approximately only 3 kilometers in width, we were confident this would characterize the extent of the surface settlements and features associated with mercury extraction.

3.4.1 Survey Design

Our survey research design built upon a long tradition of archaeological survey in the

Americas, which began with Gordon Willey’s pioneering Viru Valley survey in the 1950’s (1948,

1953, 1974). Using aerial photographs, ground-truthing and surface collection, Willey mapped the prehispanic settlement system in the Virú Valley on the Northern Peruvian coast. Influenced by the

Steward’s cultural ecology, Willey used surface ceramic collections to diachronically map the different settlement systems in the valley, including population estimates and the changing role of ecological dynamics over time. Wiley’s survey was the first of its kind in the Americas and inspired the far more ambitious survey over 600 km2 in the Valley of Mexico in the 1960’s that further advanced survey methodology. The Valley of Mexico project created the basic framework for survey research design in the Americas, in which small teams walk spaced transects across the landscape to delimit, map, and collect surface artifacts from discrete sites within a targeted region.

In the Andes, two members of the Valley of Mexico survey team, Jeffrey Parsons and

Charles Hastings, developed the first regional-scale pedestrian survey in the 1970’s in the Junin

59 department based on Valley of Mexico project methodology (Parsons 1972, 1972, 1990; Parsons and

Hastings 2000). The Junin research design strongly influenced the first archaeological surveys in the

Cusco region (Bauer 1992, 1998, 1999, 2004), the Moquegua Valley (Owen n.d.). Bauer’s survey of the Pauro department south of Cusco led to several other Cusco survey projects, including the Cusco

Basin survey (Bauer and Covey 2002), and a survey north of Cusco (Covey 2003, 2006, 2008).

These three projects recorded approximately 2,000 archaeological sites over a survey area of over

1,200 km2, including one continuous 80 km transect running North-South across the Cusco Basin

(Bauer 2004). Building on the Cusco surveys, Bauer also surveyed the Andahuaylas region in the early 2000s to highlight the different patterns of LIP development between Andahuaylas and Cusco

((Bauer et. al 2010; Bauer and Kellet 2010; Kellet 2010). As Bauer was a co-director on the 2013

Huancavelica survey project, our methodology drew directly from the Andahuaylas methodology25.

However, we also drew methodological inspiration from a long history of Andean survey dating back to the Junin survey in the 1970s (Parsons and Hastings 2000).

However, methodology should always follow the research questions. Since we wanted to know how mercury mining had transformed the landscape over the past several thousand years, we decided to record all evidence of human activity, rather than just elements of habitation. This focus on all human activity complicated the chronological analysis of the landscape, as many locations such as trails, corrals, mining pits, and tunnels lacked any defining temporal traits. While we undoubtedly recorded 20th century, and possibly even several 21st century sites, we would rather over-record than under-record. Additionally, our oral history collection in conjunction with the survey helped further refine the temporality of the landscape. In several cases, we did remove sites from the survey inventory after determining that these sites were constructed after 1900. However, these determinations were not simple. For example, the basic question of “how old is that building?” can be misleading, as interviewees would often respond with the approximate year or decade the

25 In fact, our initial survey forms were modified versions of the Andahuaylas paperwork. However, we soon heavily modified this paperwork as it became clear that a colonial mining survey required different forms of recording than a prehistoric settlement survey.

60 building was abandoned. We soon found that a more productive question was to ask who first constructed the building, and then work forward to the abandonment.

We recorded each site using a standardized form and assigned it a classification based on whether it was prehispanic or colonial, and its role in the colonial mining economy (See Appendix A for forms and classification system). We mapped sites with standing architecture, either with a compass and tape, or with a Garmin GPS. We also collected all diagnostic ceramics on the surface, which were then subjected to further analysis in the laboratory following the survey. We gave each site a unique designation, SB, following by a number that sequentially increased after locating more sites. For example, the first site found was SB-1, the second was SB-2, and so on. During the post- survey period, we judged some sites to be overlapping, and therefore combined several sites.

Whenever this occurred, we used the number of the initial site discovery. In total, our survey

61 completed full coverage of an 81km2 region, and recorded 336 sites. These results will be presented in Chapter 5.

Figure 6. Map of Survey Region

3.5 Architectural Analysis at Santa Barbára

As the largest colonial-period settlement in the region, we decided to conduct a more intensive study of Santa Barbára. While we had hoped to collect surface artifacts, 20th century inhabitation prevented that form of data collection. However, we did systematically map and photo every structure on the site, first with a sketch map and then a total station for accuracy. We also conducted a more in depth architectural analysis of the different buildings in order to determine if different ethnic or social groups within the mita may have constructed different parts of the site.

There are currently 210 structures at Santa Barbára, ranging from nearly eroded foundations of adobe domestic structures to the stone church constructed by the peoples of Acoria and Conayca.

All structures at Santa Barbára are rectangular, with no circular structures observed on the surface.

During the 2013 field season, we mapped architecture of the site to further understand the occupational history and to develop our excavation strategy. We divided the architecture into two stone and three adobe categories. There were also a substantial number of mixed structures, often adobe walls constructed on the top of stone foundations. Based on oral histories, some of these constructions are recent, built during the latter half of the 20th century. However, other adobe structures used pre-1900 stone constructions as their foundations, complicating our knowledge as to how representative the current town plan is of the Republican and Colonial period occupations.

3.5.1 Stone 1 Structures

Stone 1 consists of the most durable and well-constructed stone structures. The walls contained round and slightly squared stones, fitted together with minimal mortar or adobe inclusions.

These walls are the thickest walls at Santa Barbára, greater than one meter in width. Stone 1 structures frequently contained interior niches, on both the long and short axis. Contemporary communeros of Santa Barbára report that these structures are “from the Spanish”, “the original buildings”, or simply “the old ones”. However, these structures have often been continuously occupied since the colonial period, including multiple rebuilding and renovation events. When asked to define what makes a stone structure “old”, communeros from both Santa Barbára and the nearby

63 community of Sacsamarca would consistently highlight the importance of the stone doorways26.

These stone entrances are built with large shaped rectangular stones stacked on each other in a vertical column. The stones themselves are more evenly shaped and worked than any other stones at the site and range from 1.2 to 1.4 meters in width. The internal walls taper a bit, yet average .75cm to

1m in width.

Figure 7. Example of Stone 1 Doorway (Group E- Structure 20)

26 The Communidad Campesino Sacsamarca borders Santa Barbara to the west, and dates to the 18th century. Like Santa Barbara, Sacsamarca is contains a high population of Quechua speakers, many of them continue to occupy stone structures clustered around a colonial church.

Figure 8. Example of Stone 1 Doorway (Group I- Structure 8) As is the case with most of the structures of Santa Barbára, understanding the chronology of

Stone 1 structures is difficult. For example, while the entryway of a structure might contain the characteristic large slabs that are distinguished ethnographically as colonial, the walls might have undergone several collapse and rebuilding episodes. Additionally, Stone 1 structures at the edge of the plaza were occupied until the 1980s, and the occupants placed concrete supports at the base of the stone walls. As a result, while the presence of large shaped slaps in a column at the entryway suggests a colonial period date for the initial construction, it does not tell us the subsequent occupational history, and 21st century area calculations may not necessarily be reflective of the colonial period occupation.

3.5.2 Stone 2 Structures

The second stone-based style, Stone 2, consists of irregularly shaped and sized stones with minimal mortar or adobe. This reflects less labor input than Stone 1 due to fewer worked stones.

Additionally, Stone 2 structures do not have the well-made and large slabbed doorways of Stone 1 structures. While Stone 2 structures do occasionally use flat stones stacked on one another for doorways, they are less than 1 meter in width and less worked than Stone 1 structures. The walls of

Stone 2 structures ranged from 50cm to 1m. Given to poor state of preservation of some of the structures, we labeled all stone structures that lacked distinguishing features as Stone 2. As a result, unlike the Stone 1 structures which can be linked to the colonial-period, no chronological assessment can be made regarding Stone 2 architecture alone.

Figure 9. Example of Stone 2 Structure

Figure 10. Example Adobe 1 Structure (Group Q, Structure 10)

3.5.3 Adobe 1 Structures

Adobe 1 structures are almost entirely adobe, with the exception of a few small stones, ichu grass, or ceramic inclusions to temper the material. The walls of adobe structures range from 50 cm to 80 cm in width, and some structures contained two stories at one point. Some adobe walls contained white or red plaster on the interior. Most oral accounts date the Adobe 1 Structures to the

20th century, mostly the 1940’s and 1950’s. Like much of the Central and Southern Andean highlands, Huancavelica has an intense wet season with an average annual rainfall of 790 mm (Yates

Figure 11. Example of Stone 2 Structure et al. 1951). Based on this level of precipitation and oral histories, it is unlikely that any adobe structures prior to 1900 have survived.

3.5.4 Adobe 2 Structures

Adobe 2 structures are similar to Adobe 1, except they contain linear unworked stones for wall support, either at the base or at the top of the first story to shore up the second story. This mix of unworked stone and adobe dates to the early 20th century. For example, the North American anthropologist Harry Tschopik Jr. visited Santa Barbára in 1945 and described the settlement and population. He noted that most of the inhabitants, almost all monolingual Quechua speakers, lived in

“rectangular, single-room units constructed of field stones set in adobe” (Tschopik 1947, 22).

3.5.5 Adobe 3 Structures

Adobe 3 Structures consists of structures built post-1970, and often contain concrete as a foundational element, rather than as an addition. In the 1970’s, for example, C.C.S.B constructed a

Casa Communal on the southern edge of the plaza. Prior to this construction, the casa communal was located in a much smaller stone structure on the southern edge (J1). In some cases, these more recent structures might have been constructed over the ruins of earlier buildings, but it is impossible to tell without further geophysical survey or excavation.

Figure 12. Casa Communal at Santa Barbara

3.5.6 Santa Barbára Settlement Plan

Two maps are displayed below. The first (Figure 16) shows the complete site plan of Santa

Barbára including all structures of all types. The second map (Figure 17) has removed all the 20th century adobe structures from view, displaying the colonial-period structures only. However, considering the remodeling and reconstruction that has been ongoing until the late 20th century, the colonial-period map can only be considered an approximation. Stone structures were torn down to build new ones or incorporated into the walls of adobe structures. For example, only a few stones of structure J7 in the SW corner of the plaza were visible on the surface, yet oral histories27 indicate that in the 1970’s, this structure had been demolished for its stones that were then used in the rebuilding and expansion of a structure across the plaza. As a result, the colonial-period map should be interpreted with caution.

Nevertheless, the settlement plan suggests three major phases of construction at Santa

Barbára, although construction likely never completely ceased due to the constant need to renovate buildings due to the torrential rains in January and February. These phases of construction also roughly correspond to demographic shifts to the site, as the population of Santa Barbára varied throughout its four-hundred-year history as people fluctuated between intensive underground mining and mixed pastoral/informal mining practices. The first building phase occurred during the colonial period, part of the initial construction and occupation of the site that was described in this chapter.

The colonial phase had two sub-phases, early 1600’s and mid-1700’s, indicated by the presence of earlier colonial structures in Units 8, 13, 14, and 22. However, the construction style remained the same, therefore it is difficult to tell from architecture alone if a structure is early or late colonial. The second construction phase began in the first decade of the 20th century, when interviews suggest that many of the Adobe 2 structures were constructed, as well as some of the Adobe 1 Structures. This also corresponds with the beginning of capital-intensive mining operations, and nearby Quechua- speaking People moved to Santa Barbára for wage-labor opportunities in the mine. The final phase

27 Interview conducted with Sosimo Torres Hilario. July 28th, 2013.

70 occurred in the 1960’s and 1970’s, during which the C.C.S.B constructed the new casa communal which cut off a portion of the plaza.

TABLE I. SUMMARY OF DIFFERENT ARCHITECTURAL TYPES

Number of Average Area Type Description Time Period Structures (m2) Rectangular Large Stones. Minimal Mortar. Stone 1 Pre 1900 84 13.3 Entrance Stones >1.20 Meters in Width Mix of Rounded and Rectangular Stones, Stone 2 Unknown 40 12.8 Heavy Mortar and Adobe Inclusions > 90% Adobe, Some Adobe 1 Post-1900 47 10.1 Small Pebble Inclusions Adobe with Large Stone Adobe 2 Post-1900 32 14.6 Inclusions Adobe 3 Adobe/Concrete Mix Post-1970 7 26.2

Figure 13. Santa Barbara site map showing all architectural types.

Figure 14. Santa Barbara site plan with Stone 1 and Stone 2 structures. Also shows test and areal excavation units

3.6 Excavation Methodology

Following the survey project in 2013, we decided to conduct a series of excavations at the large colonial settlement of Santa Barbára, and several nearby satellite sites. This dissertation will only focus on the excavations at Santa Barbára, with the excavations at sites SB-145, SB-52, and SB

187 covered in other publications. The excavation data will be presented in Chapters 6 and 7.

3.6.1 Health and Safety

Given the toxic legacy of mercury contamination for the residents of the nearby urban center of Huancavelica (Hagan et al. 2011, 2013, 2015; Robins et al. 2012), we developed a health and safety protocol to mitigate the danger of exposing ourselves and community assistants to mercury exposure. While the Santa Barbára is located at the base on the side of the hill adjacent to the mercury mine, there is no evidence that colonial smelting or mercury processing took place within this settlement. Instead, the surface architecture and ceramics indicates that Santa Barbára was primarily a site of domestic quarters for those who worked in the mine, with mercury refining taking place in other areas of the Huancavelica mining district. In 2013, soil samples were taken at two different depths with an augur from across the site near areas targeted for future excavation. These soil samples were then exported to the United States and subjected to cold-vapor atomic absorption analysis at the Test America facilities in Chicago, IL (EPA Method 7471B).

The highest known Hg concentration in soil (7400 mg/Kg) was located adjacent to the plaza in a structure displaying evidence for late 20th century artisanal mercury mining. Ethnographic interviews later confirmed that an individual had built a small mercury furnace in one of the old colonial structures during the 1980s, and had subsequently processed mercury for approximately a decade. Structures surrounding the 1980s furnace have Hg in shallow soil between 500 mg/kg to

1700 mg/kg. The southern end of the site displays lower Hg amounts, between 91 mg/kg and 370 mg/kg. For a site-specific action level, US OSHA does not have a total Hg in soil action level for protection of a worker. In the absence of an OSHA number, a risk-based concentration (RBC) used for cleanup of Hg contamination sites under US CERCLA, can be used. The RBC calculation is

74 very conservative for a short-term worker type of risk. RBCs can vary for mercury depending on the time of exposure, as well as the type of activity performed. In this present study, the RBC for mercury was calculated using the State of Oregon’s Department of Environmental Quality’s exposure factor spreadsheet which is based on US EPA’s Regional Screening Level calculation.

We excavated Santa Barbára for approximately two months, with 8 hours of each day spent excavating. For an excavation worker who spends approximately 8 hours a day on site, 40 days a year: the reasonable maximum exposure is 580 mg/kg. However, this is the conservative estimate that employs a reasonable maximum (RME) soil intake of 330 mg/day. The central tendency exposure (CTE) rate for soil consumption is 100 mg/day. Using this figure, the maximum exposure for mercury in the soil for excavation workers is 1,900 mg/kg. Therefore, excavations that take place within this range (580 mg/kg-1,900mg/kg) fall within the acceptable limits for mercury exposure over a two-month period. With a few exceptions, most targeted excavation units fell below the RME figure (<580 mg/kg), and a limited number are located in areas slightly above the RME figure, yet well below the CTE figure (<1,900 mg/kg) Moreover, additional safety measures have been outlined below. Project members were not allowed to work in areas with known soil contamination above the

1,900 mg/Kg total Hg concentration.

All crew members in direct contact with the soil wore cotton-based coveralls, protective goggles, gloves, and 3M N95 masks for prevent dust inhalation. The suits and gloves were removed and the dust was brushed off shoes each afternoon, to prevent dust particles from remaining attached to the crew member and entering the home. The suits were then washed every two weeks. Water was provided on site for washing the hands and face prior to lunch, as well as the end of the workday, in order to protect against contamination. Safety briefings were conducted at the beginning of the project over the proper use and rationale behind the protective equipment.

3.6.2 Unit Locations

Our excavation strategy entailed two phases, test pits and area excavations. The subsurface context of Santa Barbára was unknown, and the 20th century occupation of Santa Barbára potentially disturbed earlier colonial and republican deposits. Therefore, we first excavated 32 test pits across the site to learn which sectors contained better preservation. Two-thirds of the test pits (N=24) targeted structures, while one-third (N=8) were placed in patio spaces. As will be discussed in further detail in Chapter 6, the Santa Barbára architecture ranged from colonial structures constructed in the

17th century, to mid-20th century adobe and cement building. Therefore, we employed a stratified sampling procedure instead of a random strategy in order to ensure we maximized our ability to find undisturbed colonial deposits. We determined test unit locations based on the presence of clear colonial construction, as well as drawing upon ethnographic interviews to ascertain which structures were not inhabited during the 200th century.

Of the 32 test units, we decided to further expand seven into larger area excavations. Two of these excavations (Unit 4 and Unit 8) were located in the central plaza area of Santa Barbára. The remaining five were located within colonial domestic structures (Units 6, 13, 14, 22, and 31). We subsequently excavated these units to sterile following the stratigraphic methodology outlined below.

3.6.3 Stratigraphy

Our approach to excavation followed the Capa/Nivel/Rasgo method commonly used in

Andean archaeology. The largest component of excavation was the unit, which refers to the horizontal space which we targeted for excavation. We began with 32 units, each corresponding to a

1x1m test unit placed across the site. The expanded areal excavations were not assigned new numbers, but rather the letter “A” was attached to the unit designation. For example, Unit 4 corresponds to the 1x1m test unit placed in the southwest corner of the plaza, and Unit 4A corresponds to the expanded 3x4 areal excavation in that same area. Each Unit was stratigraphically divided into layers based on natural stratigraphy, and referred to by the Spanish word for layer, or

Capa. The first layer of surface topsoil and vegetation that was removed without screening was

76 always called Capa S, or Capa Superficie. The next level was Capa A, followed by Capa B, and so on. Some Capas exceeded 30 cm in depth. When this occurred, the Capa was further divided into

Nivels in order to further refine the stratigraphy.

3.7 Laboratory Analysis

We conducted laboratory analysis across three phases. The initial analysis, inventory of all artifacts, and a basic ceramic classification took place immediately after excavation from November

2014 to February 2015. The second phase entailed a more in-depth ceramic analysis for stylistic traits and form and was completed May-August 2015. Following this more in-depth analysis, a subsample of 272 ceramics were exported to the United States for further compositional analysis in

2016-2017.

3.7.1 Ceramics

Colonial-period archaeology in the Andes is rare, and therefore, the colonial-period ceramic chronology is poorly understood. Most of the published ceramic research has focused on ceramics identified with Spanish material culture such as tin-enameled wares (majolicas) or olive jars

(botijas). While this research has been helpful in defining broad chronologies regarding the import and impact of Spanish goods, the role of Peruvian-produced colonial ceramics remains relatively known, particularly in the Andean highlands. As a result, locally produced types such as post- conquest painted and lead glazed wares are rarely studied, yet these types of vessels are crucial for understanding highland circuits of exchange.

Therefore, this project created a local ceramic sequence based on decoration and form, which was then further refined using radiocarbon dating and temporal markers such as coins and better known imported goods. We first divided the ceramics into six main classes based on distinctions within the production technology; Mercury, Botijas, Plainware, Tin-Glazed, Lead Glazed, Painted, and Imported. The subtypes of these broader classes were then further subdivided by form if

77 possible. The ceramic data is further discussed in chapters 6 and 7, and outlined in full in Appendix

TABLE II. CERAMIC CLASSES AND TYPES

SB I (1564- SB II (1700- SB III (1810- Class Type 1700 AD) 1810 AD) 1920 AD) Mercury Mercury Tablet X X X Single Lip Olla X X X Double Lip Olla X X Botija Botija Plain X X X Botija Resin X X X Botija Cream X X X Plainware Plainware X X X Plainware Polished X X X Tin-Glazed Polychrome Majolica X X X Brown Majolica X X X Green Majolica X X X Blue Majolica X X Unknown Majolica X X X Lead Brown Glazed X X X Clear Glazed X X X Black on Yellow Glazed X Green Glazed X Yellow Glazed X Painted Polychrome X X X Red X X X Red on White X X X Red Rim X X X Red Dot X X White X X X White on Red X X Imported Transferware X Painted Whiteware X Cut Sponge X Edgeware X Other X Chinese X

3.7.2 Faunal Materials

Patricia K. Maita Agurto from the National Museum of Archaeology, Anthropology, and

History of Peru (Lima) conducted the faunal analysis. Due to budgetary and time constraints, a 50% sample was chosen from the excavated materials, stratified to ensure that 50% of every unit’s faunal materials were analyzed. Each faunal specimen was quantified and inventoried in order to register the different elements present and assess the minimum number of individuals. Types of data collected included: taxonomic identification, anatomical identification, side, bone section, age estimation, state of fusion or ephyisis, fractures, thermo-alteration, and carnivore bite-marks. This data is further discussed in Chapters 6 and 7, and the full report of this analysis is located in

Appendix D.

3.7.3 Human Remains

The project did not intend to find human remains, yet an exploratory test pit in a secondary plaza to the southwest of the main plaza located undisturbed human remains at 40cm below surface.

This test unit was expanded to reveal eight undisturbed human burials, and three secondary deposits.

We excavated the eight primary burials, yet due to time and finances, we were unable to excavate the secondary deposits and left those in situ for future excavations. Terren K. Proctor from Vanderbilt

University conducted the bioarchaeological analysis in 2015 and 2017. The results of this analysis are further detailed in Appendix E.

3.7.4 Other Materials

Excavations recovered other materials such as metals, glass, lithic, and coins. These materials were counted, weighed, and identified if possible to use as a chronological marker. Beyond basic identification, we did not conduct further analysis on materials outside of the ceramics and faunal artifacts.

3.8 Chapter Summary

This chapter outlined the research design and methodology of this dissertation project. This research was conducted under the joint Peruvian/North American research team referred to as PIHA-

SB, or Proyecto de Investigación Histórico Arqueológico-Santa Bárbara, co-directed by Douglas K

Smit, Brian S. Bauer, and Antonio Coello Rodríguez. Research began in 2012 with preliminary site visits, a geological survey, and consultations with C.C.S.B (Communidad Campesina de Santa

Barbára) and the Peruvian Ministry of Culture in Huancavelica. We conducted archaeological survey in 2013 across the mining region, as well as soil tests for mercury contamination and oral history collection at the central site of Santa Barbára. In 2014-2015, we excavated the site of Santa

Barbára28 for three months (August-October), followed by initial ceramic analysis until March of

2015. We completed additional ceramic analysis to refine the colonial and republican-period typologies from June to August in 2015, as well as osteological analysis by Terren K. Proctor

(Vanderbilt University).

We exported ceramic, human bone, and radiocarbon samples with permission29 from the

Peruvian Ministry of Culture, and completed compositional analysis using LA-ICP-MS on 280 ceramics and 20 clay samples in 2017. Finally, follow-up oral history collection was completed with

C.C.S.B in July of 2017. Throughout this entire research period (2012-2017), historical research was conducted by team members Douglas K Smit, Jesus Galiano Blanco, Jennifer Polo Zapata, Antonio

Coello Rodriguez, and Brian Bauer at archives in the Ministry of Culture and Casa Communal de

Santa Barbára in Huancavelica, and the Archivo General de la Nación and Biblioteca Nacional in

Lima.

28 No. 320-2014-DGPA-VMPCIC/MC 29 No. 121-2015-VMPCIC-MS

4. GEOLOGICAL AND ENVIRONMENTAL BACKGROUND

4.1 Introduction

Approximately seven million years ago, when North and South America were still separate, a series of volcanic and hydrothermal events produced the Cordillera Occidental of the Central Andes

(McKee et al. 1986). In a geological instant, a series of shallow magma chambers erupted less than two kilometers below the earth’s surface near what is now the Peruvian town of Huancavelica (Wise and Feraud 2005). The ensuing magmatic activity interacted with the older formations of black shale rich in marine organic material to produce mercury (Hg), which was rapidly spread by hydrothermal activity along the Santa Barbára fault line running north-south. (Wise and Feraud 2005; Hazen

2012).30 By the time hydrothermal activity had ceased around three and half million years ago, native mercury and cinnabar (HgS) had filled small fractures and veins across Huancavelica, creating one of the largest mercury deposits in the world (Hazen et al. 2012; McKee et al. 1986; Yates et al.

195131).

This chapter will describe the geological, environmental, and political context of the archaeological study area, which is a 90 km2 region surrounding the Santa Barbára mercury mine and the town of Huancavelica. Francisco Loarte founded Huancavelica on August 4th, 1571, following instructions by Viceroy Toledo to bring royal authority to what had become a chaotic mining town

(Lohmann Villena 1949). Originally part of Huamanga (Ayacucho), Huancavelica became its own corregimiento in 1581 (Robins 2011). In 1784, Hunacavelica was relabeled as an intendencia, part of the larger territorial reforms of the Viceroyalty of Peru following the rebellion of Tupac Amaru II in the 1780’s (Fisher 2015). Initially following the Wars of Independence, Huancavelica was relegated

30 Marine life fossils procured from this black shale are often sold on the main street in Huancavelica. 31 In comparison to other major sources of mercury such as Almaden (Spain) or Idria (Slovenia), Huancavelica is also one of the youngest mercury sources in the world (Hazen et al 2012).

82 as a province of Ayacucho (Robins 2017). However, President Augustin Gamarra restored

Huancavelica to the level of department on April 28th, 1839, a status it has maintained to present day.

At the local level, much of this research took place within the political boundaries of the

Communidad Campesino de Santa Barbára, which is located within the district, province, and department of Huancavelica. Additional fieldwork took place near the town of Pueblo Libre to the east of C.C.S.B, as well as the Communidad Campesino de Sacsamarca to the west.

4.2 Geological Landscape

This region of the Cordillera Occidental is composed of overlapping layers of Paleozoic,

Mesozoic, and Tertiary formations, along with igneous intrusions (Yates 1951).32. In the case of

Huancavelica, the formation of mercury through magmatic activity 7 million years ago deposited the mercury in different formations across a diverse geological landscape (McKee et al. 1986). While some native mercury is present, most of the mercury is found in cinnabar (HgS), which is found in sandstone, limestone, and igneous rocks (ibid).

4.2.1 Mercury Deposits in Sandstone

Most of the historically mined mercury came from the Gran Farallon sandstone which runs across the north-south running mercury district. The most prominent geologic formation in the region, the Gran Farallon sandstone looms over the modern town of Huancavelica and can be clearly seen from the plaza (Figure 1). Early 20th century geological reports by Berry et al. (1922) classified this formation as the Gran Farallon limestone. However, further research by Yates et al. noted what

Berry described as the Gran Farallon limestone was in fact spatially discrete formations of sandstone, limestone, and volcanic rock (1951, 7). Reclassified as the Machay limestone and the Chaclatacana

32 Several travelogues, engineering, and geological repots were written about Huancavelica during the late 19th century and early 20th century. This section heavily on the most recent report conducted by Yates et al. in 1951, although other sources are consulted.

83 volcanic formations, these three groups all represent temporally distinct geological events and were therefore split apart (McKee 1986; Yates et al. 1951).

Figure 15. The Gran Farallon sandstone looming over the town of Huancavelica as depicted by the Peruvian scientist Mariano Rivero y Ustariz in the 19th century (Rivero y Ustariz 1857).

The Gran Farallon sandstone ranges from white to dark brown in color, depending on the amount of intrusive iron oxides. Most of the formation, however, is “light gray, medium grained, massive, and cross-bedded” (Yates 1951, 7). Cross-bedding indicates that the sandstone layers are inclined and sloped, which suggests a significant amount of wind or water movement in the geological formation process (ibid). The sandstone varies in hardness, depending on the erosional context. Geological research has been unable to determine the thickness or location of the base of the

Gran Farallon sandstone, although it is believed to be a minimum of 500 meters (Yates et al. 1951,

8). Late 20th century geological work conducted by James Wise as part of the Buenaventura Mining

Company33 classified the Gran Farrallon as “quartz sandstone of the lower Cretaceous

Goyllarisquizga Formation (Wise and Feraud 2005: 20). The Goyllarisquizga formation is a well- studied coal bearing area first noted in Huanaco, and dates to the early Cretaceous or 145 to 100 million years ago (Wise and Feraud 2005; Wise and Noble 2004; Yates et al. 1951).

33 Compania de Minas Buenaventura S.A.A is the current owner of mining claims in Huancavelica.

Figure 16. A view of Gran Farrallon from the west in 2013. Note modern car tunnel, constructed in 1960's/1970's. (Photo by Author)

4.2.2 Mercury Deposits in Limestone

Limestone deposits include the Pucara and Machay limestone formations, which date to the

Jurassic period or 200-145 million years ago (Yates et al. 1951). The Pucara limestone is fine grained and light gray, and it does not appear from the archival sources that much cinnabar or mercury was mined from the Pucara formation (ibid). While our survey did locate the occasional prospecting pit in the Pucara limestone, they were nowhere near the density or depth in comparison to other formations.

In contrast, the Machay limestone are the second most productive geological formation in the district, after the cinnabar deposits of the Gran Farrallon sandstone (Berry et al. 1922). This is mostly due to the Botija Punco mining zone, which sits along a long north-south running limestone ridge, down the slope to the northwest of the Gran Farrallon. The limestone ridge contains a thin layer of soil deposition from above, and as a result is covered with ichu grass.

. Figure 17. View of Huancavelica facing north from Botija Punco limestone. Archaeologist Karin Flores Rodriguez in background

4.2.3 Mercury Deposits in Igneous Rock

The Chaclatacana volcanics are located above the Gran Farrallon sandstone, yet below the

Machay limestone, and is approximately 500 meters thick (Yates 1951 et a.). They contain lava and tuffaceous shales, and are believed to be early or middle Cretaceous age, somewhere between 145-79 million years ago (ibid). Most of the cinnabar in these igneous formations occurs in the south,

86 although some cinnabar was reported in igneous intrusions near Gran Farallon (Umlauff 1904). The only known mining operations in igneous rocks occurred at the Dewey mine, which is locate south of the project area and was only in operation during the mid-20th century (Yates et al. 1951).

4.3 Environmental Landscape

The city of Huancavelica, as well as the mercury deposits, are bisected by the Ichu River, which flows east, northeast finally intersecting with the Mantaro River at La Mejorada. The town sits in one of the many easterly trending valleys that cut across the Cordillera Occidental, before finally opening into the large north-south running intermontane Mantaro Valley. The project area spans from 3700 masl to 4600 masl, spanning the suni and puno ecological zones. The city itself sits at

3,676 masl, while the Santa Barbára settlement is located at 4250 masl on the western side of the

Santa Barbára hill, which is located approximately 3 kilometers to the south of Huancavelica.

The climate is characterized by two seasons, a wet season from November to April and a dry season from May to October (Yates et al. 1951). The wet season is often marked by daily torrential rain storms in the morning and afternoon, with hail and snow common above 4400 masl.

Precipitation can reach up to 150 mm a month, peaking in March (Peruvian Ministry of

Environment34). This amount of rainfall caused significant problems during the colonial period, as the water would flood mining pits, and dampen the fuel for mercury refining. Additionally, many

Spanish mine owners prefer to live in the better warmer climate of Ayacucho. One Spaniard remarked on the weather of Huancavelica “its climate is very cold, its sky inconstant all year, it rains some days and ices others, even in the same day, sometimes with storms, hail, and lightning”

(Memoria y relacón de las minas de azogue del Piru, in Robins 2011, 30). In contrast, the dry season is marked by minimal precipitation, often less than 10 mm per month (Peruvian Ministry of

Environment). This season was the optimal period for mercury mining, as moderate temperatures and a lack of precipitation provided dry grasses for consistent mercury refining.

34 http://www.met.igp.gob.pe/clima/HTML/huancavelica.html

4.3.1 Suni and Puna Zones

Environmentally, this project occurred in the suni and puna zones, drawn from the well- known altitude based system of classification developed by Pulgar Vidal (1938). Much of our work occurred in the Suni Zone (3500-4000 masl). This zone is above the limit of maize cultivation, but is suitable for quinoa (Chenopodium quinoa) and potatoes (Solanum tuberosum). At the department level, Huancavelica presents a high diversity of potatoes, with one recent study recording 557 unique cultivars (de Haan et al. 2010). Other species of tuber include oca (Oxalis tuberosa) and olluco

(Ullucus tuberosus). Oral histories indicate that past inhabitants practiced the communal crop rotation system known as muyu that is common in the Central Andean highlands, although it is unclear to what degree this occurred (Dillon 1984). The suni zone also contains the natural habitat of

Andean variants of wild species such as the deer (Hippocamelus antisensis), fox (Lycalopex culpaeus), and the skunk (Conepatus chinga). Andean domesticates such as guinea pig (Cavia porcellus), alpaca (Vicugna pacos), and llama (Lama glama) are present, albeit the puna zone contains more camelids. Nonnative domesticates include the pig (Sus domesticus), chicken (Gallus gallus domesticus), cow (Bos taurus), goat (Caprinae sp.), sheep (Oves aries), and various members of the Equus family such as horses, mules, and burros.

Nonnative crops are also prevalent, although it is important to note that not all European species thrived in the Andes (Gade 2015). For example, the Spanish attempted to grow rye (Secale cereal) early in the 1530’s, believing the Andean slopes would be an ideal parallel for rye growing regions in Spain. However, rye never succeeded in the Andes, a product of shorter days due to the proximity of the Andes to the equator (ibid). In contrast, wheat (Triticum sp.) developed rapidly on the coast during the 1540’s and spread across the central and south-central highlands by the 1550’s

(ibid). Bread, along with wine, was a critical component of Spanish cultural identity, and therefore the “civilizing” process of the colonial project required wheat and bread (Earle 2012). Barley

(Hordeum sp.) and fava beans (Vicia faba) grow in the lower areas of the suni zone. Finally, oats

(Avena sp.) and alfalfa (Medicago sativ) were grown as feed for domesticated nonnative species like the horse.

Figure 18. Southeast of Huancavelica, the small town of Huaylacucho (3767 masl) is located in the upper reaches of the suni zone.

The Puna Zone

The puna zone stretches from 4000 to 5000 masl, and frequent frosts limit agriculture to specific potato species and maca. Non-domesticated vegetation is dominated by ichu grass (stipa ichu). Colonial documents suggest that kenua tree (polylepsis rugulosa) covered the landscape at one point, however they were cut down for fuel. At higher portions of the puna, the landscape is dominated by yarita (azorella yarita), which is a moss-like green plant that can be used for fuel

(ibid). The puna also contains the occasional Puya de Raimondi (puya raimondii), the largest species of Bromeliaceae, pineapple family, in the world (Sgorbati et al. 2004). Wild animals in the

Huancavelica puna include the northern vizcacha (Lagidium peruanum), as well as species that inhabited the suni such as the Andean skunk and Andean fox. Additionally, several species of

Andean wild felines are present such as the puma (Puma concolor) or mountain cat (Leopardus jacobita), albeit very rare.

Figure 19. Highland Puna with clumps of Ichu grass in foreground. Photo taken in Quebradamachay, approximately 4300 masl.

This puna zone is the prime area for Andean camelids, and in the Huancavelica region this includes the domesticated alpaca (Lama pacos), llama (Lama glama) and wild vicuna (Vicugna vicuna). The mercury commodity chain to Potosí required thousands of llamas as well as a large number of burros to transport the mercury to the port of Chincha on the Peruvian coast, from where it was shipped to Arica, and then again loaded onto beasts of burden and transported to Potosí (Bauer et al. 2014). Furthermore, mitayos traveling to Huancavelica brought their camelids with them, as most of the mita zone targeted high altitude pastoral populations.

The settlement of Santa Barbára is located in the puna zone at 4250 masl. As I will explore later in the dissertation, its indigenous mitayo populations shifted back and forth between pastoral and mining economic strategies throughout the past several centuries.

Figure 20. A group of vicuña captured in a chaccu conducted by the contemporary Santa Barbára community. Drawn from prehispanic antecedents, the chaccu is a communal roundup of vicuña to be shorn of their valuable wool. .

5. A SPATIAL HISTORY OF THE MINING LANDSCAPE

Then the sun father sent his daughter from heaven, to the earth and thus help the men and the variety of animals that had no place. She then gave them the place. The sun father following the creation said to his daughter: "go and populate the universe". This town of Huancavelica was a paradise and a sacred place, so was born the llimpi [cinnabar], the ichma [red pigment], and [Lake] Choclococha.

(Galindo 1990, 223).

5.1 Introduction

This chapter examines the spatial history of the mining landscape of Huancavelica, beginning in 1563 when an indigenous kuraka told a Spanish encomendero about a highland source of mercury and tracing this history until the early decades of the Peruvian Republic in the 19th century.

Employing archaeological survey, archival research, and 19th century reports of travelers and geologists, this chapter documents how different moments of political and economic change produced different mining landscapes. I frame my analysis through Sewell’s conception of “the event,” or a “chain of occurrences that durably transforms previous structures and practices” (Sewell

2005, 227).35 As other’s have noted (Beck et al. 2007; Bolender 2010), Sewell’s theorizing of the role of events in understanding structural change is appealing to archaeologists because of his materialist conception of events that are “impossible to analyze…without encountering a spatial process” (Sewell 2005, 259). For Sewell, events fracture pre-existing relationships between societal structures, and their ensuing re-articulation contains the possibility for dramatic social transformations that play out across material spaces. In the case of Huancavelica, brief moments of rapid political, economic, or geological change disarticulated relationships between the colonial

35 See Chapter 2 for a more in-depth discussion of Sewell’s conception of an “event.”

92 state, mine owners, and indigenous labor. In these moments of uncertainty, unexpected relationships were reformed between various colonial actors, transforming the political economy of mining and reshaping the landscape from which mercury was extracted.

In this chapter, I argue that the spatial history of mining in Huancavelica is directly related to the organization of labor and can be divided into two main phases. The centralized phase characterized the majority of the colonial period, (1563-1786), when mining was concentrated within a small (200x500m), but extremely deep cinnabar rich deposit flanked by the two hills of Santa

Barbára and Chacaltana (Wise and Feraud 2005). Early on, notably after the Toledan Reforms of the

1570’s, mining was spatially constrained, and the colonial state directly administered the organization of labor. The mine soon became a subterranean maze of interlocking tunnels and shafts, making the recovery of archaeological evidence difficult. As a result, the first part of this chapter will draw from archives, notably several 18th century maps, to examine the interrelationship between this spatially conscripted exploitation of mercury and the broader relationships between Spanish miners and indigenous labor.36

The second half of this chapter will address the Huancavelica landscape at the end of the

Spanish colonial period and during the Republican Peru. For geological, political, and economic reasons that will be further explained below, the centralized organization of labor and mining ended in 1786 with the disastrous Brocal mine collapse. While this was not the first collapse, nor the last, this collapse follows Sewell’s conception of an event in that this moment structurally transformed the landscape; becoming informal and even illegal, thus moving beyond the bounds of relationships within the mining system. Following the Brocal collapse, mercury mining spread according archival documents. Therefore, the latter half of the chapter will draw mostly from archaeological survey, employing 19th century geological reports produced by the newly independent Peruvian Republic when available.

36 Considering most the of material evidence for these processes is well below ground, or has been destroyed by subsequent mining operations in the 20th century, the archaeological evidence for this period will be light.

Figure 21. 1922 Early map of mercury district (Berry and Singewald 1922)

5.2 The Spanish Discovery of Mercury

1563, a local kuraka named Gonzalo Navincopa from the town of Chachas showed the

Amador de Cabrera a ridge in the region of Huancavelica, about 30 kilometers south of Huando,

94 which contained enormous deposits of cinnabar.37 Within the contemporary indigenous community of Santa Barbára, the retelling of this narrative is still framed within colonial discourses of unequal power and exploitation. One man, Sosimo Hilario Quispe, told me he learned of the “discovery of mercury” in school, which was an old colonial structure that was used as a primary school until the

1970s (Figure 24).

The Spaniard often made the children of the Indian leader take care of his things, and the encomendero told the son of the kuraka to guard his hat. The son lost the hat of the Spaniard, and afraid for the life of his son, Gonzalo Navincopa took the Spaniard to the source of mercury, so that the Spaniard would not send his son away (Sosimo Hilario Quispe per com 2014).38

This spot where Gonzalo Navincopa showed Cabrera the source of mercury was later

Figure 22. Community School in 18th century colonial structure memorialized through the construction of a small stone marker, although it is unknown by whom or

37 It is possible that Chacas corresponds to the Late Intermediate Period/Inka site of Ranrapata, which was reduced into the Spanish settlement of Acoria (Acosta 2002 [1590], 187). Some accounts name this kuraka as Juan Tumsuvilca (Cantos de Andrada 1965 (1586), 303) 38 This narrative follows closely with Lohmann Villena ’s account (1949) of the discovery of mercury.

95 when this monument was constructed. At that time, Cabrera was the encomendero of the Angaraes; a labor grant that included the Huancavelica area, which Cabrera had gained access to through his marriage with Ines de Villalobos (Lohmann 1949) Cabrera registered his mining claim in the city of

Huamanga on January 1, 1564, calling the mine “Descubridora”. The same mine would later become known as Todos los Santos and by the end of the 16th century it was called Santa Barbára

(Lohmann Villena 1949), a name which it continues to hold today.

Cabera staked his claim on a small hilltop known as Huancavelica, which would soon lend its name to the growing Spanish settlement in the river valley below. Each Spanish miner marked their claim with wooden stakes, and the ridge of Huancavelica was quickly divided into rectangular lots measuring 60 varas39 long (north-south) and thirty varas wide (east-west).40 No less than eight separate claims were made on along the ridge, the same day that Cabrera registered his discovery.

Many of these claims were made by individuals close to Cabrera, for example is wife, children mother in law and the “indio principal” of Cabrera’s encomienda (Lohmann Villena 1949), an illegality that did not escape the crown. About a month later, additional cinnabar deposits were found

“about an arcabuz shot”, from the Descubridora Mine in an area called “Chaquilatacana” (Cantos de

Andrada 1965 [1586], 303). Soon the entire ridge had been staked out into separate claims. The

Spanish miners staked all these initial claims in a small area bounded by two small hills,

Chaclatacana on the northern end and Guancavelica (Huancavelica) on the southern edge, with the mercury deposit in between known as Santa Bárbara (Berry and Singlewald 1921; Lohmann Villena

1949).

39 A Spanish vara is 83.8 centimeters or 33 inches. 40 As the discoverer of the mine Cabrera lot was allowed to measure 80 by 40 yaras.

Figure 23. Core mining zone showing the Santa Barbara pueblo to the south.

Considering the subsequent three centuries of intense mining in the area, it is no surprise that very little survives from the summit that dates to the early colonial period. The areas including the

Santa Barbára and Chaclatacana claims first became linked together through tunnels. As we will see later in the chapter, large portion of this area eventually collapsed. It was later destroyed by the establishment of an open pit mine more than three hundred meters in length. One possible exception to this general destruction is the site of SB-139, a small sandstone outcrop that is covered with large trenches and deep socavones. It is one of the few pieces of land near the main cinnabar deposit that remains relatively unmodified from the 16th century. A rim fragment reminiscent of an Inka arybaloid was recovered at the site of SB-139, suggesting it may represent an early colonial occupation.

Figure 24. Possible Inka arybaloid found at SB- 139 5.2.1 The Arrival of Toledo

Viceroy Francisco Álvarez de Toledo arrived in Lima on November 30th, 1569, beginning an eleven-year Viceregal administration that transformed the political, economic, and social landscape of Colonial Peru. During this period, Toledo pursued three main objectives: (1) Conquer the neo- state of Vilcabamba to defeat the remnants of the Inka Empire; (2) Resettle the indigenous population into planned settlements, or reducciones, that facilitated conversion and the collection of tribute; and (3) Reorganize the mining sector to ensure a constant flow of metallic wealth to Spain.

While the execution of these three goals were interrelated, the remainder of this section will focus on the third aim, more specifically Toledo’s attempts to reassert Crown control over the cinnabar and silver mining.

First, Toledo immediately seized control of mercury production from all private miners. By controlling the flow of mercury to the silver mines of Potosí, colonial administrators could calculate how much silver should be produced, therefore assessing how much silver should be taxed. At first,

98 the private miners resisted state expropriation, believing they deserved mining rights as long as they paid their royal fifth to the king. On March 11th, 1573, Toledo’s advisor, Gabriel Loarte made a three-year arrangement with the miners of Huancavelica who form a guild (gremio), represented by

Pedro de Contreras, Juan de Sotomayor, and Rodrigo de Torres Navarra (Memorial y Relación 1864

[1609]:430 [1609]).41 The mines were leased back to the mine owners, who owned and operated the mines at the behest of the state. However, the colonial administration retained two levers of control over the mining guild set up to administer the mining operation (Brady 1982, 2000). The first was the ability to fix the price of mercury at a set level, renegotiated every several years between the

Viceroyalty and the gremio (Lohmann Villena 1949). The second, and more consequential for the indigenous peoples of the Andes, was that the state would provide indigenous labor to the miners to be paid at a fixed cost, employing a draft system known as the mita (Brown 2001; Lohmann Villena

1949).42 When the Spaniards first took control of the Andes and began to establish encomiendas, local mining was largely directed by encomenderos’ and the needed labor was extracted from the villages under their control. This was the case Huancavelica where Cabrera and the other powerful encomenderos’ of the region, used their own labor to work their mines. Building on a series of mining reform laws first introduced by Polo de Ondegardo the decade before (Dueñas 1908, 212),

Toledo developed a system under which most communities of the highlands had to provide up to one seventh of its population, as recorded at the time of the reducciones, to work in the mining industry

(Bradby 1982; Robins

41 These three leaders, along with Alonso Perez, would eventually buy out Amador de Cabrera and take control of the Discubridora Mine. 42 This chapter follows the orthography of Stern (1993), who uses mita’a to refer to the prehispanic system, and mita for the Spanish appropriation.

2011). Thirteen provinces of the central Andes, ranging from Tarma in the north to

Chumbivilcas in the south, were assigned to forced work at the Huancavelica mercury mines. The difficulty for communities to fulfill this exacting labor obligation was made even more overwhelming in the wake of dramatic population declines throughout the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries (Lohmann Villena 1949; Robins 2011). Given the trauma of mining mercury at

Huancavelica, it is no surprise that the number of mitayos that arrived every year decreased throughout the colonial period, a gap that would be slowly overcome through the hiring of wage

Figure 25. Mita province map laborers (Brown 2001). This transition from forced to wage labor will be discussed in detail in

Chapter 6, specifically the consequences of this transformation for household goods and market engagement.

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Figure 26. Impact of 1572 reforms on the mining sector

By creating a fixed relationship between the gremio, indigenous labors, merchants, and the colonial state, the Toledan reforms established the basic political and economic structure of mining in Huancavelica that would last for over two hundred years. While the price of mercury would change with each contract or increasing resistance by indigenous communities would decrease the number of forced laborers who arrived each year, the broader system remained in place. In short, the

Toledan Mining Reforms created two durable institutions in the Huancavelica region, the mita and the gremio. In a material sense, these institutions shape the daily practices of the people who worked in and around the mine. For example, the Toledan Mining Reforms increased state control over the mines as well as the indigenous labors who worked them, they also discouraged attempts to locate new sources of mercury since those mines would be immediate taken over by the Crown. As a result, mining operations proceeded vertically, as the only way forward was down, deeper into the subterranean pits and expanding galleries in search of more cinnabar.

5.3 The Middle Colonial Period

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Understanding how social transformation proceed spatially and materially require not just an explanation of how events transform structures, but also how structures can remain static. As Sewell notes, “how structured patterns of social relations, once established, can sometimes be reproduced with very little change over long periods of time, even in eras of considerable historical transformation” (Sewell 2005:271). In other words, when are events not events? In Huancavelica, the dual system of the gremio and the mita persisted for over two hundred years throughout the demographic collapse of the indigenous population, increasing resistance by kurakas and indigenous non-elites, as well as a growing desire by criollo elites and merchant classes to increase their economic autonomy (Lohmann Villena 1949; Whitaker 1951).

However, the centralized and mostly vertical system of mining began to show signs of crisis by the beginning of the 16th century as the increasing combination of toxic mercury fumes and back- breaking labor created a colonial nightmare of exploitation. By the end of the 16th century, the accessible mercury in the large open pit had been exhausted, and workers entered through two small tunnels into underground galleries, proceeding down treacherous ladders with empty leather sacks, only to return by the end of the day with those same sacks full of ore (Brown 2001). Descending into a hellish environment, indigenous miners encountered traditional mining dangers, such as cave-ins and carbon monoxide, yet nothing was more feared than mercury poisoning (Robins 2011). In 1600, the Peruvian Viceroy Luis de Velasco wrote to the

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Figure 27. 1611 Plan to Restore Vertical Mine Operations king of the ongoing danger faced by the indigenous miners, “These mercury ores, when they extract them in the mines, they give out a dust that enters itself into the Indians as they breathe and settles in

103 the chest, of such evil quality, that it causes them a dry cough and light fever and at the end death without repair, because the doctors have it for an incurable evil” (Velasco to the King, 5 May 1600

AGI Lima 34, cited in Brown 2001, 472).

One option was to return to the open pit mining, expanding the large hole at the surface in order to provide better ventilation (Lohmann Villena 1949). The next Viceroy, the Count of

Monterey, rejected this idea because of the economic costs of expanding the mining pit (Brown

2001, 473). Another option was to restore the vertical ladders and passageways, as shown by this map from a 1611 proposal. It is unclear if this plan was ever adopted, and the architectural quality depicted in this drawing is highly optimistic at best. What is clear from this drawing is that the system of leasing horizontal 30 x 60 vara plots to members of the gremio had been transformed underground, and that individual members of the gremio were now responsible for specific galleries.

If expanding the original pit was economically unfeasible and improving the ladders and galleries was impractical, then the only remaining option was to excavate an adit, or tunnel from the side of the mountain to bring in fresh air into the mine. This project began in 1606, choosing a place near a growing indigenous settlement that would soon take the name “Santa Barbára.” The project was ambitious, as the workers began excavating the tunnel on the western side of the hill, 160 meters below the ore deposit (Berry and Singewald 1922). Progress was slow, and the colonial administration introduced blasting in the 1630’s to increase the speed of construction (Brown 2001,

481). In 1642, the tunnel broke into the Hoyo Negro, or black pit that was one of the lowest underground galleries, bringing fresh air to the beleaguered miners. This three-meter-wide tunnel, named Nuestra Senora de Belen, had taken forty years and over one million pesos to construct during the 17th century43.

In addition to making the health conditions bearable, although still very toxic, the Belen tunnel preserved the existing structure of the mine. Considering the time and cost associated Belen’s

43 The literal weight of silver required for one million pesos would be worth approximately 14.3 million dollars in 2016 USD

104 construction, it might be expected to have altered the social institutions of the town and greatly affected the everyday of the inhabitants, but instead we find the opposite. By providing fresh air to the miners, the completion of the Belen tunnel allowed the existing system to continue. Furthermore, the Belen tunnel also helped to centralize and control access to the underground deposits. All of the indigenous laborers and the ore they carried had to pass through the tunnel under the watchful eye of state administrators (Lohmann Villena 1949). At the risk of an anachronistic analysis, the construction of the Belen tunnel represents a preindustrial version of a spatial fix (Harvey 2006), in that a massive state investment in resources briefly fixed the flow of capital in order to solve a fiscal crisis.44 As a result, the state investment of the tunnel construction preserved the existing relationships between the gremio/merchant class, indigenous labor, and the Viceregal administration.

In relation to Sewell’s broader theory of events and social change, this case study illustrates how spatial events, even those that cost over a million pesos, do not necessarily create the conditions for social transformation. In short, the mere production of space does not ensure that events are

“eventful” (Sewell 2005), but rather events are generally deemed historically significant only when they rupture and rearticulate the spatial and structural relationships between social institutions (e.g. mita, gremio, colonial state).

5.4 The Late Colonial Period

While production figures paint a general portrait of decline in mercury production throughout the late 17th and into the 18th century, mining persisted deeper into the earth, with the occasionally construction of new adits to bring fresh air and ease of access into the galleries. A closer look at the Belen entrance from this 1742 drawing by Juan Estevan de Oliva y Jofre helps illustrates the complexities of everyday life at the mine. Skilled free wage laborers, or alquilas45, carrying picks

44 For example, Harvey notes the public/private partnership in the construction of large infrastructural programs like highways or airports that fix the flow of capital, requiring state funds for construction yet ultimately benefits attempts to further accumulate capital by private interests. 45 Wage laborers were also referred to as mingas.

105

(barreteros) and other tools lined up outside the main entrance. These wage laborers were accompanied by forced laborers, or mitayos, who carried the ore from below ground to the surface. A

Spanish scribe sits outside the entrance, noting how many carguiches (ore-carriers) came to the surface with a full load of ore in their bags that were not much smaller than a person. Indigenous women sit nearby, selling coca leaves and chicha (maize beer) to the miners. Chewing coca provided energy and respite from the pangs of hunger, while the chicha lessened the pain of the day, and the heavy drinking included the extra benefit of helping to sweatout the toxic mercury. Curiously, this practice had been criminalized as early as 1683, as the colonial administration forbid women, wine, and chicha from the mouth of the mine in order to prevent the indigenous men from being “hot and tired” (AGI Lima 469).46

46 Thank you to Mark Dries for showing me this document

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Figure 28. Entrance to the Belen Tunnel in the 1740's (1742 map citation)

5.4.1 The Marroquin Collapse

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In the late 18th century, the largest mercury mine in the Americas collapsed outside the provincial capital of Huancavelica in the Central Andes. The disaster began in the Brocal section of the mine, a large older gallery full of barreteros picking ore from the walls, while carguiches sifted through the pickings to find ore with red streaks of cinnabar to carry to the surface. Lit by candles, this subterranean chamber smelled of sulfur and contained pockets of carbon monoxide, called umpé47 in Quechua, the language spoken by most of the miners. The mine had declined throughout the previous decades, and Spanish authorities in the Viceregal capital of Lima had given the local administrator, Fernando Marquez de la Plata, explicit orders to return to previous levels of production. One reliable way to find mercury was to exploit the older galleries such as the Brocal

(Lang 1986). However, since the previous miners had exhausted the obvious sources, in March of

1785, the technical supervisor of the mine, Fransisco Marroquín instructed the Andean barreteros to mine the only veins of mercury that remained: those contained in the arches, buttresses, and columns of the mine. These areas were, of course, the structures which had been left intact to support the galleries from collapse (Povea Moreno 2014).

Production dramatically increased over the next year and a half to 4,493 quintales, the most in over a decade (Lang 1986). This brief boom suddenly ended on September 25th, 1786, when one of the columns in the Brocal gallery snapped under the massive weight of the mine above. The ensuing domino effect buckled column after column, shattering the wooden supports, and in an instant the entire Brocal gallery collapsed. The strength of the subsequent tremors caused many in the town of Huancavelica to believe the mine had been struck by an earthquake (Lang 1986). By the time the earth stopped shaking, the tragic miscalculations of Francisco Marroquin and Fernando

47 Umpé is likely derived from the Quechua word humpi, which means “sweat” or “perspiration” (Lenz 1904, 760).

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Marquez de la Plata had left a gaping hole in the earth approximately 60 meters deep and 70 meters in circumference and entombed over two hundred indigenous miners.

Figure 29. The collapsed pit at Santa Barbara. This area was worked by mechanized equipment during the 1960s and 1970s. 5.4.2 Consequences of the Collapse

The technical director of the mine, Francisco Marroquin, originally told superiors that a small earthquake had caused minor damage (Lang 1986). Yet as the production of mercury rapidly dropped over the following months, the debacle turned into a series of lawsuits and countersuits between Marroquin and his immediate superior, Marquez (Lang 1986, 224) which lasted years. By

1789, Marroquin was in jail where he would die a decade later, and Marquez had been replaced as

Intendent of Huancavelica by Manuel Ruiz de Castilla (Fisher 2015).

Born in Spain, Ruiz de Castilla was one of many Bourbon administrators that came to the

Americas during the latter half of the 18th century. Emboldened by the spirit of the Enlightenment and economic liberalism, he embarked on a series of efforts to revive the collapsed section of the

Santa Barbára mine (Brown 2012). The most notable of these was the recruitment of a German

109 technical specialist, Baron Nordenflicht and a Spanish mining engineer to assess the situation in

1790. They concluded that the mine could be rehabilitated, but the King of Spain, Charles IV, balked at the cost of the repairs (ibid). By 1793, the situation had deteriorated so much that Huancavelica production was down to 1,500 quintales annually, a 75% decline from before the collapse (Povea

Moreno 2014).

Finally, on September 26th, 1793, seven years and one day after the disaster in the Brocal,

Ruiz de Castilla turned to one of the last available options, he legalized pallaqueo (independent prospectors), opening up the mining landscape to free exploitation under the condition that all mercury continued to be sold to the Crown at a fixed price. This decision, a consequence of the collapse, would ostensibly open up the landscape of Huancavelica to independent mine owners and liberalize mining operations. However, while pallaqueo presented early successes for the Spanish crown, the spatial consequences of the decision would produce an alternative mining landscape over the next several decades that would undermine colonial state authority.

5.5 Pallaqueo

Pallaqueo comes from the Quechua word “pallay”, which means to pick up, reap, or harvest

(Povea Moreno 2014) and the Spanish ending “queo” for “one who does”. Pallaqueo began informally by the families of the mitayos. While the men would work underground in the royal mines, women would glean the tailings of earlier mines, picking up small amounts of mineral (in this case cinnabar but it also applied to silver) to sell directly to merchants. This gendered practice of informal mining was technically illegal but tolerated by the Spanish Crown as early as 1645, as it allowed for old tailings to be reworked for additional yields of mercury (Povea Moreno 2012).

It is important to note that independent mining occurred outside of the Crown controlled mining area. There is little left of the first Spanish mines (i.e. the area between Los Santo and

Chalalatana) since this area suffered under the Brocal collapse and was targeted for a relatively brief time in the 20th century for open pit industrial mining. In contrast, the pallaqueo mining operations

110 were scattered across the landscape in area of much lesser cinnabar concentration. As a result, pallaqueo mines are much better preserved and were easily detected during our archaeological survey. The remainder of the chapter will describe the material evidence of pallaqueo and later post- colonial incarnations that extended into the 19th century, drawing upon our full-coverage archaeological survey of 81 km2 that recorded all evidence of mining, surface artifact scatters, and architecture.

5.5.1 Trinidad

The mine of Trinidad is one of the earlier mines worked outside the main deposit, appearing for the first time as an independent mine on the 1790 map entitled “Brocal de la Real Mina de Santa

Barbára” (AGI). Trinidad is located on the southern slope of the Santa Barbára hill, and contains a higher quantity of limestone that most of the sandstone deposits of Santa Barbára and Chacacatana

(Berry and Singewald 1922, 47). In 1793, the Spanish mining engineer Pedro Subiela wrote in a letter to King Charles IV of Spain that Trinidad was a “pistol shot” from Santa Barbára, and that the governor had recently extended permits for those who wanted to work in this deposit (Subiela 1793, cited in Rivero y Ustariz 1857, 111). This extension of permits of Trinidad was one of the first times pallaqueo was officially implemented and the soft limestone allowed for easy access (Berry 1922,

24).48 In the 1840’s, the Huancavelica Mining company of the 1840s worked Trinidad, but abandoned it shortly thereafter, although at least seven different miners were working their claims there with one small horno during the 1850’s (Rivero y Usatriz 1857, 112). By the late 19th century,

Arana (1901, 98) estimated there is at least 15,000 tons of tailings on the slope below Trinidad, and it was believed that Trinidad had been mined out by the 1920’s (Berry and Singewald 1922, 1947).

48 During the 16th and early 17th century, there was a claim known as “Socavon de Santisma Trinidad” adjacent or within the initial deposits, and it is unclear if this is the same “Trinidad” worked in the 18th and 19th centuries. It is possible that this early colonial socavon was enlarged into larger workings after the collapse of Santa Barbara. Additionally, there is a Trinidad Chico mentioned by Arana (1901) which is located on the Gran Farallón.

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The archaeological evidence for Trinidad/San Roque is difficult to interpret, as 20th century mining operations in the area hollowed out much of the pit. Our survey noted the large pit of San

Roque, which is where Trinidad is believed to have been (Arana 1901). Moreover, there were several large trenches in the region, the material legacy of pallaqueo excavations in the vicinity of the large collapsed area, in which individual miners shifted through the collapse or exploited surface materials under their own control, although they still needed to provide the Spanish administration with one bag of ore every day (Povea Moreno 2014)

5.5.2 Botija Puncu

The Botija Puncu mine is located on a declining limestone outcrop approximately 500 meters north of the Santa Barbára source. Botija Puncu is one of the few mines worked outside the main source prior to the 1786 collapse, and it clearly depicted in a 1778 map found the Archive of the

Indies. In this map, Botija Puncu is a long hill running downslope from Chacatacana Antiguo, with an entrance socavon driven on the western side of the base of the hill, which runs 370 varas east into the deposit. A 1778 letter from a member of the mining guild describes the mine has having been worked for 30 years, making the beginning of operations in late 1740’s. Five miners worked their claims here during the 1840’s, processing their mercury in 15 hornos (Rivero y Ustariz 1857, 159)

Several later accounts noted the high quality of the mercury here, including report that geological samples from Botija Punco contained 10.10% mercury, the highest of all the existing mines (Umlauff

1904, 44), as well as a report of 15,000 tons of tailings to be processed (Arana 1901, 98).

On the 1778 map, the surface of Botija Puncu has not been exploited, there is only an entrance tunnel to underground workings on the western edge. However, the survey recorded the highest concentrations of open pits and socavons in the region. 8 large open pits, ranging between 5 to 35 meters in diameter, had been carved into the limestone along the western flank of the formation. Additionally, we recorded 26 socavones, most of them 2-3 m in diameter, most of them on the eastern side of the formation. The differences in scale as well as mining practices between the

112 pits and socavones suggest these mining operations were conducted by different people at different times. Large pits require a labor system organized at the supra-household level, suggesting the forced or administered wage labor operations of the colonial state that in the case of Botija Puncu, would have occurred between 1778 and 1810. However, the small socavones suggest smaller, household- scale operations of the independent indigenous miners of the 19th century.

5.5.3 The Gran Farallón

The Gran Farallón is one of the most imposing geological features in the landscape that surrounds Huancavelica. In Spanish mining terminology, Gran Farallón translates to “projecting outcrop of a vein” (Halse 1908, 163). From the main plaza in Huancavelica, one can see the Gran

Figure 30. Photo from base of open pit, likely 18th century. Farallón rising up above the cathedral, a sandstone scar on the landscape over two hundred meters wide and a kilometer long (Yates et al. 1951). Toward the southern edge of the Gran Farallón, the

113 sandstone meets with an igneous formation, marking the location of the Santa Barbára deposit that produced the highest quantity of mercury during the colonial period (Singewald 1920). Today, the

Gran Farallón sandstone ends in the massive pit that was the result of the 1786 collapse (Berry and

Singewald 1922, 34).

Given the connection between the Gran Farallón sandstone and the Santa Barbára deposit, it is no surprise that several attempts were made to mine this area over the past few centuries. The most ambitious came in 1763, when the famous scientist and governor of Huancavelica Antonio de Ulloa attempted to repeat the success of the Belen tunnel and excavate a horizontal adit at the base of the

Gran Farallón sandstone. Ulloa started this tunnel, also known as Pochoc, only 32 meters above the altitude of the plaza of Huanacavelica, almost 700 meters below the top of the Gran Farallón (Berry and Singewald 1922). By tunneling extremely low, this adit would hopefully bypass the confusion of the 16th and 17th century workings, proceeding for almost two kilometers at a slight incline and finally arriving at the Santa Barbára source (Tamayo 1904, 42). However, the colonial administration abandoned the project after finding no mercury after 60 meters (García-Pardo 2007, 231).

The Gran Farallón shows up again during the 19th century and is listed as an active mine during the 1840s, therefore any small-scale mining activity is likely to date to the 19th century

(Rivero y Ustariz 1857, 100). We recorded a condensed area of socavones along the southeastern edge of the Farallón (SB-243). Eleven socavones were recorded, each cut into the sandstone with a diameter around 2 meters. Additionally, a small platform and a stone structure were recorded on the slope below the socavones (SB-242 and 243). The structure was a single rectangular stone building,

114 with very little evidence of ceramic scatter or other domestic refuse, therefore it is unlikely it was a permanent residence, but rather a temporary shelter for the miners working above.

Figure 31. Areas of Pallaqueo exploitation

5.6 The Republican Period

As early as 1826, only two years after the Battle of Ayacucho which established Peru as a new independent republic, the government unsuccessfully attempted to reassert control over the mines of Huancavelica. The problem was not one of demand. Independence did shift mercury networks, as Potosí silver mines, now located in Bolivia, declined rapidly throughout the 19th century. However, the great silver mining center of Cerro de Pasco developed rapidly, and its proximity to Huancavelica should have decreased transport costs for its mercury (Deustua 1994;

Velarde 1908). Curiously, Cerro de Pasco did import over 240,000 pesos in mercury from

Huancavelica in 1849, although the official Huancavelica production numbers were almost zero, suggesting some degree of mercury smuggling (Berry and Singlewald 1922).

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For criollo engineers and entrepreneurs of Republican Peru, the former “Spanish Crown

Jewel” of Huancavelica became a reoccurring fantasy (Reyes 2004). Multiple companies were formed from 1824 until the end of the 19th century, all of them failing due to their inability to convince the local indigenous population to enter into the mine as wage laborers. Many of these reports blamed the indigenous character of the region for this “failure to modernize” (Arana 1901,

32). For example, the early 20th century an American geological expedition noted that “Ruins of ancient buildings indicate a stage of culture and education much in advance of that found in the decadent and backward town of today” (Berry et al. 1922, 15). Pedro Arana, a 19th century Peruvian engineer argued that these failures should be blamed on the humachis, which is a word of unclear etymology, but was often used to denote indigenous miners who worked the mines both illegally and informally lacking was then the “modern” production equipment (Arana 1901). They were indigenous men and women who worked the mines without title, basically squatters, and therefore were often described as thieves (Contreras and Diaz 2007). For example, following one failure of a mining company in the 1830s, a report from the Peruvian deputy of mines noted “…and they had to abandon their mines which were left to the mercy of Indians, called humachis who worked them without any rules,” (BNP 9510). This notion that the humachis worked the mines without rules refers to their lack of title and their lack of cooperation with wage-providing firms.

The humachis had a deep connection to the mining region, they knew the best sources of mercury, which allowed them to out compete more capital-intensive mining firms. Mercury was transported to the silver mines of Cerro de Pasco by highland indigenous or mestizo merchants, who forged connections with the humachis unavailable to upper class Lima-based or foreign firms

(Deustua 1994). In other words, the humachis were the indigenous miners who never left, the legacy of the pallaqueo system which encouraged free exploitation. As the Spanish colonial state collapsed in the early 19th century, these laborers remained, and through their local knowledge and practice, they were able to resist coercion into capitalist mining during the 19th century, repossessing what had been dispossessed by the colonial state.

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5.6.1 Tesoro Orccjo

One of the first mines likely exploited by the humachis was the Tesoro Orccjo mine, also known as Tesoro or Teseroro, is located on an east trending outcrop of sandstone with some limestone deposits approximately 750 meters to the east of the Santa Barbára deposit49. There are no records of Tesoro being mined during the colonial period, and it is first mentioned during the 1840’s, although it was likely exploited informally several decades earlier (Rivero y Ustariz 1857,101).

Others noted the high number of small holes, yet due to the lack of deeper trenches, it was assumed that the mercury quality was poor (Umlauff 1904, 58).

The survey at Tesoro recorded a large amount of socavones and slightly larger open pits, both on the ridge and on the southern and northern slopes. In total, we recorded at least thirty socavones, each of which measured approximately 2m in diameter. It is unclear exactly how many socavones have been carved into the sandstone, as the steep slopes made survey difficult, as they would have the mining of mercury. We also recorded three open pits, cut into the summit of the sandstone hill, suggesting a degree of supra-household organization beyond the independent miners of the 19th century.

49 Arana’s map (1901) places Teseroro to the northwest of the Santa Barbara source, yet later geological reports (Yates et al. 1951) as well as oral history interviews suggest that this location is an error, and that Arana’s Teseroro is the Tesoro/Teseroro located to the east of Santa Barbara along the sandstone anticline.

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Figure 32. Tesoro Orccyo

5.6.2 Calvario

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The Calvario mine is located to the south of the Santa Barbára deposit, approximately one kilometer away on a sharp peak that overlooks the Calvario Pass. 50 Located at 4500 masl, Calvario is one of the highest mines in the region. It is not known when exactly Calvario was first mined; a determination that is complicated by the fact that that name Calvario is a common toponym in the region. For example, the 1790 Brocal de la Real Mina de Santa Barbára names several hills as

“Calvario” to the south of Santa Barbára, yet none of the illustration’s summits contain evidence of mining. Nevertheless, by the 1840’s, Calvario is listed as an active mine, although very little description is provided (Rivero y Usatriz 1857,100). Calvario is again listed in the early 20th century by a report seeking to rehabilitate the “Indian” mines of Santa Barbára, yet once again without a corresponding description (Arana 1901).

Our survey recorded at least twelve socavones around the hilltop of Calvario, although there are likely far more as we were not able to access some parts of the hill due to landslides. The majority of these socavones were shallow pits, although at least one (SB-195) had been tunneled deep into the mountain. A mercury horno was recorded on the northeastern slope of Calvario, approximately fifty meters below the socavones. This mercury horno is reminiscent of a 16th century form, known as the reverbero and invented by Enrique Garces in 1581 (Lohmann Villena 1949).

However, it is likely that this type persisted as an informal, easy to construct horno throughout the colonial period, and even into the republican period as a way to avoid going through the official industrial production facilities in town.

5.6.3 Carniceria

The Carniceria mine is located to the south-east of Santa Barbára, approximately two kilometers away on the SE side of a sandstone steep cliff. Like Calvario, Carniceria is noted on the

1790 Brocal de la Real Santa Barbára map, though as a drainage and source of water. There is a

50 There are multiple hills named “Calvario” in the Santa Barbara region, this description refers to the only known Calvario that contains evidence of mining.

119 marked on the map as “Farallon de Carniceria” in the approximate location as well, but no sign of mining is depicted on this map. The mine is listed as active in the 1840’s (Rivero y Ustariz 1857,

100), and a 1904 description notes it strong potential for cinnabar, and that the mine was worked extensively in older times (Umlauff 1904, 31).

Our survey recorded 24 socavones along the ridgeline grouped in three discrete areas (SB-

149, 152, 157), all around 2m in diameter. The socavones all appear to have been cut using hand tools, there is no evidence of blasting. Additionally, we recorded four different groups of stone structures on top or directly below the ridgeline, ranging between two (SB-153 and 154) to seven structures (SB-151). While it is difficult to be certain about the relationship between the mining sites and residential sites, several factors suggest that the people who lived in these residential groups mined mercury nearby. First, surface ceramics showed a mix of 18th and 19th century, including botija fragments, undecorated domestic vessels, and lead glazed vessels (yellow, light green, and brown). Additionally, one group (SB-155) contained the ruins of a small mercury horno of an indeterminate type given of its poor preservation, as well as fragments of mercury cooking pots.

Finally, it must be emphasized that these stone structures were often built adjacent to the socavones, often within twenty meters, allowing easy access to the mining operations. While excavations of these housing groups would further illuminate their role in the mining operations, the available evidence suggests that these were extended household groups engaged in low-intensity mining characteristic of the 19th century.

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Figure 34. Example of mining and residential relationship at SB 151

Figure 33. Photo of Figure 33, looking toward SE with socavones in the background

5.6.4 Cabramachay

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The Cabramachay mine is located east across the Cabramachay drainage from the Gran

Farralon. There is very little mention of this mine in the literature, although it is possible it was known by a different name earlier in history. The mine is listed as active in the 1840’s (Rivero y

Usatriz 1857, 100), and the 200 by 200 meter mining claim was owned by Augusto Benvides in 1907

(Padron General de Minas 1907, 160). Similar to Carnceria, our survey found 13 socavones bored into a small limestone outcrop, as well as multiple small open pits above the outcrop. One small domestic structure was recorded adjacent to the Cabramachay, as well as several lead glazed ceramics characteristic of the 19th century. The structure is made of coarse stone and contains one main room with a subdivided patio space in front. This structure form, rectangular with two wall extensions to form a patio space, is a classic archetype for the Huancavelica mercury district and has

Figure 35. Residential structure at Cabramachay been found across the landscape. Excavations of this structure type at Santa Barbára suggest this form was in use during the 18th century, and perhaps even earlier.51

51 See Chapter 6 and 7 for a description of the Santa Barbara excavations.

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5.6.5 Tacna y Arica

The Tacna y Arica mine is one of the few mines on the north side of the Ichu River. Yates

(1951 et al.) mentions Tacna y Arica in the report from the 1940’s, although they give no indication of when this mine was in operation beyond noting that there was no sign of recent activity in 1945. It is likely that Tacna y Arica was known by a different name during the 19th or 18th centuries. If this mine was worked during the 19th century, our survey suggests a more centralized operation than was present an most other Republican period operations: the Tacna y Arica mine contains large multiple room structures, at least two hornos, and other small stone built platforms. Additionally, Tacna y

Arica does not present the multiple socavón strategy exhibited by other mines, but rather a few large trenches and one extremely deep adit into the sandstone-based mercury deposit.

One possible option is that Tacna y Arica dates to the mining operation of Don Demetrio

Olavegoya, a Peruvian entrepreneur who briefly operated one of the few wage-labor-based mining companies in Huancavelica in 1836 (Yates et al. 1951). While Olavegoya was commissioned by the

Peruvian government to rework the Santa Barbára deposit, that operation proved unprofitable and he turned his attentions to other previously unexploited deposits along the Gran Farallon sandstone north of the river (Castillo 1871). Further archival research in the Republican archives of the

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Municipalidad de Huancavelica are needed to confirm this hypothesis and to further illuminate this example of Republican era wage labor operation, which only lasted until 1840 (Arana 1901).

Figure 36. Large multiroom structure at Tacna y Arica

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Figure 37. Map of mining district showing different extraction areas.

5.7 Discussion

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Silliman (2001) ask archaeologists to consider the aspects of practice when examining questions of labor in the historical context, noting that “studying labor as practice resonates with archaeological data because labor is entrenched in materiality” (Silliman 2001, 2004).

TABLE III. CHRONOLOGY OF DIFFERENT EXTRACTION STRATEGIES

Early and Mid Colonial (1563-1786) Late Colonial (1786-1824) Republican Period (1824-1900) Forced and Wage Labor Wage Labor and Labor Organization Adminstered by Colonial State Independent Producers Independent Production

State Investment High Medium Low

Spatial Organization Centralized Decentralized Decentralized Above ground, pits and Type of Mining Subterranean, galleries trenches Above ground, socavones Examples Chaclatacana and Santa Barbara Botija Puncu, Trinidad Carniceria, Cabramachay

The spatial history of mining across Santa Barbára has several key moments of transformation that fractured and rearticulated the relationships between indigenous mining, commercial and political institutions. The initial system of the mita can be characterized as both mutualist and coercive, as the viceroyalty required highland communities to rotate one-seventh of their population through the mines (Robins 2011). Once at Huancavelica, Spanish authorities assigned the mitayos to different mine owners, where they would be compelled through physical force (e.g. beatings, chains) to mine mercury for the Spanish owners (Brown 2001). Clearly, the specific practices of mita labor were strongly coerced by the Spanish state. The mitayos were paid, yet often in kind through blankets, rations, or chicha, and always at a fixed rate which was negotiated between the mine owners and the Spanish administration on a fixed basis (Brady 1982). Therefore, while the presence of money may suggest some degree of commercialization, and the Spanish mine owners certainly participated in conspicuous consumption on the market, the actual practice of mining was not embedded in the market. There was no financial incentive to mine more or less, each miner was expected to carry out one large cloth sack of ore per day (Brady 1982; Robins 2017).

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Additionally, mitayos arrived as groups, living and laboring with people of their community. For example, a document that lists all the names of mitayos for 1608 mita shows that mitayos were organized at two different scales: ethnicity and ayllu.

TABLE IV. MITAYOS FROM MAY TO JUNE, 1608 AYLLO GUASCO 5 AYLLO MALMA 30 1 AYLLO MOROS 28 AYLLO PACHACARGUAY 20 AYLLO HABRAS 11 AYLLO YNGA 16 YNDIOS DE AYLLO GUARACA 12 ANDAGUAYLAS AYLLO CHINCHAYSUYO 4 AYLLO GUACHACA 3 1 AYLLO YANIC 17 2 AYLLO CAAT 14 AYLLO MATMA 10 AYLLO ANTAQUICHUA 11 1 AYLLO VILCAPORO 7 YNDIOS DE ANDAMARCAS 20 7 AYLLO LUCANAS 5 YNDIOS YNDIOS USCOMARCAS 21 ANDAMARCAS YNDIOS MITIMAES 8 YNDIOS MAYOS 13 INDIOS TOTAL MITAYOS: 255 ALQUILADOS: 12

However, European diseases and the subsequent demographic collapse created a shrinking workforce, and by the 1700s, mercury production based on conscripted labor was no longer viable

(Bradby 1982; Brown 2001). As a result, Spanish authorities increasingly relied upon indigenous wage laborers to supplement their labor shortfall. Unlike the initial labor system that relied on home communities to support their conscripted miners at Huancavelica, these wage laborers were presumably dispossessed from their homeland communities and were therefore dependent on colonial markets for their subsistence and household goods (Lohmann Villena 1999; Stern 1993).

The example of wage-based labor took two forms depending on the degree of coercion employed.

Some laborers fell into debt to the mine owners through the purchase of food, tools, or alcohol, and

127 therefore had to work for the merchant to pay off the account. This form of debt peonage often entailed further credit extensions to the indigenous miner to maintain their subsistence and was difficult to escape this coercion (Brady 1982; Stern 1993). Although it might seem surprising to find voluntary wage labor at a mercury mine, there is evidence that some indigenous miners voluntarily worked for a wage (Bradby 2000). Skilled miners could selectively engage in wage labor to avoid more toxic occupations in the mine or use the financial gain to purchase household goods and avoid debt (Stern 1993).

The Bourbon Reforms of the late 18th century brought the pallaqueo system, which placed the technical aspects of prospecting in the hands of indigenous miners, transforming their daily practices, and consequently the material legacies of their work. Whereas before the indigenous laborers were told which section of the underground mine to work, mining under the pallaqueo system benefitted those miners who had a greater knowledge of the landscape, including the increasing exploitation of limestone outcrops which had been mostly ignored by the Spanish. While the Spanish administration still attempted to collect and control the mercury produced from the independent mining operations , a much larger proportion of the production sequence was in indigenous hands. Initially, the pallaqueo miners worked collectively in large groups, demonstrated by the presence of large trenches in the mining zones of Botija Puncu or Trinidad. However, unlike the open pits of the 1560’s, these pits never descended into the subterranean depths of previous mining operations. Instead, pallaqueo miners moved to a new trench once the previous one had been exhausted, rather than move underground to face the dangers of umpe or mercury poisoning in the cramped spaces.

Finally, during the 19th century a group of indigenous miners engaged in independent production, illegally mining mercury to sell on the black market instead of working for a wage. In terms of labor, they were neither forced nor did they work for a commercial institution such as the

British and North American mining corporations that began to enter the Central Andes after postcolonial independence. This created a highly dispersed pattern across the landscape, and illicit

128 mining not only required searching for new sources of mercury, but also areas that could be worked clandestinely.

5.8 Conclusion

This chapter has traced the spatial history of the colonial mining landscape from its origins in the 16th century until the rise of informal indigenous miners after Peruvian independence. For over two hundred years, from the beginnings of mercury mining in the 1560s to the 1780’s, the mining was concentrated to a few, extremely rich ore deposits and was largely dependent on a state supported system of forced labor. Several tunnels or adits, such as the Belen tunnel, constricted access to one central underground mine, making the surveillance and control of the forced labor relatively easy. In the wake of the Marroquin collapse of 1786 and as the colonial administration implemented the pallaqueo reform in the 1790’s, the mining landscape became increasingly decentralized, as indigenous miners spread out across the district to find new sources of mercury to exploit.

The Wars of Independence shut down mercury mining for several years as the Spanish state retreated from the highlands. However, unlike other colonial mining districts in the Andes such as

Potosí or Oruro, Huancavelica never regained its prominence during the Republican period, and all elite Peruvian attempts to revive the Santa Barbára source would fail until the introduction of modern mining in 1917.52 This example confounds the expected narrative of capitalist development, in which forced laborers become free laborers through increased market engagement, eventually emerging as a fully proletarianized workforce. Several Peruvian historians have noted that the

Huancavelica example does not conform to teleological narratives of capitalist development, arguing that informal indigenous miners “blockaded the entry of the ‘modern mining’ for one century”

(Contreras and Diaz 2007, 1, see also Deustua 2000). The archaeological evidence concurs with this

52 “Modern” mining is defined as the use of capital intensive equipment such as the massive Scott Rotary Furnace that still sits on the slope of the hill today.

129 assertion, yet by considering the langue duree and material aspects of mercury mining, our survey adds two key points. First, any consideration of mercury mining during the Republican period must take the colonial antecedents into account, specifically the move to decentralize labor organization in order to revive profits following the Marroquin collapse of 1786. Second, decentralized miners work differently, they resist going deep underground or working in large administered groups. Instead, the decentralized indigenous miners followed new veins and deposits across the mercury district, consequently transforming the landscape and creating the spatial conditions needed to resist subsequent attempts by the Republican state to recreate the centralized mining of the colonial past.

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6. THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF COLONIAL SANTA BARBÁRA

6.1 The Church of Santa Barbára

On March 17th, 1667, two kurakas from the highland province of Angares petitioned the

Crown to maintain the protected status that exempted their people from the dreaded mita draft. Don

Pedro Cuicapusa was from Conayca, and Don Juan de la Cruz Sulcamissa from Acoria, two indigenous settlements approximately 25 kilometers northeast of the Santa Barbára mercury mines along the Ichu River. The two kurakas presented a series of testimonies to supplement their claim for continued exemption, which they based on three acts of service to the Spanish Crown. They first noted that the peoples of Acoria and Conayca had mined cinnabar for cosmetic paint prior to the

Spanish discovery, and they had shown Amador de Cabrera the source of the mercury over a century earlier.53 Second, they stated that they had constructed two churches, one near the open mine, and a

“new church that today is next to the royal socavón” (AGI 258, 38v.54). The Secretary of the Holy

Office and Cross, or Inquisition, testified that the construction of the new church occurred with “total diligence, without excuse or impediment” (AGI 258, 28r.). Finally, the kurakas presented testimony

53 This connects with earlier discussions that Gonzalo Navincopa, the kuraka of Acoria in the 1560s, had shown Amador de Cabrera the source of mercury. However, this petition does not mention Gonzalo Navincopa by name. Instead, a testimony by a royal official who had worked at the Huancavelica treasury for over 25 years, Juan Bartolomé Matute, states: “Afirma que conoce por documentos antiquísimos ser los descubridores de estas minas los indios de Acoria y Conaica, los cuales se los mostraron a Amador de Cabrera, su encomendero…” 54 Thank you to Mark Dries for showing me this document.

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that they “helped to build the town that today is next to the socavón and the new church…with great

will and love” (AGI 258, 35r.).

17th century archives such as the kurakas’ petition do not name this new settlement at the

mine. Some documents refer to it as a “church next to the socavón” (AGI 249 43r.), while others say,

“the church on the hill” (AGI 258 10r.). By the 18th century, colonial maps named the church and

town as “El Pueblo de Santa Barbára” (Estevan de Oliva y Jofre 1742). Located adjacent to the royal

entrance to the mine, hundreds of indigenous miners lived in approximately 150 stone structures

Figure 38. Santa Barbara in the 1930s (Ministry of Figure 39. Santa Barbara in 2015 (Photo by Author) Culture) clustered around the church and central plaza. Santa Barbára was occupied continuously for nearly

four centuries, and was finally abandoned in the late 20th century when violence from the Peruvian

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Armed Forces and the Maoist revolutionary group Sendero Luminoso forced residents of the

Communidad Campesino Santa Barbára (CCSB) to abandon their town for the relative safety of urban Huancavelica. In this chapter, I will present excavation data from Colonial Santa Barbára, beginning with the initial construction and occupation during the early 17th century, and continuing through the 18th century until the end of Spanish rule in the Andes.

6.2 The Royal Socavón

Santa Barbára was not the first settlement for indigenous mercury miners at Huancavelica. As

Chapter 5 described, the initial claims were located on the top of the sandstone ridge near the hills of

Chaccaltana and Guancavelica. The earliest settlement, and what the kurakas of Acroia and Conayca described as the “initial church” in the opening narrative to this chapter were located adjacent to the original claims by the encomendero Amador Cabrera in the 1560’s (Lohmann Villena 1949).

However, after three decades of open pit mining, the work had shifted to a maze of subterranean tunnels. Mercury-laden dust particles clogged the galleries, killing and maiming the mitayos at such great numbers that the mine became known as the “mine of death” (Brown 2001). The miner’s torches and candles also filled the tunnels with smoke creating “a great infection and corruption of the air, very prejudicial and injurious to human health” (Damien de Jeria AGI, Lima 34)55.

These conditions presented a moral quandary for the Spanish administration. On one hand, the lethality of the mine contradicted the mission of conversion and protection that underlined the paternal ideology of colonial governance. However, Huancavelica’s mercury made the riches of

Potosí’s silver possible, which subsequently flowed to Spain and the broader Hapsburg Empire in

Europe (Elliott 2007). The Hapsburgs used the Potosí silver to fund their imperial ambitions, hiring

Italian mercenaries to put down the Dutch rebellion and constructing the doomed Spanish Armada to invade England (Stein and Stein 2000). Yet as the situation worsened, the General Protector of the

Indians, the Jesuit Damien de Jeria, argued to Viceroy Luis de Velaso that subterranean mining

55 From Brown 2001, 472

133 should be banned in favor of a return to open pit mining. Viceroy Velasco wrote to King Phillip III in

1601 for advice. However, after receiving a contradictory and vague reply56 he decided to ban all subterranean mining in 1604 (Brown 2001).

The Count of Monterrey replaced Velasco as Viceroy at the end of 1604, and reopened the subterranean chambers in 1606 (ibid). The Count of Monterrey also sent a new inspector to the mines to see what could be done regarding the health and safety of the miners, Dr. Fernando Arias de

Ugarte (Lohmann Villena 1949). Arias de Ugarte had previously been the Corregidor of Potosí, put this mining administrative experience to task by attempting to expand the open pit to allow more air into the subterranean workings (Brown 2001). When this proved to be ineffective, he turned to another solution, the construction of a long deep adit from the western side of the mining deposit that would allow fresh air to flow into the underground galleries (ibid). As the aforementioned petition from kurakas indicates, Arias de Ugarte57 might have given the orders, but the people of Acoria and

Conayca did the labor, beginning construction in 1606.

The laborers from Acoria and Conayca also began building houses and a church adjacent to the adit entrance. A report from December 10th, 1606 states that a church had been constructed that was 37.5 varas long and 10.5 varas58 wide, or roughly 32 by 9 meters (AGI 239 43r.). Gaspar Guerra, a carpenter for the supports inside the mine, noted that they had also constructed a priest’s house59 and a structure for the overseer adjacent to the tunnel entrance. He noted that the church and houses lacked windows and doors, but that they cut down several trees in a nearby ravine to remedy the

56 Viceroy Velasco’s letters to King Phillip in 1600 and 1601 concerned not only mining in Huancavelica, but the entire mita system that Potosi and Huancavelica shared. King Phillip responded in 1603 with instructions that to preserve the indigenous population, the mita should be shut down. However, the next Viceroy, Gaspar de Zuniga Acevedo y Fonseca, immediately reinstated the mita in 1604 to renew the productivity of the mining sector (Cole 1985). In practice however, it is unclear if the mita ever actually stopped (Bakewell 1984) 57 Fernando Arias de Urgarte would only serve three years as inspector at Huancavelica, when he resigned all his civil positions and entered the church. He rose quickly through the ecclesiastical ranks, and eventually died as the Archbishop of Lima in 1638. (Lohmann Villena 1949) 58 The vara varied all over the Spanish Empire, but in Peru it was .847 meters (Chardon 1980) 59 Oral history suggests that this structure was located in the SW corner of the main plaza, but was torn down for stones in the mid 20th century.

134 issue (239 4r.). It is unclear when the church was finished, or the extent of the early settlement pattern in terms of house construction. For example, the kurakas’ petition in the 1660s noted that while the church walls and entrance had been constructed over fifty year earlier, “The church has not yet been fully covered60” (AGI 258, 34r.). Nevertheless, the presence of a large church and houses suggest an active mining community by the 1620’s. The royal socavón was finished in 1642, requiring almost forty years and almost one million pesos to construct (Lohmann Villena 1949).61

Figure 40. The Royal Socavon (Nuestra Senora de Belen)

6.3 Historical and Archaeological Time

History and archaeology work at different temporal scales, creating friction between these two ways of knowing the past. For example, the introduction to this chapter highlighted the rapid transformations in Huancavelica from the discovery of mercury in 1563 to the finishing of the Belen

60 This is not particularly unusual, as open air worship spaces were common in the early years of the Spanish colonial project (Norman pers comm. 2018) 61 By comparison, the salary of the governor of Huancavelica was 3,000 pesos annually in the early 17th century (Wise and Faraud 2005).

135 tunnel in 1646. The rapid growth in the mining economy and introduction of forced migratory labor created a population boom, and the growing problem of toxicity led to the construction of the Belen entrance and the Santa Barbára church and town. However, while entire books can be written about these momentous historical events (cf. Lohmann Villena 1949), we have a limited understanding of how material culture changed across this period. From an archaeological perspective, we would classify this period as “Early Colonial” at best, but more likely, just defined as “Colonial.”

Nevertheless, it is difficult to correlate these dramatic historical changes with changes in the material culture of indigenous households.

This research employs a modified version of the early/middle/late periodization of the

Viceroyalty of Peru. The early colonial period begins with the first Spanish incursions by conquistadores and germs in the 1520’s and 1530’s, and continues to the Toledan Reforms of the

1570’s (Lockhart and Schwartz 1983; Lockhart 1994). The middle period stretches from the 1570’s and ends in the first half of the 18th century, when a series of administrative changes sometimes referred to as the Bourbon Reforms attempted to revitalize the colonial political economy (Pearce

1999; Stern 1993). Finally, the late period continues through the various attempts at reforms throughout the latter half of the 18th century, and ends with the beginning of the South American wars for independence in the early 19th century (Povea Moreno 2012). In the case of Peru, the post- independence period is commonly known the Republican Period, which begins with the first administration of Jose Mariano de la Riva Aguero in 1823, and ends with the coup against President

Augusto B. Leguia in 1930 (Thurner 1995).

Within historical archaeology, defining the chronology of colonial contexts from the

Viceroyalty of Peru is a difficult proposition. Colonial ceramic chronology is poorly defined, and therefore ceramics are difficult to use as temporal markers. This lack of chronological "control" in colonial-period archaeology in the Andes is partially an unintended consequence of the types of research that have been conducted. Some projects have examined the colonial aftermath of the

European invasion at Inka or local indigenous sites which were forcibly abandoned during the

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Toledan resettlement program (Wernke 2003, 2007). Other projects have focused on sites with clear moments of destruction or abandonment, often in the 16th or early 17th century, which restricts the development of a good chronological markers (Murphy et al. 2012; Escontrías 2015; Bauer et al.

2015). In the case of Santa Barbára, however, the long occupational history stretches from 1600 to the 1990’s. 20th century inhabitants constructed new adobe structures on top of the ruins of colonial structures, as well as continuing to occupy 19th and 18th century structures. Therefore, it is not only a question of which areas contained colonial-period deposits, but also which of these colonial period deposits remained undisturbed by later occupations.

As this project is one of the first archaeological projects to approach the colonial-period from a langue duree perspective, an archaeological sequence was developed to cover the changes in material culture from the founding of Santa Barbára in 1606 to its abandonment around 1990. The sequence was developed through several lines of evidence. First, excavation units 8A, 13A, and 22A appeared to span the entirety of the Colonial and Republican periods. Unit 8A was in the center of the Santa Barbára plaza, and oral histories indicated the structures where 13A and 22A were located in areas that were already in ruins by the early 20th century (structures Ñ-5 and P-2). In order to understand the distinctions between middle and late colonial period material culture, we took four radiocarbon samples that were dated at the University of Arizona in these units (AA107660-

AA107663). Finally, an extensive literature review of imported Spanish, British, Chinese, and other imported ceramic types allowed further refining of the sequence, particularly in the 19th century when maker’s marks allowed more precise dating. A summary chart of the sequence in presented below, and a full explanation of the radiocarbon dates and chronology is presented in Appendix G.

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TABLE V. SUMMARY OF CHRONOLOGICAL PERIODS

Archaeological Historical Diagnostic Chronology Phase Context Material Culture

First Spanish mine opens Panamanian majolicas , (1664); SB church and start early and middle period Middle Colonial Period: of Belen entrance (1606); botijas , dark brown/clear SB I 1564-1700 Duque de la Plata reforms lead glazed, early black and (1680's) red linear painted

Late period botijas , Late colonial Peruvian Marroquin collapse (1786); majolicas , Late Colonial Period: Pallaqueo legalized (1793); brown/clear/yellow glazed, SB II 1700-1810 Mine officially closes glass tumblers, red dot (1810) bowls, white vertical on red, late black and red

Last Spanish governor British imported vessels, (1815); Failed industrial glass, metals, first Republican Period: 1810- mining attempts (1836- appearance of green glaze, SB III 1920 1839; 1851-1854); Purchase first appearance of lead by Fernandini (1917) glazed plates

Industrial mining begins (1926); Open pit mining Imported vessels, coinage, Contemporary Period: (1968-1975); Shining glass, oral history, thick SB IV 1920-1990 Path/Military conflict leads linear to abandonment of SB (1980's)

6.4 Colonial Period Excavation Data (SB I and SB II)

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SB I (1564-1700) is the most poorly represented time period in Santa Barbára, only appearing

in three excavation units (8A, 13A, and 22A). Geographically, however, these four units stretch

across the southern half of the site, ranging from the central plaza to the southern-most structures.

None of the SB I contexts contain evidence for well-defined occupation surfaces, but are rather

stratigraphically secure middens that have 17th century material culture or radiocarbon dates. SB II

deposits are found in four units as well (8A, 13A, 31A and 1A), two of which show continuity from

SB I, while Unit 22A was abandoned at some point in the late 17th or early 18th century for unknown

reasons. We assigned Units 1A and 31A to the late colonial-period due to the lack of imported

British vessels, although no radiocarbon dates could securely confirm this determination.62

TABLE VI. EXCAVATION CHRONOLOGY: SB I (RED), AND SB II (ORANGE)

1A 6A 8A 13A 14A 22A 31A S SB IV SB IV SB IV SB IV SB IV SB IV SB IV SB I 1564-1700 A SB III/IV SB IV SB III SB III/IV SB III/IV SB III/IV SB III/IV SB II 1700-1810 B SB III SB III/IVSB II SB III SB III SB III SB III SB III 1810-1920 C SB II SB III SB II SB III SB III SB III SB III SB IV 1920-1990 D SB II SB III SB I SB III SB I SB II E SB I SB II SB I SB II E/2 SB I F SB I SB I SB I G SB I

62 The material culture of the lower levels (C and D) were typical of the colonial-period occupation with a mix of tin-glazed, painted, and plain wares, and no evidence of 19th century imported British vessels that are found in every other Republican context.

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Figure 41. Location of excavations with SB-I contexts

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Figure 42. Location of excavations with SB-II contexts

6.4.1 Unit 22

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We placed Unit 22 in structure P-2, located in the southern part of the site, across the stream that divides the settlement into two parts. We chose to excavate P-2 given the lack of occupation in living memory, suggesting the structure was abandoned prior to the early 20th century. Excavations revealed 19th century material on top of a stone floor and bench at the bottom of layer C, the only stone floor found on site. Beneath the stone floor however, the cultural deposits continued, and a charcoal sample taken below the stone floor had a C-14 date of 1510-1665, calibrated at a 95% confidence level. Considering we know the Spanish did not start mining until 1564, we can state that the SB I component sealed beneath the stone floor dates to the late 16th and early 17th century.

Figure 43. Unit 22, Stone Floor at bottom of layer C. The stone floor dates to the 19th century, while a radiocarbon date taken below the floor dates to the late 16th/early 17th century. This suggests two separate occupations separated by approximately 150 years.

6.4.1.1 SB I (1564-1700)

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Figure 44. Calibration curve for radiocarbon sample taken from Unit 22, Level D, Quadrant 5.

The SB I occupation at Unit 22 is spread over three layers (Level D, E, and F). The ceramic assemblage displayed the full range of expected styles for the colonial period, a combination of painted, lead and tin glazed, botijas, mercury, and undecorated vessels. In terms of form, bowls and ollas dominated the SB I assemblage, although we recovered several jars as well. In total, we found

175 ceramic fragments in the SB I component of Unit 22, with an MNV count of 85 vessels.

TABLE VII. MNV OF UNIT 22, SB I, LEVELS D, E, AND F

Unit 22 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB I MNV 20 41 8 2 1 13 0 85 SB I per m3 11.19 22.93 4.47 1.12 0.56 7.27 0.00 47.54 SB I % 24% 48% 9% 2% 1% 15% 0% 100%

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Painted ceramics included most of the known SB I types, including Red, White, Red on

White, and Polychrome. The Polychrome vessels are somewhat surprising, as they are generally more associated with SB II and III occupations across Santa Barbára. These vessels display black and red linear designs on a white background and are occasionally decorated with black dots. Given the intricacy of their design, as well as their rarity across the site (3.1% of all vessels), it is likely they were associated with high status. Unit 22 also had several types of glazed tablewares, including clear and brown lead glazed bowls and tin-glazed majolicas. The majolicas were a mix of Green-on-

White and Polychrome vessels.

The faunal materials of Unit 22 contained four species, including a MNI of sheep (N=15;

41%), followed by camelid (N=12; 32%), cow (N=9; 24%) and donkey (N=1; 3%). Intriguingly, the camelid and sheep faunal remains displayed a wide diversity of bones including many cranium fragments, while the cow bones were mostly limited to vertebrae and limb bones. This suggests that the camelids and sheep were on site, likely brought by the mitayos as animals for transport and wool, and then killed and consumed on site. In contrast, the cows did not live on site, perhaps butchered in

Huancavelica and sold in the market to the occupants of Santa Barbára.

Figure 45. Polychrome Bowl. Unit 22, Level E

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Figure 46. Polychrome Majolica. Unit 22 Level D Unit 22 is the only excavation unit contained evidence for a donkey, which is intriguing considering the location of the excavations. Today, in recent past, and therefore likely the colonial past as well, there are two ways to reach the city of Huancavelica from the rural hinterlands. One is through the settlement of Santa Barbára, which passes by the Belen entrance and down to the city along a treacherous decline. The other is a path that diverts along the southern edge of the settlement and then follows the ravine below, passing near the colonial settlement of Sacsamarca and down a more level path to Huancavelica. This second route passes adjacent to Unit 22, and one local account referred to the structure as a tambo but was unable to provide more detail than that statement.63

While the structure at Unit 22 was not an official tambo by any sense of the word, its contemporary classification as one and its location astride the preferred transportation path to Huancavelica

63 Interview with Maximo Torres Rodriguez. September 24th, 2014

145 suggests its inhabitants might have engaged in transportation aspects of the colonial economy, rather than mining. This is further supported by the near lack of mercury production vessels found in Unit

Figure 47. Contemporary alpaca pastoralists from C.C.S.B. along the road adjacent to Unit 22. The church of Santa Barbara can be seen on the bottom left of the photo 22 (N=1; 1.2%), a difference from the Unit 8 and Unit 13. This distinction between transport and mining will be further explored in the conclusion to this chapter.

6.4.2 Unit 8

We placed Unit 8 near the center of the colonial plaza to understand the initial construction context of the church and plaza. Surprisingly, we uncovered a large stone wall that runs parallel with the east wall of the 1606 church. The wall was first uncovered during the excavation of Layer E, and roughly bisected the three by five-meter excavation unit. Intriguingly, the top of the wall is located

70 centimeters below the surface, which would be below the floor of the 1606 church. This suggests that the wall and associated cultural deposit predate the church and plaza, correspond to the late

1500s, perhaps documenting that Santa Barbára was inhabited prior to church construction. Given

146 that Santa Barbára is located on a wide mountain shelf a short distanced from the central mercury deposits of the region, the discovery of a late 1500 occupation is in many ways not surprising.

Figure 48. Final Excavation Photo of Unit 8 showing 16th century wall.

A C14 date taken from a carbon sample in layer E was dated to 1500-1645, calibrated at a

95% confidence level. However, the 95% confidence determination was actually composed of two points on the curve, one from 1500-1597, and one from 1611-1645. Considering the church and therefore the plaza was constructed in 1606, this suggests that the SB I stratigraphic layers associated with this old wall (D, E, F, and G) correspond to the initial occupation of Santa Barbára from 1564-

1597.

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Figure 49. Radiocarbon Sample from Unit 8, Level E, Quadrant 1

6.4.2.1 SB I (1564-1700)

It is unclear what type of building was located where the plaza of the town was later built.

During the late 1500’s, the area that is now Santa Barbára was a 20-30 minute walk from the main mining operations on the top of the hill. While it is possible this structure was an earlier church or doctrina, the artifacts suggest it was used as a residence, possibly connected to nearby mercury refining. 295 diagnostic ceramic fragments were found64, which were used to calculate a minimum number of vessels of 107.

64 Due to limited funding, no faunal analysis was conducted on SB I layers at Unit 8. Additionally, no glass or metals were recovered in SB I.

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TABLE VIII. MNV OF UNIT 8, SB I, LEVELS D, E, F, AND G

Unit 8 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB I MNV 12 15 3 3 38 36 0 107 SB I per m3 1.36 1.69 0.34 0.34 4.29 4.07 0.00 12.08 SB I % 11% 14% 3% 3% 36% 34% 0% 100%

Indigenous peoples were responsible for the actual labor of the refining process, which was considered one of the more dangerous occupations and the Spanish therefore often employed mitayos in the mercury kilns as opposed to wage labor (Robins 2011). However, it is unclear if this was a residential structure for the horneros65, as overseers would have lived nearby to maintain surveillance and control over the refining process. Considering the apparent size of the structure, it is possible that both indigenous horneros and overseers lived together during the refining operations. In terms of hierarchy, the overseers might have been Spanish or mestizo foreman. Alternatively, the indigenous elite in charge of the mita, known as the captain of the mita, was always supposed to stay with their mitayos in order to prevent escape (Bakewell 1984). Nearby surface level refining sites,

Figure 50. Mercury Cooking Vessel. Recovered in Unit 8, Level E, Quadrant 7 SB 142 and SB 187 suggest a possible analogue for this residential structure. In both cases, a large

65 Indigenous labor who worked the refineries were known as horneros, or sometimes quemadores (Robins 2011)

149 rectangular stone structure was located nearby the actual kiln, and presumed to have been a place to live while conducting refining operations.

The mercury vessels themselves do not display much standardization. The diameters range from 10 to 18 cm, contain single and double rims vessels and some display a light cream slip while others are completely undecorated. Considering the size and specificity to mercury refining, these vessels were locally produced. However, a review of the 16th century notarial documents suggests that at least five different production locations for mercury ollas by the 1590s, and the frequent purchase and selling of mercury ollas between wealthy Spanish mine owners. Therefore, the lack of standardization displayed by the ceramics of Unit 8 indicate that a single refining operation would procure mercury ollas from multiple sources, rather than a standardized distribution by the colonial state. Moreover, mitayos themselves were often sold with the mercury vessels, possibly suggesting that groups of indigenous hornarios would take their vessels from one operation to the next, creating mixed and diverse assemblages of mercury refining vessels.

Figure 51. Residential structure outside mercury refining kiln at SB 187

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For example, on June 1st 1582, Juan de Contreras, one of the most powerful mine owners in

Huancavelica completed a large sale to Juan Garcia de la Vega. In addition to cattle, several mining claims, picks, and a variety of other tools, Contreras sold “400 ollas con sus tapaderas sanas”, or

“400 ollas complete with tops”. However, he also transferred possession of the labor of 40 indigneous mitayos and their kurakas to de la Vega to refine mercury.66

Figure 52. Imported Panamanian Polychrome A recovered in Unit 8, Level F, Quadrant 9 The domestic ceramics from Unit 8 display a mix of production techniques, ranging from glazed, wheel-thrown ceramics to painted local handmade vessels. The glazed wares included brown lead glaze and several Panamanian polychromes (Jamieson 2001). However, pots do not equal people, and the presence of European glazed wares, even imported wares like Panamanian polychromes does not necessarily mean a Spanish identity for the occupants. However, they do suggest high-status, and the ability to purchase finer products in the colonial market of Huancavelica,

66 “20 Huringuancas del pueblo de San Miguel de la Conçepcion de Curaca Don Hernando Turulache y 10 yndios del pueblo de Santiago de Quera Curaca Don Diego Yallico y otros 10 yndios del pueblo de Guanda de Gavila Curaca Don Domingo Porabisa (sic)” (Huancavelica Archive, Folio 510, 1582)

151 or perhaps from Lima. Yet the assemblage also contains multiple painted and slipped vessels, almost all bowls which would have been the primary serving vessel of the period.

6.4.2.2 SB II (1700-1821)

The SB II components (Levels B and C) in Unit 8 are difficult to separate from the SB I components (Level D, E, F, G) on material culture alone. The wall uncovered in SB I extended from

Level G to the Level E. Level D was large burn layer that likely occurred in the process of building the plaza and the initial occupation. The opening of Level C uncovered another burn layer mixed with clay, as well as the appearance of White-on-Red vessels that signified the 18th century in other units. The assemblage contains fewer domestic vessels (plainwares, painted, and glazed), yet the amount of storage vessels increased. This shift from domestic goods and mercury vessels to storage correlates with the increasing use of the plaza as a communal space for exchange and other activities, rather than residence or mercury refining.

TABLE IX. MNV OF UNIT 8, SB II, LEVELS B AND C

Unit 8 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB II MNV 4 6 0 2 17 24 0 53 SB II per m3 0.90 1.35 0.00 0.45 3.82 5.39 0.00 11.91 SB II % 8% 11% 0% 4% 32% 45% 0% 100%

TABLE X. SB I AND SB II AT UNIT 8

Ceramic Ceramic MNV Frequency per m3 Percent Class SB I SB II SB I SB II Change Domestic 33 11 3.73 2.46 -127% Mercury 38 17 4.29 3.82 -47% Storage 36 24 4.07 5.39 133%

6.4.3 Unit 13

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Unit 13 provides a different perspective on life at Santa Barbára during the 17th century. The

SB I layers correspond to an early construction phase that sits approximately one meter below, yet offset of, the extant surface architecture. Layers E-1, E-2, and F correspond to the earlier structure, while layers A through C correspond to the surface architecture. Layer D occupies a middle ground, and was either the foundational layer of the latter construction, possibly the final fill event of the earlier structure, or both. We collected two C-14 samples from level D and level F from the same excavation quadrant. The analysis of the Layer F sample hit several places on the calibration curve, however, the presence of pre-1671 majolicas located above this sample narrowed the estimation to

1647-1675 date calibrated at a 95% confidence. The layer D sample also hit multiple places on the calibration curve, yet mostly correspond to the late 18th century and will be discussed in the following chapter. In summary, Layers E-2 and F date to the middle 17th century, and therefore will be discussed in this chapter as a unit.

SB I SB II SB I

Figure 53. Unit 13 Stratigraphy

6.4.3.1 SB I (1564-1700)

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Figure 54. Unit 13, Final excavation photo showing earlier construction Unit 13’s ceramic assemblage from SB I level was very different from that recovered in Unit

8. There were far fewer mercury production vessels (N=4, 6.8%), which suggest the inhabitants were engaged in other activities. This could also be a product of the difficulties in chronology, as the SB I of Unit 13 corresponds to the mid-17th century while the SB I of Unit 8 is late 16th century. While the area of Santa Barbára may have initially been used as a place for refining mercury, by the mid-17th

Santa Barbára had become a place of residence rather than labor.

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TABLE XI. MNV OF UNIT 13, SB I, LEVELS E/2 AND F.

Unit 13 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB I MNV 18 18 2 2 3 16 0 59 SB I per m3 9.15 9.15 1.02 1.02 1.52 8.13 0.00 29.98 SB I % 31% 31% 3% 3% 5% 27% 0% 100%

Figure 55. Panamanian Polychrome A, Recovered from Unit 13, Level E/2 Quadrant.5. Identical to #3035 in the Florida Museum of Natural History Collection

155

SB I at Unit 13 also contained two types of glazed ceramics, lead and tin glazed. Tin-glazed ceramics were likely Panamanian in origin, while the clear and brown lead glazed ceramics come from an unknown origin. Unit 13 also contained a wider diversity of painted ceramics, included some ceramics with more complex abstract designs such as the Polychrome vessel with the snake motif shown in Figure 56.

We also conducted analysis on the faunal materials recovered in Unit 13. Only three species were identified: camelid, sheep, and cow. In terms of minimum number of individuals, most of the

Figure 56. Painted Ceramic recovered from Unit 13, Level E/2 Quadrant 4 species were camelid (N=8; 50%), followed by sheep (N=5; 31%) and cow (N=3; 19%).

Intriguingly, the camelid and sheep faunal remains displayed a wide diversity of bones including many cranium fragments, while the cow bones were mostly limited to vertebrae and limb bones. This suggests that the camelids and sheep were on site, likely brought by the mitayos as animals for

156 transport and wool, and then killed and consumed on site. In contrast, the cows did not live on site, perhaps butchered in Huancavelica and sold in the market to the occupants of Santa Barbára.

6.4.3.2 SB II (1700-1821)

The ceramic assemblage in SB II showed similar patterns to SB I, except there was a far greater amount and diversity of painted vessels, comprising of over half (52%) of the MNV of SB II.

The growth in ceramic diversity, and the increased in tin and lead glazed vessels suggests an increased ability to purchase ceramics.

TABLE XII. MNV OF UNIT 13, SB II, LEVELS E/1

Unit 13 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB II MNV 12 36 7 4 0 10 0 69 SB II per m3 11.11 33.33 6.48 3.70 0.00 9.26 0.00 63.89 SB II % 17% 52% 10% 6% 0% 14% 0% 100%

For example, the graph in Figure 57 shows the different frequencies of painted vessels in SB

I and SB II, scaled to cubic meter of excavated earth. SB I only contained four different types of painted vessels, and less than half the total quantity of painted wares. Meanwhile, SB II occupants had access to every type of vessels consumed at Santa Barbára, including the appearance of two new

Figure 57. Comparison of SB I and SB II painted vessels.

157 vessels types; Red-Dot Bowls and White on Red Restricted Vessels. Tese two types appear during the 18th century and proliferate rapidly into the 19th century.

Likewise, glazed vessels increased from 6% (N=4) to 16% (N=11) of each respective level.

However, while the ceramic assemblage suggests greater commercialization, the faunal assemblage only contained camelid and sheep remains. This is possibly suggestive of the fact that while earlier generations moved back and forth from their communities with their animals during the mita circuit, later generations lived off the market in Huancavelica. However, the faunal assemblage only had an

MNI of 3, therefore further interpretation is difficult.

6.4.4 Unit 31

Unit 31 was placed in a structure (R-4) on far southern edge of the site, the furthest unit away from plaza. Community interviews indicated that the structure was either “constructed” or

“reconstructed” around 1900, suggesting the possibility of an occupation history beyond the 20th century. The Stone 1 architecture suggested that this 1900 event was a reconstruction, or at least a new construction entailing nearby colonial building materials. The test unit revealed a mix of colonial and republican material culture in the upper stratigraphic levels, including a 1577 half-real

Spanish silver coin in Level B. However, Level B also contained significant amounts of 19th century material, therefore we classified this layer as 19th century.

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Figure 58. Structure R-4, location of Unit 31.

6.4.4.2 SB II (1700-1821)

The SB II assemblage from Unit 31 contained at least 78 vessels, with a similar mix of different classes as seen in other parts of the site. SB II at Unit 31 was distinguished by the relative lack of vessels per m3 compared to other areas of the site. It is possible that this represents a relatively impoverished household, as structure R-4 is not only smaller than other units, but the furthest away from the plaza. However, the relative proportions of glazed, painted, and plainwares are similar to other units during SB II, and the occupants of Unit 31 had the same access to majolicas and painted vessels.

TABLE XIII. MNV OF UNIT 31, SB II, LEVELS D AND E.

Unit 31 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB II MNV 19 34 4 1 4 16 0 78 SB II per m3 3.53 6.31 0.74 0.19 0.74 2.97 0.00 14.48 SB II % 24% 44% 5% 1% 5% 21% 0% 100%

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6.4.5 Unit 1

The smallest of the areal excavations, Unit is a 2x1 meter unit placed in a small enclosed space between three structures (I-2, I-3, and I-4) near the SE corner of the plaza. The density of the material suggest that this area was a trash pit or midden for people living in these structures. Unit 1 contained British material in Level B, yet the similar material to other SB II occupations in Levels C and D. It is unclear why there is no SB I occupation in Unit 1, as the proximity to the plaza would suggest an ongoing occupation since the 16th century, similar to Unit 8. However, given the repeated construction and rebuilding of structures adjacent to the plaza, it is possible that SB I deposits were destroyed at some point over the past few centuries.

Figure 59. Location of Unit 1 between structures in Group I.

6.4.5.1 SB II (1700-1821)

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Excavations at Unit 1 uncovered the densest assemblages on the site, which is unsurprising considering it was likely a midden that received trash from multiple buildings. Moreover, this excavation unit was 2x1, and as the smallest excavation unit it is vulnerable to overestimation of ceramics per m3. However, like Unit 8, it provides a window into the artefactual stratigraphy near the center of the site, that the the 18th century saw an increase in polychrome painted, green lead glazed, and blue majolicas.

TABLE XIV. MNV OF UNIT OF UNIT 1, SB II, LEVELS C AND D.

Unit 1 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB II MNV 7 13 6 2 0 5 0 33 SB II per m3 20.8333 38.6905 17.85714 5.95238095 0 14.881 0 98.2143 SB II % 21% 39% 18% 6% 0% 15% 0% 100%

6.5 Discussion

The initial occupation (SB I) of Santa Barbára during the 16th and 17th centuries entailed two distinct moments of settlement organization. The first, only visible in Unit 8, occurred prior to the construction of church and plaza of Santa Barbára, and displayed evidence for mercury refining on what would become the plaza. Beginning in the early 1600’s, however, Santa Barbára became a place of residence, rather than labor. The two domestic spaces excavated that date to this period,

Units 13 and 22, show similarity in what types of goods they could procure. However, this does not mean there was not inequality, as while both households had the same potential for access, the occupants of Unit 22 consumed a higher frequency of glazed and painted ceramics, adjusted for cubic meters excavated.

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Figure 60. Frequency of domestic vessels in SB I, Units 13 and 22

Figure 61. Total vessels in SB I, Units 13 and 22

However, by the 18th century (SB II), we began to see a shift in the ceramic materials available to the indigenous laborers of Santa Barbára. First, a comparison of the two available domestic SB II contexts, Units 13 and 31, shows that Unit 13 is now wealthier in terms of total ceramics, as well as higher frequencies of painted and glazed vessels.

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Figure 62. Comparison of different vessel classes in SB II, Units 13 and 31

Figure 63. Total vessels in SB II, Units 13 and 31

However, in both Units 31 and 13, the growing commercialization of the 18th century led to a greater increase in the consumption of painted vessels, rather than glazed vessels. New forms of glazed and painted vessels appeared for the first time, suggesting not only an increased in the strength of exchange networks, and a growing diversity in the available options. This heterogeneity in artifacts reflects the growing heterogeneity in exchange options as miners increasingly shifted from forced to wage labor during the 18th century.

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6.6 Conclusion

The town of Santa Barbára began on a natural terrace (4250 masl) on the western side of the

Santa Barbára mercury mine. Indigenous laborers constructed stone buildings to store equipment, refine mercury, and seek shelter from the cold winds on the top of the hill (4500 masl). The settlement rapidly changed with the initial excavations of the Belen entrance in 1606, as indigenous laborers from Acoria and Conayca constructed the first church and domestic structures to house the laborers. The Belen tunnel structured daily life at Santa Barbára for the nearly the next two centuries, as miners would enter and leave each day to mine mercury deep below the earth. However, this does not mean daily life was static, but rather the increasing role of wage labor and pallaqueo labor commercialized Santa Barbára, bringing in new goods to the community. By the late 18th century,

Huancavelica and Santa Barbára were commercial hubs as a diversity of household products circulated through the highlands, local markets, and indigenous mining households.

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7. THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF REPUBLICAN SANTA BARBÁRA

7.1 The Collapse of the Mercury Mining Industry

In 1900, Dr. Pedro P. Arana acquired the mercury mining district of Huancavelica from the

Peruvian government.67 A hacendado and senator from Huancavelica, Arana stated his bold objectives in a letter to the Peruvian President Eduaro Lopez de Romana Alvizuri: “The new industrial revolution, that the new mercury company of Huancavelica will start in Peru” (Arana

1901, iii). As Chapter 5 noted, Arana’s attempt to revitalize the colonial-era mercury mining industry was not the first, nor the last. Throughout the 19th century, various wealthy Peruvian investors attempted to recreate the prosperity of Spanish Colonial Huancavelica by renewing the mining industry, yet all of them failed within several years (Contreras and Diaz 2007; Rivero y Ustariz

1857). Huancavelica gained the reputation of a once great mining town that had fallen on hard times, or as one visiting geologist described: “Ruins of ancient buildings indicate a stage of culture and education much in advance of that found in the decadent and backward town of today” (Berry and

Singewald 1922, 15).

This chapter examines the history and archaeology of Santa Barbára after the official close of the mine in 1810 (Lohmann Villena 1949). The early 19th century was a chaotic period for the mining economy in Huancavelica, as the Wars of Independence disrupted the flow of labor and mercury (Fisher 2015). In 1818, the last Spanish governor, Juan Montengro y Ubalde, rode out of

Huancavelica to escape the pro-independence forces of Juan Antonio Alvarez de Arenales (ibid).

Three years later, July 28th, 1821, General José de San Martín declared independence in Lima, and

67He acquired the mining claims through a legal process known as denouncement, in which any individual could make a mining claim on a region not previously worked or had been abandoned for two years, providing a small fee was paid. The individual then had two years to raise capital and begin active mining, or else face a new denouncement. In Arana’s case, he acquired 60 pertenencias, or 60 blocks measuring 200 by 200 meters (Pickering 1908).

165 the Peruvian Republic defeated the last royalist army in the field at the Battle of Ayacucho in 1824

(Walker 1999). Almost immediately, the new Peruvian Republic commissioned a survey of the mining district in 1825, eager for a reliable source of mercury to supply the growing silver mine of

Cerro de Pasco (Deustua 2010). The survey found that most of the underground workings of Santa

Barbára would require capital investment and modernization, yet estimated the overall value to be

31,400 pesos (BNP D10363). As the average value of a silver mine in the early Peruvian republic was only 5000 pesos, this made Santa Barbára a promising yet underdeveloped source of wealth

(Deustua 2010:136). However, repeated attempt to revitalize the mine failed, and both 19th century writers (Arana 1901; Rivero y Ustariz 1857) and more recent historical analyses (Contreras and Diaz

2007; Deustua 2010) have blamed this failure on an indigenous group called the humachis.

7.2 The Humachis

We know very little of the humachis68 from the Republican archives, as they did not produce much of a written record due to the informal and illegal nature of their activities. The word humachi has no known Quechua origin, although Contreras and Diaz (2007) suggest that is a Quechua surname based on the presence of a man named Manuel Humachi from Sicuani who lived in Potosí in the late 18th century (Stavig 2000). The earliest reference to humachis comes from a report of the

Peruvian Deputy of Mining in 1840, who wrote that “Little by little the mining center was decaying because the price of azogue fell low…and and they had to abandon their mines which were left to the mercy of indios, called humachis who worked them without any rules” (BNP D9510). This report highlights several key facts about the humachis that would be repeated in additional 19th century commentaries (Arana 1901; Contreras and Diaz 2007, Deustua 2010). Additionally, the humachis are not Spanish, Peruvian criollo, or mestizo, but identified as indio, almost certainly Quechua speaking.

The humachis did not possess any legal right to work the mines, as the reference to mining without

68 Alternative spellings include humaches, humanchis and umaches.

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“any rules” implies they worked the mines clandestinely. In fact, Arana’s 1901 report referred to them as “usurpers.”

The humachis have several parallels in other Andean mining regions, part of a larger proto- social movement that developed in response to oppressive mining conditions during the late colonial period. In Potosí, for example, they were known as k’ajcha, a Quechua word that signifies the sound of a slingshot, which the k’ajchas used to deter unwanted observers to their mining activities

(Barragán 2017). In the case of Huancavelica, the humachis complicated, frustrated, and blocked modern or capital-intensive mining through two different factors: labor and the market. In terms of labor, the 19th century Andean mining sector relied on indingeous labor, often acquired through the hated engnache system. This system of debt slavery loaned money to members of indigenous pastoral or agricultural communities nearby mining zones. In order to work off the loan, the indigenous peoples had to work at the mines, although they soon found increasing levels of debt due to rising costs for subsistence. The humachis were able to avoid enganche by remaining self- sufficient through their engagement with the black market, gained by independent production of the mercury mines. In short, the humachis gained autonomy not by avoiding the market, but by selectively engaging with exchange networks.

7.3 Republican Period Excavation Data

We found 19th century materials in nearly every single excavation unit at Santa Barbára, almost always defined by the appearance of imported British whitewares. While we did not find a single pre-1800 British pearlware or creamware, British whitewares are nearly ubiquitous throughout the site, and therefore act as a temporal marker for SB III. In excavation Units 1, 13, 22, and 31, the

19th century occupation levels were a continuation of the earlier colonial period occupations. In contrast, Units 6 and 14 represented new 19th century occupations with no colonial antecedents.

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TABLE XV. EXCAVATION CHRONOLOGY SB III (GREEN).

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Figure 64. Location of excavations with SB-III contexts.

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7.3.1 Unit 869

Unit 8 is located in the plaza, the hub of communal social activities by the 19th century. While deeper excavations described in chapter 6 had revealed a domestic structure likely associated with mining, the upper layer associated with the 19th century are thin and scattered due to the ephemeral nature of plaza activities. Unlike the earlier high numbers of mercury production vessels, we recovered mostly domestic vessels in SB III, likely a product of scattered trash from communal events in the plaza. We recovered one fragment of a black transferware vessel, indicating an early 19th century date.

TABLE XVI. MNV OF UNIT 8, SB III, LEVEL A.

Unit 8 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB III MNV 9 28 3 1 2 14 1 58 SB III % 16% 48% 5% 2% 3% 24% 2% 100% SB III per m3 3.21888 10.01431 1.0729614 0.35765379 0.71531 5.00715 0.35765 20.7439

7.3.2 Unit 13

TABLE XVII. MNV OF UNIT 13, SB III, LEVELS B, C, AND D.

Unit 13 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB III MNV 64 89 10 51 5 19 7 245 SB III per m3 14.18 19.73 2.22 11.30 1.11 4.21 1.55 54.30 SB III % 26% 36% 4% 21% 2% 8% 3% 100%

One of the denser colonial excavation units, Unit 13A also had a well defined 19th century occupation in levels B, C, and D. These levels were located above the SB I structure, and therefore likely correspond to the surface architecture. The ceramic assemblage showed multiple imported

British vessels from the early 19th century, including one fragment from a large serving platter made in the Copeland and Garrett factories in Staffordshire, England. This vessel contained a macaw image, a print that would have been considered exotic in England, as most transferwares produced at

69 For more detailed descriptions of Units 1, 8, 13, 22, and 31, please refer back to Chapter 6.

170 this time tended to display English pastoral scenes of cow and castles (Samford 1997). However, for a Quechua speaking highlander would have immediately recognized the macaw, or wakamayu in

Quechua, as a species from the nearby Peruvian Amazon on the eastern slope of the Andes. In the

Andes, macaws have long symbolized status acquired from trade with the eastern jungles of antisuyu, along with other jungle products such as peppers and coca (Browman 1978).

Unit 13 also contained a cache of fragments corresponding to ten red dot serving bowls in the north-east corner of the building (Unit 13, Level D, Quadrant 1). Critically, these bowls have highly similar decoration, yet differ slightly in shape. During the late-colonial period of SB II, we only found these vessels in Unit 13, while they appear in every unit during SB III.

Figure 65. Red Dot Bowls recovered in Unit 13, Capa D, Quadrant 1

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Figure 66. Macaw Pattern, Large Rectangular Dish, 26.7cm by 19.1cm70

Figure 67. Fragment of Macaw dish recovered in Unit 13, Level D, Quadrant 1

70 Image and information on Transferware comes from Sussman 1979 and the Transferware Collector’s Club https://www.transcollectorsclub.org/tcc2/data/patterns/m/macaw

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7.3.3 Unit 31

The most isolated unit in terms of distance from the plaza, Unit 31A had a mixed-late colonial period occupation, but a more well defined 19th century occupation in level B and C. The assemblage displayed the usual variety of ceramic classes

TABLE XVIII. MNV OF UNIT 31, SB III, LEVELS B AND C.

Unit 31 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB III MNV 13 34 5 6 2 17 2 79 SB III per m3 6.35 16.62 2.44 2.93 0.98 8.31 0.98 38.61 SB III % 16% 43% 6% 8% 3% 22% 3% 100%

7.3.4 Unit 1

Unit 1A is a midden deposit located near the southeastern corner of the main plaza, between two stone domestic structures. The SB III deposits were likely similarly formed through the same method at the SB II deposits, people throwing their trash in the interstitial spaces between the walls of structures I-2, I-3 and I-4. As a result, the assemblage was notably dense, particularly when considering Unit 1 is only a 2 x1 m excavation.

7.3.5 Unit 22

Unit 22A is unique among the area units in that it had a well-defined 17th century occupation, but was abandoned throughout the 18th century. The area was re-occupied in the early 19th century, with a new stone construction placed on top of the 17th century deposits. The presence of the stone floor provided good stratigraphic control.

7.3.6 Unit 6

We placed Unit 6 in building E- 19, located in the dense and agglutinated structures to the north of the plaza. According to oral account, this building had been used by two informal miners to store equipment until the 1970’s. However, they were no memory of the building ever being

173 constructed, and the depth of the test unit suggested a pre-20th century occupation. Excavation revealed a rectangular domestic structure, with a small bench on the western edge. The deposits were deepest adjacent to the bench, and it is possible that a previous construction phase existed, although no earlier walls were uncovered as we did in Units 8, 13, 14, and 31.

Figure 68. Floor and stone bench on western side of Unit 6.

7.3.7 Unit 14

We placed Unit 14 in building Ñ-19, located to the south of the plaza in the same cluster of structures as Unit 13 (Group Ñ). According to oral accounts, Ñ-19 had not been inhabited in recent memory, although the presence of early 20th century decal decorated whiteware in the surface layer suggests that the building was abandoned at some point after 1900. Like many of the areal excavations, Unit 14 revealed an earlier construction phase with previous foundations slightly offset from the surface walls.

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The Unit 14 ceramic assemblage was relatively less well-off than other units during the 19th century, demonstrated by the fewer painted, glazed, and imported vessels.

TABLE XIX. MNV OF UNIT 14, SB III.

Unit 14 Plain Painted Tin Glazed Lead Glazed Mercury Botija Imported Total SB III MNV 35 47 6 9 6 23 1 127 SB III per m3 12.85 17.25 2.20 3.30 2.20 8.44 0.37 46.62 SB III % 28% 37% 5% 7% 5% 18% 1% 100%

7.4 Discussion

The 19th century in Huancavelica is often discussed through the lens of decay and decline

(Berry and Singewald 1922; Contreras and Diaz 2007; Deustua 2010). The opening vignette to this chapter described the unsuccessful attempt of Pedro P. Arana to rehabilitate the mines in 1901.

While this failed venture harmed Arana’s personal finances, it was also another disappointment in a series of Peruvian attempts to rehabilitate the mercury mines that had once been the “crown jewel” of the Spanish Empire. However, mining in the Andes is always more than strictly economic, but it is also critical to the state-building project undertaken by criollo elites since independence in 1821.

Under the previous colonial administration, Andean mines had brought wealth and political power to

Spain, therefore the continued operation of highland mines would ensure the newly independent

Peruvian nation-state could achieve the same goals in the 19th century. For example, a report from the Peruvian treasury published in 1902 approvingly commented that Arana’s attempt to renew mercury mining at Huancavelica was begun with “patriotic intent” (Dancuart 1903:107). Mining became intertwined with Peruvian identity, or as the Peruvian minister of the environment stated in

2007 “Peru was, is, and will be a mining country. To say otherwise is an illusion” (Li 2015:1). In other words, the struggle over mining is more than a conflict over resources, but a dispute over national identity.

However, as Arana and countless other criollo elites have encountered over the centuries, the project of state-building is always emplaced in local contexts. If Peru is indeed a mining country,

175 then the specifics of what type of mining country are worked out on the ground level. Our understanding of how Peru became a nation-state in the 19th century has changed dramatically in recent years, as the focus has shifted to what Walker refers to as the “the vast population of highland

Indians-often understood to be passive and usually presented as an anonymous mass rather than as individuals” (Walker 1999, 2). Likewise, Mallon introduces the concept of “communal hegemony,” in which is rooted in collective land ownership that sought to resist the encroachment of haciendas during the 19th century, later leading to armed rebellion against the Chilean invasion during the War of the Pacific (Mallon 1995).

In this chapter, I have illustrated how the humachis of Santa Barbára offer a way to tie these two threads together: the elite discourse of Peru as a mining country, and the recent academic scholarship on the role of subaltern indigenous groups in the intertwined projects of nationalism and state-building. 19th century contemporaries and recent academic analyses have classified the humachis in many ways, including “robbers and thieves” (Arana 1901), “indigenous mining peasants” (Deustua 2010, 138), or those who “blocked the modernization and capitalism in the mine”

(Contreras and Diaz 2007, 11). However, as the archaeological evidence demonstrates, the humachis were not a “traditional” group blocking modernization. Rather, they exercised communal hegemony and strategic market engagement to maintain autonomy in the context of encroaching post-colonial forms of economic exploitation during the 19th century.

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8. THE MITA AND THE MAKING OF THE ANDEAN MARKET

8.1 La Mina de la Muerte

This dissertation has focused on the political economy of mining and markets at Santa

Barbára, framed by the broader forces of colonialism and capitalism that have structured the modern world over the past five centuries. However, most people who have heard of Santa Barbára would not think of colonial capitalism, but rather the toxic legacy of mercury mining and the environmental brutality imposed upon the indigenous inhabitants of the Central Andes. This is not a surprise, as violence—explicit and implicit, direct and structural—is fundamental to the colonial encounter.

Early modern contemporaries and more recent historians have long emphasized that Huancavelica was a place of exceptional violence, as the combination of mercury contamination and brutal labor conditions led to the nick name of “la mina de la muerte” by the 18th century.

As the name “the mine of death” suggests, Colonial Huancavelica and the mita labor system was one of the inspirations for the Black Legend, a problematic historiographical shorthand for the pervasive atrocities committed by Spanish colonial regimes (Juderías 1960 [1914]). While the core assumptions of the Black Legend are undeniably true—the colonial project in Spanish America did inflict massive violence upon indigenous and African bodies—an uncritical deployment of Black

Legend tropes can simplify the complexity of the colonial encounter. However, portrayals of the

Spanish colonial project as uniquely violent are incorrect, and merely repeat British and Dutch accusations of the Atlantic world that were more about inter-European colonial competition than a concern for indigenous and African peoples of the Americas. As such, the Black Legend narrative presents a challenge: how to examine the violent aspects of the Spanish colonialism without reverting into the tropes that flatten the contours of the colonial encounter, resulting in ahistorical binaries of the Spanish villains and passive indigenous victims.

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An exclusive emphasis on the direct violence of specific historical individuals breaks past from present, minimizing the structural consequences of colonialism that continue into the 21st century. As such, Black Legend discourses remove the legacy of colonial violence from ongoing exploitation and dispossession, thus relegating Spanish brutality to the dustbin of history. Moreover, we argue that providing a tapestry of individual stories, rather than constructing a single experience of the marginalized, is one method by which we may avoid the essentializing pitfalls of victims and victimizers. By documenting individual lifeways, it is possible to represent the heterogeneity of experiences of indigenous groups, rather than of an indigenous “subject”.

Legends imply a different conception of time than historical narratives, in that they describe events or actions removed from historical time. In the case of the Black Legend, historians and archaeologists often focus on examples of direct physical violence committed by Spanish conquistadores and administrators, yet these narratives lack the ability to connect our research to ongoing issues of marginalization and exploitation faced by contemporary Andean populations. In the case of Huancavelica, ongoing research by the Environmental Health Council, an NGO composed of historians and environmental scientists, has shown that urban Huancavelica faces ongoing structural violence. The toxic legacy of colonial mercury mining has left the adobe homes

(Hagan et al 2015) and soil contaminated at one of the highest rates in the world (Robins et al. 2012).

Recent analysis of hair samples demonstrates that these toxic environments are contributing to a host of health problems among the population, disproportionately affecting young children (Robins et al

2012; Hagan et al. 2015)71. In short, the repercussions of structural violence of colonial mercury mining in Huancavelica did not cease with the end of Spanish colonialism in Peru but endure into the

21st century.

In many ways, Huancavelica fits perfectly within the historiography of the black legend, which is a term used to describe the atrocities of Iberian colonialism in the Americas. Yet the black

71 As Robins et al. (2012, 153) notes, children are especially at risk in Huancavelica considering most of the mercury is in the soil, and children ingest larger quantities of soil ever year in comparison to adults.

178 legend has been criticized for decades by historians, who note that exclusively focusing on the horrors of colonialism can flatten the colonial encounter, particularly when thinking about the full range of indigenous strategies. In other words, if all we write about is the abuse of the colonizers, the colonized become no more than victims, which can not only erase the wide range of creative strategies and tactics pursued by indigenous peoples, but also imply a degree of finality to colonialism in the Americas, when in reality the colonial project was always just that, a project that was never finished. Yet that being said, there is always a danger the pendulum swings too far the other way, and we unintentionally minimize the very real forms of direct and ongoing structural violence inflicted upon Andean peoples since the 16th century. In the case of Huancavelica, it should come as no surprise that black legend style thinking is still very strong among historians, with a name like la mina de muerte, it’s easy to only focus on the violence.

This dissertation has attempted to escape this conceptual trap by examining other spaces of struggle in the colonial system, other arenas of contestation that can highlight the myriad strategies pursued to indigenous peoples to challenge the demands of colonialism. One such contested arena was the colonial market system, which developed early on around major urban centers, as well as mining towns such as Huancavelica, which quickly became a major center of exchange in the Central

Highlands, drawing people and products on regional, and even global scales. This study of markets and consumption is well-suited for archaeology, as the excavation and analysis of household assemblages has illuminated the circulation of different types of goods across the colonial mining economy.

8.2 Mining and Markets in the Colonial Andes

This dissertation began with exchange, and how different spheres of exchange became arenas where indigenous peoples could contest and subvert colonial and post-colonial state power. More specifically, this project began with the issue of the guarmichacras and the rescatiris, two types of colonial classification that signaled indigeneity and illegality. The Quechua/Aymara etymology of

179 guarmichacras and rescatiris suggests indigeneity, while the desire to operate outside the Spanish market indicates illegality. Of course the guarmichacras and rescatiris emerged from the chaos of the colonial mining sector, and their interpersonal connections with indigenous mercury miners as they emerged from the subterranean caverns allowed for the development of exchange networks outside the official market system.

The Spanish Viceroy was not successful in controlling indigenous exchange. A 1742 map of the mine offers a perspectives of extraction operations during the early 18th century. Drawn by Juan

Estevan de Oliva y. Jofre during the mine administration of governor Don. Gerónimo de Sola y

Fuente this map shows the subterranean workings of Huancavelica in the 1740’s. We can see the different galleries and numbers of miners in each one, the llama trains taking the raw material to the refineries, and the actual town of Huancavelica. The royal entrance, named “Our Lady of

Bethlehem,” shows several miners coming out, and the Spanish scribe noting how much ore has been extracted. A closer look at the mouth shows several female figures next to large cooking ceramics, ready to sell their goods to the miners on the way in or out of the mine. Clearly, these women were not very impressed with the Viceroy’s demand that they belong in the marketplace. Based on archival reports of continued smuggling during this period, there is no doubt that the rescatiris are nearby, ready to buy mercury that was never reported to the Spanish scribe and sell it on the black market.

The rescatiris, guarmichacras, and mitayo miners may appear as distinct professions or people, but that is an anachronism more of a result of my poor attempt at narrative than actual historical fact. They are better defined as practices, or actions undertaken by indigenous people in an exploitative labor regime to create autonomous spaces for themselves. Hypothetically speaking, an indigenous miner might have completed his mitayo service underground during the week, while his partner and children sold food and chicha to other miners during this same period. During his off time, perhaps he traded illegal ore for maize to produce chicha to be sold the following week. Or perhaps mercury sickness prevented him from working, and as a result, his partner completed his

180 mitayo service, while children or other extended family members conducted other economic practices to provision their household. Throughout the colonial period, the number of forced labors decreased, and they were increasingly replaced by indigenous wage laborers. Moreover, market activity increased throughout the Andes, particularly around mining centers such as Huancavelica and Potosí. On the surface this appears to be the classic capitalist story: serfdom replaced by wage labor, markets conquer all. From a bottom up, practice based perspective, however, we see a very different story. Archivally, we know that indigenous mining households became more involved in wage labor, and market exchange increasingly came to dominate the Colonial Andes. However, markets are never apolitical, nor are they autonomous. In the case of Huancavelica we see an increasing reliance on highland indigenous exchanges as opposed to the Spanish markets in town.

Additionally, this development of highland exchange networks led to increased usage of painted wares typically viewed as indigenous, rather than European glazed technologies. Economic practices did change during the colonial period, but not necessarily from indigenous to European, nor did the marketplace grow to dominate all forms of exchange. In other words, the Spanish were never quite able to get the guarmichacras and resatiris to their stalls in the plaza, and subsequently lost control of

181 the colonial political economy to those who actually did the majority of production, exchange, and consumption across the Central Andes.

Figure 69. 1742 Map showing the town of Huancavelica, various underground galleries, the Belen entrance (lower right), and the town of Santa Barbara.

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8.3 Power and Practice

Figure 70. Close-up of Belen entrance from previous figure.

The Andean mita is emblematic of early modern state power, in terms of the bureaucratic ambition to quantify and control labor over a 350,000 km2, as well as its failure to actually maintain the operation of the system. In terms of the landscape of labor, the archaeological and archival evidence shows mining operations were centralized in one small area on top of the Santa Barbára hill. Even though the mercury district extended beyond the central mine, extraction operations focused on this one area. As the surface mines became exhausted, the colonial mining operation

183 proceeded vertically. Spanish official ordered the construction of several tunnels to provide a more air to the caverns, as well as spatially “fix” the extraction of ore in easy to control bottlenecks that prevented a spatial expansion of mining. However, the 1786 Marroqiun collapse transformed the production of space, opening up the landscape to Pallaqueo, and shifting the mining operation from a vertical controlled space to a horizontal and difficult to regulate mining district over a larger area.

8.3.1 The Consequences of Commercialization

As Chapter 2 described, this research proceeded from the assumption that practice, rather than society, system, network, or individual, was the ideal scale to investigate social and economic transformations. By shifting the focus to practice, this research aimed to avoid totalizing statements about the colonial economy in Huancavelica, but instead reframe economic actions as something people do. During the 17th century, mitayos arriving to labor in Huancavelica were firmly embedded in the Andean social institutions of ayllus and households. However, as historians have noted (Stern

1993; Larson et al. 1995), ayllus faced multiple threats during the Spanish colonial project. The exploitation of the mita encouraged people to flee their ayllus, while the opportunities provided by wage labor provided the means to do so. On the surface, this shift from forced to wage labor might suggest a change in the institutional relationships between labor, state, and the commercialization of the mining district. However, the archaeological evidence shows there a minimal shift in household assemblages between forced and wage labor.

Other economic practices changed rapidly, as indigenous Andean miners pursued different strategies to mitigate the colonial and post-colonial project, as well as broader trends in the circulation of highland goods that opened materials. One obvious example is the role of British ceramics during the 19th century. As soon as they are available on the Peruvian market, every excavated household showed evidence of British transferwares, often plates and bowls. In this case, I argue that the shift to British tablewares is not a moment of acculturation or culture change, but

184 rather an active choice by post-colonial indigenous miners to entangle themselves with new British capital-intensive firms engaging the Central Andean highlands during the 19th century.

Anthropologists and archaeologist have long search for indigenous continuities in linking prehispanic pasts with the 21st century contemporary. This runs into issues in dealing with descendent populations, for as Frank Salomon once noted, Andeanists often engage in “unethnic ethnohistory” (Salomon 2002). This refers to the tendency by professional scholars to label highland

Quechua speakers as indigenous when they themselves would never use that word. In my oral history research with the descendent community of the colonial Santa Barbára miners, I have found that older members of the community will identify by occupation such as campesino, or even invoke the legacy of mining by identifying as a communidad minera. This invokes the theoretical perspective of an instrumental identity, in that identity is created and framed through occupation, class position, and the role of power in allocating different resources between different social groups within a society.

However, the conversation shifts when the question is reframed about the origins of the people of Santa Barbára, rather than the community. Contemporary people from Santa Barbára represent the roots through connection with primordial origins embedded within the landscape.

These primordial approaches to identity base their claims on a shared origin, often by invoking the apu of Wamanrazo. Sosimo Hilario Quispe, a man who lived his entire life in or nearby Santa

Barbára told me: “All communeros of Santa Barbára are children of Wamanrazo”.

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Figure 71. The Apu of Wamanrazo

This conflation of instrumentalist and primordial perspectives may appear on the surface to be a contradiction, and an anthropologist may be tempted to argue that one approach is just masking the other true or more authentic form of identity through some sort of lazy application of false consciousness. I disagree, and as colonial-period archaeology continues to move later in time and connect the material culture of colonial highland Andean communities with the ethnographic present, it is not our place to decide which identity is authentic. Instead, we need to recognize the role of shifting displays, rather than fixed categories, of identity and as a form of tactics in the face of colonial oppression. The 16th century Spanish colonial project did produce extreme social dislocation across the Andes, yet highland social groups coalesced as distinct units through shared circumstances throughout the 17th and 18th centuries, a moment of community formation that has continued and is ongoing into the 21st century present. In other words, while colonial markets may have disembedded Andean peoples from their social institutions (e.g. ayllus), these same peoples

186 were able to create new institution through the control of exchange networks by the end of the 18th century.

8.4 Markets and the Production of Power in the Colonial Andes

Archaeological approaches to political economy have long faced a tension between bottom- up and top-down approaches to the production of power. On one hand, there is a preponderance of evidence that elites have long pursued political strategies through the control of resource flows (Earle

2012). However, an exclusive emphasis on elite strategies is vulnerable to two types of critique.

First, while power may be directed or initiated from above, it is always produced on the ground. A colonial decree regarding labor at Huancavelica may be formulated in Madrid or the Viceregal capital of Lima, but it requires local actors and materials to take effect. Second, this process of translation is always contested by subaltern groups, yet not necessarily through outright resistance. In the case of the Andes, it is easy to see colonial markets as an accomplice to colonial exploitation.

Prior to the Spanish colonial project, there is very little ethnohistoric or archaeological evidence for

Andean markets, a controversial point that has long been deployed by scholars within the broader debates regarding lo Andino or Andean exceptionalism. However, Andean people embraced market practices as soon as they became available, yet reframed the market through their own social practices when possible. While the market contributed to the destruction of ayllu solidarity, it also provided the means for community regeneration in the late 18th and 19th century.

This is not a pro or anti market position, but rather an argument for diversity and context.

Neoclassical discourse would have us homogenize the market as a unitary force, for better or worse.

Classic Marxist arguments present an equally singular definition of markets as a destructive force in the broader framework of capitalism. Likewise, colonial-period scholarship is often eager to proclaim resistance on the slightest hint of opposition. This overemphasis on resistance can have the unfortunate effects of flattening the agency of negative actors. As Liebmann and Murphy note in their commentary on resistance, “By homogenizing the varieties of opposition to power under the

187 single umbrella term of resistance, archaeologists not only neglect important variations among its multiplicity of forms but also equate relatively minor power imbalances with attempts of the ‘truly oppressed’ to ensure their own survival” (Liebmann and Murphy 2010: 8). This emphasis on the

“multiplicity of forms” is critical for understanding imperial-indigenous economic interactions, as the subversion of power does not always entail outright resistance. In the case of Huancavelica, the humachis of the 19th century achieved local autonomy through the control of mining, and selective engagement with the post-colonial market, rather than outright resistance.

8.5 The Making of the Andean Market

Beginning in the late 16th century, the Spanish Viceroyalty forced Andean kurakas to rotate one-seventh of their population through Huancavelica to meet Spanish labor tax demands by engaging in the extremely dangerous task of mercury mining. Some of these people stayed in

Hunacavelica, breaking their ayllu or communal bonds to escape the mita labor tax. However, those who escaped the mita did not escape the mercury, but rather sold their labor on the market to gain a more advantageous position within the toxic labor regime. However, rather than read this shift from forced to wage labor as an inevitable growth of capitalism, I see this process as a survival strategy, an attempt by indigenous laborers to work “the system to their minimum disadvantage” (Hobsbawm

1973, 7). This shift from forced to wage labor also occurred within the 18th century colonial landscape of fragmented power, as the decaying Spanish imperial project increasingly attempted to maintain control over their overseas dominions.

By the late 18th century, the market system had stretched across the Andes, linking mining centers with urban areas, the coastal ports with highland communities. In contrast to neoclassical theory, this market did not emerge in the absence of state power, but rather was an outgrowth of the political imposition of the Spanish mita. The movement of mitayos in and out of mining center spurred market development, yet also provided new ways to unsettle the colonial project. For example, Tupac Amaru II, the leader of the great indigenous uprising during the 1780’s, was a

188 muleteer whose trading route took him from Cusco to Potosí (Walker 2014). The internal trade network across the South-Central Andes allowed the rebellion to spread rapidly, as caravan drivers spread news to the rebellion throughout the southcentral Andes (ibid).

The great Argentine historian, Carlos Sempat Assadourian, once proposed the concept of an espacio andino, or the creation of an Andean space across the Central and Southern Andean highlands during Spanish rule (Assadourian 1982). For Assadourian, the resurgent 19th century linguistic and ethnic dominance of the Andean highlands between the two mining centers of

Huancavelica and Potosí was no accident or leftover from high prehispanic population density, but rather a product of the social and economic interactions produced by the Andean colonial economy.

In spite of a long history of exploitation from coastal elites and foreign imperial powers, Andean peoples have managed to carve out spaces of autonomy, and continue to do so in the present.

189

APPENDICES

190

APPENDIX A

Survey Data

The 2013 survey season covered 81 km2 around the modern city of Huancavelica. Two teams of 3-4 people walked pedestrian transects, spaced 50 meters apart. We categorized different types of sites according to the following classification system, and each site was recorded using the following two paged form.

Prehistoric or Unknown Type P1A: Extremely light ceramic scatter, less than 0.25/ha. These deposits do not usually contain architectural remains and the surface remains are highly eroded. Type P1B: Light ceramic scatter, more than 0.25/ha. but less than 1 ha. These deposits do not usually contain architectural remains and the surface remains are highly eroded. Type P3: Medium to dense ceramic scatters (15+ fragments per 2 x 2 m) of more than 1 ha. but less than 5 ha. Type P4: Medium to dense ceramic scatters (15+ fragments per 2 x 2 m) of more than 5 ha. but less than 10 ha. Type P5: Medium to dense ceramic scatters (15+ fragments per 2 x 2 m) of more than 5 ha. but less than 10 ha. Type P6: Burial towers (Chullpas), steep tombs, or isolated cemeteries. Type P8A: Lithics Type P8B: Lithic Isolate Type P9 Petroglyph Type P10 Terrace Zone Type P11A Cave Type P20: Other

C1 Colonial Structures C1A: Isolated colonial structure C1B: Two colonial structures C1C: 3-5 colonial structures C1D: More than five colonial structures

190

APPENDIX A (continued) 191

C2 Isolated Mining Activity C2A Isolated Open Pit (At least one meter deep) C2B Isolated Trench (At least three meters long) C2C Isolated Socavon

C3 Mining Area C3A Area of Open Pits C3B Area of Trenches C3C Area of Socavons C3D Combination of pits, trenches, and socavons

C4 Corral

C5 Bridge

C6 Mercury Kiln

C7 Shrine

C8 Church

C9 Apachata

C10 Cross

C11 Cemetery

C13 Cave with colonial materials

C15 Estancia with corrals

APPENDIX A (continued) 192

Figure 72. Survey Form

APPENDIX A (continued) 193

Figure 73. Survey form, second page

APPENDIX A (continued) 194

TABLE XX. SITES RECORDED DURING THE SURVEY

Site UTM- UTM- Type Elevation Collections Number EASTING NORTHING SB 1 C3A 503585 8583512 4380 Ceramics, Geological Materials SB 2 C2C 503575 8583582 4393 Ceramics SB 3 C2C 503740 8583720 4356 Ceramics SB 4 C3D 504165 8583801 4377 None SB 5 C3C 504050 8583576 4292 Geological Materials SB 7 C2A 503935 8583555 4308 None SB 8 C1A 504234 8583493 4247 Ceramics SB 9 C15 504364 8583599 4228 Ceramics, Lithics, Metals SB 10 C3C 504559 8583915 4200 None SB 11 C13 504007 8583767 4312 None SB 12 P2A 504078 8583935 4273 Ceramics SB 13 C2C 503998 8583763 4319 None SB 14 P1A 504007 8583842 4292 Ceramics SB 15 P2A 504071 8583975 4250 Ceramics SB 16 C2B 503995 8583988 4300 Ceramics SB 17 C6 504035 8584046 4291 None SB 18 C3A 503932 8584004 4306 Ceramics SB 19 C6 503722 8584064 4324 None SB 20 C6 503856 8584235 4321 None SB 21 P1A 503855 8584325 4313 Ceramics, Lithics SB 22 C1A 503871 8584481 4264 Ceramics SB 23 C6 503799 8584657 4204 Ceramics, Geological Materials SB 24 C2A 504150 8584182 4256 None SB 25 C14 504140 8584204 4265 None SB 26 C2C 504136 8584255 4269 None SB 27 C3A 504044 8584620 4258 None SB 28 C2C 504093 8584884 4267 None SB 29 C3C 504623 8584294 4165 None SB 30 C3D 504686 8584467 4146 Ceramics SB 31 P1A 505741 8585933 3826 Ceramics SB 32 C6 506318 8585559 3724 Ceramics SB 33 C2C 503606 8582525 4426 None SB 34 C2A 503665 8582677 4400 None SB 35 P1A 504586 8582964 4234 Ceramics SB 36 C5 504742 8582937 4764 None SB 37 P11A 505199 8583863 4070 Ceramics, Lithics SB 38 C15 505473 8583873 4042 Ceramics SB 39 C15 505572 8584287 3946 Ceramics SB 40 C6 505511 8584360 4031 Ceramics SB 41 C1D 505684 8583994 4035 Ceramics SB 42 C1C 505796 8584074 3997 Ceramics

APPENDIX A (continued) 195

SB 43 C1C 505761 8584125 3987 Ceramics SB 44 C1C 505799 8584165 3973 Ceramics SB 45 C2C 503453 8582632 4417 None SB 46 C3B 503500 8582729 4429 None SB 47 C3B 504009 8582992 4377 None SB 48 C3D 504381 8582959 4311 None SB 49 P1A 504576 8583224 4244 None SB 50 C15 504820 8583595 4191 Ceramics SB 51 C15 504849 8584062 4049 Ceramics SB 52 C1D 505276 8584335 4070 Ceramics SB 53 P8A 504843 8584190 4116 Ceramics\Lithics SB 54 C15 504945 8584166 4037 Ceramics SB 55 C1C 505008 8584368 4072 Ceramics SB 56 C15 505792 8584640 3924 Ceramics SB 57 C15 505906 8585110 3893 Ceramics SB 58 C15 506038 8584894 3856 Ceramics SB 59 C15 505927 8584682 3884 Ceramics SB 60 C15 505967 8584640 3881 Ceramics SB 61 C1C 505938 8584581 3879 Ceramics SB 62 C4 505886 8584470 3880 Ceramics SB 63 C1B 506069 8584776 3853 Ceramics SB 64 P1A 506318 8585397 3744 Ceramics SB 65 C1A 506374 8585999 3703 Ceramics SB 66 C1C 505614 8583493 4123 Ceramics SB 67 C1A 505648 8583520 4111 Ceramics SB 68 C1A 505725 8583629 4120 Ceramics SB 69 C1C 505873 8583552 4121 Ceramics SB 70 C1B 505949 8583672 4089 Ceramics SB 71 C1B 505829 8583784 4090 Ceramics SB 72 C1D 505808 8583773 4089 Ceramics SB 73 C1C 505849 8583391 4088 Ceramics SB 74 C15 506017 8583505 4069 Ceramics SB 75 C15 506087 8583484 4047 Ceramics SB 76 C1C 506115 8583525 4035 Ceramics SB 77 C1D 506196 8583537 4009 Ceramics SB 78 C1D 506215 8583664 4000 Ceramics SB 79 C1B 505761 8583732 4103 Ceramics SB 80 C1B 505722 8583815 4084 Ceramics SB 81 C1D 505918 8584000 3994 Ceramics SB 82 C1C 505915 8584036 3990 Ceramics SB 83 C1A 505905 8584069 3978 Ceramics SB 84 C1C 505831 8584384 3901 Ceramics SB 85 P1A 506167 8584485 3935 Ceramics SB 86 C1D 506381 8586584 3613 None

APPENDIX A (continued) 196

SB 87 C1B 506236 8583925 3994 Ceramics, Glass SB 88 P1A 506227 8584338 3985 Ceramics SB 89 C1C 506264 8584441 3945 Ceramics, Glass Ceramics, Glass, Metal, Lithics, SB 90 C1D 506289 8584462 3929 Geologico SB 91 C1C 506304 8584436 3946 None SB 92 C1B 506376 8584388 3926 None SB 93 C1B 506411 8584462 3907 Ceramics, Glass SB 94 P1A 506910 8585022 3914 Ceramics SB 95 C1C 506721 8585417 3862 Ceramics, Glass SB 96 C1D 506238 8582941 4078 Ceramics SB 97 C1C 506314 8582972 4075 Ceramics SB 98 P8B 506317 8583012 4081 Lithics SB 99 C1D 506925 8583270 4044 Ceramics, Glass, Geologico SB 100 C1B 506265 8583472 4000 None SB 101 C1A 506471 8583338 4026 Ceramics SB 102 C1A 506939 8582981 4088 Ceramics SB 103 P1A 507029 8583034 4098 Ceramics SB 104 C1B 506731 8581397 4355 Ceramics, Glass SB 105 C15 506201 8581007 4487 Ceramics SB 106 C3C 504154 8581366 4423 None SB 107 C6 504113 8581409 4418 Ceramics, Lithics, Geologico SB 108 C1B 507325 8585488 3878 Ceramics SB 109 C1A 507437 8585705 3846 Ceramics SB 110 C1A 507191 8585603 4493 None SB 111 P20 507338 8586727 3784 None SB 112 P1A 507370 8586968 3815 Ceramics, Lithics SB 113 P20 507102 8586307 3791 None SB 114 P1A 506997 8585858 3824 Ceramics SB 115 P1A 506775 8585610 3836 Ceramics SB 116 P1A 506902 8586005 3814 Ceramics SB 117 P11A 500417 8582410 4226 Ceramics, Lithics SB 118 P8A 500103 8581649 4429 Ceramics SB 119 C1B 500513 8580555 4517 Ceramics SB 120 P1A 506624 8583005 4053 Ceramics SB 121 C1A 506531 8582893 4087 Ceramics SB 122 P1A 506419 8582428 4176 Ceramics SB 123 C1D 506482 8581888 4260 Ceramics SB 124 C1D 505961 8582461 4192 Ceramics SB 125 P1A 506266 8582794 4098 Ceramics SB 126 P1A 506545 8583050 4056 Ceramics SB 127 C1A 502931 8581016 4444 Ceramics SB 128 C1B 502910 8580975 4451 Ceramics, Glass SB 129 8B 502716 8581644 4505 Lithics SB 130 P20 502562 8581962 4538 Ceramics, Glass

APPENDIX A (continued) 197

SB 131 8B 502533 8581543 4514 Lithics SB 132 8A 502401 8581757 4514 Lithics SB 133 8A 502442 8581515 4565 Lithics SB 134 C3 503574 8583615 4402 None SB 135 P2 503495 8583672 4404 Ceramics SB 136 P1A 503562 8583720 4387 Ceramics, Geologico SB 137 P1A 503628 8583714 4394 Ceramics SB 138 P4A 503393 8583816 4415 Ceramics SB 139 P1A\C3D 503559 8583881 4379 Ceramics SB 140 C6/C1B 503675 8584021 4343 Ceramics SB 141 C3C 503604 8584063 4341 None SB 142 C6 503289 8584749 4300 Ceramics, Geologico SB 143 C3C 503139 8584718 4345 Ceramics SB 144 C1C 503191 8584711 4320 None SB 145 C1C 502984 8585485 4029 Ceramics SB 146 P1A 503384 8580905 4446 Ceramics SB 147 P1A 503504 8581253 4411 Ceramics SB 148 P1A 503366 8581553 4443 Ceramics SB 149 C3C 503872 8581543 4415 Geologic SB 150 C3C 503600 8581665 4384 None SB 151 C1D 503783 8581549 4417 Ceramics SB 152 C3C 503840 8581712 4389 None SB 153 C15 503808 8581785 4376 Ceramics SB 154 P1A 503630 8581738 4357 Ceramics SB 155 C6 503599 8581805 4330 Ceramics\Glass SB 156 P1A 503762 8581987 4316 Ceramics SB 157 C3C 503995 8582009 4383 None SB 159 C3C 505374 8583699 4406 None SB 160 P3 503374 8583671 4387 Ceramics SB 161 P1A 502812 8584745 4228 Ceramics SB 162 C2C 502755 8584824 4249 None SB 163 P1A 502886 8584781 4275 Ceramics SB 164 8A 502871 8584783 4229 Lithics SB 165 P1A 502713 8584900 4253 Ceramics SB 166 C2C 502798 8585242 4153 None SB 167 C6/C3C 502842 8585079 4156 Ceramics SB 168 C2A 502801 8585171 4145 None SB 169 C1A 502890 8585321 4084 None SB 170 C1D 502983 8585419 4083 Ceramics SB 171 C14 503076 8585882 3917 None SB 172 C1C 504088 8581601 4390 Ceramics, Lithics SB 173 C13 503997 8580989 4556 None SB 174 C1B\C2A 503343 8581539 4200 None SB 175 8A 505172 8582843 4332 Lithics

APPENDIX A (continued) 198

SB 176 P1A 505521 8582562 4222 Ceramics, Lithics SB 177 P1A 505197 8582852 4322 None SB 178 C1B 505704 8583089 4177 Ceramics SB 179 C1A 506040 8582915 4130 Ceramics SB 180 C1C 506068 8582930 4138 Ceramics, Lithics SB 181 C1D 506429 8583075 4061 Ceramics, Geologico SB 182 C1B 506667 8583201 4040 Ceramics SB 183 C6 502872 8582331 4497 Ceramics SB 184 C1B 502582 8582341 4451 Ceramics SB 185 C3A 501864 8583238 4325 None SB 186 C3A/C1A 501538 8584808 4013 Ceramics SB 187 C6 501446 8585342 3921 None SB 189 C15 501846 8582458 4457 Ceramics SB 190 P1A 501718 8582515 4482 Ceramics SB 191 8A 501537 8582987 4444 None SB 192 C20 501897 8585950 3860 None SB 193 C3C 501919 8585965 3862 None SB 194 C8 502983 8582534 4564 None SB 195 C3C 503121 8582694 4450 Ceramics SB 196 C1A 503066 8582806 4405 Ceramics SB 197 P1A 502519 8583410 4331 Ceramics SB 198 C6 502481 8583535 4291 None SB 199 C3C 502417 8583475 4327 None SB 200 C1C 505942 8586560 3628 None SB 201 C1A 505667 8586317 3697 Ceramics SB 202 P10 505352 8586485 3850 None SB 203 P1A 504588 8587224 3743 Ceramics, Lithics SB 204 P2 504876 8587263 3713 Ceramics, Lithics SB 205 P8A 502435 8583531 4300 Lithics SB 206 C8 502847 8583433 4299 None SB 207 P1A 502617 8583511 4283 Ceramics SB 208 P1B 502329 8583858 4178 Ceramics SB 209 C1B 502196 8584186 4110 None SB 210 C1A 502009 8584284 4082 Ceramics SB 211 C1A 501970 8584318 4022 Ceramics SB 212 C6 501918 8584253 4075 None SB 213 C3B 501686 8584846 4069 None SB 214 C3C 502308 8585276 4108 None SB 215 8B\C13 502102 8585281 4075 Lithics SB 216 C5 502769 8583607 4222 None SB 217 C1B 502715 8583587 4233 Ceramics SB 218 C1A 503226 8583353 4336 None SB 219 C3A 503163 8583443 4320 None SB 220 C6 503096 8583763 4349 Ceramics

APPENDIX A (continued) 199

SB 221 C3D 503103 8583854 4357 None SB 222 C3D 503007 8583993 4360 Ceramics SB 223 C3C 502677 8584148 4283 None SB 224 C2C 502692 8584240 4265 None SB 225 C7 502892 8584419 4317 None SB 226 C3B 502490 8584752 4271 None SB 229 C3D 502543 8584981 4313 None SB 230 C2C 502460 8585308 4166 None SB 231 C3A 502719 8585291 4140 None SB 232 C2A 502469 8585507 4098 None SB 233 C2A 502474 8585557 4086 None SB 234 C2C 503312 8583717 4409 None SB 235 P2 503262 8583893 4415 Ceramics SB 236 C2C 503235 8583955 4416 None SB 237 C3A 503215 8584038 4434 None SB 238 C2A 503134 8584041 4405 Ceramics SB 239 C6 503046 8584082 4382 None SB 240 C6 503603 8584717 4249 None SB 241 C2A 503475 8585039 4087 None SB 242 C6 503741 8585493 4023 None SB 243 C3C 503658 8585631 4001 None SB 244 C15 503586 8585647 4042 Ceramics SB 245 C1A 503637 8586107 4000 None SB 246 P20 503546 8585924 3927 None SB 247 C2C 502721 8585654 3942 None SB 248 P8 506084 8586974 3664 Lithics SB 249 P1A\P8 505793 8587042 3750 Ceramics, Lithics SB 250 P1A\C1B 502682 8585376 4100 Ceramics SB 251 C3A 502456 8585589 4075 None SB 252 P1A\C1A 502679 8585440 4082 Ceramics SB 253 C3C 502778 8585395 4120 None SB 254 C3C 502769 8585477 4079 None SB 255 P1A 503827 8585978 3918 Ceramics SB 256 P11A 502899 8585367 4072 Ceramics, Lithics SB 257 C3C 502591 8585677 3987 None SB 258 C13 505927 8587081 3728 Ceramics, Lithics SB 259 C3C 502794 8585591 4010 None SB 260 C3D 502579 8585800 3943 None SB 261 P1A 505371 8585342 4026 Ceramics SB 262 C3C 504770 8586201 4016 None SB 263 P1B 504482 8586150 3940 Ceramics SB 264 C6 500893 8585613 4005 None SB 265 C1B 500878 8585603 4008 None SB 266 C3C 500964 8585611 4005 None

APPENDIX A (continued) 200

SB 267 8A 500529 8586556 3845 Lithics SB 268 C14 500397 8586559 3874 None SB 269 P1A 500170 8586841 3875 Ceramics SB 270 C13 504845 8585707 4166 Ceramics SB 271 C3A 504167 8585129 4282 None SB 272 C5 503326 8587250 3740 None SB 273 C2C 502541 8588180 4303 None SB 274 C2A 504644 8588089 4086 None SB 275 C2A 504667 8588349 4102 None SB 276 P1A 504731 8588446 4054 Ceramics SB 277 C2C 504829 8588563 4018 None SB 278 C2C 505251 8588717 4026 None SB 279 C13 505340 8588445 4044 None SB 280 C2C 505373 8588216 4078 None SB 281 C2A 505689 8588484 4144 None SB 282 C6 505127 8587500 3737 Ceramics SB 283 C1A 503200 8587645 3884 None SB 284 C13 502904 8588279 3883 Ceramics\Lithics SB 285 C6 502966 8588405 4068 Ceramics SB 286 C2C 502976 8588372 4074 None SB 287 C2C 502890 8588532 4133 None SB 288 C2C 502926 8588734 4212 None SB 289 C2C 502585 8588826 4240 None SB 290 C2B 502636 8588566 4214 None SB 291 C2C 502575 8587907 4272 None SB 292 C2C 502458 8588101 4332 None SB 293 P20 502568 8588232 4311 Lithics SB 294 C3C 502431 8587972 4299 None SB 295 C2C 502699 8587378 4085 None SB 296 C2C 503286 8588011 3918 None SB 297 C6 503272 8588171 4046 None SB 298 C3C 503335 8588361 4100 None SB 299 C3C 503332 8588498 4123 None SB 300 C1B\C3C 503427 8588097 4117 None SB 301 C2A 503408 8588207 4150 None SB 302 C2C 503711 8589091 4034 None SB 303 C2C 503450 8588022 4065 None SB 304 C2C 503613 8587868 3939 None SB 305 C2C 503675 8587766 3965 None SB 306 C3C 503623 8587536 3848 None SB 307 C2C 503591 8587365 3823 None SB 308 C6\C3C 503507 8587360 3741 None SB 309 C2C 503578 8587385 3745 None SB 310 C3C 501930 8586027 3845 None

APPENDIX A (continued) 201

SB 311 C1A\C2C 501860 8586097 3949 None SB 312 C2C 500348 8587108 3847 None SB 313 C2C 503868 8586895 3688 None SB 314 C2C 504298 8588407 3955 None SB 315 C13 504238 8588583 3980 None SB 316 C1C 504116 8588666 3925 None SB 317 P1A 504006 8588683 3893 Ceramics SB 318 C2C 504214 8588558 3970 None SB 319 C2C 504242 8588599 3989 None SB 320 C13 504137 8588557 3944 None SB 321 C2C 504177 8588620 3959 None SB 322 C6 504134 8588788 3936 Ceramics SB 323 C1C 503986 8588872 3910 Ceramics SB 324 P1A 504128 8588902 3937 Ceramics SB 325 C2C 504185 8589064 3952 None SB 326 C1B 504224 8588088 3961 Ceramics SB 327 C1A\C3C 504247 8589077 3950 None SB 328 C6 504279 8589050 3983 None SB 329 C1D 504306 8589026 4004 Ceramics SB 330 C6 504358 8589025 4017 None SB 331 C2C 504309 8589087 4006 None SB 332 C2C 504316 8589142 4049 None SB 333 C3C 504345 8589207 4039 None SB 334 P1A 504310 8589185 4035 Ceramics SB 335 C3C 504387 8589333 4069 None SB 336 C6\C1D 504349 8589410 4021 None SB 337 C1A 503992 8589021 3916 Ceramics SB 338 P1A 503943 8588982 3911 Ceramics SB 340 C1C 499800 8583374 4081 None SB 341 C5 500630 8584732 3980 None SB 342 P1A 500899 8583247 4391 Ceramics SB 343 C6 502342 8584427 N/A None

202

APPENDIX B

Excavation Data The 2014 field season first excavated 32 test units to understand the stratigraphy of the Santa

Barbára mining camp. We expanded eight of the test units in area units. Unit 4 contained human burials, and is described in Appendix E. The following section describes the remaining area unit excavations.

Unit 1

Figure 74. Profile of Unit 1 Level: S

This unit is the smallest area unit, and is a combination of Unit 1 and Unit 10, which were placed adjacent to one another. For the purposes of analysis, everything in the Unit 10 is considered

Unit 1, Quadrant 2. This unit is located in a space between two structures, and measures 2 x 1 meters. The surface removal consisted of large stones, organic soil with lots of roots. The soil itself was semi-compact.

Level: A

202

APPENDIX B (continued) 203

Figure 75. Overview of Unit 1, Capa A

Level A was semi-compact, organic soil with lots of semi-rounded stones that appears to be fill or collapse. The north face of the wall collapse appears to be a small wall, although not a structure wall like nearby features. Instead, this stone feature appears to be a small retaining wall.

Level: B

The excavation of Level B possibly exposed a dirt floor, given the compactness. The earth was light brown with a semi-compact consistency, minimal carbon inclusions and some small stones.

The north side of the unit exposed a small deposit of dark organic soil, likely corresponding to a small midden deposit.

APPENDIX B (continued) 204

Level: C

Dirt fill with a semi-compact consistency, with several large stones. The wall continues to shape the unit, dividing what was formally known as Unit 1 and Unit 10.

Level: D

Compact fill with minimal stone inclusions. Soil contains a small amount of clay deposits, likely representing a fill or midden deposit, rather than a floor.

Figure 76. Overview of Unit 1

Level: E

Excavations reached a natural level of compact sandy soil sterile of artifacts with minor clay inclusions. Several flat stones are present, but no artifacts.

APPENDIX B (continued) 205

Figure 77. End of Unit 1 Unit 8

Figure 78. Stratigraphy of Unit 8 Level: S

APPENDIX B (continued) 206

The surface of the level was partially covered in dried grasses. The stratum is mostly comprised of gray brown earth dark in tone due to the presence of vegetable material and roots, the texture is medium fine of a semi-compact consistency with a consistent humidity throughout. Also, there are an abundant amount of inclusions of medium gravel, small gravel, both thin roots and thick stems, sectioned tiles, some yellow rocks of the fragmented “Cancaña” type, small grains of rock of silver color, and cinnabar waste in small quantities. In addition, white stones of relatively small dimensions varying in shape were dispersed throughout the ground.

Level: A

Figure 79. Overview of Unit 8, Capa A

The level was composed of gray brown earth dark in tone with medium fine texture preserving a semi compact consistency with humidity/moisture levels consistent throughout the soil.

In addition, we observed inclusions of a large quantity of medium and small gravel, fragmented and granulated yellow rock (“Cancaña”), sectioned tiles, small whitish lumps presumably of lime in its natural state, very small particles of carbon distributed dispersedly in the area, grains of orange

APPENDIX B (continued) 207 colored clay, there are still intrusions of plant roots both thin and thick, as well as white brown, and silver rocks of various shapes and sizes: large 15 cm X 10 cm X 5 cm, medium 10 cm X 8 cm X 4 cm, and small 6 cm X 5 cm X 4 cm whose distribution is disperse. It is important to note an inclusion of a scarce quantity of waste from lead, brick, and charred cinnabar.

Level: B

Figure 80. Overivew of Unit 8, Capa B

This level is characterized by brown earth of a dark tone and a moderately granulose texture with a semi compact consistency, with even humidity throughout. Likewise there were abundant inclusions of white particles (presumably calcium), small and medium gravel, fragments of yellow rock fallen apart from the same Cancaña rock, fragments of tiles, scarce pieces of minerals including lead, quartz, and cinnabar, pieces of brick, pieces of green rock, thin and thick roots coming from the grass. Also, we noted white and lead colored rocks of varying sizes and shapes: large 18 cm X 12 cm

X 8 cm, medium 10 cm X 8 cm X 6 cm, and small 5 cm X 4 cm X 3 cm whose distribution is disperse.

APPENDIX B (continued) 208

Level: C

Figure 81. Overview of Unit 8, Capa C

This layer corresponds to a possible mud floor because it is consistently flat. The level is primarily composed of brown gray earth, medium granulose in texture, semi compact in consistency, with a regular and consistent level of moisture. Also, we note a regular quantity of inclusions of small and medium gravel, white particles, small carbon pieces, some broken tiles, flecks of orange and yellow presumably originating from the orange clay and the yellow rock, thin grass roots that have come down from the surface. Finally, we note small rocks of diverse shapes and sizes dispersed throughout the area.

Level: D

APPENDIX B (continued) 209

Figure 82. Overview of Unit 8, Capa D

This layer includes a filling of medium sized, white and brown rocks of various forms mixed with a brown soil of dark tone with medium-fine texture with a semi-compact consistency and even humidity throughout the soil. Also, we note a regular quantity of inclusions of white particles

(presumably calcium), small and medium gravel, pieces of cream colored gravel, charred minerals

(cinnabar), millimeter size fragments carbon sparsely distributed through the earth, some Cancaña rock fragments, very thin roots coming in from the surface. It is important to point out one inclusion of a small amount of orange clay sparsely distributed throughout the excavation area. It is also interesting to note the presence of some brown discoloration corresponding to the degrading rock with a medium granulose texture of semi compact consistency whose width is between 2 and 3 cm. It is noted principally in the northeast and southeast part of the unit.

Level: E

APPENDIX B (continued) 210

Figure 83. Overview of Unit 8, Level E

This layer includes a filling based on burnt mineral waste (cinnabar). The level is predominantly composed of earth darkened due to the burnt mineral waste which varies in texture between medium fine and medium granulose and has a semi-compact consistency. In the layer we noted a large quantity of inclusions composed of small and medium gravel, small red rocks, scarce waste bits of cinnabar in its natural state, burnt organic remnants possibly grass, a large quantity of small rocks in the style of cascujo. Also, we note some rocks from a wall (types caliza and cancaña), most with shaped (semi-rounded) corners.

Level: F

APPENDIX B (continued) 211

Figure 84. Overview of Unit 8, Level F

The exposure of the stratum presents an irregular surface with an inclination from north to south, where it deepens black spots resulting from burning in the previous level can be seen. In the same way, toward the west side there are a set of the stones with rounded edges made of caliza and cancaña. This is possible that this may be part of the wall collapse that is distributed over the area.

The layer is primarily composed of brown earth of dark tone of medium fine texture and semi- compact consistency. The layer presents normal moisture consistency throughout the excavation area. Likewise, we noted inclusions of small and medium gravel, small brown igneous rocks, small while grains, clay residues of yellow and orange color, and fragmented cinnabar in its natural state.

Level: G

APPENDIX B (continued) 212

Figure 85. Overview of Unit 8, Level G

The exposure of the layer presents a dark coloration on the west side possibly resulting from a burning activity. The layer also slopes from north to south. It is necessary to mention a variation in this level on both the east and west side due to the presence of the wall that divides the unit in two.

Therefore, a separate description will be made of the level on the east and west sides. Level G on the east side is comprised of brown colored soil with a medium granulose texture and a semi-compact consistency and consistent low levels of moisture. Inclusions in the soil included small and medium gravel, small igneous rocks in both brown and white in the form of cascajo. This level also includes orange clay mixed with the soil. Level G on the west side is comprised of soil that is dark brown in color likely due to the burning activity noted in previous levels. The soil is medium fine in texture and semi compacted in consistency. Similarly, we not inclusions of small gravel, small particles of carbon sparsely distributed throughout the area.

Level: H

APPENDIX B (continued) 213

This level is a natural formation composed of a mixture of brown and orange clay with variable texture between fine and medium granulose with semi compact consistency. Inclusions in the layer include small and medium gravel, medium sized stones of light color and small white stones distributed sparsely throughout the excavation area.

Unit: 13A

Level: S

Figure 86. Overview of Unit 13, post-test unit, prior to excavation

The enclosure was found with a regular distribution of shrubs located in the wall and in the with a greater disposition in the inner part, covering the collapse of the lateral walls, with natural stones of large sizes (39-57 x 21-32 x 10-14 cm), medium (17-28 x 8-11 x 4-7 cm), and small. The layer was predominantly composed organic earth of a light gray color in which are included a few thin cut roots and sparse “menudas”; as a whole the soil has a medium thick and clumpy texture without any

APPENDIX B (continued) 214 clay whose consistency varies between semi compact and soft, it is found irregularly throughout the unit with most of it in sections 3, 4, 8, & 9.

Level: A

This stratigraphic layer corresponds to the collapse of the upper part of the walls formed by large stones (36-45 x 14-26 x 10-13 cm), medium stones (17-29 x 10-22 x 8-11 cm), and small stones (5-14 x 4-12 x 3-6 cm) and soil of a light brown color with a thick lumpy texture that is semi compact and contains a small portion of clay with inclusions in roots and small rocks that semi rounded edges and oblong shape.

Level: B

This stratigraphic level corresponds to collapse from the roof which manifests as a consistent distribution of tiles of a whitish color superimposed (placed on top of) a varying thickness between

20 and 6 cm; the latter is noted on the west side of the unit especially in sections 5 and 6. The tiles are found in medium and small fragments and are included in a regular distribution of light brown soil of clumpy texture apart from the presence of small stones of angular or semi-round form with a small quantity of clay, with a semi-compact consistency.

Level: C

This level is formed by soil of which a significant portion is clay of a dark brown color, with uniform insertions of small stones of angular form, the presence of abundant yellow clay in small blocks (2-4 cm) with inclusions of small and medium gravels, formations of semi compact blue colored material with claylike consistency. The composition as a whole has a medium thick compact consistency, distributed in a regular thickness varying between 12 and 31 cm.

Level: D

This level is made up of a matrix of sandy soil mixed with clay and abundant carbon fragments (1-4 cm) which gives it the dark coloring, in addition it intensifies its coloration with some increasing moisture leading to more consistent color. There are also a small number of inclusions or

APPENDIX B (continued) 215 angular rocks of small and medium size, as well as insertions of irregular bits of ash between quadrants 3 and 7. Overall, the layer has a grainy texture with a semi compact texture.

Level: E

This broad level is composed of a fill of stones of angular form with some semi-rounded with irregular form, in both small and medium sizes associated with the collapse of the temporary wall, they can be found within an abundant portion of soil with clay; the soil is very fine grained and is semi compact and very moist. In sections 4, 5, 6, and 7 (building 5B-2) there are small rocks and bits of yellow and blue clay and a moderate amount of fine sand.

Level: F

Figure 87. Sketch overview of Unit 13, Level F

At this level of excavation, the layer differs between the architectural spaces of the 5B enclosure. Building 5B-2 is located on the west side which corresponds to sections 4, 5, 6, and 7. It has a somewhat irregular position and is situated 10 and 30 cm from the yellow, blue, and orange mix of soil and clay, which is situated in certain levels of the clay conglomerate with inclusions of fine small stones and a few millimeter fragments of carbon. Overall, this layer maintains a fine- grained texture with a semi-compact consistency. Deep within this layer, there is a blue clay consistently throughout the unit, after 20 cm of sterile soil, the layer was concluded.

APPENDIX B (continued) 216

Figure 88. Overview of Unit 13 at final

Unit: 14

Figure 89. Unit 14 Stratigraphy

Level: S

APPENDIX B (continued) 217

Figure 90. Unit 14, Surface Level

The surface of this layer was covered with an abundant concentration of vegetation, specifically grass. Additional vegetation observed on the surface includes kimsa kimsa, Yawar, sugu, and ichu. When excavated, the soil has a fine texture with a semi-compact consistency with a color of 10 YR organic and rich soil due to the composition of abundant plant material. There are also inclusions of small and medium gravels, fragments of calcified rocks and a sparse distribution of cancaña rock. The presence of roots, rootlets, and wood are seen decomposing in the soil.

Level: A

This layer contains fill with an abundant amount of stones and earth. It is an irregular layer due to the impact of the wall collapse from building 19 and probably also what was part of the modern fill intended to make the area level. Upon excavation, there is a loose earth with medium fine texture (without clay) with a color of 10 YR 3R (wet). The layer includes a large amount of small and medium gravels, and fragments of calcified rock irregularly distributed with concentrations in

APPENDIX B (continued) 218 sections 3, 10, and 11. There are also a large number of roots and rootlets of plants growing down from the surface with a small amount of decomposing wood.

Level: B

This layer corresponds to a fill material made up of a large amount of stones of large, medium, and small sizes with a regular distribution throughout sections 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11 and a more sparse distribution throughout sections 1, 3, and six. The stones are mixed with clay and soil.

At the beginning of the excavation, the layer has a compact granular consistency with the mix earth and clay color of 2.5 Y 3/1 (wet). The layer includes fragments of calcified rock, cancaña, and small and medium gravels. There are also small pieces of carbon disbursed throughout the area.

Level: C

At the beginning of this level, we exposed a small lens of sand at 50 cm from east to west and

36 cm from south to north. It is located in the extreme southeast of section 1. At the beginning of the excavation, the lens presented with a color of 10 YR 5/4 (wet), with a loose and fine texture with a depth varying from 15 to 10 cm. In the inside of this lens there is a carbon sample (#ESPS), also from this area, we removed a liter sample of sand. In the upper layer of this level, there is a muno oriented southeast to northwest. Level C, when excavated had a compact consistency with a fine texture and large amount of clay with a color of 2.5 YR 5/2. This layer is composed of a mixed clay with a small quantity of gray-black colored clay with regular inclusions of burnt organic material that is present to the third section. There are inclusions of irregularly shaped stones of large, medium, and small size at a regular concentration in sections 3, 6, and 7. There is also a regular number of pieces of fragmented calcified rock, small and medium gravels, and a small amount of carbon.

Level: D

APPENDIX B (continued) 219

Figure 91. Unit 14, Final

This level, like level C is divided into two parts which are 19A (1, 3, 6, 7, 8, and 9) and 19B

(10 and 11). This layer when excavated has a compact consistency with a medium to fine texture

(medium level of clay) with a color of 2.5 Y 2.5/1. The soil is composed of a clay mixed with black soil with very few inclusions of rocks of small and medium sizes irregularly distributed. There are also inclusions of calcified rock, small and medium gravels, and a few small fragments of a red colored mineral.

APPENDIX B (continued) 220

Unit 22

Figure 92. Unit 22 Stratigraphy

Level: S

Figure 93. Unit 22, Surface Level

APPENDIX B (continued) 221

The surface of this level is completely covered in vegetation. On one side of the area there is an inclination which declines from north to south. In the northeast corner of the building you can see a concentration of stones of various sizes and shapes from the wall collapse. The layer is composed of dark gray colored earth with a medium fine texture with a semi-compact consistency with a large presence of vegetation. The soil is relatively moist and consistently so throughout. There are inclusions of small and medium gravels, broken tiles, small brown colored rocks, small fragments of carbon, decomposing yellow rock (cancaña), and roots of various sizes.

Level: A

To the northeast side of the unit there is a concentration of angular stones with gently rounded corners of varying sizes that appear to be from the collapse of the walls noted in the surface layer. The inclination remains present that runs from North to South and there are an abundant quantity of roots. The layer is composed of dark gray colored earth with a medium fine texture with a semi-compact consistency. The soil is relatively moist. There are abundant inclusions of small and medium gravels, broken tiles, small brown colored rocks, small fragments of carbon, decomposing yellow rock (cancaña), and scarce cinnabar fragments, and roots of various sizes. You can also see small inclusions of orange colored clay.

Level: B

This level is a fill made up of slightly edged stones (limestone and cancaña) in angular shapes with semi-rounded corners whose dimensions differ between the large size (52 cm x 40 cm x 18 cm), medium size (30 cm x 19 cm x 10 cm) and small (18 cm x 10 cm x 8 cm). These rocks are from the wall collapse of the building and the soil is dark brown of medium fine texture and semi-compact consistency. The soil is very moist, most likely due to recent rains. There are also inclusions of small and medium gravels, continuing roots intruding from the surface. There are broken tiles, small pieces of carbon irregularly distributed throughout the area, fine points of yellow that came from the

APPENDIX B (continued) 222 cancaña rock, small pebbles of a brown color, fragments of deteriorated brick. There are also sporadic inclusions of orange clay.

Level: C

This level is composed of stones (limestone and basalt) of a regular size of angular form distributed in a homogenous manner throughout the building. There appears to be a stone floor that is deposited such that it is superimposed on top of mud based on earth mixed with clay of a brown color with a medium fine texture and a semi-compact consistency, with a regular moderate level of moisture. There are inclusions of small and medium gravels, pieces of yellow coming from the de composition of the cancaña rock, small pieces of carbon irregularly distributed throughout the area, small bits of rose colored stones, and roots of plants.

Level: D

This level contains a mixture of clay and soil that is light in tone and has a medium fine texture and semi-compact consistency, with a normal amount of moisture. The fill is made up of stones arranged and inserted into earth. There are also inclusions of small and medium gravels, pieces of yellow coming from the de composition of the cancaña rock, small pieces of carbon irregularly distributed throughout the area, small bits of rose colored stones, and cuts of hard blue stone. There were also small stones of cream and brown color. Thin intrusive roots could also be observed.

Level: E

This level uncovered a layer of slightly edged, angular shaped, limestone stones, with semi- rounded corners. There sizes are varied and include large (47cm x 26cm x 16cm), medium (20cm x

16cm x 10cm) and small (14cm x 11cm x 6 cm). They are principally located in the south and west of the building. The fill is composed of a mix of moistly soil and clay which has a light brown color

APPENDIX B (continued) 223 with a variable texture between medium-fine and granulose of a semi-compact consistency with regular levels of moisture. We also note inclusions of small and medium gravels, some of these appear to be sections of decomposing yellow rock (cancaña), small pieces of carbon, and micro- particles of orange which may come from the decomposition of ceramics.

Level: F

This level is composed of a clayey organic soil of black color that is moist with a medium fine texture and semi-compact consistency. It includes small and medium gravels, fine points of cream and yellow fragments of decomposing rocks, and pebbles of various forms. There are also a quantity of scarce limestone rocks of regular, angular form.

Unit 31A

Figure 94. Unit 31 Stratigraphy Level: S

APPENDIX B (continued) 224

Figure 95. Overview of Unit 31 The layer is composed of organic earth of a light gray color, with a medium, thick txture with inclusions of small rocks (1-4cm) that are angular in form. There are projecting thin rootlets in the east side sections and dry stems in the west section. As a whole, this layer is thin, varying in thickness from 5-8 cm showing an irregular surface.

Level: A

This layer is made up of collapse of the lateral walls in their post-occupational state, including rocks of various sizes: large (32-41cm x 11-14cm x 7-10cm), medium (12-23cm x 8-11cm x 7-10cm), and small (10-14 x 5-7 cm) irregularly distributed between thick earth that is light gray with inclusions of small stones (2-3cm) that are angular in shape. There is also a small quantity of

APPENDIX B (continued) 225 thin roots that have come down from the surface. The level has a medium thickness in part due to the presence of a regular portion of sand primarily in the sections of the south side (5, 6, 7, and 8). It has a consistency that varies between semi compact and loose.

Level: B

This layer is composed of collapse from the roof of a late occupation period, manifesting in the irregular distribution of broken tiles of medium and small thickness. They are found inserted in a dark gray soil with inclusions of sandy soil especially in sections 6, 7, and 8, there also small clods and small stones (3-5 cm), small and millimeter sized carbon fragments, small bits of rose colored stones, bits of yellow clay and small stones (14-9 x 6-10 x 4-7cm), these components leave a rather course texture with a semi compact consistency with a regular distribution varying in thickness between 6 and 11 cm creating an slope oriented from east to west.

Level: C

This level is composed of a reddish color clayey earth with a large amount of stones of varying sizes: medium (10-22 x 9-11cm), small (7-12 x 4-6 cm) and very small (2-3 cm) of angular form with semi rounded edges. A good percentage of them are the yellow cancaña rock, either yellow or red in color and relatively light in tone. There is also a regular distribution of small fragments of carbon. The soil has a medium fine texture with a compact consistency and a level of moisture that is consistent with the site. The level is the surface immediately under the roof collapse and thus is more compact.

Level: D

This is an anthropic layer composed by a fill of clayey soil of a light brown color with abundant presence of small pieces of yellow cancaña rock. In relatively equal proportion, we also observe disintegrating white stones, and blue clay in some sections (millimeter size). There are

APPENDIX B (continued) 226 inclusions of small and tiny stones of angular form that are semi-rounded. In the lower level of section 1, there is orange clay of a dark tone and between sections 3 and 4 there is a fill of angular rocks that correspond to the earlier wall collapse with medium and large size cancaña rocks. The level is 45 cm thick in the sections on the east side and 22 cm in the sections on the west side. The texture is thick and moist and has a consistency that varies between semi-compact and compact.

Level: E

This level is made up of a clayey soil that is black when wet. There is a lens of medium fine grained sand and rare fragments of disintegrating cancaña rock (yellow) with some sparse clumps of red clay in roughly the same quantity as in section 4. In section 3 there is an irregular deposition of medium and large stones associated with wall collapse. The thickness of the level varies between 18 and 46cm. It has a medium fine texture with a semi compact consistency and an incline is maintained running from east to west.

Figure 96. Unit 31, Final

227

APPENDIX C

Ceramic Analysis This project excavated 62721 m3 at Santa Barbára across 32 different excavation units. In total, we recovered 15,642 ceramic fragments (484.58 kg). Most of the ceramics are undecorated body sherds, but we classified 5510 (333.79 kg) as diagnostic, if they displayed some form of surface decoration or came from a recognizable part of the vessel. We separately bagged diagnostic fragments in the field, with a second examination during the washing phases in case we missed some small diagnostic sherds. Fragments that clearly came from the same vessel were also bagged separately. Subsequently, I conducted a more in-depth analysis on the diagnostic sherds, including further joining of ceramic fragments to eventually reach a conservative minimum number of vessels count of 3101.

Coding

The following coding system was employed during the ceramic analysis:

A. Unit

B. Sector/Building

C. Quadrant

D. Layer/Level

E. Feature

F. Weight

G. Reduction 1. Oxidized 2. Partially Reduced 3. Reduced

H. Paste Type 1. Rough Paste 2. Fine Paste 3. Other (Porcelain or Refined Paste)

I. Paste Color 227

APPENDIX C (continued) 228

1. Weak Red (2.5yr 6/2-5/4) 2. Red-Orange (2.5yr 6/6-5/8) 3. Reddish Yellow (7.5yr 8/6-6/8) 4. Pale Yellow (2.5y 8/2-7/4) 5. White 6. Light gray (5y 7/1-7/2) 7. Light red (2.5yr 7/6-7/8) 8. Brown

M. Parte 1. Complete 2. Body 3. Rim 4. Neck 5. Base 6. Handle 7. Spout 8. Other 9. Nearly Complete

N. Rim Type 1. Round 2. Round inverted 3. Round everted 4. Flat 5. Flat everted 6. Flat inverted 7. Flat ridged 8. Extended with lip 9. Botija 10. Flaring Flat

O. Surface Treatment 1. Pulido 2. Bruñido 3. Pintado 4. Vidriado 5. Resin 6. Red slip 7. Cream Slip 8. Impression

P. Surface Decoration 1. Solid White 2. Solid Red 3. Red on white 4. Polychrome on white 5. Throwing Marks 6. Red on Paste 7. Black on Paste 8. Black/red on white 9. White on paste

APPENDIX C (continued) 229

10. Other Polychrome 11. White on Red 12. Black on White 13. Gray

Q. Glazed 1. Sold Clear Lead Glaze 2. Solid Brown Lead Glaze 2a. Dark Brown 2b. Medium Brown 2c. Light Brown 3. Solid Black Lead Glaze 4. Blue based glaze (Blue on White porcelain or others) 5. Solid White Tin 6. Polychrome porcelain 7. Green Glaze 7a. Dark Olive Green 7b. Medium Green 7c. Light Green 7d. Light Oliver Green 8. Green/Brown Tin 9. Solid white porcelain 10. Green-Yellow transparent 11. Yellow Solid 12. Green on White Tin 13. Green/Yellow on White Tin 14. Brown on White Tin 15. Mottled/Solid Green Tin-ish 16. Blue on White Tin

U. Forma de Cerámica 1. Olla 2. Plate 3. Bowl 4. Mercury Olla 5. Rectangular Tablet 6. Jar 7. Neckless Olla 8. Basin 9. Cantaro 10. Large Storage 11. Flaring Olla

V. Tipo de Cerámica 1. Botija 2. Mercury Olla 3. Red Rim 4. Red Rim on White 5. Burnished Red 6. Brown glazed bowl 7. Mayolica 8. Porcelain-Unidentified

APPENDIX C (continued) 230

9. Brown glazed basin 10. HCVA A 10A. Black/Red on White 10B. Black/Red on Blue 10C. White on Red

Types Mercury Ollas

Figure 97. Mercury Ollas recovered from Unit 8, Level B. This level included both types, Mercury Olla A with a single rim, and Mercury B with a double rim.

APPENDIX C (continued) 231

Figure 98. Mercury Olla Type B, Recovered in Unit 8, Level E.

Figure 99. Mercury tablet, recovered in Unit 8, Capa G, Quadrant 7 (SB I).

APPENDIX C (continued) 232

Botijas

Figure 100. Assorted Botija Rims.

Tin

Figure 101. Blue on White Majolica, recovered in Unit 6, Capa D/1, Quadrant 6 (SB III).

APPENDIX C (continued) 233

Figure 102. Blue on White Majolica, Recovered in Unit 13, Capa D, Quadrant 2 (SB III)

Figure 103. Green on white majolica with smudging. Recovered in Unit 4, Capa D/1 (SB II).

APPENDIX C (continued) 234

Figure 104. Green rim on white majolica. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/2, Quadrant 8 (SB III).

Figure 105. Brown on white majolica, linear. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa C, Quadrant 1 (SB II).

APPENDIX C (continued) 235

Figure 106. Brown on white majolica. Recovered Unit 6, Capa D/1, Quadrant 1 (SB III).

Figure 107. Polychrome majolica. Recovered in Unit 8, Capa F, Quadrant 9 (SB I).

APPENDIX C (continued) 236

Lead

Figure 109. Brown lead glazed plate. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/2, Quadrant 5 (SB III).

Figure 108. Brown lead glazed bowl. Recovered in Unit 22, Capa E, Quadrant 6 (SB I).

APPENDIX C (continued) 237

Figure 110. Clear partial lead glaze bowl. Recovered in Unit 13, Capa D, Quadrant 5 (SB III).

Figure 111. Green glaze body fragment. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa B, Quadrant 1 (SB III).

APPENDIX C (continued) 238

Figure 112. Black on yellow lead glaze bowl. Recovered in Unit 8, Capa C, Quadrant 9 (SB II).

Figure 113. Yellow lead glaze bowl. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa D/1, Quadrant 11 (SB III).

APPENDIX C (continued) 239

Painted

Figure 115. White on red body fragment. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/2, Quadrant 7 (SB III).

Figure 114. White linear on red rim. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa D/1, Quadrant 2 (SB II)

APPENDIX C (continued) 240

Figure 116. White on paste painted body fragment. Recovered in Unit 22, Capa E, Quadrant E (SB I).

Figure 117. Red rim on paste. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa C, Quadrant 1 (SB II).

APPENDIX C (continued) 241

Figure 118. Red on white fragment. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/1, Quadrant 5 (SB III).

Figure 119. Red on white plate. Recovered in Unit 1, Capa C, Quadrant 2 (SB II).

APPENDIX C (continued) 242

Figure 121. Polychrome on white. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa D/1, Quadrant 1 (SB III).

Figure 120. Polychrome on white. Recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/1, Quadrant 7 (SB III).

243

APPENDIX D

Faunal Analysis72 This report presents the results of the analysis of 3,217 animal bone specimens from the excavations carried out at the Santa Bárbara archaeological site, Huancavelica. The analyzed set consists of 3,212 bone remains in different degrees of preservation, with no soft tissue preservation and 5 bone artifacts. The analysis addressed the faunal remains recovered from the following excavation units:

TABLE XXI. FAUNAL MATERIALS ANALYZED

Sub- Sector Building Unit Quadrant Level NISP Level A 1 33 2 a 17 A 1 33 4 a 1 68 A 1 33 6 a 45 A 1 33 8 a 44 A 1 33 10 a 18 A 1 33 12 a 1 50 A 1 33 14 a 17 A 1 33 16 a 1 92 A 1 33 18 a 12 A 1 33 20 a 1 44 A 1 33 22 a 21 A 1 33 24 a 30 D 6 5 b 156 D 6 5 c 2 F 1 2 b 78 F 1 2 c Rasgo 1 54 F Pasadizo 1 b 1 19 I Pasadizo 1 c 17 I Pasadizo 1 d 1 6 I Pasadizo 1 d 2 12 I Pasadizo 10 d 1 12 I Patio 10 b 57 I Patio 10 c 70 Ñ 5 13A 1 b 23 Ñ 5 13A 1 c 1 31 Ñ 5b 13A 1 e 2 22

72 The faunal analysis was completed by Patricia K. Maita Agurto. This appendix is a condensed and translated version of her report. 243

APPENDIX D (continued) 244

Ñ 5 13A 3 B 25 Ñ 5 13A 3 e 1 21 Ñ 5 13A 3 e 2 84 Ñ 5b 13A 3 f 29 Ñ 5 13A 5 b 16 Ñ 5b 13A 5 f 13 Ñ Patio 15 b 6 O 2 18 d 72 O 3 20 b 190 O 3 20 c 18 P 2 22A 1 b 176 P 2 22A 1 c 36 P 2 22A 3 d 65 P 2 22A 5 b 38 P 2 22A 5 c 17 P 2 22A 5 d 84 P 2 22A 7 b 38 P 2 22A 7 c 85 P 2 22A 7 d 117 P 2 22A 7 e 99 P 2 22A 7 f 2 P 2 22A 9 b 43 P 2 22A 9 c 24 P 2 22A 9 d 58 P 2 22A 9 e 134 P 5 23 b 157 P 5 23 c 12 R 5 32 b 536 TOTAL 3212

The faunal remains were found in association with human bone and ceramic fragments, which were separated into different packages and stored in the same bag of origin. The faunal remains were recovered by the Santa Barbára Archaeological Research Project, under the direction of archaeologists Antonio Coello and Douglas Smit.

Methodology

The specimens were quantified and inventoried. The analysis began with the ordering of the bags according to the context of origin. The material of each site was ordered in the laboratory

APPENDIX D (continued) 245 table following the order of the stratigraphic units for the written record of the elements and the quantification of the minimum number of individuals.

The characteristics registered in the file were: Taxonomic identification, anatomical identification, laterality, bone portion, estimated age, fusion state of epiphysis, as well as data on: weathering, degree of thermal alteration, fracture, impact negatives, carnivore bite, root marks and cut tracks, which helped to describe and evaluate the incidence of taphonomy on the analyzed set.

Whenever it was necessary, fragments of the same bone were joined that showed breaks produced during the excavation or storage, in order to avoid multiple counting of the same element.

The anatomical and taxonomic identification was made by comparison with current material from the personal collection of Patricia Maita in the city of Lima. At the same time, different osteological and taxonomic atlases were consulted, such as Baumel 1979, Eisenberg 1999, Miles

1973, Olsen 1968, Olsen 1977, Walker 1968. The taxonomic identification was as precise as the conservation of the remains allowed, thus determining various taxa at the level of class, order, genus, family and species.

Taxonomic identification at the species level of camelid remains was made by examining the dental morphology of the lower incisors, taking into account the shape and distribution of the enamel

(Wheeler 1985). In the absence of the lower incisors, the different bones were registered as

Camelidae Family due to the difficulty of differentiating the four species of South American camelids at the osteological level. Unfortunately, no complete and well-preserved remains were found in the sample, so it was not possible to apply osteometric techniques for taxonomic identification purposes.

The ages in camelids were determined based on the state of fusion of epiphysis according to the work of Wheeler (1999) and the sequence of eruption and tooth wear (Wheeler 1982). The age categories handled were:

- Fetus / neonate: intra uterus until birth

APPENDIX D (continued) 246

- Neonate: from birth to 1 month of age.

- Young: 2 - 6 months old

- Adolescent: 7 - 44 months

- Adult: 45 months and up.

At the same time, various charts and tables for estimating age and sex were consulted, based on current fauna populations, such as Boessneck (1980), Halstead et al. (2002), Hatting (1995),

Barone (1976), Schmid (1972) and Amorosi (1989). For the determination of age in taxa that do not have bibliographic information on stages of bone fusion or tooth sequence, those bones fused as adults and bones without merging as young were considered.

All remains were examined macroscopically with a 5x magnifying glass in order to identify cultural and natural elements that could indicate the taphonomic history of the analyzed set. The condition of the bones and alterations in the bone surface were recorded, such as weathering, root marks, animal chewing and exposure. The degree of weathering was recorded based on the criteria of

Behrensmeyer (1978). The marks produced by carnivores were described according to the classifications of Binford (1981). In the case of exposure to weathering of the bone, it was noted whether whitening occurs on one or both sides of the specimen. Among the cultural factors were included all those human activities such as cutting, burning, fracture and percussion traces that altered the bone material.

The degree of thermal alteration was described according to the color the specimen presented:

Burned: reddish / brown

Charred: black

Calcinated: bluish gray, white

APPENDIX D (continued) 247

It was also recorded if the thermo alteration was partial or total to the bone. It should be noted that this feature may be present or not as they vary according to the cooking techniques. The analysis was limited only to those bones that were directly exposed to fire.

Calculation of anatomical and taxonomic abundance

The following quantification criteria were used:

NSP: Number of specimens analyzed. Corresponds to the total sample

NISP: Number of specimens identified. Number of specimens that were attributed to a given taxonomic category.

NMI: Minimum number of individuals, determined from the counting of all the most abundant bones or anatomical parts in the stratigraphic unit. The criteria of laterality, age and bone morphometry were used. It should be noted that several bags that belonged to the same stratigraphic unit were analyzed synchronously to avoid multiple counting of the same individual.

In this work, we consider the NMI as the main quantification criterion. The NMI measures the relative importance between the different species of the same set, while the NISP, defined as the number of bony specimens identified by taxon, can reach to oversize the species that have more bones on others.

Characterization of taxa

The origin and cultural use of the taxa were evaluated according to the following criteria:

- Habitat of the species present in the sample

- Taphonomy of faunal assemblages.

- Anatomical representation.

- Traces on the surface of the bones of tools used in the use of the products offered by the animal.

APPENDIX D (continued) 248

- Registration of the burned bone and the degree of alteration.

- Bone pathologies.

- Quantity and potential use of each of the taxa

Each bone in complete, fragmented or splintered state was entered into the database. All the data were entered into a database in Excel.

Results

Taphonomy

In general, the sample is in a regular state of conservation. The characteristics that define this state are the following:

Natural factors:

- Decomposition of the bone tissue due to a demineralization process.

- Formation of black spots on the surface of the bone,

- 3% of the bones had strongly adhering earth concretions that did not allow to directly observe the surface of the bone.

- Bites made by carnivorous animals

Cultural factors:

- Fragmentation of long bones by prey preparation and consumption activities.

- Alteration by thermal action of the bones by cooking techniques and waste disposal

activities.

- Brands recently made on the bones due to a rigorous cleaning process with during

excavation or archaeological work. During this process, the surface of several bones has

been damaged, creating deep lines that could be mistaken for cut marks and making

analysis difficult.

TABLE XXII. IDENTIFIED SPECIES

TAXON NISP NMI

APPENDIX D (continued) 249

Nombre científico Nombre común # # % CLASE MAMÍFEROS Orden Artiodactyla Familia Camelidae Camélido 1222 104 40% Vicugna pacos Alpaca 6 5 2% Lama glama Llama 19 11 4% Ovis orientalis aries Oveja domestica 1153 83 32% Indeterminado* Camélido u oveja 130 Bos primigenius taurus vaca 672 52 20% Orden Perissodactyla Equus sp. burro/caballo 4 1 0.4% Orden Carnívora Carnívoro Indeterminado indeterminado 1 Canis familiaris perro 1 1 0.4% Conepatus rex zorrillo 1 1 0.4% Orden Rodentia Cavia porcellus Cuy 1 1 0.4% Orden Indeterminado Mamífero Indeterminado indeterminado 1 Clase Aves Indeterminado Ave 1 1 0.4% TOTAL 3,212 261 * Los huesos del orden Artiodactyla agrupan a los huesos de camélidos y ovejas que no pudieron ser diferenciados debido a la alta fragmentación que presentan.

TABLE XXIII. FAUNA AMOUNTS BY CONTEXT

burr o/ca c zor pe Se Cu camelida llam alp ov ball u rill rr Reci Uni Ca niv cto adr e a aca eja vaca o y o o nto dad pa el r o f / n t j a j a j a j a t j a j j j a A 1 33 2 a 1 1 1 A 1 33 4 a 1 1 2 1 2 A 1 33 6 a 1 1 2 1 A 1 33 8 a 1 2 1 1 1 A 1 33 10 a 1 1 A 1 33 12 a 1 1 3 2 1 A 1 33 14 a 1 1 A 1 33 16 a 1 2 1 1 1 A 1 33 18 a 1

APPENDIX D (continued) 250

A 1 33 20 a 2 1 2 A 1 33 22 a 1 1 A 1 33 24 a 1 1 1 D 6 5 b 1 1 1 1 D 6 5 c 1 1 F 1 2 b 1 1 1 1 1 Ras F 1 2 c go 1 1 1 3 Pasa F 1 b 1 dizo 1 1 1 1 1 Pasa I 1 c dizo 1 1 1 Pasa I 1 d 1 dizo 1 1 1 Pasa I 1 d 2 dizo 1 1 Pasa I 10 d 1 dizo 1 1 1 Pati I 10 b o 2 2 1 Pati I 10 c o 1 1 1 1 13 Ñ 5 1 b A 2 1 1 1 13 Ñ 5 1 c 1 A 1 2 1 1 13 Ñ 5b 1 e 2 A 1 1 2 1 13 Ñ 5 3 b A 1 13 Ñ 5 3 e 1 A 1 1 1 2 13 Ñ 5 3 e 2 A 2 1 1 1 1 13 Ñ 5b 3 f A 1 1 1 1 13 Ñ 5 5 b A 1 1 1 13 Ñ 5b 5 f A 1 1 Pati Ñ 15 b o 1 1 O 3 20 b 1 3 1 1 1 1 1 1 O 3 20 c 2 1 1 1 1 O 2 18 d 1 1 1 1

APPENDIX D (continued) 251

22 P 2 1 b A 3 1 2 1 22 P 2 1 c A 1 2 1 1 22 P 2 3 d A 2 2 1 1 1 22 P 2 5 b A 2 1 1 3 22 P 2 5 c A 1 2 1 22 P 2 5 d A 1 1 1 2 1 1 22 P 2 7 b A 2 1 22 P 2 7 c A 1 1 2 3 22 P 2 7 d A 1 1 1 1 2 1 22 P 2 7 e A 1 1 1 2 1 22 P 2 7 f A 1 22 P 2 9 b A 2 1 1 2 1 22 P 2 9 c A 1 1 2 22 P 2 9 d A 1 1 2 1 22 P 2 9 e A 1 1 1 1 2 P 5 23 b 3 1 1 1 1 P 5 23 c 1 1 1 R 5 32 b 1 1 2 3 1 1 1 1 1 a: adulto, j: joven, t: tierno, f/n: feto/neonat

APPENDIX D (continued) 252

Conclusions The presence of domesticated taxa must be related to the economic activities of settlement, agriculture and animal husbandry. The inhabitants of the settlement seem to have preferred mammals. The only non-mammalian taxa are birds. In several cases the specific identification was difficult due to the high fragmentation of the remains and many of them have been subjected to fire, so in some cases the remains are assigned at the order level, such as Artiodactyla (camelid bones and sheep that could not be differentiated) and Carnivora (bones of canids, felines of small size).

The taphonomy of the assemblages and the identified fauna make it possible to infer that the remains come from a high altitude ecosystem. The place possibly met the necessary conditions to house a large herd of camelids, sheep, goats and sporadically horses.

The sample registers an intense activity of processing of animals that includes the trimming, evisceration and cooking of foods. This dynamism coincides with the appearance of domesticated mammals.

The remains of camelids, sheep and cows are abundant. The age profile and the high representativeness of the bones make it possible to ensure that the camelids were reared in the immediate surroundings of the site. Apparently the remains of camelids entered in the form of complete bodies to the archaeological site, where they had to be sacrificed, consumed and discarded within the archaeological site.

Domestic meat processing activities included skin peeling and cutting through multiple cuts. The animal's cutting activities left several cut marks on the epiphyses of some bones. In the case of long bones, these traces are located on the articular surfaces and are deep and long traces that appear oblique or transverse to the longitudinal axis of the bone.

APPENDIX D (continued) 253

During consumption several bone pieces suffered fracture for the extraction of the bone marrow, while during the cooking of the meat prey, several bones that were part of the prey were partially burned after cooking directly on the fire. On the other hand, remains of food that were eliminated on the stoves suffered various stages of burning, such as charring and calcination, having been thrown like bone.

254

APPENDIX E

Human Osteological Analysis

By Terren Proctor (Vanderbilt University)

Summary

This report summarizes the analysis of human remains from the plaza at the site of the Santa

Bárbara mining encampment in Huancavelica, Peru. Artifacts associated with the burials suggest that they date to the 18th century. A total of 8 burials were removed by an archaeological team led by Douglas K. Smit (University of Illinois, Chicago), and subsequently analyzed by Terren Proctor (Vanderbilt University). Biological analysis indicates that 4 individuals are subadults, and 4 are adults. The majority of subadults (n=3) are third trimester fetuses, and only one adolescent is represented in the sample. Of the adults,

3 fall within the range of middle to older adult, and one is a young adult. The adult sample is comprised of both males and females Results indicate that all adolescent and adult individuals (n = 5) had high entheseal remodeling scores, presented in two distinct patterned arrays, suggestive of a division of labor. In addition, osteoarthritis is present in 60% of the adolescent/adult individuals, including extensive eburnation and spicule formation; osteochondritis dissecans is also commonly observed. These results indicate a high level of physical activity, even at a young age. Notably, two individuals exhibit hemi-lumbarization of the sacrum, inducing severe scoliosis in one individual, and two have a congenitally present 13th rib. Furthermore, extensive bowing of the legs and forearms is exhibited in another individual. Antemortem trauma is observed in two of the individuals. The pathological data suggest that the recovered individuals were subject to extreme labour for most of their lives, and may have suffered disproportionately from congenital skeletal malformation, perhaps due to long-term, multi-generational mercury exposure.

254

APPENDIX E (continued) 255

Methods

All results were recorded using procedures outlined in Standards for Data Collection from

Human Skeletal Remains by Buikstra and Ubelaker (1994). First, a thorough inventory of all skeletal elements was conducted. Over the course of inventory, sex and age estimations were conducted where feasible. Sex estimations are given only for adult remains, as morphological differences in sex become skeletally visible only after puberty. When possible, sex estimates were made using the different morphological features of the os coxae and cranium (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994). Adult age estimates were made using the morphology of the pubic symphysis and the auricular surface using, respectively, scoring systems devised by Brooks and Suchey (1990) and Lovejoy et al. (1985), as well as suture closure analysis developed by

Buikstra and Ubelaker (1994). Age estimation for the adolescent was done through an examination of the stages of epiphyseal fusion of the long bones. Age estimates of fetal remains were conducted using skeletal measurements determined by Baker et al. (2005).

Each bone was coded individually on the basis of the burial provenience, the element’s name, and what side of the body it came from. Further information concerning pathology, the specific type of pathology, and the severity of the skeletal response was recorded.

Specifically, the remains were examined for six different pathologies indicative of general health: cribra orbitalia, porotic hyperostosis, osteoarthritis, osteochondritis dissecans, periostitis, and trauma. Any additional pathologies were noted during analysis. These were scored according to standardized codes put forth by Buikstra and Ubelaker (1994) to the fullest extent observable.

Results

CF1

APPENDIX E (continued) 256

Age & Sex

The partially erupted third molars indicate that the individual was between 12 and 18 years of age. Partial fusion of the ossification center of the iliac crest and lesser trochanter of the femur, and a lack of fusion of the greater trochanter of the femur indicate that they were likely between 15 and 19 years old at the time of death. Thus, CF1 is estimated to have between 15 and 18 years of age at time of death. The pelvic sex determination characteristics are generally ambiguous, with the exception of the subpubic concavity, which presents as decidedly male. Of much greater use is the cranium; the robusticity of the nuchal crest and mastoid process, as well as the large mental eminence suggest that this individual may have been male. However, given the young age of the individual, the margin of error for sex estimation is high and should not be determined to be conclusive.

Pathology

The individual shows signs of mostly healed cribra orbitalia in both orbits, as well as porotic hyperostosis at various stages of healing on the parietal, occipital, and temporal bones. CF1 shows no signs of osteoarthritis or periostitis. Healed osteochondritis dissecans is observed on the left patella and left femur, suggesting patellar dislocation at some earlier point in the individual’s life. Extensive osteolytic lesions are present on the clavicles, tibiae, and humeri. The patterning of the lesions on the humeri and clavicles suggests repetitive labour involving a rotational motion of the arms centralized at the shoulder. This pattern has previously been described as kayaker’s clavicle (Hawkey and Merbs 1995). In addition, the lesions on the tibiae at the attachments for the popliteus and soleus muscles indicate highly muscular legs. CF1 also has a congenitally present thirteenth thoracic vertebra accompanied by a thirteenth pair of ribs. The individual exhibits hemi-lumbarization of the first sacral segment, with a lack of ala formation on the right side. An enlargement of the proximal shaft

APPENDIX E (continued) 257 of the right femur and accompanying bony deposition on the anterior side of the protuberance suggests a possible healed trauma or infection.

CF2

Age & Sex

Individual CF2 exhibits Suchey-Brooks scores of V and VI on the left and right pubic sympheseal surfaces, respectively, and a Todd score of phase 9. Auricular surface scores fall within the range of phase VII. In conjunction with suture closure estimates, the individual can be said to fall within the age range of middle to older adult, specifically between 44 and 49 years of age. The robusticity of the glabella and mastoid, as well as the lack of curvature in the subpubic concavity of the pelvis suggest that this individual was male.

Pathology

The individual shows some signs of cribra orbitalia and porotic hyperostosis, with minimal porosity within both orbits, as well as porosity on the occipital and parietal bones.

There is no evidence of osteochondritis dissecans or periostitis. Mild to moderate osteoarthritis is observed on the proximal ends of the humeri, ulnae, right clavicle, femora, tibiae, and fibulae, and on the distal ends of the radii and femora. Both scapulae also show signs of osteoarthritis, though the presentation of the pathology is much more severe on the right side. All vertebral bodies show some degree of lipping on the bodies ranging from slight osteophyte deposition to extensive spicule formation, and most of the articular facets show lipping and porosity. The sacrum exhibits extensive osteoarthritis in the form of grooved eburnation, mild lipping, and moderate porosity on both superior articular facets. This is likely due at least in part to the hemi-lumbarization of the first sacral segment on the right side. In addition, severe left curve scoliosis is observed, resulting in the deformation of all ribs and vertebrae. Extensive enthesopathy formation is present on the clavicles, humeri, and

APPENDIX E (continued) 258 femora. The patterning of the entheseal changes is identical to that seen in CF1, and suggests a similar pattern of labour.

CF1 exhibits a number of dental pathologies including extensive antemortem tooth loss, carious lesions, and abscesses. The right second molar of the mandible is completely decayed, and the caries appears to have penetrated into the adjacent third molar. A large abscess is present from the base of the right first premolar of the mandible, extending to the base of the first molar of the same side. The left first premolar, second molar, and third molar of the mandible were lost antemortem, leading to the resorption of the alveolar bone in this region. The maxillary left first incisor, first and second premolars, and second molar were also lost prior to the individual’s death, as were the right first and second premolars, and first molar. There is also an abscess extending across the central right portion of the maxilla, specifically from the base of the right first incisor to the canine.

Trauma

Healed fractures are observed on the right proximal clavicular shaft and right scapular body.

Given the spatial patterning of the injuries, it is likely that both injuries were incurred in the same traumatic episode, likely due to a blow to the right shoulder from above and behind.

CF3

Age & Sex

Individual CF2 exhibits Suchey-Brooks scores of III on the pubic sympheseal surfaces, a Todd score of 5, and phase III auricular surface scores. The individual is thus estimated to be between 27 and 33 years old. The cranium of the individual is unavailable; thus, sexing is based on pelvic data. The greater sciatic notch, ventral arc, subpubic concavity, and ischiopubic concavity are all definitively female according to Buikstra and

Ubelaker (1994).

APPENDIX E (continued) 259

Pathology

Cribra orbitalia and porotic hyperostosis could not be observed given the absence of the cranium. No periostitis is observed on this individual. Osteoarthritis is observed as extensive porosity on the distal ends of both first ribs. Osteoarthritis is also present in the form of porosity on the right femur and tibia, and on the left clavicle and both humeri. Healed osteochondritis dissecans is present on the left femoral head and on the distal end of the right femur. Enthesopathy formation is observable on the tibiae at the insertion of the soleus muscle, and the fibulae at the attachment of the interosseous membranes, suggesting repetitive squatting motions. In addition, entheseal remodeling can be seen on both ulnae at the insertion of the brachialis. CF3 also has a congenitally present supernumerary pair of ribs.

There are no observable dental pathologies on the mandibular teeth, although the left third molar appears to be compacted, and the left second premolar is still in the crypt despite the individual’s advanced age.

CF4

Age & Sex

Individual CF4 has a phase IV auricular surface score; the pubic symphyseal surface was too damaged due to postmortem deposition to be accurately assessed. According to

Lovejoy et al.’s ranges of auricular surface degeneration, it is estimated that the individual was between 35 and 39 years old at the time of death. Absence of the skull precluded cranial sex estimation; however, the absence of a preauricular sulcus and very narrow greater sciatic notch indicate that CF4 is male.

Pathology

Given the absence of the cranium, cribra orbitalia and porotic hyperostosis could not be observed. No periostitis is present on the individual. Healed osteochondritis dissecans is

APPENDIX E (continued) 260 present on the proximal end of both tibiae. The sixth through twelfth thoracic vertebrae, as well as the first, second, and fourth lumbar vertebrae exhibit mild to moderate Schmorl’s nodes. In addition, multiple thoracic vertebrae and three lumbar vertebrae show signs of osteoarthritis in the form of lipping and mild porosity on the vertebral bodies, and spicule formation between the superior articular facets. Enthesopathy formation is observable on the fibulae at the attachment of the interosseous membranes and at the insertion of the adductor magnus, biceps femoris, and gluteus maximus of both femora, suggesting repetitive squatting motions. Entheseal remodeling is also observed on the radii and ulnae as well as the right humerus in a pattern suggesting repetitive lifting. The femoral heads are rotated laterally. In addition, the tibiae are bowed laterally, and the fibulae are bowed medially. In the upper limbs, the forearms are bowed slightly outward, and the left scapular body is abnormally convex. The aforementioned conditions appear to be related to a weakening of bones then subjected to stress; this weakening may be due to osteomalacia, a form of vitamin D deficiency.

CF5

Age & Sex

Epiphyseal fusion, specifically the fusion of the radial head and lack of fusion of the distal radial epiphysis, suggest that the individual was between 15 and 22 years old at the time of death. Pubic symphysis scores of I for both Suchey-Brooks and Todd indicate that

CF2 was between 18 and 23 years old at the time of death. Thus, it is estimated that the individual was between 18 and 22 years of age. Cranial sexing indicators are inconclusive; however, pelvic morphology (particularly the ventral arcs, subpubic concavities, and ischiopubic rami) suggests that the individual is female.

Pathology

APPENDIX E (continued) 261

The individual shows no signs of cribra orbitalia, porotic hyperostosis, osteoarthritis, osteochondritis dissecans, or periostitis. Schmorl’s nodes are visible on the ninth through twelfth thoracic vertebrae; the severity of the lesion on the ninth thoracic vertebra leads to a butterfly appearance of the vertebral body. The fifth lumbar vertebra also exhibits moderate wedging. Entheseal remodeling is observable on the clavicles at the origin of the deltoideus and trapezius muscles, and at the attachment of the costoclavicular ligament. Enthesopathy formation on the humeri is found at the insertion of pectoralis major. In addition, enthesopathies on the fibulae and tibiae at the attachments for the popliteus and soleus muscles indicate highly muscular legs, and rugosity at the attachment of the interosseous membrane on these same bones indicate repetitive squatting. The right clavicle also exhibits a widening of the tubercles across the distal end when compared to the left, though the etiology of the condition is unclear.

Trauma

CF5 shows two healed antemortem cranial wounds; the first of these is the result of blunt force trauma to the left frontal bone, likely with a round weapon. The other is a broken nose as evidenced by the asymmetry of the nasal bones and divergence of the nasal conchae.

CF6, CF7, CF8

Comparative morphological data put forth by Baker et al. (2005) provide an age estimation of approximately the third trimester of fetal development for these three individuals. Skeletal sex determination is not possible for fetuses. No pathologies were observed on any of these individuals.

APPENDIX E (continued) 262

Figure 122. Drawing of burials. Unit 4, Capa D.

APPENDIX E (continued) 263

Figure 123. Unit 4 Profile.

APPENDIX E (continued) 264

Figure 124. Overview Photo of Burial Excavation. Unit 4, Capa D.

265

APPENDIX F

Other Artifacts The following table summarizes the miscellaneous artifacts recovered during the course of excavations, as well as selected photos of specific artifacts.

TABLE XXIV. MISCELLANEOUS ARTIFACTS

Artifact Weight Material Unit Quad Level Feature Quantity Notes Number (g) 1 Metal 3 A 2 N/A 2 Metal 3 S 1 N/A 3 Metal 4 D 1 N/A 4 Metal 4 15 B 2 N/A 5 Metal 4 8 D 1 N/A 6 Metal 4 15 C 1 1 N/A 7 Metal 4 15 A 1 N/A 8 Metal 4 8 D-2 1 N/A 9 Metal 4 7 B 1 N/A 10 Metal 4 D-1 1 N/A 11 Metal 4 7 B 3 N/A 12 Metal 6 A 2 N/A 13 Metal 6 5 B 1 N/A 14 Metal 6 7 B 1 N/A 15 Metal 6 5 C-2 1 N/A 16 Metal 6 5 D 1 N/A 17 Metal 6 8 B 1 N/A 18 Metal 6 A 1 N/A 19 Metal 6 10 D 4 N/A 20 Metal 7 B 2 N/A 21 Metal 7 A 1 N/A 22 Metal 8 8 D 1 N/A 23 Metal 8 8 B 1 N/A 24 Metal 8 6 B 1 N/A 25 Metal 8 8 D 4 N/A 26 Metal 10 B 1 N/A 27 Metal 10 A 1 N/A 28 Metal 10 A 2 N/A 29 Metal 10 B 1 N/A 30 Metal 13 D 1 N/A 31 Metal 13 3 E-2 2 N/A

265

APPENDIX F (continued) 266

32 Metal 13 E 1 N/A 33 Metal 13 8 B 1 N/A 34 Metal 13 9 A 2 N/A 35 Metal 13 4 A 2 N/A 36 Metal 13 1 E-2 1 N/A 37 Metal 13 3 A 4 N/A 38 Metal 13 1 S 1 N/A 39 Metal 13 B 1 N/A 40 Metal 13 1 E-2 1 N/A 41 Metal 13 8 C 1 N/A 42 Metal 13 3 C-1 1 N/A 43 Metal 13 8 A 2 N/A 44 Metal 13 10 A 4 N/A 45 Metal 14 C 1 N/A 46 Metal 14 18 C 1 N/A 47 Metal 14 1 S 1 N/A 48 Metal 14 8 A 1 N/A 49 Metal 14 15 S 1 N/A 50 Metal 14 6 A 1 N/A 51 Metal 14 9 A 1 N/A 52 Metal 16 A 1 N/A 53 Metal 17 A 2 N/A 54 Metal 21 B 1 N/A 55 Metal 22 A 2 N/A 56 Metal 22 S 1 N/A 57 Metal 22 C 1 N/A 58 Metal 22 1 S 1 N/A 59 Metal 22 9 E 1 N/A 60 Metal 22 9 E 1 N/A 61 Metal 24 B 1 N/A 62 Metal 24 C 1 N/A 63 Metal 31 A 4 N/A 64 Metal 31 C 1 N/A 65 Metal 31 3 A 1 N/A 66 Metal 31 4 C 1 N/A 67 Metal 31 3 B 1 N/A 68 Metal 31 5 S 1 N/A 69 Metal 31 3 B 1 N/A 70 Metal 31 8 B 1 N/A 71 Metal 31 6 B 1 N/A 72 Metal 32 B 1 N/A 73 Cross 4 D 1 N/A

APPENDIX F (continued) 267

74 Wood 4 9 A 1 N/A 75 Wood 6 D 1 N/A 76 Wood 13 3 E-2 1 N/A 77 Wood 21 C 1 N/A 78 Madera 31 6 C 1 N/A Worked 79 13 3 E-2 1 N/A Bone Worked 80 25 A 1 N/A Bone 81 Roof Tile 4 15 D 12 390 82 Roof Tile 4 19 D-2 5 216 83 Roof Tile 4 9 A 8 334 84 Roof Tile 4 19 A 7 319 85 Roof Tile 4 18 C 3 259 86 Roof Tile 4 8 C 3 249 87 Roof Tile 4 19 D-1 2 132 88 Roof Tile 4 19 D 8 676 89 Roof Tile 4 D-1 1 39 90 Roof Tile 6 D 2 157 91 Roof Tile 6 10 D 1 192 92 Roof Tile 6 5 C-2 1 166 93 Roof Tile 6 17 C-1 1 103 94 Roof Tile 7 C 2 74 95 Roof Tile 13 10 B 2 295 96 Roof Tile 14 9 B 2 257 97 Roof Tile 14 A 4 428 98 Roof Tile 14 6 A 3 422 99 Roof Tile 16 C 1 124 100 Roof Tile 17 A 5 692 101 Roof Tile 19 B 1 46 102 Roof Tile 19 A 2 83 103 Roof Tile 30 A 3 63 104 Lithic 4 7 B 1 3 105 Lithic 4 18 A 1 513 106 Lithic 4 D-1 C.F. 3 1 122 107 Lithic 4 7 B 1 12 108 Lithic 4 15 B 1 40 109 Lithic 5 B 1 3 110 Lithic 6 7 D 1 15 111 Lithic 6 D 1 11 112 Lithic 6 C 1 75 113 Lithic 6 13 C-1 1 569 114 Lithic 6 5 C-2 1 23

APPENDIX F (continued) 268

115 Lithic 6 4y5 D-2 1 15300 116 Lithic 10 A 1 137 117 Lithic 11 S 2 1619 118 Lithic 12 B 1 52 119 Lithic 13 7 S 1 24 120 Lithic 13 10 A 1 8 121 Lithic 13 A 4 255 122 Lithic 13 A 1 600 123 Lithic 13 E 2 1137 124 Lithic 13 3 E-2 1 641 125 Lithic 13 3 E-2 1 90 126 Lithic 13 3 A 2 218 127 Lithic 14 8 B 1 93 128 Lithic 14 8 A 2 340 129 Lithic 14 1 A 2 10 130 Lithic 14 7 B 1 33 131 Lithic 14 14 S 1 32 132 Lithic 14 9 A 1 257 133 Lithic 21 B 1 241 134 Lithic 21 C 1 94 135 Lithic 22 A 1 8 136 Lithic 22 6 B 1 618 137 Lithic 22 8 A 1 300 138 Lithic 25 B 1 112 139 Lithic 31 E-2 1 23 140 Lithic 31 8 C 1 3 141 Lithic 33 15 A 2 1079 20 Centavos 142 Coin 4 7 S 1 4 "1963" 143 Coin 6 9 S 1 2 "195?" 144 Coin 11 A 1 2 "1976" 1 Centavo 145 Coin 12 N/A S 1 1 "1959" 146 Coin 12 N/A S 1 7 ? 147 Coin 12 N/A S 1 7 Sol "1935" 148 Coin 12 N/A A 1 1 Colonial? 1/2 Sol 149 Coin 13 4 A 1 2 "1976" 5 Soles de 150 Coin 13 3 A 1 4 Oro "1977" 1/2 Sol 151 Coin 13 3 A 1 2 "1976" 5 Soles de 152 Coin 13 3 A 1 3 Oro "1976"

APPENDIX F (continued) 269

153 Coin 14 6 A 1 1 3 "1961" 154 Coin 14 10 A 1 3 "191?" ?? 155 Coin 14 11 A 1 1 "1965" 10 Centavos 156 Coin 22 8 S 1 3 "1954" 10 Centavos 157 Coin 31 5 B 1 2 "1970" 10 Centavos 158 Coin 31 6 B 1 2 "1968" 10 Centavos 159 Coin 31 1 A 1 2 "1986" 1577-1581 160 Coin 31 2 B 1 2 Lima "D" 161 Glass 1 C 1 N/A 162 Glass 1 B 1 N/A 163 Glass 4 9 C 1 1 N/A 164 Glass 4 16 C 1 N/A 165 Glass 4 10 A 1 N/A 166 Glass 4 8 D 1 N/A 167 Glass 4 8 A 1 N/A 168 Glass 4 10 C 1 N/A 169 Glass 4 1 C 1 N/A 170 Glass 4 10 D 1 N/A 171 Glass 6 16 C 1 N/A 172 Glass 6 14 C 1 N/A 173 Glass 6 7 D 1 N/A 174 Glass 6 15 A 1 N/A 175 Glass 6 5 C-2 1 N/A 176 Glass 6 5 D 1 N/A 177 Glass 6 11 C-2 1 N/A 178 Glass 6 6 C-1 1 N/A 179 Glass 6 4 D 1 N/A 180 Glass 10 A 1 N/A 181 Glass 10 C 1 N/A 182 Glass 10 C 1 N/A 183 Glass 13 1 A 1 N/A 184 Glass 13 2 D 1 N/A 185 Glass 13 4 E 1 N/A 186 Glass 13 5 B 1 N/A 187 Glass 13 2 E 1 N/A 188 Glass 13 3 B 1 N/A 189 Glass 14 8 A 1 N/A 190 Glass 14 1 C 1 N/A 191 Glass 14 1 B 1 N/A

APPENDIX F (continued) 270

192 Glass 14 2 B 1 N/A 193 Glass 14 1 A 1 N/A 194 Glass 14 10 B 1 N/A 195 Glass 14 10 B 1 N/A 196 Glass 31 2 B 1 N/A 197 Glass 31 8 B 1 N/A 198 Glass 31 4 B 1 N/A 199 Glass 31 2 A 1 N/A

APPENDIX F (continued) 271

Bone Artifacts

Figure 125. Awl made from indeterminate faunal bone. Recovered from Unit 31, Level C, Quadrant 5.

Figure 126, Awl made from indeterminate faunal bone. Recovered from Unit 13, Level E/2 Quadrant 2. Metal Artifacts

APPENDIX F (continued) 272

Figure 127. Copper pendant recovered in Unit 6, Capa D, Quadrant 5.

Figure 128. Possible boot spur recovered in Unit 6, Capa C/2, Quadrant 5.

APPENDIX F (continued) 273

Figure 129. Metal awl recovered in Unit 8, Capa D, Quadrant 3.

APPENDIX F (continued) 274

Figure 131. Knife/Scissors recovered from Unit 13, Capa E/2, Quadrant 1.

Figure 130. Nail recovered from Unit 22, Capa E, Quadrant 9.

APPENDIX F (continued) 275

Money

Figure 132. Spanish Coin.

Figure 133. Reverse of Spanish Coin (Figure 86).

APPENDIX F (continued) 276

Spindle Whorls

Figure 134. Assorted spindle whorls recovered in excavation.

277

APPENDIX G

Radiocarbon Results

We collected 6 radiocarbon dates from Santa Barbára, which were processed by the

University of Arizona AMS laboratory.

TABLE XXV. RADIOCARBON SAMPLES ANALYZED, APPENDIX G

Sample Number Material Unit Location Quadrant Level Context Weight Notes SB-273 Carbon 6 E-19 1 D/1 1 15 SB-274 Carbon 8 Plaza Central 1 E N/A 4.1 SB-275 Carbon 13 Ñ5 3 D N/A 2.9 SB-278 Carbon 22 P-2 5 D N/A 24.9 SB-292 Human Bone 4A Plaza-So N/A D/2 CF2 3.7 2nd Left Metatarsal SB-323 Human Bone 4A Plaza-So N/A D/2 CS3 11.4 Right femoral head

277

APPENDIX G (continued) 278

APPENDIX G (continued) 279

APPENDIX G (continued) 280

APPENDIX G (continued) 281

APPENDIX G (continued) 282

APPENDIX G (continued) 283

APPENDIX G (continued) 284

APPENDIX G (continued) 285

286

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VITA

Douglas K. Smit University of Pennsylvania Department of Anthropology 3260 South St Philadelphia, PA 19104

EDUCATION

2013-Present PhD. Candidate, University of Illinois at Chicago 2012 M.A. Anthropology, University of Illinois at Chicago 2008 B.A. Archaeology, The George Washington University

RESEARCH INTERESTS

Political Economy, Historical Anthropology, Colonialism, Markets, Labor, Mining, Andean South America, Ceramic Analysis, Compositional Analysis

PROFESSIONAL APPOINTMENTS

2018 Adjunct Assistant Professor of Anthropology, University of Pennsylvania.

2018 Consulting Scholar, Americas Section, University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology

2017 Visiting Scholar, Department of Anthropology, University of Pennsylvania.

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AWARDS AND GRANTS

2015 Dean’s Scholar Award. “Mercury, Mitayos and the Making of Andean Markets: Indigenous Labor in Colonial Huancavelica.” Writing Fellowship, University of Illinois at Chicago. $35,754

2015 Elemental Analysis Facility Research Grant. “Mercury and the Mita: The Compositional Analysis of Colonial Ceramics from Huancavelica, Peru” Field Museum of Natural History. $3,000.

2014 National Science Foundation #1439709. "Doctoral Dissertation Improvement Grant: Mining, Markets, and Commercialization in the Colonial Andes." Co- PI. $25,520

2014 Wenner Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. Dissertation Fieldwork Grant #8867. “Mining, Markets, and Commercialization: The Archaeology of Indigenous Labor in Colonial Peru.” $20,000

2013 Chancellor’s Fellowship for Graduate Research. University of Illinois at Chicago. “Daily Life at "The Mine of Death": The Archaeology of Indigenous Labor in Colonial Peru.” $4,000

2013 Provost’s Award. University of Illinois at Chicago. “Archival Research at the Huancavelica Mercury Mine in Colonial Peru.” $1,750

2013 Lewis and Clark Fund for Exploration and Field Research. American Philosophical Society. “The Costs of Colonialism: Markets, Mining, and Labor in the Colonial Andes.” $3,600

2013 Charles Reed Award: “Everyday Life at “The Mine of Death”: An Archaeological Examination of Labor in Colonial Peru.” $800

2011 Joshua J. Terry Graduate Award: Given to the outstanding second-year graduate student in Anthropology. $1,000

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2011 National Geographic Committee for Research and Exploration, Young Explorers Grant #8929-11. "Investigation into unknown building clusters at Espiritu Pampa." $4920

PUBLICATIONS

2017 Smit, Douglas K Indigenous Practices and the Production of Space: The Archaeology of Mercury Mining in Colonial Huancavelica. Ethnohistory. Submitted.

2017 Smit, Douglas K. and Terren Proctor “An Incurable Evil’: Direct and Structural Violence in the Mercury Mines of Colonial Huancavelica (1564-1824 AD). In Archaeologies of Violence and Privilege. University of New Mexico Press. Submitted.

2017 Bauer, Brian S., Douglas K. Smit and Miriam Araoz Silva Mitos Inca, Leyendas Inca, y la Evidencia Arqueológica para el Desarrollo del Estado en la Región del Cuzco. To be published in a multi-volume edition on Peruvian Archaeology by the Ministry of Culture and the National Museum of Archaeology: Peru. In Press.

2017 Bauer, Brian S., Douglas K. Smit, Jesús Galiano Blanco, Antonio Coello Rodríguez El Camino de Huancavelia hasta Potosí. In Nuevas tendencias en el estudio de los caminos. Edited by Sofia Chacaltana, Elizabeth Arkush, and Giancarlo Marcone, Ministerio de Cultura: Qhapaq Nan - Sede Nacional, Lima.

2015 Bauer, Brian S. and Douglas K. Smit Separating the Wheat from the Chaff, Inca Myths, Inca Legends, and the Archaeological Evidence for State Development. In The Inka Empire: A

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Multidisciplinary Approach. Edited by Izumi Shimada. University of Texas Press, Austin. Pp. 67-80

2014 Coello Rodríguez, Antonio, Douglas K. Smit and Brian S. Bauer Un caso de arqueología histórica en Huancavelica: Los hornos coloniales de mercurio. Arkinka Issue 226, September. Pp. 43-61.

2014 Galiano Blanco, Jesus, Brian S. Bauer, Douglas K. Smit, and Antonio Coello Rodríguez La minería y el comercio en Huancavelica Perú (Siglo XVI) Imprenta Librería, Huancavelica, Peru.

2012 Smit, Douglas K., and Brian S. Bauer. The Origin of the Inca State: Separating Myths and Legends from the Archaeological Evidence. In Diversity and Unity in the Inka Empire: Current Visions and Issues. Edited by Izumi Shimada. Tokai University Press, Tokyo.

PRESENTATIONS

2018 Smit, Douglas K. Geology and Governance: Colonial Andean Mercury Mining and the Marroquín Collapse of 1786. Paper to be presented at the 83rd Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Washington D.C.

2018 Smit, Douglas K. British Capital, Mercury Miners, and Transfer Print Ceramics in 19th Century Peru. Paper presented at the 51st Society for Historical Archaeology Meeting, New Orleans, LA.

2017 Smit, Douglas K.

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Amalgamation and Indigeneity: The Mining Mita of Colonial Huancavelica. Paper presented at the 36th Northeast Conference on Andean and Amazonian Archaeology and Ethnohistory. Philadelphia, PA.

2017 Smit, Douglas K. Indigenous Miners and the Making of the Andean Markets in Colonial Huancavelica. Paper presented at the 82nd Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Vancouver, BC.

2017 Proctor, Terren and Douglas K. Smit Stable Isotope Analysis of Human Diet at the Santa Bárbara Mining Encampment. Poster presented at the 86th American Association of Physical Anthropologists Meeting. New Orleans, LA.

2017 Smit, Douglas K. British Ceramics, Indigenous Miners, and the Commercialization of Daily Practice in Late Colonial Huancavelica. Paper presented at the 50th Society for Historical Archaeology Meeting, Fort Worth, TX.

2016 Smit, Douglas K. and Terren Proctor “The Sickness of Huancavelica”: Mercury Poisoning in Colonial Peru. Paper presented at the 23rd Midwest Bioarcheology & Forensic Anthropology Association Meeting. Loyola University, Chicago, IL.

2016 Smit, Douglas K. Indigenous Practices, Accumulation by Dispossession, and the Production of the Mercury Mining Landscapes of Colonial Huancavelica. Paper presented at the American Society for Ethnohistory meeting. Nashville, TN.

2016 Proctor, Terren and Douglas K. Smit Mining and Mercury: An Examination of Entheseal Changes and Skeletal Deformities at the Santa Bárbara Encampment. Poster presented at the 85th American Association of Physical Anthropologists Meeting. Atlanta, GA.

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2016 Smit, Douglas K. Mitayos and Markets in Colonial Huancavelica (AD 1564-1810). Paper presented at the 81st Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Orlando, FL.

2016 Smit, Douglas K. “The Kingdom was Moving”: Labor, the Mita, and the Colonial Andes. Paper presented at the Second City Anthropology Conference, Chicago, IL.

2016 Smit, Douglas K. Mitayos to Humachis: Mercury Mining in Huancavelica at the End of the Viceroyalty. Paper presented at the 44th Annual Midwest Conference on Andean and Amazonian Archaeology and Ethnohistory, Detroit, MI.

2016 Smit, Douglas K. The Humachis of Huancavelica during the Late Colonial Period (AD 1780-1840). Paper presented at the 49th Society for Historical Archaeology Meeting, Washington, DC.

2015 Smit, Douglas K. Forced Labor and the Emergence of Colonial Markets: The Mining Mita of the Spanish Andes. Paper presented at the 114th American Anthropology Meeting, Denver, CO.

2015 Smit, Douglas K., and Brian S. Bauer The Mercury Road: Huancavelica to Potosí. 43th Annual Midwest Conference on Andean and Amazonian Archaeology and Ethnohistory. Nashville, TN.

2014 Smit, Douglas K. "La joya más grande de la Corona Española": La Arqueología de Huancavelica Colonial. Public Lecture at the Ministerio de Culture, Huancavelica, Peru.

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2014 Brian S. Bauer, Smit, Douglas K., and Antonio Coello Rodriguez De Huancavelica a Potosí: La Ruta del Mercurio. Paper presented at the Qhapac Nan Conference, Ministerio de Culture, Lima, Peru.

2014 Smit, Douglas K. and Antonio Coello Rodriguez Fragmented Production, Fractured Power: An Examination of the Colonial Mining Landscape in Huancavelica. Paper presented 79th Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Austin, TX.

2013 Smit, Douglas K. Mixing Clays, Mixing Compositions: An Ethnoarchaeological Approach to Clay. Sourcing in the Andes. Paper presented at the Second City Anthropology Conference, Chicago, IL.

2012 Smit, Douglas K. Examining Estuquiña Architecture in the Upper Osmore during the Late Intermediate Period. Paper presented at 77th Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Memphis, TN.

2012 Smit, Douglas K. Reciprocity and Rebellion: Chicha in Colonial Peru. Paper presented at the Second City Anthropology Conference, Chicago, IL.

2009 Dyrdahl, Eric, Douglas K. Smit, and Hannah Sistrunk Inka Warfare: A GIS-Based View from the Pambamarca Fortress Complex. Paper presented at 74th Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Atlanta, GA.

2008 Sistrunk, Hannah, and Douglas K. Smit ¿Donde están los caminos? Paper presented at 73th Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Vancouver, BC.

2007 Sistrunk, Hannah, and Douglas K. Smit

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Roads of Control: Inka Colonial Strategy at the Pambamarca Fortress Complex in Northern Ecuador. Paper presented at 73th Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Austin, TX.

OTHER ACADEMIC ACTIVITIES

2017 Invited Symposium Co-Chair: “Markets and Capitalisms in Indigenous Societies in the Americas” The 82nd Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Vancouver, BC.

2017 Invited Symposium Co-Chair: “British Ceramics in Indigenous, Colonial, and Post-Independence Latin America.” The 50th Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Fort Worth, TX.

2016 Session Chair: “Colonial Archaeology in the Andes.” The 81st Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Orlando, FL.

2016 Session Chair: “Studies of Labor and Gender.” The 49th Society for Historical Archaeology Meeting, Washington, DC.

2014 Invited Symposium Co-Chair: “Archaeological Approaches to the Production of Power in the Colonial Andes.” The 79th Society for American Archaeology Meeting, Austin, TX.

REPORTS

2015 Informe de Excavacion. Proyecto de Investigación Histórico Arqueológico-Santa Barbára con Excavaciones. Prepared for the Ministry of Culture, Huancavelica, Peru

2013 Informe de Prospeccion. Proyecto de Investigación Histórico Arqueológico-Santa Barbára sin Excavaciones. Prepared for the Ministry of Culture, Huancavelica, Peru

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2008 Informe de prospección prehispánico. Informe Preliminar del Proyecto Arqueológico Pambamarca. Prepared for Instituto Nacional de Patrimonio Cultural del Ecuador. Quito, Ecuador.

2007 Documentando un camino pre-columbiano en las Tierras Altas del Ecuador. Informe Preliminar del Proyecto Arqueológico Pambamarca. Prepared for Instituto Nacional de Patrimonio Cultural del Ecuador. Quito, Ecuador.

FIELD AND LABORATORY EXPERIENCE

2014-2015 Project Director. Proyecto de Investigación Histórico Arqueológico-Santa Bárbara, Huancavelica, Peru.

2013 Survey Director. Proyecto de Investigación Histórico Arqueológico-Santa Bárbara, Huancavelica, Peru.

2012 Research Assistant. Proyecto de Prospección de Arcilla, Huancavelica, Peru.

2012 Excavation Supervisor. Valle Alto Archaeological Project, Tumilaca la Chimba, Moquegua, Peru.

2012 Research Assistant. Proyecto de Prospección de Arcilla, Arica, Chile.

2012-2013 Research Assistant, Elemental Analysis Facility. Anthropology Department, The Field Museum, Chicago, IL.

2011 Ceramic Analyst. Proyecto de Arqueológico-Espiritu Pampa, Cuzco, Peru.

2011 Independent Researcher. Valle Alto Archaeological Project, Moquegua, Peru.

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2009-2010 Field Technician. Cultural Resource Management, AECOM.

2007-2009 Field Technician. Cultural Resource Management, Far Western Anthropological Research Group.

2008 Survey Director. Pambamarca Archaeological Project, Pambamarca, Ecuador.

2007 Survey Co-Director. Pambamarca Archaeological Project, Pambamarca, Ecuador.

2006 Field Student. Pambamarca Archaeological Project, Pambamarca, Ecuador.

TEACHING EXPERIENCE

2017 Primary Instructor- ANTH 100, Introduction to Anthropology, University of Illinois at Chicago

2016 Primary Instructor- ANTH 100, Introduction to Anthropology, University of Illinois at Chicago

2014 Primary Instructor- ANTH 309, Writing Culture, University of Illinois at Chicago

2013 Teaching Assistant- ANTH 105, Human Evolution, University of Illinois at Chicago

2012 Field School Teaching Assistant, Contisuyu Field School, Moquegua, Peru

2012 Teaching Assistant- ANTH 100, Introduction to Anthropology, University of Illinois at Chicago

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2011 Teaching Assistant- ANTH 105, Human Evolution, University of Illinois at Chicago

2011 Teaching Assistant- GEOG 151, Introduction to Cultural Geography, University of Illinois at Chicago

2010 Teaching Assistant- GEOG 151, Introduction to Cultural Geography, University of Illinois at Chicago

SERVICE

2012-2017 Graduate Student Website Manager, Department of Anthropology

2012 Session Moderator, 40th Annual Midwest Conference on Andean and Amazonian Archaeology and Ethnohistory

2011-2012 Founder, Co-Chair, Executive Committee, UIC Graduate Student Conference

2011-2012 Treasurer, Geography and Anthropology Graduate Association

2010 Anthropology Department Steward, Graduate Employee Organization

LANGUAGES

Spanish: Speaking and Reading

PROFESSIONAL AFFILIATIONS

Society for American Archaeology American Anthropological Association Society for Historical Archaeology